1047 B.N. – May 30
The sound of youthful energy and the amber-tinted twilight painted the surroundings of the main courtyard, where embers from the fire still smoked. Knuckle returned to the present, emerging from deep memories. Giotto and the others were finishing their training; the atmosphere was heavy with effort and satisfaction.
Reijiro approached timidly. His relaxed posture after the training displayed a natural rhythm in his movements—an unexpected mix of precision and patience.
Knuckle observed silently from the inner balcony. When Reijiro looked down, the Sun Guardian called to him gently:
—"Reijiro-san? May I speak with you for a moment?"
The boy looked up, surprised, and nodded cautiously.
—"I've seen your technique," Knuckle said kindly. "You have good footwork, excellent timing, and when you dodge, you do it without fear of contact."
Reijiro blushed. He had never considered himself "talented."
—"I… thank you," he stammered. "I've practiced a lot… I wanted to help."
Knuckle smiled and took position, a light fist held near his chest.
—"I want to teach you something. It's a fighting art based on boxing structure, something I learned but never used—adapted for close combat… Muay Thai. I've grasped a few fundamentals. I want you to experience and develop it with me."
Reijiro's heart swelled with emotion. He wasn't a born fighter, but standing before the Sun Guardian, he felt seen. Knuckle told him they would develop a martial art together. Giotto, watching from the side with a slight smile, didn't interfere. He knew Knuckle had discovered a new purpose. In this life, boxing didn't exist—but now there were no limits to learn Muay Thai, something that had always caught his interest.
—"Alright," Reijiro replied. "I'll do my best. Will this… make me stronger to protect too?"
—"Yes," Knuckle said firmly. "And not just stronger. More agile… and respectful toward your body. We'll learn how to use knees, elbows, clinches… always with control."
They began the first exercise: side steps, stops, dodges, and a gentle low kick.
Takeshi watched, intrigued, and approached:
—"Can I… try too?"
Knuckle looked at him kindly.
—"Of course. But today I'll focus on Reijiro. I need to observe his progress. The rest will come later."
Leaves fell slowly around the courtyard as the evening wind whispered secrets among the trees. Knuckle walked barefoot across the earth, pointing out exactly where Reijiro should place his feet.
—"Boxing is the foundation, Reijiro. But in this world, where techniques can be so… versatile"—he smiled—"we need more. That's why you'll also learn to use your legs, knees, and elbows. It's not violence—it's control."
—"Like… a different branch of boxing?" Reijiro asked, attentive, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
—"Exactly. It's called Muay Thai. It's not just about striking… it's about holding, unbalancing, protecting your body's axis." Knuckle demonstrated a knee thrust forward. "And you have the mental balance for it. You're observant, patient. The kind of fighter who sets the pace without saying a word."
Reijiro looked down, shy from the praise.
—"I'm not sure I'm that strong…"
Knuckle crouched in front of him, placing a hand over his chest.
—"It's not about strength. It's about knowing when to move… and why. That doubt you feel—it's good. Fear doesn't make you weak. It makes you aware."
Behind them, Takeshi let out a huff.
—"And what about me? I am strong, right?"
Knuckle raised an eyebrow.
—"You are strong, Takeshi. But you don't yet have direction. You want to prove something instead of discovering it. That's not wrong… but it won't help in a real fight."
Takeshi frowned and crossed his arms. Reijiro felt awkward, but Knuckle continued, his tone gentle.
—"I'll train both of you. But today is Reijiro's day. Tomorrow will be yours."
Takeshi nodded reluctantly and sat next to Daiki, who watched silently.
—"You know," Daiki whispered, "Reijiro has good posture even when walking between the bank tables. He always dodges everyone. I think even Sana has noticed."
—"Of course I have," Sana interrupted, having just arrived with a white feather between her fingers. "Reijiro never trips over anything. Not even over Haru when he runs around like a maniac."
—"Hey!" Haru shouted from across the courtyard, offended. "I don't run like a maniac! I run with style! And my invisible sword gives me balance!"
Everyone laughed. The tension melted away. Knuckle resumed training.
—"Alright, Reijiro. This move is called a teep. It's a front kick, like pushing with the sole of your foot. Don't try to hurt—just… push away."
Reijiro lifted his leg clumsily, but his form was surprisingly steady. Knuckle corrected him with a gentle touch on the shoulder.
—"That's it. Control. Again."
Giotto had arrived silently, leaning against one of the inner hall pillars. He watched with crossed arms, evaluating not just Reijiro, but Knuckle himself. The way he taught, the way he chose his words, how he corrected with minimal contact—these were signs that the Sun Guardian was evolving. He was no longer just a healer: he was shaping warriors.
—"He's building his style," Giotto murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
—"Style?" Sana asked, overhearing. "Do you think Reijiro could… be as good as Knuckle one day?"
—"I don't think. I know," Giotto replied without hesitation.
Knuckle turned then to the boys:
—"Will I… be able to help others too?" Reijiro asked softly.
Knuckle smiled.
—"That's the most important part. Boxing and Muay Thai aren't about destruction. They're about support."
Daiki nodded silently, understanding.
The moon was starting to rise in the sky, and with it, Knuckle's new role became clearer. And Reijiro would be his first disciple.
The courtyard floor had been carefully prepared: lines marked with ash, stones removed, and torches lit around to provide light without glare. The main fire crackled softly, while the night wrapped everything in coolness.
Knuckle stood in front of Reijiro, who, for the first time in his life, wore hand wraps.
—"It's not about hitting hard, Reijiro," he said calmly, circling the boy. "It's about hitting at the right moment, in the right place, with the right intention. And sometimes… not hitting at all."
Reijiro nodded. His face showed focus—but also nervousness.
—"Are you ready?" Knuckle asked.
—"Yes… I think so."
—"That's enough for now."
Knuckle took a step back and assumed guard. But he didn't strike. He just waited. Reijiro didn't know what to do at first. Then he remembered one of the day's first lessons: wait, observe, and move only when your body feels it must.
He turned his left foot, leaned his body, and launched a timid teep. The sole of his foot cut through the air, and Knuckle dodged effortlessly.
—"Very good. Now again. But imagine there's a wall behind you, and you can't step back. What do you do?"
Reijiro tried again—this time with more determination. His foot hit Knuckle's side, who deflected it with his elbow.
—"Better. Less fear. You can still improve your balance."
From the side, Takeshi watched with arms crossed and a tense jaw.
—"That doesn't look like boxing…" he muttered.
—"It's not," Daiki replied, sitting beside him. "Knuckle said it's called Muay Thai. It seems more complete than the boxing we saw before."
—"Yeah, but it's not fair. I was told I'd be training too."
—"Your turn is tomorrow," Sana reminded him, flipping through her notes at the training edge. "You're getting impatient, Takeshi."
—"Of course I am! That twig looks like he's dancing, not fighting."
G, lounging against a beam further back, chuckled through his nose.
—"Sometimes dancing is better than hitting like a blind ox," he said dryly. "Reijiro has something many lack: awareness of his surroundings."
Takeshi didn't respond. But he was thinking about it.
...
The morning awoke with the murmur of the wind through the trees and the scuffling of feet over the dusty ground of the training courtyard.Knuckle stood at the center of the circle marked with ash, while Reijiro and Takeshi faced each other, both with their knuckles wrapped and sweat already glistening on their foreheads from the tension.
—"This is not a fight," Knuckle said firmly. "It's practice. Reijiro, use what I taught you. Takeshi, observe. Try to follow the rhythm, but don't force your strikes. We want to see how your bodies move… not how much you can hurt."
Takeshi snorted, slightly frustrated, but nodded. Reijiro swallowed nervously and stepped forward with caution.
Giotto watched from a small balcony, arms crossed, while G, seated on a beam, chewed on a dry twig.
—"This will be interesting," Giotto murmured.
—"One fights to prove he's strong," G said with a half-smile. "The other… to protect without fighting. Let's see who wins."
Knuckle gave a signal.
—"Begin!"
The first move came from Reijiro. A sidestep, almost like a dancer, followed by a clean jab—not meant to hit, but to mark distance. Takeshi answered with a powerful but wide cross.
—"Too open," Knuckle thought.
Reijiro twisted his torso, dodged, and without thinking, connected a quick teep that pushed Takeshi backward. It didn't hurt… but it was clear.
Takeshi frowned.
—"What was that?"
—"Foot boxing," Reijiro replied shyly.
Takeshi growled in frustration, charged in, and unleashed a reckless combo: a high right and then a low hook.
Knuckle stepped in immediately.
—"Stop! Too strong!" he shouted, placing himself between them.
Takeshi was breathing heavily, eyes blazing.
—"I'm not here to play tag, Knuckle-san! I want a real fight!"
Knuckle looked at him in silence, then spoke with a calm but firm tone:
—"You want to fight for real? With anger? Then you're fighting for yourself, not to protect anyone."
The words struck like a hammer.
Takeshi clenched his fists but said nothing. Reijiro looked down, unsure if he should speak.
It was Giotto who descended from the balcony, approaching with serene presence. He stood beside Knuckle and addressed both boys:
—"What you're feeling, Takeshi… that urge to prove yourself. I understand it. I've lived it too. But there's something you must know: the real battle isn't against the enemy. It's against the urge to harm without purpose."
Takeshi lowered his head, biting his lip.
—"…I'm sorry."
Knuckle placed a hand on his shoulder.
—"You're not ready to box like Reijiro. But that's not a bad thing. Everyone has their rhythm. You have strength… a lot of it. Maybe more than any of us. But you need direction. Maybe hand-to-hand combat, or grappling… would suit you better."
Takeshi looked up, hesitant.
—"You mean… like G?"
G nodded from his beam with a crooked smile.
—"Yeah, kid. I'm no boxer either. But I can teach you how to drop someone without wrecking your knuckles."
Takeshi blinked, surprised.
—"You'd train me?"
—"Yeah, but on one condition. Don't start whining if I slam you to the ground ten times on day one."
Takeshi swallowed hard, then nodded with determination.
—"Deal."
That afternoon, while G trained Takeshi in basic throws and sweeps, Knuckle led Reijiro to a quieter corner of the courtyard, where makeshift sandbags hung from wooden beams.
—"Let's polish your combos," he said, adjusting Reijiro's wraps carefully.
Reijiro looked at him curiously.
—"Why do you want to keep learning if you're already strong?"
Knuckle smiled slightly.
—"Because the world changes. What worked for me before… might not save me next time. The boxing I knew came from a place with rules. This world has none. That's why I want to mix techniques… adapt them to who we are now."
He showed him a short knee strike, like an upward whip.
—"This… is Muay Thai. It doesn't just hit. It disarms. Stops. Protects."
Reijiro imitated the motion, clumsily. Knuckle patiently corrected his stance.
—"If you master this, you'll know when to stop someone without destroying them. And also… when you have no other choice."
Meanwhile, Giotto observed from a corner, G beside him. Both sipped tea as the sky turned orange.
—"What do you think?" Giotto asked.
—"Knuckle isn't just training anymore. He's developing his own style. And that boy, Reijiro… he's perfect to shape it."
—"And Takeshi?"
—"He's rough. But he'll find his way. I'll make sure he doesn't break his neck in the process."
Giotto nodded.
—"This is the beginning of something big. Not all are warriors, but those who are… are being forged with patience."
As night fell, Knuckle and Reijiro practiced the last movements of the day. Knuckle executed a fluid combination: jab, cross, low kick, clinch, knee. Then, he stepped back.
—"Your turn."
Reijiro tried. Slower, but precise. When he finished, Knuckle nodded, satisfied.
—"With time, you'll be better than me."
Reijiro blushed.
—"Really?"
Knuckle sat on a stone, arms behind his head.
—"Yes. But that's not what matters. What matters is that you don't forget why you started. You don't fight to win. You fight to protect. Like the true Guardians of the Sun."
Reijiro looked at him with deep respect, memorizing every word.
...
Border of the Land of Lomo – Midnight
Night hung dark and silent over the border of the Land of Lomo. The stars flickered timidly behind storm clouds, as if reluctant to shine upon a world steeped in shadow. Ancient trees whispered with the wind, silent witnesses to the tension growing beneath their branches.
In a half-buried cabin nestled among thick roots and damp stones, a stone table groaned under the weight of old maps, sealed scrolls, and cups filled with bitter liquor. At the center, an oil lamp flickered and hissed, casting dancing shadows across the scarred faces of its occupants.
Four figures — each more feared than the last — had gathered for the first time in months.
Kazumori spoke first.His voice was deep and sharp, like the edge of his blade.
"The Vongola escort has crossed Silent Wind Pass. Three caravans in one week… and not a single casualty on their side."His cold gaze was fixed on the map."The mercenaries I sent never stood a chance. They died without even knowing where the strike came from. I still don't understand how a group of trained brats managed to tame most of the bandits in the Land of Lomo. Rumor has it, they were paid a fortune."
He still wore parts of his old samurai armor — now blackened and dull. His eyes, as sharp as his katana, didn't blink.
"Yeah, they're cowards. And you... that's because you fight fair," Ayokuma spat to the side with a sneer. "Those pups train like noble dogs… but they're not ready for true darkness."
He wore a cloak of tanned human skin — rumored to have belonged to a traitor of his. His eyes glowed with a feral light, and carved fangs with dark symbols dangled from his neck.
"I could awaken the ancient forest kami if needed. Let's see how they deal with that."
"Rousing sleeping spirits could cost us more than we gain," interrupted Inari-han, arms crossed. "The mountains are already angry. One more landslide and we lose the tunnels."
His voice was like the earth itself — deep, coarse, with an ancient weariness. He wore a cloak of dry leaves and deerskin, and a longbow rested against his back.
"Besides," he added, glancing at Kazumori, "don't forget — that escort has a young leader… but a clever one. He smells like the kind of predator that survives winters and sniffs out betrayal before it even breathes."
"They're organized," Chōjin finally spoke, his voice a raspy whisper, like poison evaporating in air. "I've tested their paths, poisoned wells, coated thorns with blue serpent toxin… but their watchmen never let down their guard. Not even for a second."
His face was hidden behind a mask decorated with insect mandibles. His thin, green-stained fingers caressed a small wooden box filled with bubbling vials.
"They don't move like common soldiers. Someone's training them like he knows what's coming."
Silence fell. The crackle of the oil lamp became oppressively loud.
"So it's true," Kazumori muttered, more to himself than the others. "The Vongola brought out their protégé… that boy said to be blessed by some strange magic flame. They speak of a red-haired child, with strange markings on his face — burning people alive on contact."
Ayokuma clenched his fists, and a low hum — like a cursed chant — vibrated in his throat.
"I don't care if he's heaven's chosen or a demon incarnate. If he threatens my territory… I'll tear him apart like all the others."
Chōjin let out a dry chuckle.
"Be careful underestimating those who wield unfathomable power. Many of my disciples died without making a sound."
"Then let's burn them before they come any closer," Inari-han concluded. "We know every step, every shadow in this forest. Let every branch be a snare. Every path… a grave."
Kazumori stood, slowly sheathing his blade.
"Then let the hunt begin."
Suddenly, the cabin doors burst open with a calculated crash.
A tall, imposing figure appeared in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light. His face, carved with the scars of time, reflected both ruthless intelligence and unwavering cruelty. A man of 45, with eyes like blades, known by all simply as Kaien "The Serpent's Eye."
With a firm, commanding voice, Kaien spoke:
"No one moves against anyone without my permission…"
To be continued...