|Some months later…|

...

-Thud!-

-Thud!-

-Thud!-

"Harder!"

"That's what your mom said..."

"What did you say...?!"

"Nothing, nothing..."

"Annoying brat, it seems like now you show your true colors..."

As I punched repeatedly the log in front of me with a pained and suffering face, the old man Tatsuo muttered a few things in discontent as he glanced at me with squinted eyes.

A few months have gone by since my training with him started. Since then, both of us somehow dropped the appearances and revealed our real selves to each other as we continued to argue with each training that he made me do.

His original facade as a kind old man who had offered me to become his disciple with a warm smile was nothing but a blatant lie... And instead of that, he was but a crazed and senile old man that seemed to be obsessed with training and becoming stronger. Often saying things like "Surpass your limits!" or "No pain no gain!" while punching a rock with a straight face.

Sometimes I wondered if I had become the disciple of an old man with dementia because of that.

Aside from that, he was also an incredibly arrogant bastard, who, aside from thinking of himself as the best martial artist ever, also thought that his fighting style was the best of all and that every other martial art was for amateurs. Often demeaning other famous styles like Karate, Judo, and many others in the process, saying that they were styles that only newbies would think of learning and that he could crush every single of them easily with his style.

Really, he often got on my nerves every time he laughed haughtily when I mentioned a martial art that I saw on the internet. His arrogance knew no bounds.

Though, as much as I hate to admit it, his arrogance was a little bit justified, though, just a little bit...

During these few months of training, I have grown a lot and at an incredible rate. One that simply couldn't be compared to the one I had when I was learning under that fake psycho teacher.

I still wasn't completely sure about how strong I was compared to other people, but I could easily feel how my movements seemed more and more fluid and fast with each day that passed.

If not for the infernal training that this old man made me go through, I would even feel grateful to him for teaching me so much.

However, the torn muscles, the peeled-off knuckles and fingers, the gruesomely broken fingernails, the heavy concussions in my head, and the verbal abuse that would come with even the slightest hesitation or groan often made any shred of gratefulness disappear immediately from my mind.

It wasn't to the point of calling it "hard" training anymore... No, I'm sure not even people in the military were treated this harshly when it came to training.

Well, maybe I exaggerated a bit there. But with this old man, who knows if that will be a truth in the future when the training becomes more difficult?

After all, I suspected that he was holding back because I was still six years old... Which in turn meant that once I became old enough, surely his training would become even more hellish than it was now.

It made me shudder to just think about it...

His training mainly consisted of several types of exercises that he made me do every day repeatedly.

Punching a very thick log with my bare fist for a few minutes straight, stabbing a pot full of sand with my hands until they started to bleed, walking down incredibly long stairs by using my hands, maintaining unholy poses for hellish amounts of time while carrying heavy objects either on my shoulders or in my head, and sparring against the violent old man who seemed completely clueless about the concept of child abuse.

Those were most of the training that he made me do during these few months, and although some of them sounded plain and not difficult, they had a hidden difficulty that would make any inexperienced guy cry in pain after trying.

The hardest of all was the one that consisted of walking down the stairs using the hands instead of the feet. It might seem simple at first, and so I had thought the first time he had told me to do it. But in reality, walking down the stairs using your hands was actually an extremely extenuating training for your whole body.

(A/N: Not in a Might Guy-like manner, but in-all-fours, and with the hands at the front. Like a dog, for example)

The old man had told me that it was because it was actually one of the few exercises that could make use of most of the body's muscles at once... And considering how tired I would end up after doing it, I don't think he was lying.

And although it may not be such a hard thing to do at first, since it wasn't a hard task to do with a body full of energy, when facing the terrifyingly long stair that the old man had selected for me to walk down, no matter how energetic you were at the beginning, you would surely end up exhausted by the time you reached the end of the stairs.

For me, every second that I passed doing that exercise felt like mental torture and made me wish at all times that it was over so that I could rest.

Besides, having the constant feeling that you would fall down the stairs if you failed to perform the exercise well certainly didn't make it any better. In fact, I fell down the stairs a few times because I lost concentration when thinking about that.

Though, fortunately, the old man always stopped my fall before my injuries and bruises turned too serious, which at some point made me numb to falling down the stairs, as I understood that the old man would stop me anyway and the worst that would happen after the fall would be a few bruises and scratches.

Though, that didn't take away how extenuating it was for my still-young body.

Now, the second hardest training, on the other hand, was annoying and difficult in a different way...

While the first one was a little bit unnerving and extremely exhausting, the second one was... Irritating and painful.

What was the training? Of course, it was sparring against the old man himself.

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And let me tell you, he barely knew the concept of holding back.

If I were to fail on even a single step while doing a movement that he had taught me, he would immediately block it and hit me instead with no reservations whatsoever. Heck, he didn't seem to care in the slightest about the fact that I was a damn child of no more than six!

After each training session, it was usual for me to have at least both of my eyes purple, or my nose bleeding severely.

It reminded me of those tales that my parents from the past life would tell me every once in a while, where their teachers would hit them with a stick if they were to make a mistake or behave incorrectly.

Though in my case it was a punch rather than a stick, and with not an ounce of holding back... And well, it also seemed to have an actual purpose behind it, rather than just imprinting pain in my mind so that I would not fail again.

No, the real purpose of hitting me after each fail, was to improve my reflexes to react better in case of possible counter-attacks... Or so the old man said.

I honestly didn't believe him that much... But well, my reflexes had indeed improved as I would sometimes block his punches whenever I failed. So, who was I to question a martial arts professional, as arrogant as he may be?

Those were the exercises that I considered the hardest among all of those that I have to do nowadays. However, that didn't mean that the others were easy either.

Stabbing a pot full of sand with my hands was just incredibly painful for my hands. It peeled off my skin, broke my nails to the point in which I wondered if they were going to fall off, and made my hands feel incredibly numb by the time each training finished. There was even a time when I thought my fingers had been broken because I was not able to move them after the training. To my relief, though, I was able to move them a few hours later...

Supposedly, it was to make each of my fingers incredibly strong and firm. So that even if I were to stab someone with them, the person would receive more damage than my fingers. However, for now, I hadn't noticed much of a change, just that the pain was slightly less because my skin had become more resistant and rough.

Probably because of callouses or something.

The old man, on the other hand, had pierced a wall of the dojo with his hand as if it had been a simple matter... Comparing that to my weak hands, which would surely break if I were to try and pierce a wall, it made me feel like I had a long way ahead.

Though, It also really made me curious about what would happen if he were to point that hand at a human being... Damn monstrous old man!

As for the training of maintaining poses while carrying heavy objects on my shoulders or head... Well, what can I say about it?

It was the typical exercise that you could see in martial arts movies of someone carrying either buckets or balancing plates on their heads or shoulders. Heck, I think even Kung-fu Panda depicted a similar exercise in the movie... Though, I might be wrong.

Needless to say, it was painful as well, but at least I had managed to improve a lot my balance thanks to the effectiveness of this training.

All in all, despite how hellish the training was being, I could vividly feel the results of it in my body!

"Alright, that's enough for now"

"-Huff...- Seriously, how is it possible that my hands end up like this every day...?"

"Stop being a sissy. That's only the proof that your hands are gonna become as hard as a rock later on"

"You say that because yours don't bleed even when you punch a rock with all of your strength..."

"All I hear are excuses. Anyway, leaving that aside... Come, it's time to elongate. The last thing I want is your parents asking me why their son suddenly got a torn muscle"

"My hands are covered in my own blood, and the only thing that worries you is that they will ask you about a torn muscle?"

"There are priorities kid. And besides, they haven't said anything about your bloodied knuckles even after these few months, right? Why would they come now of all times?"

"Hmm..."

Groaning as I followed behind the old man, I looked at my bloodied knuckles, which had their skin peeled off, and let out an exhausted sigh as I grumbled mentally.

'Of course, it's because I asked them to not do it...'

To be honest, there were a lot of times during these few months that I thought about giving up. And when I say a lot, I mean a LOT.

For someone like me, who had lived a relatively peaceful life in my previous world, and now a life of a child, experiencing something this hard was really a huge shock for my mind.

Fortunately, I managed to endure it.

... Well, more than enduring it, it would be more correct to say that I just forced myself to simply not tell my parents that I wanted to stop. That way, I was forced to keep going, and therefore, I became forced to simply accept the training and adapt to it.

It was also because of that, that I told them not to worry about my bloodied knuckles and fingers, or my bruises, or my bleeding nose.

I knew that was the only way for me to do something so foreign to me as training. After all, if I had the choice of stopping and instead just staying at home, then I'm sure that I would have chosen to do it right away.

Forcing myself to not be able to stop was the only way for me to actually continue with the training, as I was never the type to create a routine, to be honest.

Only when I'm put into a situation where I have no choice but to do what I'm required to do, is it that I'm able to put actual effort into it.

That is the type of guy I was, even if I am not too proud admitting it.

But fortunately, even with my personality, I managed to survive these months by just not allowing myself to quit.

And thanks to that, now I was already accustomed to the training!...

Ahem...To a certain extent...

"Elongate correctly brat! You are doing it all wrong!"

"How am I doing it wrong? I'm doing the same as you!"

"Move your damn arm higher, with your current pose you are barely giving your arm a slight stretch"

"Ouch, ouch, I got a cramp...!"

"Stupid brat!"

All in all, I was satisfied, even if I was still suffering from time to time thanks to this old man.

There were still a few years to come before I would have to apply for a hero school and judging from how fast I was growing, it didn't seem like becoming a hero was going to be that hard of a task.

My parents were kinda supportive of my goal as well, which somehow felt slightly weird to me, as I was not accustomed to people supporting the objective of becoming a hero.

But well, surely, I would get accustomed to it sooner or later. Humans are adaptative creatures, after all.

And I'm one hundred percent a human!

...

°

°

°

|Inside a hospital...|

...

Sitting on a pair of chairs in the middle of a corridor, two men with white coats could be seen having a conversation about various things. One of them was much more enthusiastic about their conversation than the other.

Their conversation continued like that for a few minutes, discussing various topics about what would be said to be medicine or general science. However, it was suddenly when the enthusiastic man started talking about a certain topic related to a child, that the other man's expression changed to that of interest.

"... And I tell you, it was one of the weirdest things I've seen in my career as a doctor! I mean, with Quirks nowadays, nothing is really impossible. However, considering that in this case, Quirks weren't involved with making his body so strong, it really made me wonder whether that child was human or not!"

"Hoh... Such an interesting case... You said that kid's name was Suzaku Suzuki, right?"

"Yes, and that's not all! I even did a blood test on him, and guess what? That child had a type of blood I had never seen before! It was similar to the Blood type A, but it was slightly different..."

"... Different, you say?"

"Yes, I didn't have that much time to analyze it since I was busy trying to understand the reason for his abnormally strong body, but considering the many differences that there were, despite its slight resemblance with the type A, it wouldn't be wrong to call it a new type of blood!"

"Hoh... Interesting... And how did you name it?"

"Pardon?"

"His type of blood. If it really was a new type of blood, then you would have surely given it a name, right?"

"Ah, yes. I named it Blood type ඞ. For some reason, it sounded good in my head when I thought about it..."

"... ඞ? That's a strange name there... Very curious... Anyway, that was an interesting story, Osawa-san, I hope you will tell me more interesting stories the next time, but it seems I must leave now"

"Uh, ah. Okay, it was a pleasure meeting such a prominent figure as you... Dr. Ujiko"

"Hmm... it was very pleasant for me as well..."

Saying that with a smile on his face, the short and bald figure of one of the men stood up from his chair and began walking away as a shadow was cast on his face.

And as he did so, he muttered something with a weird smile creeping up his face.

"... Very pleasant indeed..."

...

-To be continued-

°°°

(A/N: I made the training based on how Shaolin Monks train... Those guys are real try-hards when it comes to training...

As for the Suzaku's blood type revelation... I don't really know that much about those topics, that's why I gave a vague explanation. I just thought it would be funny if his Blood-type was ඞ instead of a normal one

Also)

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