The stone steps leading up the mountain were ancient, uneven, and seemingly endless.
They cut directly through the dense bamboo forests of City Z’s highest peaks, winding upward into the thick morning mist.
For a normal human, the climb was an agonizing test of cardiovascular endurance.
It was designed to break the will of half-hearted applicants before they even caught sight of the dojo gates.
For Ren, it was a light stroll.
With a Power Level of 61, his stamina was monstrous.
He could have sprinted up the thousands of steps in a matter of minutes without breaking a sweat.
But he knew better than to reveal his true physical capacity.
If Bang was watching from above, bounding up the mountain like a superhuman would raise too many questions.
So, Ren forced himself to play the part.
He deliberately dragged his feet.
He took heavy, labored breaths.
He allowed the humidity to coat his face in a layer of convincing sweat.
By the time he reached the massive, wooden archway marking the entrance to the dojo courtyard, he looked exactly like an exhausted, desperate C-Class hero.
He stepped through the gates, his sneakers crunching against the perfectly raked white gravel.
The courtyard was massive, surrounded by traditional wooden training halls and serene koi ponds.
But it was completely, hauntingly empty.
There were no students practicing their forms.
There were no shouts of exertion.
The only sound was the gentle hollow clack of a bamboo water feature tipping into a stone basin.
“The rumors were true,” Ren murmured, keeping his voice low.
Garou had already come and gone.
The Hero Hunter had violently beaten every single disciple in this dojo, forcing the rest to flee in terror.
“It is considered rude to trespass on private property, young man.”
The voice was calm, raspy, and carried an undeniable weight.
Ren turned sharply.
Sitting on the wooden veranda of the main hall, holding a steaming cup of green tea, was an old man.
He wore a simple, dark martial arts gi.
His back was slightly hunched, his face heavily lined with age, and his spiky white hair was tied back.
Bang.
Silver Fang.
S-Class Rank 3.
To the naked eye, he looked like a frail retiree.
But Ren didn’t rely on the naked eye.
He focused his vision, demanding the system to read the combat value of the grandmaster sitting twenty feet away.
The digital overlay flickered to life.
The scanner initiated its calculation protocol, attempting to quantify the density of the old man’s muscles and the dormant kinetic energy resting within his frame.
Instantly, the entire visual feed violently glitched.
A blinding red error warning flashed directly into Ren’s optic nerves, accompanied by a sharp, piercing migraine that felt like a needle driving into his skull.
[Silver Fang – Power Level: ERROR]
[THREAT LEVEL: INCALCULABLE]
Ren gasped, instantly shutting his eyes and rubbing his temples to clear the blinding red static from his vision.
He had expected the scanner to simply show question marks, just as it had with Fubuki and the A-Class heroes.
But this was different.
The system hadn’t just failed to read Bang; it had violently rejected the attempt.
The sheer density of technique and condensed power resting within the old man was so completely beyond Ren’s current capacity that his biological scanner had essentially short-circuited.
“Are you quite alright?” Bang asked, taking a slow sip of his tea.
“You look as though you’ve stared directly into the sun.”
Ren quickly composed himself, taking a deep breath and dropping into a rigid, respectful bow.
“I apologize for the intrusion, Master Bang,” Ren said loudly, keeping his head bowed.
“My name is Ren.
I am a C-Class hero from the local branch.
I have climbed this mountain to request entry into your dojo.
I wish to learn the Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist.”
Bang let out a long, weary sigh.
He set his teacup down on the wooden planks beside him.
“The dojo is closed, Ren-kun,” Bang replied, his voice laced with a heavy, unspoken sorrow.
“I am no longer accepting disciples.
The martial arts path is a dangerous one, and I have found that my teachings…
tend to lead young men astray.
Go back down the mountain.
Chase purse snatchers.
Live a long, boring life.”
Ren didn’t move.
He kept his back perfectly straight, his eyes locked on the gravel.
“I cannot do that, sir,” Ren said, his tone entirely serious.
“The world is getting darker.
The monsters in the Abandoned Zone are getting stronger.
Raw strength is not enough to survive what is coming.
I need discipline.
I need to learn how to control my own power, or I will die.”
Bang looked at him quietly.
The old man’s piercing blue eyes swept over Ren’s frame.
He noted the cheap gray Association jacket, the heavy combat boots, and the dense, tightly coiled muscle hidden beneath the fabric.
“You do not possess the posture of a martial artist,” Bang noted astutely.
“Your shoulders are stiff.
Your center of gravity is wild.
You fight like a brawler, do you not?
You trade blows and rely on your durability to outlast your opponent.”
Ren felt a chill run down his spine.
Bang had perfectly diagnosed his entire fighting style without ever seeing him throw a punch.
“Yes, Master,” Ren admitted freely.
“I have no technique.
I only know how to hit hard.”
Bang slowly stood up from the veranda.
He didn’t drop into a fighting stance.
He simply walked down the wooden steps and stepped onto the white gravel, stopping five feet in front of Ren with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Words are wind,” Bang said softly.
“If you truly believe you need my teachings, then show me your desperation.
Strike me.”
Ren looked up, his eyes widening slightly.
“Master Bang, I wouldn’t dare—”
“I said strike me,” Bang interrupted, his voice dropping into a register that commanded absolute, unquestionable obedience.
“Do not hold back, rookie.
Hit me with the intent to kill.”
Ren swallowed hard.
He knew exactly who he was facing, but he also knew that if he held back, Bang would see through him instantly.
He had to show the S-Class master that he possessed genuine, dangerous potential.
Ren shifted his stance.
He didn’t use the spark.
He didn’t call upon his Ki.
He simply grounded his boots, twisted his hips, and unleashed the full, unadulterated physical output of his 61-point Power Level.
He threw a straight right cross aimed directly at Bang’s chest, a punch that had shattered the armored carapace of a Titan-Scarab just hours prior.
The air cracked like a whip as his fist blurred forward.
Bang didn’t dodge.
As Ren’s fist closed within an inch of the old man’s chest, Bang’s hands moved.
It wasn’t a block.
It was a fluid, mesmerizing blur of pale blue motion.
Bang’s palm gently brushed against the outside of Ren’s forearm.
In that microsecond, the entire kinetic force of Ren’s 61-point strike was hijacked.
Ren felt his momentum violently shift.
Instead of striking forward, the energy was perfectly redirected, pulling Ren entirely off balance.
Before Ren could even process the parry, Bang’s other hand guided the redirected energy downward in a sweeping, circular motion.
Ren’s feet left the gravel completely.
He was flipped through the air with effortless precision, the very force of his own devastating punch used to throw him.
He slammed back-first into the courtyard with a heavy thud, kicking up a massive cloud of white dust.
Ren lay there, staring up at the morning sky, completely breathless.
He wasn’t injured.
His Saiyan durability easily absorbed the impact with the ground.
But his pride was completely shattered.
He had put everything he had into that punch, and the old man had swatted it away as easily as redirecting a gentle stream of water.
Bang stood exactly where he had been, his hands once again clasped behind his back.
He looked down at Ren, his eyes narrowing slightly in mild surprise.
“Fascinating,” Bang murmured.
“Any other C-Class hero would have shattered their own arm from the torque of that redirection.
Your bone density is extraordinary.
But you move like a falling rock.
Predictable.
Heavy.
You try to force the world to bend to your strength.”
Ren groaned, rolling onto his side and slowly pushing himself up to his knees.
He dusted off his jacket, looking up at the grandmaster with eyes burning with fierce determination.
“That is why I am here, Master,” Ren wheezed, catching his breath.
“Teach me how to be water.”
Bang stared at him in silence for a long, heavy moment.
The old man looked at the empty courtyard, the abandoned training halls, and the hollow legacy he was currently sitting on.
“I will not teach you the Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist,” Bang said firmly.
Ren’s heart sank.
“However,” Bang continued, turning his back and walking slowly toward the veranda.
“The dojo has grown quite dusty since my previous disciples departed.
The floors need sweeping.
The wood needs chopping.
The water needs to be carried from the river at the base of the mountain.”
Ren blinked, the realization slowly washing over him.
It was the absolute, classic foundation building.
“You will not receive a uniform,” Bang said, picking his teacup back up.
“You will not receive lessons.
But if you wish to remain on this mountain and maintain the grounds…
I will not turn you away.
If you watch closely enough while you clean, perhaps you will learn how to stand properly.”
Ren immediately dropped his forehead to the gravel, an immense wave of relief crashing over him.
“Thank you, Master Bang!” Ren shouted loudly.
“I will not let you down!”
“Start with the southern hall,” Bang grunted, taking a sip of his tea.
“And quiet down.
You are disturbing the koi.”
Ren stood up, a genuine smile breaking across his face.
He didn’t care that he was being relegated to a janitor.
He had successfully embedded himself in the presence of an S-Class grandmaster.
The physical brawling in the Ghost Town had built his body.
Now, sweeping the floors of the Silver Fang dojo was going to build his mind.
The path to mastering Ki, and the path to preparing for the Dominator of the Universe, had officially begun.