Hours melted into one another as Igata Kuyori persisted in his relentless pursuit of strength. Each punch and kick he unleashed upon the heavy bag was a testament to his unwavering determination, each thud echoing through the silent training room.
In the dimly lit dojo, Igata's fists blazed through the air, and his legs executed precise kicks. His movements were fluid, graceful, and infused with raw power. His striking accuracy had improved remarkably, each blow striking the bag with a precision that left no room for doubt. As the night progressed, Igata's training grew more intense, the sweat on his brow mingling with the physical toll his body endured.
Over time, his progress was nothing short of astonishing. The punching bag's display revealed his growing strength. It started at 350 joules of force and climbed relentlessly: 370, 390, 420, 450, until it reached an astounding 510 joules in a matter of hours. The sound of his strikes grew louder, the reverberations bouncing off the walls like a testament to his newfound power.
In the darkest hours of the night, as Igata's muscles ached and fatigue threatened to consume him, his unyielding spirit carried him forward. He continued his assault, testing various strikes—hooks, jabs, and dives. His progression was nothing short of extraordinary, a testament to his extraordinary potential.
As the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and orange, Kiya Shuke awoke from his slumber, disturbed by the distant sounds of what resembled gunshots. The noises grew nearer, prompting him to leave his resting quarters and make his way to the training room, where Igata had been tirelessly training throughout the night.
Upon entering the room, Kiya was greeted by a sight that left him in awe. Igata, sprawled on the ground, was drenched in sweat, his breath labored, and his body utterly exhausted. The room bore witness to his incredible dedication and the physical toll of his training.
Kiya, suppressing his initial incredulity, commented dryly, "This smells horrible. How much did you train, kid?" He contemplated leaving the room to allow Igata some much-needed rest but something peculiar caught his attention—the display above the punching bag.
The numbers displayed were nothing short of extraordinary. It read an astonishing 1102 joules of force. Kiya examined it closely, even attempting to restart the display, but the numbers remained consistent. He muttered to himself, "I'll need him to punch it again in the morning. There's no way this kid did that."
Several more hours passed, and Igata finally stirred from his slumber. To his surprise, Kiya was still in the training room, munching on chips and deeply engrossed in a phone game. Kiya greeted Igata with a casual, "Oh, you finally woke up, huh?"
Igata responded with a tired yet contented smile, the result of a night of dedication and unrelenting effort. Kiya, intrigued by Igata's accomplishments, inquired, "Hey, I saw some pretty big numbers on the punching bag's display. You did that, right?" Igata nodded, his pride evident in his eyes.
Kiya's curiosity got the better of him as he asked, "Can you repeat what you did?" Igata, still groggy from sleep, replied, "I'll try, but I just woke up."
Summoning all his remaining energy, Igata moved with astonishing speed, generating shockwaves and fierce winds throughout the room. His punch struck the bag with a deafening boom, and the display now read 1258 joules of force. Kiya watched in profound awe of the power and speed Igata possessed.
Breathless, Kiya struggled to find the words to articulate his astonishment. It was clear that Igata had unlocked an incredible potential that defied explanation or reason.
Once his breathing steadied, Kiya decided to inquire about Igata's past. His voice grew heavy with sadness and regret as he shared more about the grim reality of their world. "Igata," he began, "You must understand that becoming strong in this era is far more challenging than in the past. Even at 45 years old, I consider myself weak compared to the true powerhouses of our time."
Kiya continued, his tone somber and melancholic, "Igata, there are seven individuals in our country, the true powerhouses, who can demolish entire buildings effortlessly. Their strength is beyond imagination, and they dominate every facet of our society."
He placed a hand on Igata's shoulder, his expression pained. "I can't stress enough how important it is for you to seize your potential while you're young," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "Your life could be different, Igata. You could achieve what I never could."
Igata's eyes welled with tears, his youthful hope clashing with the grim reality Kiya had laid bare. Kiya, though moved by the boy's emotions, chided him gently, "Don't cry, kid. That's for the weak." Wiping away his tears, Igata responded softly, "You're not weak, sir."
Kiya, sensing the need to provide
some encouragement, continued, "As you grow stronger, your nanomachines will react, granting you unique powers, elements, or even weapons. In my case, my nanomachines allow me to wield lightning, though I've yet to create any weapons with them."
Igata, his curiosity piqued, asked, "How can I unlock that potential?" Kiya smiled, "There's a tournament in the city for all ages, but there's a category for those between 14 and 17. You could participate, but to do so, you'll need to pass a test." As Igata listened intently, the prospect of the tournament and the chance to prove himself filled him with newfound determination and hope in a world that had once seemed relentlessly grim.