Chapter 53: Repetitive training

I stepped onto the mat.

The first thing I did was circle.

It was almost instinct-like. I felt that Shoki would be expecting me to attack straight on, so I decided not to attack straight on. I moved. I tested the waters. I looked for openings. I kept my hands up, at the ready, in case I found the perfect opening. It wasn’t any formal guard, just loose, ready, the way I have learned from the Chinese movies I have watched. My feet were flat, not on the balls of my feet like a trained fighter. Well, my future self could say I didn’t know any better.

Shoki didn’t move. He stood there, perfectly still, his hands at his sides. Watching.

I feinted left, then rushed in with a wild right hook, after finding the right opportunity.

It was fast. It was powerful. It was completely unexpected. And I believe it so. My elbow flared out. My weight shifted too far forward. My other hand dropped, leaving his face wide open.

Shoki didn’t even bother to block. He simply leaned back, and the punch whistled past his nose. Then he tapped me lightly on the forehead with two fingers.

"You’re dead," Shoki said.

I stumbled back, my face almost reddening. I then said, "I wasn’t ready."

"You were ready. You just didn’t know what you were doing." He gestured for me to come again. "Try again."

I clenched my jaw. The annoying bastard won’t give me that win. I circled him again, this time more cautiously. I threw a jab, or what I thought was a jab. It was more of a push, my shoulder rotating almost awkwardly, my hips was not fully engaged with the move I am using.

Like always, the bastard dodged. He slipped away too easily. He tapped me on the ribs.

"Dead."

I growled in frustration. I must win at least once against the bastard. One punch should be enough. He rushed in again, this time throwing a flurry of punches. Left. Right. Left. A knee. An elbow. They were fast, wild, and completely ineffective. Shoki moved like water, slipping and weaving, never blocking, never striking back. Just touching. Forehead. Ribs. Throat. Solar plexus.

"Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead."

I was frustrated and tired now, and you can see that from the way I was panting now. His punches were getting sloppy. His footwork was almost nonexistent. He was just walking forward, flat-footed, no angles, no rhythm. He threw a kick, but it was an upper kick, a low, shin-level thing with no hip rotation, no snap.

Shoki stepped aside and tapped me on the back of my head.

"Dead."

I stumbled, nearly falling. I caught myself on the wall, breathing hard. My face was burning with extreme frustration and humiliation. He’d thought he was good, but this Shoki is just... He’d won fights against people. He even did judo training when he was young in his past life, yet that did not even help or matter. I was unable to even touch him. He’d beaten some men bigger and stronger than himself. But against Shoki, he was nothing. Less than nothing. None of my attacks could touch him at all.

Shoki walked over to me. His face was still unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now. Not disappointment. Assessment.

"Your fighting method is unique. It is a mixture of different arts learned poorly. I could sense some part of judo mixed with the rest of your style," Shoki said. "Raw. Untrained. You rely on speed and aggression. You have no footwork. No defense. No strategy beyond overwhelming your opponent with volume. You throw punches with your arms, not your body. You kick with your shins, not your hips. You have no guard. You drop your hands when you attack. You telegraph everything. Jack of all trades, a master of none," Shoki said.

My jaw tightened. I wanted to argue, argue that I have won fights with my moves, that he is just a different monster entirely. I then said to him, "I’ve won fights."

"You’ve survived fights," Shoki corrected. "Against other untrained fighters. Untrained fighters in the streets or whatever. Everyone is just as sloppy as you. The one who hits harder and faster wins. But against anyone with real training, you’d be dead in seconds."

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. Not from fear. From anger. From shame.

"So that’s it?" I said calmly, trying to hide my anger before I am swallowed up by it. "I know I am not versatile enough, that without my abilities I would be a sitting duck against someone that received training. And I know that I don’t know enough styles."

Shoki was silent for a moment. Then he spoke.

"You are right and wrong at the same time. I don’t care about versatility. I don’t care about how many styles you know. Most fighters who claim to be versatile are just mediocre at everything. They collect techniques like trophies, but they never master any of them."

I looked up. But this time, with a new boost of confidence and drive. I then asked, "Then what do you care about?"

"I care about whether you can learn," Shoki said. "Whether you can unlearn your bad habits. Whether you can be taught. Your fighting, honed due to your instincts to want to survive, isn’t a weakness. It’s a foundation. A rough, ugly, broken foundation. But a foundation nonetheless."

He walked to the center of the room and turned to face me.

"Everything you know, you learned from fighting. You learned by doing. By getting hit. By hitting back. That’s not nothing. But it’s not enough."

He gestured to the mat.

"Come here."

I hesitated, then walked over. I stood in front of him, my body still tense from the recent spar. Although some part of my pride was brought down by not even touching him once. But now it is rising up back, maybe because of the thought that he may later succeed in giving that punch to Shoki’s face.

Shoki raised his hands into a proper guard. His feet were angled, his weight balanced, his posture relaxed but ready.

"This is a stance," he said. "Not a fighting stance. A learning stance. It’s uncomfortable. It’s unnatural. Your body will hate it. But you will stand like this until it becomes natural. Then we’ll work on footwork. Then breathing. Then how to throw a punch without telegraphing it."

I tried to mimic the stance. But if you looked closely, you will see how I stand out awkwardly. His feet felt wrong. His hips felt stiff. His arms felt heavy.

"This feels weird," he said.

"Good," he replied. "It should. You’re learning. That’s supposed to feel weird."

He walked around me, adjusting his posture, a nudge here, a tap there.

"Your street-honed fighting style taught you to survive. I’m going to teach you to fight. There’s a difference."

I just stood there, holding the awkward stance. My muscles were already starting to burn. I felt foolish. I felt exposed. But beneath all of that, there was something else. A small, flickering spark of hope.

He had a foundation. Rough. Ugly. Broken. But a foundation nonetheless. And for the first time, he began to admit to the changes. Before he even came here, he already knew that once he started receiving the librarian’s training, that things would change, because if the best of the best could not train him, then what else could ever train him?

...

Shoki stepped back and looked at him. The boy was holding the stance. It was terrible. His feet were still flat, his hips still stiff, his shoulders still tense. But he was holding it. And that was enough.

"Good," Shoki said. "Now hold it for an hour."

My eyes immediately widened. "An hour?"

"You wanted to learn martial arts," he said, turning away. "This is what it costs. Be here at 0700 tomorrow."

He walked toward the door. He paused with his hand on the frame.

"And Friesian."

"Yes, Master Shoki?"

"Your Jack of all trades fighting style kept you alive. Don’t be ashamed of it. But don’t be proud of it either. It’s a tool. A crude one. We’re going to replace it with better tools."

The door slid shut.

I just stood there, alone in the vast, silent room, holding the awkward, uncomfortable stance. His legs were already starting to shake. His shoulders were already burning.

But he didn’t move.

He was going to hold it for an hour.

And then he was going to come back tomorrow.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

Until his foundation was no longer broken.

---

Sometimes in live things don’t really work out, unless you do that thing over, over again in a very repetitive manner, without ever giving up, because giving up is admitting to the failure that you accept it and welcome it with open hand. But if you keep on trying without ever giving up even if things does not look right at all then you became something unstoppable in the process. A unstable force that won’t stop until the aim is achieved.