The blue light from the desktop cast long shadows across the cramped bedroom as the self-defense video played.
It was a refreshing change of pace.
Unlike Mr.
Gee’s impossible balancing acts that left him stumbling, these moves felt instinctive; more natural.
Aaron found a rare sense of rhythm, his limbs mimicking the onscreen instructor’s fluid stretches, sharp swipes, and low kicks with surprising ease.
For a moment, the quiet hum of the room was replaced by the satisfying whoosh of his movements cutting through the air.
However, the mood shifted when the instructor called for a training partner to demonstrate a series of joint locks.
Aaron’s momentum stalled.
He stood alone in the center of the room, his shadow the only thing mirroring his stance.
His mind immediately went to his best friend, Leo Certus, the only person he truly trusted, but Leo was miles away.
He lived across the social divide of town in a neighborhood where someone like Aaron would be met with cold stares or worse.
The remaining options were not options as far as he was concerned.
Asking Simon was out of the question—the mere thought of a physical confrontation, even for practice, felt like inviting trouble—and his little sister was far too small to be used as a human prop for high-impact tosses.
Though he tried to convince himself to find a partner, the reality of his crippling shyness took hold.
The idea of approaching a stranger at a gym or school to ask for help felt more dangerous than any physical threat the video could prepare him for.
His stomach churned at the imaginary dialogue, the potential rejection feeling heavier than the physical exhaustion of the workout.
He was getting better at the moves, but the greatest hurdle wasn’t the technique—it was the isolation.
He’d decided that finding a sparring partner was a headache for another day; the social anxiety of asking, combined with his desire to keep what he was doing a secret meant, for now, it was just him and the virtual instructor.
Instead, he concentrated on the solo sections of the video, repeating the same motion—a hip sweep the instructor called ‘harai-goshi’ —over and over, aiming for perfection in his body mechanics rather than power.
He told himself he would look for a new video tomorrow—one featuring only solo drills.
For now, he was content to keep his movements fluid and precise, ignoring the aches in his legs and torso.
The repetition was almost meditative, allowing him to focus on the technical details of the technique, such as the proper grip and body position, that often got overlooked in a crowded, high-speed class. This story is hosted at NovelPing.
As the video looped for the final time before calling it a night, he made a mental note to create an itinerary of sorts that would allow him time to fit the videos into his daily routine.
***
As Aaron laid in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, the silence was broken not by a sound, but by a heavy voice echoing within his mind—Rykker.
“Mr.
Gee’s form is exemplary, Aaron.
A rare discipline in this chaotic world,” Rykker’s voice echoed in his consciousness, cold and precise.
“However…” The presence shifted, and Aaron felt the General mentally reviewing the sparring session from earlier.
“Your movements are abhorrent.
Simply dreadful.”
“I’m trying, Rykker,” Aaron complained, feeling the sting of the critique.
“I just can’t find the right balance.
My mom took me to see a doctor once and he said that I have a coordination disorder called dyspraxia.
Basically, I was born without balance; I’m clumsy.”
“It is not balance you lack, but flow,” Rykker retorted.
“You are fighting against your own body, treating it like a shackled prisoner rather than a flowing river.
You fight what is natural; you are struggling against the current, boy.
To flow is to let your inner essence and your muscles move without resistance.
If you do not change your mindset, you will burn out before the real battle even begins.”
***
Aaron woke up before his alarm went off, the silence of the early morning broken only by the sound of his own breathing—a sharp, eager contrast to the usual lazy, dragged-out mornings.
He was excited to start a new day, his mind already running through the, albeit clumsy, routine he had practiced the night before.
Training with the videos, despite his frequent stumbles and subsequent bruises blooming on his knees and ankles, was invigorating; it was a physical battle he was finally willing to fight. Read this novel at novelping . com for the best experience.
Even though he had only performed one workout session, his limbs felt heavier and stronger somehow, buzzing with a quiet, new energy.
He started his normal, boring routine early, but the atmosphere felt charged.
He took a hot shower, letting the water soothe the dull ache in his muscles, before putting on his stiff school uniform, which felt the same as always.
He brushed his hair, staring intently in the mirror, searching for any sign—a tightened jaw, a lifted shoulder—of the change he felt inside.
He was, outwardly, the same.
The same gangly arms, the same spindly legs, and absolutely no progress in the abs, which remained as flat as a board.
Sighing, he stepped away from the mirror, but he was unbothered by the lack of physical change.
He understood now that the changes were internal, a mental strengthening.
Emotionally, he felt a flicker of hope he hadn’t known before, a sense of purpose that made him feel lighter, the school day ahead less daunting.
It felt good, no, more than good, it felt great!
The morning light barely kissed the kitchen window, but Aaron was already in full swing, a blur of motion navigating the narrow space in the kitchen.
The air was thick with the scent of caramelized sugar and rich vanilla, a stark contrast to the usual dull morning smell of eggs and spam.
He moved with a practiced, joyful rhythm, humming a soft tune while flipping a golden-brown pancake high into the air.
Between flips, he swiped a damp cloth across the formica countertops—usually cluttered with last night’s dishes—leaving them nearly gleaming and spotless.
The sink was empty, the faucet shining, and the floors were swept.
Simon trudged into the kitchen, his eyes heavy and his hair a chaotic mess, expecting the typical morning scramble.
He froze in the doorway, his hand still gripping the doorframe.
The sight before him felt like a glitch in the matrix: breakfast wasn’t just in progress; it was plated on the wooden table, surrounded by an orderly, clean space.
Aaron turned, offering a brilliant, unapologetic grin.
Simon squinted, his eyebrows furrowing together in utter confusion, trying to compute the unfamiliar, organized, and cheerful scene.
“What the hell?” Simon thought, looking from the pristine counters to the steaming stack of vanilla pancakes, questioning if he was still dreaming.