Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting playful, shifting shadows across the backyard of the Oreki family residence. On the smooth, sandy surface below, a scene unfolded that resembled an ancient samurai duel — tense, dynamic, and brimming with latent power... Or at least, that's how I would've described it, if I had the time to speak!
I barely dodged a sweeping kick from my sister, and before I could catch my breath, I swung my left arm, aiming to destabilize her guard. Without hesitation, I followed up with a straight right punch, hoping to break through her defenses. But Tomoe, as if sensing the attack before it even landed, twisted her body gracefully, slipping out of range. Her movements were precise, fluid, and predatory — each one calculated, always ready to strike back.
In a heartbeat, she flipped into a handstand, launching her leg toward my face. I barely had time to step back, feeling the air part as her kick sliced past me, grazing the space where my head had just been. Not wasting the opportunity, I surged forward, slamming my foot into the ground, kicking up a cloud of sand and dust to obscure her vision, hoping to catch her off guard.
But even blinded, Tomoe didn't falter. Instinctively, like a cat, she dropped low to the ground and attempted a sweeping leg strike to trip me up. I quickly lifted my front leg, shifting my weight back just in time, letting her kick pass harmlessly by. But she didn't stop there. Using the momentum from her first strike, she spun, launching another, faster sweep with her opposite leg.
My mind, divided into three autonomous "rooms," was processing information at lightning speed, analyzing hundreds of potential counterattacks simultaneously. Each room was focused on a different approach, evaluating strategies and predicting outcomes. But despite my mental agility, there was a problem — my body simply couldn't keep up with the pace of my mind. The neural signals firing from my brain to my muscles couldn't match the speed of my calculations, creating a frustrating lag between thought and action.
After six months of intense training, I still hadn't found a solution to this problem. And it wasn't surprising. My body hadn't even entered its growth phase yet — I was still a month shy of turning seven. My physical limitations — weak muscles, slower reflexes, and unrefined coordination — kept me from realizing my full potential. My mind was advancing faster than my body could follow, leaving me caught in a gap between what I knew I could do and what my body was actually capable of. Overcoming this disconnect was one of my greatest challenges, and I knew it would take continued research and relentless training to bridge the gap.
But there was no time to dwell on that now. The fight continued, and I had already calculated my next move. Before I even consciously registered it, my body acted. I bent my raised leg at the knee, preparing to bring my shin down toward Tomoe to disrupt her balance. But just as she braced for impact, I altered my trajectory at the last second. Straightening my leg, I shifted my center of gravity and planted my foot slightly to her side. Her second sweep connected with my back leg, but by then, my front leg was firmly planted, allowing me to maintain my balance with ease.
For a brief moment, our sparring paused. I could've taken advantage of the situation, pounced on Tomoe, and started throwing kicks and punches, but that wasn't the point of our training. And honestly, I doubted it would've worked against an opponent like her. Tomoe wasn't just strong — she was incredibly strong. Even though my Atlas Alchemist heritage helped me rapidly close the gap in our physical abilities, she still had the upper hand. And that was no small feat.
So I took a step back, giving her the space to recover. She quickly rose to her feet, resuming her stance. Our eyes met for a brief second, and without a word, we launched back into the fight.
Tomoe lunged forward with a sharp straight punch. I parried swiftly, redirecting the energy of her strike and immediately countered with a punch of my own. But as usual, Tomoe was quick — she twisted out of the way with that same feline grace, narrowly dodging my strike. She followed up with a spinning kick, powerful and precise, but I managed to step back just in time.
Before I could counter, she was already throwing another straight punch, but this one was weaker — hastily thrown from an awkward position. A plan formed in my mind. I raised my palm slightly, softening the impact of her punch, and in one fluid motion, I caught her wrist. I pulled her toward me, positioning my elbow to strike her diaphragm.
But my strike never connected. Just inches from her diaphragm, Tomoe's free hand shot up, blocking the blow with blinding speed. I could feel the tension in her muscles as she absorbed the force, her reaction so quick and instinctive that it felt like she had anticipated my move the entire time.
But I wasn't done yet. Using the momentum, I bent my knees and twisted, channeling all my strength into my core for a throw. My grip tightened on her wrist, and I swung her over my hip, ready to bring her to the ground. For a split second, I saw surprise flicker in her eyes.
Still, Tomoe wasn't someone you could easily take down. Even mid-air, she tucked herself into a ball, coiling like a cat ready to spring. In one swift motion, she freed her wrist from my grip and, using her feet, pushed off my body, sending me staggering backward. She flipped gracefully to the side, landing in a flawless stance as a faint trail of dust rose from the ground in her wake.
There was a brief pause — then we were at it again. With relentless speed and precision, we launched ourselves back into the fray. Every step we took sent thick clouds of sand flying into the air, and our sweat-soaked clothes clung to our bodies like second skin. The ground rippled with each impact, the rhythm of our movements in perfect sync with the intensity of the fight.
This was a daily scene in our backyard. Tomoe and I would pound each other into the dirt until one of us — usually me — collapsed, completely drained. These weren't just training sessions; they were my life, days filled with dust, sweat, and sheer determination.
To an outsider, it might have seemed like our sparring was balanced. Some days, Tomoe would dominate, controlling the pace with her quick, precise strikes. Other days, I'd manage to push her into a corner, forcing her to either defend or find a way out. But the truth? These so-called "rollercoasters" in our bouts were only possible because Tomoe wasn't going all out. This was sparring—a training ground where she held back. And trust me, she could do a lot more than she was showing...
While I fend off her relentless attacks, how about I take a moment to reflect on what I've achieved over these past six months? Luckily, I've got a whole separate "room" in my mind for just that.
The last half-year has completely transformed my life — from being an average six-year-old kid to becoming something of a superhuman for my age. My body had grown stronger, faster; my reflexes sharpened, and my mental faculties surpassed even my wildest expectations. This journey was marked by two significant "Achievements."
The first came about two months after I started practicing Kukishin-ryu. When my skills in the martial art reached a certain threshold — one that even my mom acknowledged with a rare "Not bad" — it became an official skill, something that appeared in my "Status." It looked something like this:
[Houtarou: The Mightiest Disciple]
[Achievement Condition: Reach a beginner's level of mastery in a martial art-related skill.]
[Description: You've taken your first step on the great martial path. Through sweat, tears, and blood, you have earned the title of martial arts student, having mastered your first martial art at a beginner level.]
[Reward: Technique "Breathing and Walking" (Incomplete)]
As a seasoned gamer, seeing that "incomplete" tag immediately annoyed me. But ""Breathing and Walking"" turned out to be such an overpowered ability that my irritation vanished, replaced by sheer amazement. To this day, I still can't quite grasp why I received such a powerful skill for something as basic as reaching the first stage of a martial art.
"Breathing and Walking" wasn't just some fancy eastern technique — it was a philosophy, the very foundation of both Magic and Martial Arts. Even though I had only unlocked the incomplete version, I could already feel it reshaping my body and mind. It was like being handed the keys to a new level of awareness, something that went beyond physical prowess. It was, without exaggeration, a game-changer.
This ability — "Breathing and Walking" — is a key concept for anyone striving to harmonize the physical and magical worlds. Primarily, it enhances physical conditioning by strengthening the body, but its true power lies in deepening the connection to nature. Absorbing external energy — mana in my case, which permeates the world, or prana, the planet's life force — intensifies this bond. In official writings on "Breathing and Walking", it's described as the breath of life, a technique that opens the door to uniting one's inner self with the external world, turning the body into a conduit for natural forces. The inhale, exhale, and everything that occurs in between are more than mere processes of sustaining life; they serve as a bridge between the individual and the universe.
To explain it practically, the best example would be how mages use spells to invoke certain phenomena. However, those who can interact with nature through breathing, movement, their body, and sheer existence surpass these spellcasters both in the strength of the effects they create and the speed with which they can bring those effects to life.
In my case, even with the "incomplete" version of this ability, I felt its impact in every aspect of my life. Thanks to "Breathing and Walking", I was able to quickly raise all my physical stats to rank F, and my magical power to rank E(-). Yes, this ability became my lifeline in becoming a stronger mage! Usually, to increase your magical energy reserves, it takes years of dedicated training and practice. Constantly using and "draining" your reserves, followed by complete recovery, works like muscle training — the more effort and strain you put on them, the greater the growth. However, "Breathing and Walking" turned out to be a cheat code in this system, allowing me to increase my magical energy reserves simply through… walking and breathing. Yes, it's that simple.
In practical terms, especially in combat, "Breathing and Walking" became an invaluable tool. First, it made my steps lighter, smoother, and nearly silent. When I moved, it felt like I was blending into the environment itself, as though my movements became one with nature, granting me a huge advantage. My opponent would lose track of when I approached or retreated — just as the official texts stated, "Steps so soft, the sound falls into nothingness."
Secondly, "Breathing and Walking" affected my reflexes and stamina. My reaction speed increased due to the enhanced connection with nature. It felt as if I could anticipate every step of my opponent, every movement around me. My awareness of the surrounding space became sharper, allowing me to react to attacks faster than before. All of this happened almost instinctively — as if nature itself was guiding me on where to move and when to block a strike.
This natural flow of movement and heightened awareness made each sparring session with Tomoe not just a test of skill, but a deepening of my understanding of the world around me and how I could synchronize with it.
When it came to endurance, this ability played yet another crucial role. "Breathing and Walking" allowed me to precisely manage my energy, ensuring none of it went to waste. Every movement I made was calculated, every breath deliberate, which let me conserve my strength during long bouts. I no longer expended energy on unnecessary steps or sudden motions; instead, I channeled it exactly where it was needed.
What was even more fascinating was how my "Memory Partition" synergized with "Breathing and Walking". Here's the thing: unlike those born with the innate ability to use "Breathing and Walking" — often referred to as saints in some cultures — I acquired it as a reward for my training. As a result, maintaining the correct rhythm of "Breathing and Walking" required significant effort on my part. Sure, from the outside, it all seemed simple: inhale, exhale, and walk smoothly. But behind this apparent ease lay constant strain, requiring immense concentration to keep everything in sync.
This is where "Memory Partition" came into play. Thanks to this skill, I could dedicate one of the "rooms" in my mind solely to maintaining the ability. One part of my brain was always focused on keeping "Breathing and Walking" active, regulating every breath and step with meticulous precision. Another "room" was allocated to the sparring session with Tomoe, ensuring I was sharp and responsive to her every move, while the last "room" was free to let me "drift off," just like I'm doing now.
This multitasking made my training exponentially more efficient. Where others would struggle to juggle the mental and physical aspects, I could seamlessly split my focus across all of them, making my progress both faster and deeper.