The sun barely shifted in the sky, yet Arata''s body screamed in protest. Every muscle in his arms and legs burned, his breath felt shallow, and his fingers twitched with exhaustion. He sat on the cool grass, drenched in sweat, as the aches from his sparring matches with Grundor, Omega, and Beatrix pulsed through his limbs. His body felt like a battered training dummy, his bones heavy, his lungs begging for rest.


    Kate knelt beside him, her expression a mix of concern and approval as she held out a water flask. "You lasted longer than I thought you would," she said with a gentle smile, brushing some damp hair from his forehead.


    Arata took the flask, shaking his hands, and gulped down the water, the cold liquid soothing his parched throat. But his mind was elsewhere—trapped in the mistakes he had made, the blows he had taken, the complete lack of control he had in the fights.


    "You''re overthinking," Zetsubo''s voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. His uncle stood a few steps away, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "That''s a good thing. It means you''re trying to improve."


    Arata looked up at him, his breathing still ragged. "I wasn''t strong enough."


    Zetsubo sighed. "Strength isn''t just about how hard you hit, Arata. It''s about knowing when to strike, where to strike, and how to move before the enemy does."


    Arata clenched his fists, his knuckles still raw from earlier. "I couldn''t land a single hit. I was completely useless."


    Zetsubo chuckled, shaking his head. "You weren''t useless. You were just inexperienced. And that, Arata, is something we can fix." He stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "Get up."


    Arata groaned but forced himself to his feet. His legs trembled beneath him. His shoulders felt like they had lead weights strapped to them.


    "I can barely move…" he muttered under his breath.


    Zetsubo smirked. "Then this will be fun. Follow me."


    Lesson 1: The Basics of Stance & Footwork


    They moved to a clear, shaded patch of land where the dirt was packed firm, evidence of years of training. The cool breeze brushed against Arata''s skin, but it did nothing to ease the heat radiating from his aching muscles.


    Zetsubo positioned himself a few feet ahead and assumed a stance—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, arms raised but loose. His entire body seemed anchored to the ground, yet he looked as if he could move in any direction immediately.


    "Before you throw a single punch, before you even think about attacking, you need to learn how to stand."


    Arata mimicked his stance, though his balance wavered slightly.


    Zetsubo stepped forward and shoved him lightly. Arata stumbled, nearly toppling over.


    "Too stiff." Zetsubo adjusted Arata''s legs with his foot. "A stance needs to be solid but flexible. If you plant your feet too hard, you''ll get knocked over. If you''re too loose, you''ll get thrown around. Find the middle ground."


    Arata adjusted his feet, steadying himself.


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    "Again."


    Zetsubo shoved him once more. This time, Arata stayed on his feet.


    "Better. Now move."


    Zetsubo started circling, forcing Arata to keep his stance while shifting his position. The dirt shifted under Arata''s weight, and each step required focus to stay balanced.


    "Your footwork needs to be clean. If you stumble, you''re dead. If you hesitate, you''re dead. The moment you trip over yourself, you''re finished."


    Arata tried to match his uncle''s movements, but as soon as Zetsubo lunged forward, Arata instinctively tried to dodge—only for his footing to fail him. He fell backward, landing hard on his hands.


    "Too slow," Zetsubo said, standing over him. "Your body needs to react before your mind does. That takes training."


    Arata groaned as he pushed himself up, his arms trembling.


    Lesson 2: The Art of the Punch


    "Now, let''s talk about strikes."


    Zetsubo raised his fist. The air around them stirred slightly as if sensing the shift in energy.


    Arata blinked. "What the—?"


    Before he could finish, Zetsubo threw a punch.


    The force sent a gust of wind past Arata''s face, rattling his hair and clothes. His uncle hadn''t even hit anything, but the sheer speed of the strike had left a pressure in the air.


    "A real punch isn''t just your arm. It starts from your feet, moves through your hips, then into your fist. Power comes from the whole body, not just the muscles."


    Arata swallowed hard and tried to copy the motion. His punch was weak in comparison.


    Zetsubo clicked his tongue. "Relax your shoulders. You''re putting too much tension into it. Let the power flow."


    Arata reset and threw another punch.


    "Again."


    Punch.


    "Again."


    Punch.


    His knuckles stung, his arms ached, but he kept going.


    "Good." Zetsubo nodded. "Now, let''s add speed."


    Arata narrowed his eyes. "Speed?"


    Zetsubo suddenly lashed out with a quick jab. The wind pressure alone knocked Arata off balance.


    "If you can''t strike fast, you''re leaving yourself open." Zetsubo cracked his knuckles. "Let''s fix that."


    Lesson 3: Kicks & Power Generation


    Zetsubo raised his leg and threw a clean, powerful kick.


    The air exploded outward from the force, sending dust flying. The impact left a faint mark in the dirt where his foot had passed.


    Arata''s jaw clenched. "How do I do that?"


    Zetsubo smirked. "Start by not falling over."


    Arata attempted a front kick. His balance wavered, and he nearly tripped.


    Zetsubo sighed. "You''re relying too much on your upper body. Kicks start from the core."


    They repeated the motion repeatedly. Arata felt the force build each time, but his body ached beyond belief.


    "This is hell…" he muttered.


    Zetsubo grinned. "You''ll thank me later."


    Lesson 4: Blocking & Dodging


    Zetsubo''s voice lowered. "Defense."


    Arata barely had time to react before a fist flew straight at his face.


    Instinct kicked in—he raised his arms, barely blocking the strike. The impact rattled his bones, sending a painful shock through his arms.


    "You think that was strong? That was me holding back."


    Zetsubo lashed out again—this time faster. Arata flinched, his feet skidding across the dirt.


    "If you hesitate, you die."


    A third attack came—Arata ducked, barely missing the hit.


    "Good," Zetsubo muttered. "Now do that every time."


    Arata groaned. "You''re insane."


    Zetsubo smirked. "Welcome to real combat."