EIGHTH GEN ∘ toman

02

THIRD POV

It was a clash of martial arts prodigies, each move more intense than the last.

Takemichi’s techniques were unlike anything seen before, a style born from his own unique forms derived from Shotokan Martial Arts.

He moved with calculated precision, his body flowing through strikes and counters as though guided by an instinctive rhythm. Each punch and kick that Manjiro launched was deflected with ease, Takemichi’s focus unwavering.

In a split-second shift, Takemichi altered his stance from defense to offense, his body a blur of motion. Seizing an opening, he pulled Manjiro forward, driving his knee into his opponent’s midsection.

Without hesitation, he followed up with an elbow strike to the back of Manjiro’s neck, forcing him down to the ground.

Through it all, a wild, exhilarated smile played on Takemichi’s face. Watching the scene unfold, his father sighed, casting a knowing glance toward Shinichiro. “Takemichi has a completely different temperament when he’s fighting,” he remarked.

Shinichiro nodded, still struggling to process the scene before him. “I can see that.”

Nearby, Baji watched in awe, eyes wide. “Wait...didn’t he say he was blind?”

Takemichi’s father responded calmly, “Yes, he is. Blind as ever.” Baji stared, bewildered, as Takemichi continued to control the fight with apparent ease.

Manjiro’s stamina began to wane as he tried to keep pace with Takemichi. Observing his grandson’s movements with a discerning eye, Grandpa Sano leaned closer and asked, “What style is this? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“It’s his own style, derived from Shotokan Martial Arts,” Takemichi’s father explained with a touch of pride.

“Ah,” Grandpa Sano mused, nodding slowly. “Impressive.”

Just then, Takemichi intercepted another punch from Manjiro. With one smooth motion, he grabbed his opponent’s arm, swung around, and delivered an elbow strike to Manjiro’s back, leaving him doubled over in pain. After a pause, Takemichi extended a hand, helping Manjiro back onto his feet.

“Takemichi,” his father’s voice was sharp but calm.

Takemichi turned, a look of guilt flickering across his face.

“I shouldn’t have to keep reminding you to watch your temperament when you’re fighting,” his father admonished.

Takemichi sheepishly ducked behind Manjiro, pouting. “But, Dad, you know I can’t control my excitement…”

"Yes, he is blind." Takemichi's father said.

After a while, Manjiro was getting tired, trying to keep up with Takemichi.

Grandpa Sano looked at Takemichi's movements, and asked, "What technique is he using? I've never seen anything like it."

"It's his own style, derived from Shotokan Martial Arts." Takemichi's father replied.

"Ah, I see."

Takemichi deflected Manjiro's fist, with the same hand he grabbed him, and elbowed his back, knocking him down in pain.

Getting off the blond, Takemichi helped Manjiro onto his feet.

"Takemichi." His father said.

Said Takemichi turned away in guilt.

"I shouldn't have to warn you with watching your temperament while fighting."

Hiding behind Manjiro, Takemichi pouted, "But dad, you know I can't control my excitement."