underground figths.

Kei approached Master Takemoto with bloodied knuckles and a small bruise on his cheek—a fight, not typical for a kid like Kei, who usually had many accidental troubles even Takemoto found hard to resolve. The master, as usual, sat gazing at the horizon in a lotus position, his right hand resting on his knee while the left gestured, directed, or stroked his beard.

-Master Roshi, - Kei said from behind. The wise Master Roshi nodded gently, a habit of his, maintaining seriousness in Takemoto's presence.

-You've been fighting again," Roshi sighed. "Come, we need to talk. In the next phase of your training with Master Takemoto, you're in for something you might like. I hope you can forgive me, but I'm against this crude and ill-advised method that won't serve much beyond spiraling you into violence, - Roshi said.

Roshi's demeanor was clear—he advocated dialogue over violence, surviving by other means humanity has developed to avoid unnecessary fights. In this modern era guided by technology, a sharp mind was better than a weapon for facing enemies.

-I hope to please the master in every way I can, - Kei said.

-Well, the master will use you, there's no doubt about that. In six months, you'll face the Kengan matches—violent, underground fights against seasoned fighters. As a substitute for the Bakuya Newsgroup, you'll face challenges that could kill you. That's why we've prepared you with utmost fervor. You'll be fighting those positioned in the lower ranks, - Roshi said.

Roshi's words woke young Kei from his deep slumber—Kengan underground fights were a subworld above many organizations, where rank didn't matter, only the interests of businessmen who paid criminals, yakuza, fighters, and anyone willing to fight. The sense of foreboding sharpened Kei's thoughts—facing those ranked lower meant a relentless fight, a destined struggle.

-No, Master, I won't give up, - Kei said, his voice filled with determination, a hint of happiness detected by Roshi, who felt like punching the young punk.

-You'd better not. These fights will push your limits. Though not regular, each match is dangerously real—I've seen firsthand how deadly they can be, - Roshi said thoughtfully, leading Kei through the normal training circle.

-If Master Takemoto fights, and still you speak of danger, these opponents must possess formidable martial skills, - Kei said astutely, feeling the thrill, needing only relentless training to hone his techniques.

They walked to the equipment room where Kovac was stretching. He stopped when he saw Kei with Roshi.

-Kei, good to see you. We have a training session. Gear up—we've got less than 2 hours, - Kovac said.

As time passed, the weight of the equipment doubled—from 20 to 40, then 40 to 60, and now 80 kilograms spread across various loads. Kei adjusted his gear, readying himself for intense, non-stop training. - Today, we're doing a special routine. Try to keep up, - Kovac said.

The jog gradually escalated to a sprint as they headed for a 40-kilometer fast route through a forest, running to a small mountain for weighted climbing training, followed by rope jumps and various strength exercises. Over and over, without respite.

Descending the mountain after climbing and running another 40 kilometers to the destination, Kovac's Spartan pace made the exercise increasingly challenging.

-Faster, Kei, keep up. No breaks, - Kovac said, preparing to climb the mountain. Kei followed, climbing without gear was tough, but even more so with 80 kilograms tempting gravity for a painful fall. The mountain, 9 meters high, remained an arduous task hated for its taxing nature regardless of scaling distance.

Kei reached the summit and collapsed on the ground. - I almost died, - he told Kovac, who had already used a shovel on the ground to unearth their work equipment.

Kei followed again, shoveling the ground and retrieving a large metal box containing everything they needed—ropes, springs, rubber bands, and 10-kilogram weights.

They began with 100 rope repetitions, followed by 100 long jumps, then stretching with rubber bands.

Kei gradually observed Kovac following the routine without rest. Their eyes met, and Kovac's once cold, piercing black eyes now reflected warmth. Both master and sempai were as warm as Roshi, dedicated to improvement, guidance, and training driven by a noble motive to assist their comrades.

-Come on, Kei, keep going for the final stretch—downhill and the long run, - Kovac urged.

-I get it, I'm just exhausted, - Kei said, juggling with weights, an exercise meant to strengthen finger grip. A deadly exercise if not handled carefully—the smooth 10-kilogram weights had no rough edges.

-Let's go, you need to fill that hole with the shovel, - Kovac instructed calmly.

Once finished, they both nodded—the descent was grueling, more a test of will than strength. Like cold iron, heated in a furnace to 1000 degrees and hammered and molded, tough exercises taught resilience, much like fights did.

The next 40 kilometers were an excruciating ordeal, torture only masochists chasing goals could truly appreciate. The human body adapts to receive such punishment and endure, as it always does. Thus, the human body's ability to excel in this world of martial arts becomes a living testament—to fight to survive, survive to improve.

In the distance, Kei saw Roshi and Master Takemoto sitting, awaiting the arrival of the two official disciples of the Takemoto Combat Kenpo Style Dojo—a forty-year institution of martial work.

-You've arrived. Well, it's time for everyone to fulfill their duties. Kovac, you're heading to war—a group from Iran hired us for border skirmishes. The command will arrive; just go to the port. You know what to do, - Takemoto said, and Kovac simply nodded.

-As for you, young Kei, you've surprised me. Don't come to the dojo anymore. In six months, you'll start in the Kengan underground fights. Kovac has participated in six bouts and knows how tough these fights are—his record of four wins to two losses proves it, even against some less formidable opponents. You have six months to prepare. Go out, train, fight, refine your style. In four months, I'll contact you for your first Kengan fight. It's time to spread your wings and fight with your heart, - Takemoto declared.

-I will, Master, - Kei said. - However, can I take this equipment with me? - he added, pointing at the training gear.

-You can do as you please. Roshi will assist you with equipment if needed, and Kovac will return in a month. I'll be busy, - Takemoto said, rising from his seat after bidding farewell to his disciples. Kovac meditated briefly and departed swiftly to find his inner peace. The following weeks for Kovac, amid war, were anything but friendly—hot sands, ambush risks, and the specter of death haunting every place.

-Kei, my son, the master's instructions are clear. If you need my help, you can always talk to this old man. I'll be watching out for any trouble that may arise, - Roshi said.

Kei was afraid of the Kengan fights—and for Kei, Roshi's sorrowful gaze was so genuine he couldn't refuse, couldn't argue, though he wanted to tell the master his reservations. Roshi was like a leaf—thin and clean, expressing emotions like the wind, rustling through trees, moving between branches with a whisper.

...