Chapter 16

Michael’s first thought when he woke up was an annoyed curse. Then, he idly mused that Old Dave’s day must begin quite early, if the man was texting him about another job he had for him at 6 in the morning. Trying to go back to sleep and failing—even after silencing the phone—Michael finally decided that it was probably for the best if he got up instead of struggling in bed, trying to win a battle that he could not win.

Did you go on the straight and narrow? Old Dave said in the text, Mustang here misses all the strange valuables you used to bring. To think that you only brought three and you already got him addicted to the kick of having them appraised. I can’t say I don’t approve, though. You make me miss some profit, but best than having you caught and mauled by somebody’s guard dog while you swipe their house clean.

There was a laughing emoji. Michael wondered what the hell Old Dave was thinking about, before realization hit him. He thinks I’m stealing the stuff. Shit, makes sense, considering the actual explanation is rather fantastical.

The text went on.

I have another job for you. More of the same, I’m afraid. There’s some important guests arriving at the airport tomorrow, of the same sort as Carmela. You don’t need me to tell you how to act. Don’t take your dinghy shit truck this time, come to the pawn shop first and I’ll give you a real car. These aren’t the sort of people who take it in good humor like Carmela did.

There were some more instructions, which summed up were: grab the people, be respectful, go the pawn shop, grab Carmela, take them all to a meeting somewhere he had never been before, stand outside menacingly and without speaking, then after the meeting take them all to the pawn shop. They pay was… nothing short of hazard pay, for some reason, which was slightly worrying.

But then again, Michael thought, I do have superhuman abilities now. I wonder if the distortion field can handle a bullet…

He could test it. He had a whole day to do it, after all, since today was a rest day from delving. But first, he dropped down to the floor and started doing one-handed push-ups. It was after he showered and ate a hearty meal that he started considering how he could go about training his skills against guns.

Perhaps I’m overreacting a bit. I’ve always been on the anxious side.

However, he had reason to be anxious. He knew he was dealing if not with the mafia, then at least with people shady enough to be dangerous. Otherwise Old Dave wouldn’t be paying him so handsomely. There was a problem with his training plan, though. He couldn’t shoot himself and hope to materialize the distortion bubble, that would be impossible. For now, at least.

At the same time, it wasn’t like he could go to a random passer-by and ask them to shoot at him from a distance because he needed to train his reflexes.

This is a conundrum.

In the end, he came up empty. Defeated, he forced his mind to relax and not overthink too much. One step at a time, there’s no need to come up with disaster scenarios. I have trained hard, and if something goes wrong, I have my healing.

Slightly more relaxed, but still tense, he fired off a text to Sensei Stephan telling him he would skip tomorrow’s karate class, explaining that it was for work reasons.

No, that can’t do, was the reply. You need to be ready to impress Taiko when he comes here. Plus, I want to see your progress. Come to Abevill Park at 4PM. I’ll train you personally one on one.

***

“No kimono?” Sensei Stephan asked. They were in a secluded corner of the park, and Michael had come wearing comfortable shoes and a shirt, trusting that he wouldn’t need to wear the actual kimono in public.

“Sorry sensei, I thought I wouldn’t need it here.”

“Whatever,” Stephan said, a touch disappointed. “But you need to think! If you’re training, you need to wear the clothes.”

A good reminder that even thought he’s normally friendly, here he is still my sensei.

They bowed to each other, and then they began with the warm-ups. Michael had to be very careful not to accidentally activate [Distortion Field] when Stephan attacked him, which after so many battles in the dungeon was like going against his own instincts.

“You’re faster and stronger, that’s good.” Stephan said. “You’re starting to get a sort of battle sense, I can see it, and your techniques are much smoother, even though they look rougher. More effective, but much less polished. Have you been picking fights with people?”

“No sensei,” Michael said with a grunt, dodging a blow in a not very conventional way.

The sensei’s eyes narrowed as he shook his head. “Bullshit. That dodge right there, I never taught you that. You were always clunky during spars, thinking too much and only applying the techniques as they are. Scholastic, you know? You lacked experience, improvisation and intent. Now it’s all changed. You just go with the flow. That doesn’t happen overnight, not with you skipping half the classes.”

“Well—”

“That’s why I wanted to see you alone, you know.” Stephan said, increasing the speed and power of his blows. Michael struggled to keep up, even with his passive skill enhancing his reflexes. “I want to know, I won’t judge.”

“I swear I’m not picking fights with—”

The speed of the blows increased again. Michael had never seen his sensei at full power, and even now he doubted the man was really giving it all, but it was like being against a machine. He was fast, and his blows and kicks came like hammer blows, putting lawyer-guy to shame. He was vicious too, pressing Michael while still asking him questions, trapping his arms, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“You shouldn’t be able to keep up with me,” he said.

“I’m not,” Michael groaned as he pushed himself up from the floor, a quick burst of healing taking care of his budding bruises.

“You’re not, but you shouldn’t be able to stand by now, let alone keep fighting.”

After that, he took it up another notch. Michael’s focus slipped for a moment, and he saw a punch heading right for his nose. He flinched, a natural reaction to seeing a fist careening towards his face, especially since he was well aware of the power behind it, and in his lapse of focus, he was unable to restrain the natural reaction to danger.

A distortion bubble sprang into being, and sensei Stephan’s fist impacted it, before being redirected off-course with a force strong enough to snap his arm.

What followed was a tense, interminable moment of silence as the two looked at each other. Stephan’s face was contorted in pain, his eyes wide in disbelief, mind struggling to register what had happened. Then the real pain hit him thought the numbing effect of shock, and his face went red, but he didn’t scream.

In that moment, Michael knew he had fucked up. His sensei would have never hit him, instead probably stopping mere inches away from his face, but his instinctual brain didn’t know that, and had acted in the best way possible to avoid a painful head injury.

“Shit,” Stephan cursed, “what the hell was that, man?”

Michael rushed to him, even though Stephan took a reflexive step back, and Michael noticed that there was a hint of fear in his sensei’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to look reassuring, putting his hands where Stephan could see them, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I can fix it, let me fix it.”

“Fix it?” Stephan hissed, “how? What was that thing that appeared and snapped my arm?”

“Promise you won’t say anything about this to anyone.” Michael said.

“What? What do you—”

“Promise.” He repeated, letting a bit of [Presence] slip into his voice.

“What the hell?” Stephan said, and he shook off the effect almost immediately, his martial skill was nothing to scoff at. “Fine. Just how are you going to fix this, huh?” he pointed at his arm, bent at a wrong angle.

Fortunately the bone had not pierced the skin, so there was no blood, but Michael knew that his sensei had to be in a lot of pain. He himself had been forced to fight with broken bones before, so he had developed some resistance to pain, but he knew from experience that it was never fun. That his sensei could still talk and barely even flinch at the pain, his opinion of the man went up a fair bit.

“Here,” he stepped close to the man, until he was one meter away, and he designated him as an ally.

Then he activated his healing skill.

“What the—” Stephan said, the words seemingly all he could say on repeat as his arm bent itself back straight and the pain became a horrible itching sensation and then started to fade. There was some tingling, Michael knew from experience, but barely a minute later and it would be gone. Or it should have been, except that the bone was clearly still broken.

“Wait there, we are not done,” he said to the stunned man.

He went to his pack and fetched some coins to replenish his mana. In the end, it took 2 Copper plus his mana pool, which he now knew to be 12 Copper, to heal Stephan’s broken arm.

“This…” Stephan began. “You know what? I don’t know if I want to know. I mean, I do want to know, but I’m feeling so hungry I might faint right now. Is it normal?”

“Yeah,” Michael nodded, “it is. Even though it’s magic, the healing has to take the energy and materials from somewhere, right?”

“Right…” Stephan said. “Magic, huh? Well, I guess you owe me dinner now. You have a job, no? You can afford it.” He said, strangely composed. “We are done here, let’s go.”

They ate in silence for a while. Michael was not hungry, but more food meant more muscle, so he didn’t shy away from an extra meal. His sensei studied him while he ate, watching him carefully.

“You’re still you,” he said after he was done. “Nothing seems off. Well, apart from the whole magic thing. Is that why you suddenly know how to fight? You were good before, but only as far as the techniques went. In a real fight…”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway no, it’s not magic that made me good at fighting. Fighting made me good at fighting. Magic just helps a bit.”

Stephan’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not what you think,” Michael said quickly, “I do go around picking fights with people. Listen, if you want to know what’s going on, you need to swear you won’t tell anyone about this. Not even your wife or your therapist. Can you do that?”

He flexed a bit more [Presence], to make his point clear, enough that his sensei could not shake it off as easily as last time, even though the mana cost was impressive.

“Fine,” he said, clearly unhappy but willing to compromise. “As long as it’s nothing illegal. Is it illegal?” Michael shook his head. “Then I swear I won’t tell anyone. I’m too curious now, I need to know.”