My voice, when I'd uttered that single, fateful word – "Okay" – had sounded like it belonged to someone else. Someone braver. Or maybe just someone significantly more foolish. The tofu emergency had evaporated from my mind like morning mist under a harsh sun. Now, standing in the Seiyo High dojo, with the triumphant grins of Rina Akiyama and Takeshi Yamamoto, the speculative, intense gaze of Kenji Tanaka, and the shy, curious look from Hana Sato all laser-focused on me, I felt like I'd just willingly signed up for public speaking. Naked. While juggling angry badgers.
"Excellent!" Rina chirped, her energy levels somehow ratcheting up another notch, which I hadn't thought humanly possible. "Right! First things first, Ishida-kun – Kaito. Can I call you Kaito?"
I just nodded, still feeling a bit numb. My carefully constructed wall of anonymity was not just crumbling; it had been nuked from orbit.
"Great! Kaito, then," she beamed. "We need to get you a gi. You're about my height, maybe a bit broader in the shoulders… we should have a spare that fits. Hana-chan, could you?"
Hana, ever diligent, scurried off to a tall wooden locker in the corner, her earlier shyness momentarily forgotten in the face of a task. She returned a moment later with a neatly folded white gi – the jacket (uwagi), pants (zubon), and a white belt. It smelled faintly of soap and disuse.
"This one hasn't been worn in a while, Ishida-senpai," she said softly, offering it to me. "It should be clean."
"Thanks, Sato-san," I mumbled, taking the bundle. It felt… substantial. A uniform. A symbol of belonging to something I wasn't sure I wanted to belong to.
"Locker room's just through there," Rina said, pointing to a door beside the makiwara. "Get changed. The real fun is about to begin!"
Her definition of "fun" and mine were, I suspected, on different planets.
Changing into the gi felt strange. The rough, starched cotton was unfamiliar against my skin. The white belt felt stark and symbolic. When I emerged, tying the belt clumsily (it took me three tries to get a knot that didn't immediately unravel), the others were waiting. Takeshi was bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking like an overeager puppy. Kenji was stretching, his expression unreadable but undeniably focused on me. Rina was practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Perfect!" Rina declared, appraising me. "Looks like a natural already!"
Takeshi snorted. "He looks like a guy in a pajama suit, Captain. A pajama suit he's about to get schooled in, once he faces someone who doesn't inexplicably trip over their own feet." He winked, but there was a newfound caution in his eyes when he looked at me. The earlier mockery was gone, replaced by a wary curiosity.
"Alright, Kaito," Rina began, clapping her hands for attention. "Normally, we'd start with breakfalls – ukemi. Learning how to fall safely is the absolute foundation." She paused, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "But given what we just saw… your balance seems… preternatural."
Kenji grunted in agreement. "He didn't fall. He made Takeshi fall. There's a difference."
"True," Rina conceded. "So, let's start with stances. Shizentai – natural stance." She demonstrated, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, back straight, relaxed but ready. "From here, you can move in any direction, generate power, maintain stability."
I tried to mimic her. I put my feet apart, bent my knees a little. It felt… okay. Just standing.
Rina walked around me, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "Hmm. A bit stiff in the shoulders. Relax. Let your weight sink. Feel your connection to the ground."
I tried to relax. I thought about sinking. I thought about the ground. Nothing much changed, as far as I could tell.
"Okay, now, from shizentai, let's try a basic forward stepping punch – oi-zuki," Rina continued, unfazed. She demonstrated: a smooth, flowing movement, stepping forward with her left foot while simultaneously delivering a sharp, focused right punch, her hips and shoulders rotating in perfect sync, ending with a soft kiai that wasn't a shout, but a focused exhalation of spirit. "Power comes from the ground, through the legs, hips, torso, and finally out through the fist. It's a chain."
She had me try it. I stepped forward with my left foot. I threw a right punch. It felt… like I was throwing a punch. Not particularly powerful, not particularly graceful. Just… a punch.
Rina watched, then Kenji. Hana observed quietly from the side.
"Not bad for a first try," Rina said, though her tone lacked its usual effervescence. "Your form is… surprisingly clean. But the power generation… it's not quite there."
Kenji stepped forward. "Let me see." He had me try again. And again.
"Your alignment is good," he rumbled, his voice surprisingly patient. "Almost instinctively correct. But you're muscling it. You're using your arm, not your body." He tapped my hip. "It starts here. Feel the rotation."
I tried. I focused on my hip. I rotated. I punched.
This time, something felt… different. As my hip turned, a sensation, like a current of energy, flowed up my side, into my shoulder, and down my arm. The punch still felt like my punch, but there was an added… solidity to it. A subtle connection I hadn't felt before. It wasn't a huge, dramatic change, but it was there.
I hadn't consciously done anything different, other than think about my hip.
Kenji's eyebrows, which normally seemed permanently set in a skeptical frown, twitched upwards, just a fraction. "Better," he conceded. "Much better. Your body seems to understand the mechanics almost immediately, even if you don't."
Rina's eyes lit up again. "See! I told you! Kaito, you're a natural!"
"I just… tried to turn my hip," I said, confused. This was all happening too fast. One moment I'm Mr. Invisible, the next I'm some kind of martial arts prodigy by accident? It didn't compute.
"That's the point!" Rina exclaimed. "Most beginners take weeks, months even, to get that feeling, that connection! You got it in, what, three tries?"
Takeshi, who had been watching with a mixture of fascination and disbelief, chimed in, "So, what's your secret, Ghost Hand? Did you, like, get bitten by a radioactive sensei or something? Secret ninja clan? Alien DNA?"
"Ghost Hand?" I echoed, bewildered.
"Yeah, man! The way you handled me? It was like you weren't even there, then BAM! On the floor. Ghostly. And your hands… they just knew," Takeshi elaborated, gesticulating wildly.
"There's no secret," I insisted, feeling increasingly like an exhibit in a zoo. "I really don't know anything about this stuff." My past was an open book of blandness: average grades, no sports clubs, a preference for quiet reading and avoiding attention. No secret ninja training montages, no wise old masters imparting ancient wisdom in a hidden mountain dojo. Just… me. Kaito Ishida. The guy who once got a participation trophy for a school spelling bee because everyone else dropped out.
Rina, Kenji, and even Hana exchanged glances. They clearly didn't quite believe me. Or, if they did, it only deepened the mystery.
"Well," Rina said, ever practical, "whatever the reason, you have an incredible aptitude. Let's try some blocks. Age-uke – rising block."
She demonstrated, a smooth upward sweep of the forearm to deflect a downward strike. Again, the movement was economical, powerful, ending with a centered stance.
I tried it. I raised my arm.
"Focus, Kaito," Rina instructed gently. "Imagine a strike coming towards your head. Your arm isn't just moving; it's intercepting. It's protecting."
I imagined Daiki Tanaka's meaty fist coming at me. Instinctively, my arm snapped up, forearm angled, my body subtly shifting to absorb an imaginary impact. It felt… right. Secure.
"Yes! Like that!" Rina exclaimed. "Your body just… knows the optimal angle, the right tension!"
We went through a few more basic blocks – outside block (soto-uke), inside block (uchi-uke), downward block (gedan-barai). With each one, after Rina or Kenji's initial demonstration and a single cue about the intent or feeling, my body seemed to just… adapt. It wasn't me consciously figuring it out. It was more like my limbs had a mind of their own, a deep, ingrained muscle memory from a life I'd never lived. The sensation was unsettling, like discovering you could speak a foreign language fluently without ever having learned it.
Kenji watched me with an almost unnerving intensity, his gaze analytical. "It's not just aptitude," he finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. "It's… resonance. It's like his body is already tuned to the principles of martial movement. He doesn't learn them; he recognizes them."
"Resonance?" Rina repeated, intrigued.
"Like a perfectly tuned instrument," Kenji elaborated. "You strike the chord, and it sings true, instantly."
Takeshi whistled. "So, Ghost Hand is basically a martial arts supercomputer that just needed to be switched on?"
I wished they'd stop calling me Ghost Hand. It sounded like a character from a cheesy manga. A character who was definitely not me.
"Okay," Rina said, rubbing her hands together, a glint in her eye that made me nervous. "Stances, basic strikes, basic blocks… you seem to have an intuitive grasp. Let's try something a little more… interactive."
Oh no. I knew where this was going.
"Kenji-senpai," Rina said, turning to her vice-captain. "Would you mind? Just some light, controlled sparring. Basic attacks. Let's see Kaito's defensive instincts."
Kenji nodded, his expression serious. He faced me, settling into a solid, rooted stance. He was taller than me, broader, and radiated an aura of disciplined power. This was a far cry from Takeshi's earlier, almost playful challenge. This felt… real.
"Just react naturally, Kaito," Rina said encouragingly from the side. "Don't think. Just feel."
Easy for her to say. My mind was a frantic mess of "abort mission" signals.
Kenji moved.
It wasn't a wild rush. It was a precise, controlled advance. His left hand feinted high, a flicker designed to draw my attention, while his right fist shot out in a straight punch – choku-zuki – aimed at my solar plexus. It was fast, accurate, and backed by solid technique.
I didn't have time to think. My body reacted before my brain could even process the attack fully.
As his feint came high, my eyes didn't follow it. Some instinct kept my gaze centered, picking up the subtle telegraph of his shoulder, the shift in his weight that indicated the true attack.
As his right fist drove forward, my left hand came up, not in a hard block, but with an open palm. It didn't meet his fist head-on. Instead, it brushed against his forearm, just above the wrist.
At the same instant, my body pivoted slightly, not away from the punch, but with it, my right foot subtly shifting.
The contact was minimal. A feather-light touch.
But the effect was, once again, utterly disproportionate.
Kenji's powerful, focused punch, instead of landing with bone-jarring force, was… deflected. Not stopped, but guided. My light touch, combined with my body's subtle rotation, redirected the entire line of his attack. His fist slid harmlessly past my side, his momentum carrying him slightly off-balance.
He blinked.
I blinked.
Rina, Takeshi, and Hana audibly gasped.
Kenji recovered his balance instantly, his expression one of profound shock. "What… was that?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "That wasn't a block. It was… redirection. Effortless."
"I… I don't know," I stammered. My hand tingled slightly where I'd touched his arm. It was that same feeling from before – not strength, but an intuitive understanding of force and leverage. Like guiding a flowing river rather than trying to dam it.
"Do it again," Kenji said, his eyes burning with an almost feverish intensity. He reset, his stance even more focused. This time, he launched a quicker combination – a left jab followed by a right cross.
Again, my body moved. My left hand intercepted his jab, not with a block, but by lightly parrying it outwards, my fingers brushing his glove. As his right cross came, my right hand met his forearm, again with that same light, guiding touch, while my body swayed just out of the punch's optimal range. Both punches slid past me, leaving me untouched, perfectly balanced. Kenji, on the other hand, was slightly overextended, his formidable power spent on empty air.
He stood there, breathing a little harder now, staring at me as if I'd just sprouted a second head.
"Impossible," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "No wasted motion. No telegraph. It's like… like water flowing around rock." He looked at his own hands, then back at me. "The pressure I felt… it was almost nothing. But my strikes just… went nowhere."
Rina was speechless, her jaw practically on the tatami. Takeshi was shaking his head, muttering, "No way… no freakin' way… Ghost Hand is legit!" Hana's eyes were wide, shining with a mixture of awe and something else I couldn't quite decipher – perhaps a budding admiration.
"Kaito," Rina finally managed, her voice trembling slightly. "How… how are you doing that? That's… that's high-level deflection and evasion. That's Aiki principles. That takes years, decades, to master! If ever!"
"I really, really don't know!" I insisted, feeling a rising tide of panic. This wasn't just "aptitude" anymore. This was something else. Something I couldn't explain or control, and it was terrifying. It was like having a superpower you didn't ask for and had no instruction manual for. "It just… happens! My hands just… move!" Hence, I guess, "Ghost Hand." The name was starting to feel uncomfortably accurate.
Kenji slowly straightened up. He walked over to me, his expression a complex mix of disbelief, respect, and intense curiosity. He looked me directly in the eyes. "Ishida Kaito," he said, his voice devoid of its usual gruffness, replaced by a quiet solemnity. "You may not know what you possess. You may not understand it. But it is undeniable. You have… a gift. A profound one."
The weight of his words settled on me, heavy and suffocating. A gift? It felt more like a curse, a spotlight dragging me out of my comfortable shadows.
Practice continued, but the atmosphere had changed. Rina tried to teach me some basic throws, but the moment she or Kenji tried to demonstrate an entry on me, my body would subtly shift, their balance would be compromised, and they'd be the ones struggling to stay upright. It was uncanny. I wasn't trying to counter them. I was just trying to stand there, to be a receptive uke. But my body had other ideas. It instinctively neutralized every attempt to control or unbalance it.
Eventually, Rina called a halt, looking both exhilarated and utterly bewildered. "I… I think that's enough for one day," she said, running a hand through her hair. "My brain needs to reboot."
Takeshi was still muttering about ghosts and aliens. Hana was looking at me with undisguised reverence. Kenji was silent, lost in thought, occasionally glancing at me with that same intense, analytical stare.
As we cleaned the dojo – sweeping the tatami, putting away equipment – the mood was subdued but charged. I felt like an imposter, a fraud who was somehow pulling off the world's most elaborate prank without even knowing how.
When it was time to leave, Rina walked me to the dojo entrance. The sun had set, and the evening air was cool.
"Kaito," she said, her voice serious. "Thank you for today. And thank you for agreeing to join. I know this is… a lot. But I meant what I said. With you, we might actually have a chance."
A chance at what? I still wasn't entirely sure.
"I still feel like I don't belong here," I confessed, looking down at the gi I was still wearing. I'd have to get my own, I supposed.
Rina placed a hand on my arm. Her touch was surprisingly warm. "You belong, Kaito. More than you know. We'll figure this out. Together." Her amber eyes were earnest, compelling. For a moment, looking at her, I almost believed it. Almost.
Walking home, the streets seemed quieter than usual, or maybe it was just the ringing in my own ears. The ordinary world felt… different. Sharper. My own body felt different, alive with a strange, thrumming energy I'd never noticed before. The "Ghost Hand" nickname echoed in my mind. It was ridiculous. It was terrifying. It was… undeniably me, apparently.
My quiet life was a distant memory. The Uncrowned King, it seemed, had not only entered the ring but had, entirely by accident, just demonstrated a level of mastery that left everyone, including himself, utterly speechless.
I reached my front door, the scent of someone else's dinner wafting from a nearby window. Tofu. Right. I'd completely forgotten.
Somehow, I didn't think a forgotten tofu run was going to be the biggest problem in my life anymore. Not by a long shot. The whispers of the tatami had been replaced by the roar of the unknown, and I was standing right in its path.