Time Skip

It has been two years since the training with Yuujiro began, and in that time, I've learned more than I ever thought possible. I've gotten stronger—physically, mentally, and in ways I hadn't expected. My body is tougher, faster, more resilient, and I've pushed past limits that would have broken me before. But the most surprising change has been my growing… respect for Yuujiro. I wouldn't call it admiration, not yet, but after two years of relentless, brutal training, there's a part of me that understands him in ways I couldn't before.

The training has been constant. Nonstop. There's never a moment where I can relax, never a moment where I can just breathe and let my guard down. Sometimes, Yuujiro will interrupt my sleep, sneaking into my room so silently that I don't notice him until it's too late. He throws me against the wall without warning, or just stands there, watching, waiting for me to react. And when I do, when my body finally catches up to the situation, he'll say something like, "You must constantly be ready for attacks. You're a dirty fighter yourself, so you should know that."

It's like he's drilling it into me—there is no safety. No peace. There's always a threat, always someone stronger waiting to take you down. I've had to learn to live with that constant tension, that underlying fear. And sometimes, in the quiet moments when the adrenaline fades, I wonder if I've developed a light case of PTSD. It feels like I'm always on edge, like I'm waiting for the next attack, even when it's not coming.

But it's not just the physical side of things. I've started reading a lot in my downtime, which, admittedly, isn't much. The training takes up most of my day, but whenever I have a spare moment, I dive into books. It's a way to keep my mind from unraveling. If I didn't have those moments of escape, I think I might go crazy. The mansion is big and quiet, and the only people around are the servants. They're all terrified of Yujiro, and for some reason, they seem just as afraid of me. Maybe it's because I'm his son. Maybe it's because they've seen me survive things that should have broken me. Either way, they avoid me, so there's no one to talk to.

Except for my parents, of course. My crazy, insane parents. Yuujiro and Emi. Even though I've begun to respect Yujiro on some level, I don't want to talk to him. There's something about him that keeps me at a distance. He's a monster, and even though I've been training under him for two years, I'm not ready to treat him like a father. Maybe I never will be. As for my mother… I don't know what to think anymore. She's always hovering in the background, watching, waiting. I can't tell if she's proud of what I've become or just obsessed with seeing me molded into some perfect version of myself that only exists in her mind.

I keep growing my hair out. It's gotten long again, and I like it that way. It's one of the few things I can control. My mother keeps insisting on cutting it, but I refuse. It's a small rebellion, something to remind myself that I still have a choice in some things. Yujiro doesn't care, of course. He's only interested in my progress as a fighter. The training has taken priority over everything else, and now that I'm a bit older, he's decided it's time to take it up several levels. More intensity. More pain. More survival.

The training has been hell, but part of me has adapted to it. I've learned to endure it, even expect it. But sometimes, when I'm lying in bed, sore and exhausted, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have a normal life. To go to school, maybe make a few friends. I've spent so much time alone or in combat that the idea of having someone my age to talk to feels almost alien. I want friends, I want to experience something beyond this constant grind of training and survival. But I don't know if that's even possible. Not with Yuujiro as my father, not with the life I've been born into.

And then there's this ability I keep thinking about. I don't even know if it's real or just something I imagined in those final moments before I died in my previous life. It's like a distant memory, a promise that I could travel to different worlds. But if I have that power, it hasn't activated yet. Maybe it never will. Maybe this is it—this life of constant combat, with no escape, no other worlds, just this one.

Still, I can't shake the feeling that something's going to change soon. I'm stronger now. I can feel it in every punch, every movement. Yuujiro has pushed me to my limits, and I've survived. But there's something in his eyes, something that tells me he's holding back. There's more to come—something bigger, something even more brutal than what I've already been through. Am I ready for it? I'm not sure, but it doesn't matter. This is my life now.

As the day's training finally ended, I lay on the ground, completely spent. Exhausted. Beaten. Every muscle in my body screamed in pain, but it was a familiar sensation by now. The kind of pain I'd grown used to, the kind that told me I'd survived another day. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, sweat pooling on the floor beneath me.

Above me, standing like a mountain, Yuujiro was as calm as ever, not a bead of sweat on him. Unbothered. Untouched. It was almost insulting how little effort he had to put into breaking me down. His shadow loomed over me, and even in my exhausted state, I couldn't escape the sense of overwhelming power that radiated from him.

"You are now ready for the next stage of training," he said, his voice low and commanding. There was no hint of emotion in his words, just a simple statement. Ready. As if the last two years had been nothing but a warm-up.

I forced myself to look up at him, the taste of irony bitter in my mouth as I tried to catch my breath. "What's the next stage? More beatings?" I asked, my voice labored, sarcasm slipping through despite my exhaustion.

Yuujiro, ever calm, ever unreadable, shook his head slowly. "No," he said, and for a moment, his eyes gleamed with something that almost looked like anticipation. "We're going to the forest. You're going to survive on your own. While continuing your normal training."

The forest? I blinked, trying to process his words through the fog of exhaustion clouding my mind. Survive on my own. The idea settled in, and I felt a strange mix of emotions rise up inside me. Fear, yes, but also something else—relief. Freedom.

For two years, I had been trapped in this mansion, enduring endless cycles of training, pain, and isolation. And now, suddenly, I would be out there, in the wilderness, away from the suffocating walls, away from the constant presence of my parents. For the first time in what felt like forever, I'd be free. Free to test myself, free to see if I could actually survive on my own.

"That doesn't sound like the worst thing that could happen," I muttered, half to myself. The forest might be brutal, but at least it would be a change of scenery. Finally free from the mansion. I had spent hours reading survival books in my spare time, trying to keep my mind sharp and occupied. And food? That wouldn't be an issue. I was a chef in my previous life—finding and cooking food shouldn't be the hardest part.

But I knew better than to think it would be that simple. Yuujiro wouldn't make it easy.

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable, as if he knew what I was thinking. "This isn't a vacation," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. "You'll be pushed harder than ever before. The wilderness doesn't care about your strength. It will break you if you aren't ready. And you'll continue your training with me—every day."

The reality of it hit me. This wasn't just about surviving the wild. It was about surviving him. Even out there, away from the mansion, Yuujiro would still be the constant force driving me to the edge. He would be there, watching, waiting, testing me at every opportunity. I wouldn't just be fighting the elements. I'd be fighting the world itself—and Yuujiro.

Part of me wanted to laugh at the sheer madness of it all. Who else lived like this? Who else's father tossed them into the wild and said, "Good luck, keep training, and if you die, you weren't strong enough to live in the first place"? No one. No one except me. A Hanma.

And yet, there was something inside me—some twisted part of my mind—that almost looked forward to it. The challenge. The constant fight for survival. It was as if the past two years had rewired my brain, conditioned me to crave the struggle. Because that was all I knew now: survival. Day by day. Punch by punch.

I pushed myself up off the floor, muscles screaming in protest, but I refused to show weakness. Not now. I couldn't afford to show any cracks in front of Yuujiro. My father's eyes were still on me, watching, always watching. Judging. I could feel his expectations pressing down on me, as heavy as any physical weight.

"When do we start?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

Yuujiro's smirk deepened, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face for just a second before it vanished. "Tomorrow."

Tomorrow. No time to rest. No time to recover. That was how it always was with him. There were no breaks, no moments of peace. It was always now, always the next challenge, always the next step. And I couldn't back down. Not if I wanted to survive.

As Yuujiro turned to leave the training hall, his voice echoed back at me, cold and deliberate. "If you can't make it, don't bother coming back."

I stood there, my body aching, my mind racing. The forest. Surviving on my own. The next stage of my training had just been laid out in front of me, and there was no turning back. But deep down, beneath the exhaustion and the fear, there was a spark of something else. Anticipation.

Maybe I could make it. Maybe I could prove to Yuujiro—and to myself—that I was stronger than even he expected. Maybe this was the moment I'd been waiting for.