Looking up, the starry sky greets me. White stars decorate the black expanse. I have always liked the stars. Billions of light particles consistently travel the beyond. The light is proof of the unlimited persistence in nature to make a journey through the end.

In a sense, starlight is like myself; it cannot give up so long as it can see the path.

My master calls this persistence of mine “stubbornness”, but who cares what the old guy thinks.

The cresent moon doesn't reflect enough light, so I can't see much of surroundings. But I know I am in a clearing. I can feel the lush green grass tickling my back, the humid soil cooling my heated body.

Somewhere nearby, master meditates. His breathing is calm and steady, his white hair probably shines under the moonlight, and he sense the flow of energy in this world, mine included.

I am a noble. I have money and prestige, and as the only son, it's only inevitable that I am the heir. Back home, there was nothing I couldn't buy, nothing I couldn't eat. However, I gave all this luxury up and followed my master, all in an attempt to become strong enough.

The results? We don't talk about that here.

“Can you teach me how to sense energy today?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Of course, master hates wasting words on me. Throughout our month-long journey, he spoke little and succinctly. The content is mostly philosophical nonsense that could either mean many thing or nothing.

I noticed that he spoke less and less as I grasped the routine of what needed to be done. As if he wanted me to adapt to his silence, and I actually did so he didn't stop. That's when I realized that my master is an antisocial loner with low batteries capacity.

Too bad for him. Today I will be as persistent as the starlight particle.

“Can you teach me how to sense energy today?” I repeat my question again. And again.

And again.

When I say it for the hundredth time, I stop, ready to start my second hundred.

Master opens his mouth to speak, “You resemble your father.”

That's it, but it causes me to hesitate. However, my mouth betrays me and I already start asking that question over and over.

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After the 87th time, I stop. My throat is parched and I cough several time as my master watches over me with the patience of a saint. “The resemblance isn't fate, but destiny.”

I try to understand, I really do. I'm not used to failing like that. Even if I know master is speaking in the subjective way of his own knowledge and logic, I try to analyze his words.

Several answers come to mind, none that fit perfectly. At this point, I am not even sure how much he understands. I could be overthinking things, or maybe not enough? How much does he understand about me and my father's rocky relationship?

My head is spinning from all these questions, so I stop thinking about it and distract myself. I practice moving my body like a normal person.

...

Like a said before, we don't talk about results here.

----------------------------------------

I sleep for about five hours, then practice moving my body for another hour.

My lack of success doesn't discourage me, but I end the session for now. Rising on my two feet, the energy inside me - mana - burns as I try to energize my body a bit.

I tried to make it soft, but the flame is amplified and takes a big chunk of my mana. This suffices as breakfast, and the stream of pain is just a bonus. I empty my canteen, letting cold water pass over my dried lips directly into my throat.

Master emerges from behind the trees, his expression different from usual, softer. I still can't believe someone who taught my dad 20 years ago looks himself as if he in his forties. The only proof of his advanced age is his long white hair and a skinny body.

“I think it's time for a proper conversation,” master sits down, crossing his legs.

I sit on the opposite side, and obediently listen. My bet is either gut wrenching serious stuff or casual nonsense.

“Give me a minute.”

I nod.

“We have been on this excursion for a month now,” he begins. “You have been behaving fine, Percival. I've seen better, but also worse. And now I believe there is nothing left for me to teach you. As such, you'll be returning now. I shall escort you home.”

I listen until the end, waiting for the minutes to pass. Exactly 60 seconds later, my response is already set.

“What sort of bullshit is this? You said you will train me, make me stronger. There is a lot to learn from you; I haven't even scratched the surface!”

Up until now, the only thing I trained at was moving my body like a normal person - without much success, if I might add.

I have modified my nerves, and I became able to give delayed commands to my muscles at any time I set starting from 1 second, as many actions as I would like. That ability, coupled with incredible prediction skill, made me formidable, faster than anyone else. It is something classified as a Superhuman Technique: the height of martial art.

Unfortunately, I fucked up, losing the ability to move normally, and that brought a lot of troubles to my life.

Now, on the way to make a recovery, he tells me I am going back?

Without my technique, I am nothing but a cripple, paralyzed in all the voluntary muscles. I am an even greater loser than before I created it.

“The knoweldge you've absorbed thus far is sufficient.”

“What knoweldge?” I retort, angry at how calm he sounds, how calm I sound.

“What you've seen is enough. What you train to achieve is everything you need from me. More.. will just confuse, stray you from the correct path.”

“Tell me,” I say, ignoring the predictable result, “tell me what I need to do to stay.”

For a moment, he pauses, contemplating, the he speaks, “Nothing.”

I swear, I'm gonna kick this old man's ass one day.