Furaya Reizo (2)

After an hour he arrived: the Shiroi Buki Dojo of Martial Arts.

The dojo had three floors and a classic aesthetic: The majestic garden, decorated with cherry blossom trees (sakuras) and a streamlet, gave off an incredible rejuvenating atmosphere. However, that feeling was immediately broken by the noises coming from inside the dojo.

The walls of the dojo, built in the ancient Japanese style, were not enough to muffle the noise coming from within: Roars, yells, and cheers could be heard outside as if there was no obstruction. Clearly, the preliminary tournament had already started!

Sprinting while putting on his kimono, he stumbled and almost fell again. Fortunately, no one noticed this small slip-up, as at the time, people focused on the tournament taking place.

Upon entering the dojo's square door, Furaya was graced by a sight that made his heart flutter with anxiety: The place, which kept its old aesthetic from the outside, had been revamped inside. Now, except for the tatami mats in the center where the fights took place, a large and modern stand contained the spectators. Counting the journalists and the participant's families, more than three hundred people were present.

The amount of people, few for someone more experienced, seemed an overwhelming crowd for the young boy. But it wasn't only the number that unsettled Furaya—it was the fact that many of them were watching through their AR lenses, recording every move, every moment. The tournament was being streamed live to the world, with potentially millions of viewers tuning in!

Furaya had been warned about this by his master, and he thought he was ready, mentally prepared for the pressure. But standing there, surrounded by the buzz of the crowd and the glare of countless cameras, the weight of the situation hit him like a tidal wave. His mind spiraled into a whirlwind of doubt. 

This was his first tournament—what if he screwed up? What if, in the heat of battle, he made a fool of himself? The thought of every mistake, every misstep being captured and immortalized online for the world to see terrified him. What if he lost? What if all the hard work, the sweat, and the tears amounted to nothing but humiliation?

His breathing quickened, the noise around him fading into a dull hum as his insecurities threatened to swallow him whole. He could almost see the disappointed faces of his parents, his friends, his master… The weight of expectation pressed down on him, making his chest feel tight.

But then, through the fog of anxiety, he caught sight of his master in the distance, waving to him. That small, simple gesture cut through the darkness like a beacon of light. Furaya narrowed his eyes, forcing the doubts out of his mind. He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let his master down. Not today. Not ever.

Furaya quickened his pace, weaving through the crowd until he reached his master and fellow students at one corner of the arena. Bowing deeply, he greeted his master, his heart still pounding but steadied by the resolve to prove himself worthy.

"Where were you, kid!? I thought something had happened to you!" Master Ikemoto exclaimed, grabbing Furaya by the shoulders and giving him a thorough once-over. The concern in his voice was clear, his sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned Furaya up and down. Master Ikemoto had the typical long black hair tied in a samurai bun—a style that never seemed to go out of fashion—but the two receding hairlines at his temples were telltale signs of his advancing age. Deep wrinkles etched across his forehead betrayed his perpetually worried nature, and his short, piercing eyes revealed a man who was both strict and deeply caring about the children he taught.

He stopped abruptly when he noticed a small bruise on Furaya's forehead. "Did something actually happen?"

"N-No, I just lost track of time while training…" Furaya stammered, unaware that his master had spotted the bump. He quickly apologized, bowing his head..

"Okay, okay… fortunately, you're the last of our group to compete," Master Ikemoto said, attempting to reassure his young disciple. But his next words had the opposite effect. "Unfortunately, that also means you're our last chance to qualify for the official tournament!"

For a moment, Furaya looked at his master in confusion. Glancing around, he noticed the small group of boys from the dojo who had gathered around him. Their faces were marked by defeat, their kimonos disheveled, and their bodies bore the bruises of hard-fought battles. All of them had lost their matches.

Sadness and embarrassment weighed heavy in their eyes, but some still clung to a flicker of hope, looking to Furaya as their final shot at redemption.

Not knowing what to say to comfort his classmates, Furaya could only nod and promise.

Not knowing what to say to ease their disappointment, Furaya could only nod, determination hardening his resolve. "I'll do my best to get us a spot in the next part of the tournament!" He cracked his knuckles, feeling the surge of energy and power he had discovered just earlier that day. [I'll give them a huge surprise!] he thought to himself, a steely resolve forming in his heart.

"We'll be counting on you, kid," Master Ikemoto said, his voice calm and steady, though a flicker of unease crossed his eyes. He didn't want to burden the boy with too much pressure, but the truth was, if they lost, he would have to postpone his personal vendetta yet again.

Furaya, however, was too focused on the fights in the center of the dojo to notice his master's tone or the strange gleam in his eyes. The dojo buzzed with energy as competitors clashed on the tatami, each battle a flurry of movement and skill. Furaya analyzed their strengths and techniques with a critical eye, feeling a newfound sense of confidence. As a cultivator, he could see weaknesses in their stances, flaws in their movements. To him, they were just kids. But despite his confidence, a lingering doubt crept into his mind—what if his opponent was stronger? He refused to relax, keeping a vigilant eye on the ongoing matches.

The preliminary round was brutal, taking place simultaneously across the country. Only one hundred competitors would advance to the main tournament, and from this dojo, only two would move forward. Furaya was determined to be one of them!

The judge's voice echoed through the arena, snapping Furaya out of his thoughts. "Furaya Reizo against Sugimoto Yushiro!" The announcement sent a ripple of excitement through the spectators, all eyes turning to the tatami, where Furaya would soon stand.

"Go on, boy, you can do it!" Master Ikemoto patted Furaya's shoulder, his voice encouraging. Yet, inside, Ikemoto was troubled. He knew the odds were stacked against his student. Sugimoto Yushiro was no ordinary competitor; he came from a prestigious dojo with a strong reputation, and his aptitude for swordsmanship was well-known. Master Ikemoto had done his homework, and he knew this fight was likely lost before it even began. But he kept his expression neutral, hiding his concerns behind a mask of calm.

Furaya, unaware of his master's doubts, squared his shoulders and stepped onto the tatami, determined to prove himself.

[Tall and strong… What bad luck!] That was the boy's first thoughts. The opponent standing before him didn't look like a teenager at all—towering at nearly six feet with a solid, muscular build, and long straight black hair tied in a traditional samurai style. He was a figure straight out of a nightmare.

[Damn it! His arms are twice the size of mine! T-That's the same size as my leg, motherfu—!] Panic started to bubble up inside Furaya as he took in the sheer size and strength of his opponent.

The murmurs from the audience didn't help either. From the snippets of conversation, Furaya quickly realized that this boy had already won two matches and was one of the top contenders expected to make it to the finals. How had Furaya crossed paths with someone like this? Wasn't the boy supposed to be classified already? There was no time to ponder this twist of fate, as Furaya was now face-to-face with him in the center of the mat.

[Well, in a way, it's better to eliminate the strongest first!] Furaya tried to psych himself up, accepting the protective blue helmet from the referee. As he adjusted the helmet, he began circulating Qi through his body, feeling the calming energy wash over him, slowing his heartbeat and sharpening his focus. [The Qi will solve all my problems…]

With renewed determination, Furaya positioned himself, offering a slight bow as per tradition, his gaze locked on his opponent.

"Prepare yourselves… and… fight!" declared the judge, his voice echoing through the dojo.

The moment the word "fight" left the judge's lips, Sugimoto Yushiro, the burly giant of a boy leapt towards Furaya Reizo with his sword raised high! The man was fast and was about to deliver a vertical blow with all his might!

[Did you think you could catch me off guard!?] Furaya smirked behind his helmet, adrenaline surging through his veins. He deftly sidestepped the attack, his feet barely touching the tatami as he twisted his body, bringing his own wooden sword up in a sharp parry.

*BANG!*

The two wooden swords collided with a force that sent a huge echo through the arena, drawing gasps from the crowd. All eyes were suddenly fixed on the unlikely duel. But what truly left the spectators in stunned silence was the sight of Furaya holding his sword with a single hand, effortlessly blocking the larger boy's strike. The sheer strength behind Furaya's parry defied logic—how could someone so much smaller hold his ground against such overwhelming power?

Master Ikemoto, along with the rest of the audience, gaped at the scene. How could his disciple, who moments ago seemed so nervous and unsure, suddenly display such strength? Even Sugimoto Yushiro, who had breezed through his previous matches, was taken aback. 

For a fleeting moment, Yushiro hesitated, his mind grappling with the unexpected turn of events. But that moment was all Furaya needed.

With a lightning-fast step forward, Furaya closed the distance between them, his wooden sword sliding along Yushiro's blade with a sharp, grating sound. Before Yushiro could react, Furaya's sword slammed into the hilt of Yushiro's weapon, aiming precisely for the hands.

The bigger teenager attempted to retreat, desperately trying to avoid the hit, but he was too slow. The impact jarred him, his posture faltering as he stumbled backward.

"HYA!" Furaya's shout echoed through the dojo as he seized the opening. He centered his focus on his dantian, the core of his Qi, and in a split second, channeled every ounce of energy into his arms. The Qi surged through him like a torrent, amplifying his strength beyond normal human limits.

In one fluid motion, Furaya swung his sword with a force that felt like it could split the very air. The strike was swift and decisive, aimed not just to disarm but to dominate. Yushiro, still reeling from the previous attack, had no time to recover

*BANG!*

*CRACK!*

Silence filled the hall. 

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Reizo, his breath coming in ragged gasps, stared down at his opponent, who now lay sprawled on the tatami, unconscious from the impact.

A deafening silence fell over the hall as the two sounds reverberated through the air. Furaya's wooden sword had connected with Yushiro's helmet, the force of the blow so intense that both the helmet and the sword bore visible cracks.

The shock of what had just happened gripped everyone present. The sight of Yushiro, the formidable fighter who had easily overpowered his previous opponents, lying defeated on the ground, left the audience in stunned disbelief.

Then, as if a dam had burst, the hall erupted into cheers. The roar of the crowd filled the air, a cacophony of excitement and admiration.

"That is my disciple!" Furaya heard his master's voice, brimming with pride, rise above the noise. The man's earlier doubts were gone, replaced by a sense of triumph.

The judge, still trying to process what had just transpired, quickly regained his composure. "F-Furaya Reizo wins!" he announced, though his voice trembled with shock.

The celebration was short-lived as the judge's next words cut through the cheers like a knife. "Call the paramedics, now!"