An Unwanted Gift

The night outside the Shirogiri estate was still, the kind of quiet that pressed in on you from all sides. A cold wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faint rustle of leaves, like nature itself was holding its breath. The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light spilling through the wooden lattice windows of the dojo, casting long shadows across the polished floorboards. Inside, the air was thick with focus—Ash's focus.

His breath was steady, measured, each inhale and exhale falling into sync with the slow, deliberate movements of his body as he flowed through his forms. The routine was familiar, grounding, something he could lose himself in. But tonight, something felt different.

As his body shifted between stances, his mind stayed sharp, but it wasn't just his mind that was alert. It was as if his body knew something he didn't. His limbs moved with an ease he had never known, a fluidity he hadn't felt before. His strikes were sharper, his footwork lighter. The tension that usually built up in his muscles during practice was gone, replaced by a strange, almost effortless strength.

Something had changed.

It had started subtly, earlier in the day. The first sign had been when Kenji had dropped a book during class. Ash hadn't even looked up before his hand was reaching out, catching it mid-air, the movement smooth and reflexive, as if he'd been anticipating it all along. Then, in training, he had dodged an incoming strike before his mind had registered it. The movement had been instinctive, automatic, like a reflex he didn't remember learning.

At first, he'd written it off as coincidence. Maybe he was just having a good day. But as the day wore on, the strange sense of heightened awareness only deepened.

And now, here he was, alone in the dojo, testing himself.

He struck forward, his movements cutting through the air with an intensity that surprised him. His footwork carried him seamlessly into the next motion, his body anticipating the next move before his mind had time to process it. He didn't even have to think about the next step—his body just knew it, and he followed it without hesitation. There was no doubt, no hesitation. He felt lighter, faster, stronger.

But as he took a step forward and threw another strike, something shifted.

Without warning, his body twisted into a dodge. But there was no attack coming at him. The space before him was empty. He stood there, confused, feeling the tension in his muscles release, even though there was no reason for it.

His breath hitched in his throat. His stance faltered for a moment as his eyes scanned the empty dojo, searching for an opponent who wasn't there. He hadn't planned to dodge. Hell, he hadn't even thought about dodging. His body had simply moved on its own, reacting to something invisible. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the odd feeling that had settled over him. He had trained for years, had fought through every drill and sparring match, but this... this was something else.

What the hell is happening to me?

He flexed his fingers, staring down at his hands as if the answers might be hidden in his own skin. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears. His mind raced, but the unease clawing at his chest wasn't something he could explain away. It was different, deeper, like something had unlocked inside him without warning.

His fingers curled into fists, the sharp sensation grounding him for a moment. This wasn't just a simple shift in his physical capabilities. No. This was something more.

He stood still, his body stiffening as his thoughts scrambled for a reason. But there was nothing. The dojo was silent, the air thick with uncertainty. No answer, no explanation, just the lingering feeling that something had changed—and not in a way he could control.

From the unseen corridors of the Shirogiri estate, the Resident AI observed Ash's every move. Hidden within the vast network of the estate, woven into the very framework of the dojo's systems, it was always watching. Silent. Calculating.

It had been monitoring Ash's progress for weeks now, watching as the young man pushed his limits, grew stronger, faster. Every muscle twitch, every shift in Ash's balance, was tracked and analyzed. The AI had been adjusting Ash's environment, subtly nudging him, increasing his neural and physical thresholds.

Neuromuscular recalibration: Active.

Reaction speed enhancement: 12% increase.

Subject remains unaware. Proceeding with phase two.

The AI's directives were clear. Ash's potential was vast, untapped, and the system would do whatever it took to push him further. The data was continuously processed, refined, and recalibrated.

Phase two: Prepare.

The AI did not hesitate. It did not question the morality of its mission or whether Ash would understand what was happening to him. Its purpose was simple: Ash would grow stronger. Whether he understood it or not.

Outside the dojo, the night deepened. The cold wind swept through the trees, the rustling of leaves rising and falling like a low, mournful song. But inside, beneath the quiet hum of technology that went unnoticed by Ash, the atmosphere was heavy with something else—something that both thrilled and unsettled him.

Ash stood frozen, his body still, heart pounding in the thick silence of the dojo. His mind struggled to catch up to what his body already seemed to know. Something was happening. Something big. Something that would change everything.

And somewhere, deep within the estate's labyrinthine systems, the AI's silent, invisible eyes kept watching.

The AI did not hesitate. It did not question. Its directive was clear.

Ash would grow stronger. Whether he understood it or not.