The house felt exponentially smaller when he reentered. Shita and Iwata were setting the table and finishing up the meal when Akimoto entered the kitchen-bedroom-dining-room. He slid the trousers from the small chair by the bed he had slept in, allowing the legs of the garment to unfold and fall to the floor without the need to shaking or manually unfolding the item. He quickly slipped them on and tied them as he had yesterday before joining the two kin at the table. 

It was a modest meal and Akimoto felt no need to over-compliment Shita who had no doubt prepared the meal herself. Instead he ate quickly and thanked them before and after the meal. He practiced a silence during meal-times if only to concentrate on consuming the food in order to return to tasks which were interrupted by the human condition. 

“I hear you were training in town, Iwata-kimi. Would you be willing to show me where it is?” Akimoto asked as he put his dishes into the washing basin. 

“Oh, yeah!” he said with some surprise. It was clear he did not make the connection between Akimoto’s body and from where such results stem. “I’ll have to introduce you to my partner, too. He’s never met a Firus before!” 

His childish excitement would only produce a slight smile from Akimoto. Akimoto bowed to thank the boy before following him into town. A glance back at Shita told him she didn’t worry for the boy. Did she truly resent the boy so much?

The streets and paths into town never became crowded as they would in any other city or town. He was used to the physique of Berugans as a whole. Some of them pushed the limits of the human body while most merely kept a toned body for aestheticism and athleticism. He could have been mistaken as Berugan if he was wearing a shirt, but the late-fall air had no effect on Akimoto and proved his Heat.

In spite of a few whispers and invasive comments, the townsfolk seemed to care little for his presence, for which he was thankful. Less attention was better for he was usually the center of attention, and usually of the negative variety.

Many of the shops had stones and lumber around them and people lifted and dragged them in order to maintain their forms. There was a formal arena in the center of the village with many people having traveled from notable distances. Some sparred open-handed while others practiced with weapons. Many were merely lifting heavy objects repetitively, which always baffled Akimoto. What purpose could repetitive motions, however heavy, improve physical performance? It seemed counter-intuitive. 

“Akimoto-sensei, over here!” Iwata called from further inside the arena. Akimoto followed the boy’s waving and caught the eyes of a man standing next to him.

“Akimoto-sensei, this is Funkakou Tonidou. Toni-chikai, this is Akimoto Kaito.” The men bowed and shook hands, rivalling each other in the ability to break the other’s.

Tonidou was a head shorter than Akimoto but just as wide, which made him impressively stout or “stocky” , as Toni would describe it. It could be argued that Toni was the stronger, but Akimoto was disinterested in pure strength and even less in showing it off.

“So, what’s your regiment?” Toni asked. He seemed quite friendly and unbiased, which Akimoto appreciated greatly. 

“I don’t really have one,” Akimoto admitted. Toni only gave an inquisitive look before Akimoto explained further. “I usually have to work for food and bed wherever I travel as I tend to travel lightly. I usually smith, tend ranches, or lumberjack.”

“Ah, the hardy professions!” Toni exclaimed in his deep bass voice. He slapped Akimoto’s shoulder and squeezed as if to prove to himself of Akimoto’s strength. This was not uncommon among Berugans but Akimoto was still not used to physical contact with new acquaintances. “And do you practice any art?” he asked colloquially. “Art” in Beruga meant “martial” and nothing similar to what Hayate considers “art.” 

“Sangaku Kiben, Kosasu, and Kikyuu.” He said plainly but with some pride.

“Oh, I’ve never heard of Sangaku Kiben. Would you be willing to show me its strength?” He was clearly eager to spar, as was Akimoto.

“It’s not an art of strength,” he warned and explained. “It’s more a philosophy.”

“Show me,” Toni repeated with a smile.

Toni fell back into a generic opening position of Ishite, the widest-practiced martial art of Shidaigenso. With his left foot forward, pointing at his opponent and his right behind and perpendicular for stability, he rose his hands into fists at chin-level and in the middle of his chest and the other more forward with his leading foot.

Akimoto stood flat-footed and facing full-front toward Toni. His hands curled into fists and rested on either side of his groin with his torso and arms flexed, proving his strength further. 

Toni was clearly interested in playing and began to throw light punches at Akimoto’s body. After the first set of three, it was clear Akimoto was looking for a more serious spar, to which Toni was delighted to provide. Toni’s knuckles slapped against Akimoto’s chest and abdomen without his moving. The punches grew in strength until Akimoto’s feet began to slide backward in the sand but with his body remaining stiff and unchallenged. 

Akimoto’s torso was red from the impacts but there was no sign of bruising. Toni stepped back onto the leap forward for an unhindered jab at Akimoto’s abdomen. He slid back a few feet in the sand and bent his body in order to take it better. He immediately straightened himself and regained composure. Toni had to pause and commend the foreign artist’s form. Iwata looked on in awe, having thought Toni’s punches too strong for any man to take without complaint. 

Toni darted back in and this time attempted to out-maneuver Akimoto, determining the form to be static and purely defensive. He was proven wrong as Akimoto stepped just as quickly and grappled the strike aimed for his shoulder. He spun Toni around and struck him in the back to force him forward and away. 

Akimoto looked behind him for a moment and found himself in front of a large sack filled with sand. “This is your target,” Akimoto said, gesturing to the inanimate object. 

Toni smiled wide and went back into swifter than before. But since he had to move a greater distance, Akimoto easily intercepted every strike at the bag. Toni attempted to wear Akimoto out, but found this to be futile as Toni began panting while Akimoto appeared largely unaffected by the advances. He got close enough to where Akimoto had to strike him in order to protect the bag, but Akimoto’s strikes proved just as, if not more, powerful than his. Ultimately Toni conceded and praised the man he could not pass. 

“Who invented that art”? Toni asked as he poured water over his face and into his mouth.

“My father,” Akimoto said coldly. He guzzled water between statements.

“He dead,” Toni asked without tact.

“Yes. When I was 14.”

“Shame,” Toni said, shaking his head. “I’m sure he’d be proud to see you so successful, though.”

“He was a Martial Specialist himself. I just strive to be good enough for his memory.”

“I’d say you are.”

“Toni-chikai is a Berugan Champion of Ishite,” Iwata boasted for his sensei.

“Is there a reason he doesn’t call you sensei?” Akimoto asked. He found it curious that Iwata referred to him as “sensei” but Toni as “chikai,” usually a derogatory honorific in his experience.

“I just own who I am,” he said with a bold laughter. He indicated with his hand his shorter stature. “Also, the jouren around here have seen me,” he added with a chuckle and motioned toward his groin.

Akimoto couldn’t help but laugh at this. Iwata lit up for this was the first sight of genuine emotion Akimoto had shown.

“You should enter into the Subetete Tournament next week,” Toni suggested in a more serious tone. “If I work with you on more offensive techniques to score points and faster victories, I’m sure you could get a hefty prize.” It seemed this was true excitement for Toni. 

“I didn’t think they accepted Elementals. Even so, I’m not willing to amend the purpose of Sangaku Kiben for the sake of my father’s memory.”

“Come on, Akimoto-sensei,” Iwata whined.

“No, Iwata-naike. I respect the man’s decision.” He paused to think of something. “I’ll make an event of it,” he eventually concluded. “I’ll sign you up as a challenge event. Others will make bets and we’ll make a fortune.”

“I didn’t practice to make a fortune-” he began to explain.

“Neither did I. I just want to show the world a martial art that can best me,” he said and then burst out into laughter. “If that makes us rich men, then so be it!” he chuckled and firmly pat (slapped) Akimoto on the back.

Akimoto’s mind immediately went to giving to Iwata and his grandmother. He had no need for money and they would clearly benefit from it. “What do you need from me?” he asked.

“I just need to show them what we just did,” Toni said with a sly smile.

“Well, let’s get going,” Akimoto said, rising from the bench and then began to stretch as if they were going to marathon to the stadium.

“Ah hah! I like your vigor!” Toni shouted and began stretching himself.

Indeed they marathoned the several miles to the stadium. Somehow Iwata barely kept up, clearly excited for his trainer and his new friend to be showcasing their talents. The boy was clearly eager to learn. He idolized strong, but more importantly skillful, men.