The sun was slowly rising over the horizon, casting its golden glow across the land.  Or rather, it would have, if a thick blanket of damp fog hadn’t obscured it.  Then again, that’s a common occurrence within the mountain valley.  If you could consider three hills and a depression to be a mountain valley.

Still, even though the sun had just risen, it doesn’t mean that everything is silent and peaceful.  Far from it, actually.  Situated within the area surprisingly enough called Ark Valley, two dozen log cabins are spaced evenly along the two sides of a flat area comprised of smooth concrete.  Upon that concrete slab are nearly a hundred and twenty kids ranging from the ages of twelve to eighteen.

Each of these brats are holding a wooden sword, swinging it downward from over their heads to just above the navel, only to pull it back up again.  Each downward motion comes with its own ‘Aaah!’ Of effort, before it repeats in an endless cycle that cuts through the cool morning air and the damp mist.  The fact that every kid is standing in twelve rows of ten each only adds to the classic dojo-like feel of the place.

Or rather it would, if it wasn’t for the large concrete and glass building at the front end of the training ground.  A very modern school building that looks totally out of place in the otherwise idyllic setting.  Or the mixed-and-matched attire of the kids, which range from shorts to t-shirts to skin-tight exercise clothes.  In both the male and female variety.

While the vast majority of the kids are going through the various stances under the watchful glaring eyes of various older instructors, out in front is a brightly marked circular sparring ring.  Within that ring is an old man wearing a martial arts style robe that’s tightly sashed across his stomach.  Across from the old man is a fifteen-sixteen year old youth.

That youth is me.  And this has been my morning routine all summer long.  Just like always I’m wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a tank top that leave my arms bare.  In my hands is another one of those wooden swords.  Except mine is longer and heavier than usual, looking almost like a baton than a sword.  The reason for that is the heavy foam padding that had been glued onto that.

Now, you might be wondering why I’m up front and center, facing a guy with at least a dozen years of experience on me, right?  The answer to that is simple.  He’s the only one who cares to face me.

You see, this place called the Ark Valley Summer School is a mixed martial arts training school.  It’s in the middle of nowhere in eastern Tennessee, USA.  In a way, it is a dojo in all but name.  It’s also used as a summer school for misfit youths.  Or troublemakers and juvenile delinquents.

I, however, am none of those things.  I’m here because I wanted to be.  I thought it would be fun to see just what the place had to offer.  Sadly, while the instruction was quite nice, the overall level was… well, let’s just say it was weaker than I had expected.  Then again, I thought the same thing about the JROTC camp I went to last summer.

So after having sparring matches with each of the instructors over the last few weeks, the only guy who’d dare to take me on is the old man in front of me.  I mean that quite literally, by the way.  I knocked the bugo helmet off the Kendo instructor, and disarmed the Iaido instructor.  I even wrestled the Judo instructor and tossed him out of the ring.

The old man though is a whole different breed.  He’s a decently skilled practitioner of Chinese Kenpo, which is more to say he practices a wide range of different martial arts.  He’s actually fairly skilled at moving from one to another in a fluid way.  Which is a far cry from the others who’ve only studied a single type.

The old man, also known as Instructor Tai, is also the Principle of this place.  He’s also the one who’s suffered the most.  Yet he still comes back for more, like a true battle junky.

Now then, the reason why my practice sword had been padded is because even with the blunt blade, I still tend to leave injuries.  The Iaido instructor, Mr. Klent, still has his wrist in a brace from our last bout.  At least he was good natured about it, and said it gave him the chance to practice with his off-hand.

The few students who sparred with me when the summer first started weren’t so lucky.  Which is why I’ve only been allowed to spar with the instructors since then.  Not that I’m complaining.  It’s actually quite enjoyable to be pitted with someone with some skill.  The others are just a bore, to be honest.

“Ready!  Fight!” (Instructor #1)

Another instructor is watching our spar as a referee, and at his words I quickly settle into a stance.  My left leg is forward half a step, with my foot turned inward.  My right leg is partially bent, while the heel is raised about a quarter of an inch off the ground.  I hold my training sword upward and to the left, instead of over my head.

Instructor Tai though doesn’t settle into any one stance.  Instead, he’s bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet before making a rush right at me.  This causes the wide sleeves of his robe to flutter in the wind, interrupting my line of sight of his hands.  It’s a common tactic that makes me narrow my eyes as I focus on him.  The baggy clothing keeps me from focusing on where his arms and hands are, so I have to rely on watching his center of gravity and his shoulders to estimate where his attack will come from.

The first one comes from my right as he appears right in front of me, with his center of gravity low to the ground in order to give him extra balance.  I don’t even bother to blink as I move my sword to intercept his sword-hand as it slashes out toward me.  The block works, and I manage to deflect the blow downward and to the side.  However his other hand comes up with a knuckle-punch toward my stomach.

My right leg slides to the lift, giving me a half-spin as I let go of my sword with my left hand, catching the punch with my palm.  I feel a tingle go up my wrist from the force of it, but Instructor Tai takes two quick steps back and pulls some distance between us.  From that it’s my turn as I lead with my left leg and step toward him while twisting my sword around in a stabbing blow for his chest.

It’s in this manner that we fight back and forth across the circular ring.  After the first few minutes the other students are given the chance to rest and watch, while the instructors do the same while chatting about it.  About halfway through Instructor Tai manages to disarm me, but just like him I quickly move to using my arms and my legs to fight back as we flash close enough to touch each others bodies while trading blows with my hands, wrists, elbows, knees and legs.

It’s like this almost every time, cause the old man refuses to stick with a single style of combat.  I cannot say it doesn’t excite me though, given I tend to be the same way.  Weapons have their place, but it just feels so much better to use my own body to fight with.  I’ve always been that way.

Still, it does eventually come to an end.  In this case that comes about cause I manage to grab his arm when he throws out a punch for my chest, and I twist my waist while jerking him forward, only to give him a nearly picture-perfect judo throw that tosses him out of the ring and onto his ass.  No one is surprised, although the other students do go up in cheers.  The other instructors just grin to themselves wryly.

It isn’t every day that a sixteen year old can toss a well-known martial artist around as if he were a sandbag after all.  The fact that they’ve all experienced it doesn’t help matters.  Sadly, at least for me, it’s coming to an end today.

“Oi.  Kyle, couldn’t you go easier on an old man like me?”  (Instructor Tai)

The old man complains every time, but I just shake it off as I do a set of stretches before rubbing my arms.  They’re partially numb after all the exertion and blocks I did with them.  I come away from these bouts with bruises of my own, so I cannot claim it isn’t entirely painless for me.

“Hah.  And give up my last chance to toss you around, old man?  Not likely.”  (Kyle)

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I keep my reply snippy, and even throw in a smirk for good measure as the crowd around us gets a good laugh.  Many of them are not innately bad kids, they just come from bad circumstances.  So a place like this is generally hell for them until they get used to it.  And unlike me, they have to suffer through another four weeks of it before the summer ends.

“Yeah yeah.  I have to say though, you’re a complete monster, brat.  Now come help this old man up.”  (Instructor Tai)

I chuckle to myself as I move toward him, reaching down to grab his outstretched arm.  Then in the next moment I twist my hips again, and this time sling him over my back even as his other hand snapped up to grab me by the shoulder.  Hah!  He actually thought he pull a fast one on me.

The fact that he lands face-first onto the ground causes several gasps, and even more laughter.  Even the other instructors get a snicker out of it, which they hide quickly as the old man comes up red in the face and flustered.  I just turn around and arch a brow at him.

“Ugh!  Fine!  You got me, brat.  I just wanted to see you eat the dirt at least once before you left.”  (Instructor Tai)

At least the old man is honest about it, even though he seems to want to spew bile and fire.  After a few moments though the old man calms down and blows out a breath, dusting himself off before rubbing his face.  I didn’t throw him hard enough to leave anything besides a few scratches on him though.

The training here at least did one good thing for me, and that is with the control of my strength.  I know longer break the swords and other training weapons, nor bones.  My only lament is how fragile everyone else is though.  Even with Instructor Tai, I don’t get the chance to get a good workout.

Then again, no one can have everything, right?

Still, I straighten up and given him a proper cupped fist and a bow, which he quickly returns as a salute.  Neither of us have to say anything, cause we can each see the unease in each other's eyes.  Especially for Instructor Tai, who is a battle maniac.  I do believe that he was born in the wrong time period here.

“Come on, Kyle.  I have something to give you before you leave.”  (Instructor Tai)

I just nod and follow after him, while behind the other instructors start to holler like drill sergeants putting the rest of the students back into place.  They’ll continue to practice like this until 8 A.M. sharp, when they’ll break out for breakfast and their first classes.  After lunch at noon they’ll go back for physical training, then have another set of classes and a final round of practice and sparring this evening before dinner then bed.

Even though I was exempt because of the fact I was a volunteer student here, I still followed through with most of the regime.  The only main difference was the fact that all of my classes were online instead of the standard middle school and high school fare.  That kind of happens when you aren’t even in high school to begin with.

Instructor Tai quickly leads me into his office within the school building, but doesn’t invite me to sit down.  Instead, he moves behind his desk and pulls out a key which he uses to unlock one of the drawers.  From it he pulls out a rather nice mahogany wood box.  He looks at it with a slight smile before placing it on the front of his desk.

“Go ahead kid.  Take a look.”  (Instructor Tai)

He doesn’t have to tell me twice as I step forward and then unlatch the box, opening it up.  Inside of it I see an engraved pin resting in the red satin cushions.  The pin is a flat oval, probably made out of aluminum or the like, and yet it has a glossy coating.  Two red letters are also set into it, A.V.  Only after a moment do I recognize what it is.

I’ve seen the exact same pins on the various uniforms of the other instructors.  Outside of the letters, there aren’t any other artistic designs.  Just plain simplicity.

“These are usually given only to the Instructors, but occasionally we get a good student that we pass one onto as well at the end of their stay.  Just a little honorary thing.”  (Instructor Tai)

He almost seems a bit embarrassed, but I chuckle and take it out of the box, holding it in my hand.  It is surprisingly heavy, so what I thought was aluminum turns out to be something like stainless steel or chromium.  Probably the former, instead of the latter.

“It’ll be a good reminder of my time here.  Thank you, Instructor Tai.”  (Kyle)

I speak simply, but I actually feel myself smiling as I set the pin back into the box and clasp it shut again.   The old man is starting to get misty eyed, and I cannot help but let out a breath.  My time here had been fun, which is the best I can say.

The rest of my life is already calling, so there’s no helping it.  Still, the old man cannot help but shake his head before sighing.

“Such a waste too.  With your latent you would have rocked the world of martial arts in only a few years.  Your family business though…”  (Instructor Tai)

The old man just had to bring it which, causing me to flinch a little.  I end up waving it off though.  There’s no use for trying to get out of it.

“Don’t worry about it, old man.  Also, thanks for not drawing attention to my name.  It’s bad enough elsewhere.  This was supposed to be my vacation.”  (Kyle)

I cannot help but give a wry grin as I imagine what returning to the outside world is going to be like.  It is not something I’m looking forward to.  Still, there’s no helping it.  None of us control who or where be are born to, right?

I end up saying a few more words to the instructor before I take my leave.  I return to my cabin alone, where I’d spent the last four weeks with a roommate.  My stuff is already packed though, all neatly stored in a single camping duffle bag.  I store the box with my Ark Valley momento in it before slinging it over my shoulder.

From there, I get to walk to the exit myself.  Along the way I watch the other students go about their practice, while every now and again I wave back to the instructors that spot me.  Out here in the middle of nowhere, the air is crisp and clean, and I take deep breaths as I store my memories of this place as deeply into my mind as I can.

All good things come to an end though, and the same is said for my stay here.  Soon enough I hit the gravel path that leads toward the only nearby road, which is beyond the Ark Valley School gate.  There’s only a handful of parking spaces there, but as I near I can see a vehicle taking space of several of them.

I cannot help but roll my eyes.  Of course they had to send a limo.  Probably my dad’s idea.

As I neared a neatly dressed man comes out and bows in my direction before moving to open the rear door.  I don’t recognize him, so he must be from a local company.  Not that it matters.  No one would dare say no anyway.

“Young Master Blaze, if you would.  Your flight leaves in four hours from Nashville International Airport.”  (Driver)

Okay, so I cannot completely hide the flinch, but I manage to conceal the grimace on my face as I nod and thank the driver.  Slipping into the limo and onto the rear leather seat, I sigh as I toss the bag onto the seat across from me.  It’s time to go home.

Or rather, this life’s home.  Kyle Blaze, the prodigal son of Blaze Industries International, Inc.  Also known as BI3.  Ugh.  I can feel the headache starting already.

You see, this was supposed to be my vacation life.  I just didn’t expect to be reincarnated into a world where people dream of being reincarnated into others.  And I especially didn’t expect to be born into a family such as mine.

I’m pretty sure people would call this ‘Reverse Reincarnation’, which is basically the only amusing thing I can think of about my situation.  I guess I better consider this a working vacation.  At least those pesky gods are nowhere to be found.  Which I am very thankful for.