I release a flurry of punches, each strike quick enough to cause the wind to shriek in the air, though none of them land meaningfully.
HUP!
I jumped high, dodging a swift sweeping kick from below. Twisting midair, I tried to land a counter, but my foot was caught—and I was slammed into the half-melted snow.
It didn't hurt much, but the impact knocked the air out of my lungs.
I gasped, staring up at the sky.
"Had enough for today, Merun?" Sister Ringo asked.
"Sister Ringo… again... how did you know I was going to do that?" I groaned.
"Hm. I'm just that good," she said blandly, then offered a hand to pull me up.
She paused. "I'm kidding. You do the same move every single time you dodge mid air."
"What do you mean every single time?" I huff.
"Hm… what was it I heard you tell Mikan during your spar?" She tilted her head.
"Ah. Right."
"…Skill issue?"
She smiled.
Mikan burst out laughing from the sidelines.
Ugh.
Am I really that predictable?
Also, I should stop using modern phrases. They're picking up quick and it's extra annoying.
Just a few months ago, both of them were crying over me when I woke up. Now they were laughing after beating me right into snow.
What kind of character development is this?
Still, it wasn't surprising. Even though I was only around six years old, my body was absurdly strong. I looked like I was around 9 or 10.
Once, I'd thrown a full-power punch at a tree. It didn't crack—it fucking exploded. My sisters' jaws had dropped. And so were mine.
They immediately dragged Father outside to see it. At first, he thought it was some game we'd invented, so I did it again.
His jaw dropped too.
Then he smiled. A real big one.
Ever since that day, after chopping up fire wood for the day, Father would spend hours by the fire, meditating or something... Was my strength really that inspiring?
But raw power was all I had.
I don't stand a chance against Sister Ringo. Even though her specialty was redirection, she barely used it during our spars and each time she either predicts my moves or just outright pummels me.
It doesn't hurt much physically, but the mental pain felt real.
…That was the gap between a talented martial artist and a brute monkey boy.
It wasn't like I hadn't asked Ringo for help. Techniques, advice, anything.
But she only knew defensive techniques.
And she was a terrible teacher.
Just the other day, I swear a vein on her forehead was about to pop because I couldn't punch the right way. Whatever the heck that means.
Fearing she'd actually give herself a brain aneurysm, we settled on short spars instead. Early morning, before hunts. A warm-up for the day.
Ringo turned to Mikan. "Your turn."
"Yes, Sensei," Mikan said jokingly as she stepped forward. Several dull wooden daggers rested in her hands.
She vanished in a burst of speed, circling Ringo and throwing knives at strange, irregular intervals.
Ringo didn't move from her spot. She adjusted her stance, calmly deflecting each dagger. They clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Then Mikan suddenly changed direction and rushed Ringo.
She accelerated, pulled her arm back as if to throw again—
A feint.
She dropped low, her leg snapping upward like a viper toward Ringo's chin.
THUD.
At first glance, it connected.
But on closer look, Mikan's kick had only struck Ringo's open palm. Ringo had repositioned it at the last moment, letting the force skim past, cutting only air and hair.
Mikan's foot was grabbed.
Game over.
"Hehe, Sister, you win again…" Mikan said with pleading eyes. "Can you let go just this once?"
"As an evasion specialist," Ringo replied evenly, "you know what happens you let your opponent grab you."
Then she tickled Mikan's foot.
"STOP—NO—HAHAHAHA!"
Mikan thrashed helplessly, laughing as Ringo held her upside down.
She really had improved. Speed, power, technique. She was right on the cusp of becoming a Martial Apprentice at breakneck speed!
Why?
Because a few weeks ago, we'd received a letter.
Eldest Sister Ichigo had been accepted into a clan.
Not only that—she'd beaten a fellow swordsman!
We were ecstatic. Especially Father. The worry he'd carried for years finally eased. His eldest child had validated her martial path.
And with that came change.
Elder Sister sent money. Knowledge. Stories of life in the Clan's Apprentice Academy.
Most important of all.
Martial techniques.
Actual techniques.
As a clan member, she earned contribution points, which she could exchange for items, currency, or the most expensive rewards of all: techniques. There were restrictions though.. only readily available techniques on the market, and only to immediate family.
Still, each technique costed almost two month's worth of our families' income.
She had her contribution points to obtain basic evasive scouting arts and dagger techniques for Mikan.
Mikan bawled when she received them.
She sent foundational redirection manuals for Ringo.
And for me… a book on children's martial foundations.
The problem?
No one in the family could read.
So Mother started studying whenever she could. The rest of us tried deciphering the illustrations with mixed success. Mine was the easiest, after all it was a book for children.
If I had the chance, I would seriously learn the Sekigarahan writing system.
Anyway, with my Saiyan body, I decided I shouldn't specialize. My raw stats made me perfect for an all-rounder, a balanced fighter.
But still…
That goal felt impossibly far away.
"HAHAHAHA—MERUN—HELP ME—I WON'T LAST MUCH LONGER!"
Ringo turned to me. "Feeling left out, baby brother?"
I took a step back. "Ahhh... no, hehe. I'll go check on Father… see you."
I bolted.
"NOOO—MERUN—HOW COULD YOU!"
"I'll save you when I'm older, Big Sister!"
GRAB.
A hand wrapped around my tail.
My strength vanished instantly.
I turned slowly.
Ringo was holding it.
…Goddamn tail grew too soon.
NOOOOOOO.