#Phantom Hand

50 years ago.

"DOOOO-EI!!!" a cry sounded out in the large stadium, and even before the official judgment was announced, cheers could be heard from some of the audience.

"DO ARI!" announced the head judge as a unanimous decision was reached by all three of the Kendo judges.

At that announcement, the cheers grew even greater. After all, my opponent was from the home team, and this was the Olympic finals.

Earlier on, I managed to score a point off of him, and now that he scored one off of me, we were tied at 1:1. Meaning that whoever scores the next point would be the next Olympic gold medalist.

"Papa! Do your best!!!" amidst the cheering, a lone voice cried out in Japanese.

It was my young daughter and the apple of my eye, Hime-chan, who had a special front row seat right next to the 'ring'.

*That's right, my little angel is here to cheer me on! I can't lose!*

Although it's a pity that my wife and son couldn't make it here, I'm sure their watching from home too!

The two of us went back to our starting positions and carried on to the next round.

My opponent was huge! A full head taller than me. Scoring a Men (head) strike would be very difficult against such a tall opponent.

But that also means that they won't expect it!

"KOTEEE!!"

"MEEEEN!!!"

Our simultaneous attacks clashed and missed, my Kote (wrist) strike missed the sweet spot when he lifted his arms to strike my head, and his strike missing simply because I tilted my head to the side.

Momentum threatened to force the two of us to crash into each other, and we let it happen the way Kendoka's do, with full force and all our weight behind it.

My opponent had the upper hand in this, as his greater mass lent him more force. I had almost fallen over more than once in this match when his Taiateri (body slam?) overpowered mine, and I might actaully have fallen over this time if I tried to press forwards.

But instead, I made a short (as in height) hop backwards, the extra height making it easier to reach my intended target.

"MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

With all my strength I brought my Shinai (bamboo sword) down on his head, producing a very satisfying "Smack!" sound

"MEN ARI!!"

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Later that day.

"My Papa is the GREATEST in the WHOOOOOOOOOOLE World!!"

"That's right princess!" I said to the little angel holding my left hand, "Papa is the World Champion! Why don't we go get something to eat to celebrate!"

"PIZZA!"

It's been hours since the match ended, and between interviews and ceremonies I've yet to have a single moment alone together with my little angel.

I get tired of all the attention and just wanted some family time. Hence, I snuck us out of the place the first chance I got, and headed to a quieter part of town to have a quiet meal.

That was, perhaps, the biggest mistake of my life.

*BANG! BANG!

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I woke up the next day in a hospital. The bullet missed my heart and hit me in the arm instead, but with all the blood staining my clothes, the culprit couldn't tell and dumped me in a dumpster, left me for dead.

The police recieved reports of a gunshot that night, but couldn't find the crimescene. It was only after they found the criminal himself (none other than the silver medalist I just fought) that they found us, and by then it was morning.

The effects of an unusually grimy bullet combines with a night spent in the dumpster with an open wound resulted in a serious infection in my left arm, just underneath the shoulder.

I lost my arm that day.

But that wasn't the worst part.

After all, my little angel went up to heaven and became a real angel.

I truly believed that my life was over that day.

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40 years ago, roughly 10 years after that day.

The doctors warned me I might feel a Phantom Arm from time to time, a completely normal thing.

And I did, almost constantly.

It hurt extremly bad. Not the Phantom Arm itself.

But the small, tiny hand that grasped my own.

It almost felt like she was haunting me. Blaming me for her life that was cut unnaturally short. Blaming me that I couldn't protect her.

It was a constant reminder of that day.

And the worst part was that I welcomed the pain.

It reminded me of her, reminded me of who I used to be.

Who she used to be.

The little angel that stood by that headstrong and slightly crazy man, who was always swinging a sword. Who never had time for wife and elder son, but had timefor the young girl who watched me with eyes full of love.

I was a nobody at first, just an sword-obsessed member of a local Kendo circle. Then I got scouted, and became a somebody.

Soon enough, I stood on top of the World.

And now, I'm a nobody again.

What hurts as much as losing my little angel is that I believed I would never hold a sword again. Never stand in a ring again, never fight again.

And what hurts even more than that is that I'd never hear that bright voice, cheering for me from the sidelines.

My life felt over..

"I'm Hoooome!" I heard a voice call out from the front door.

"Welcome back!" my wife answered back from the kitchen.

It was my son. He had grown up to be a splendid young man. In a few months time, he would be graduating from the University and getting a job.

"Dad..." said my son as he stepped into my room.

"Welcome back..."

"Dad... you've got to stop doing this..." he sighed and sat in front of me, "You have got to stop sitting around and doing nothing."

I had nothing to say to that.

"What happened to the great man I knew as a kid! Just... (sigh) Sorry, I shouldn't have said that..." A short silence followed, "Listen, I know you're not one for computers or games... But.. Just try this, alright? Do it for me?"

I promised him I would.

And so I did.

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The game wasn't Royal Road, of course. Virtual Reality was still a fantasy back then. The kind of stuff people would write of in novels and movies.

This was a much older game that somehow withstood the test of time in the way some indie games do, with a small cult following.

It was a game where two players would control a ragdoll to fight each other in semi-realistic combat.

The ragdolls were inhumanly strong, yet unusually fragile. A strong enough hit in the right place could shatter your ragdoll, breaking bones or ripping off heads and limbs.

One would expect that the match would end right there and then.

But no.

Masters of the game can fight on even with an arm or leg cut off, or even with their bodies sliced in half.

It was irrational, how this game inspired me.

If it can be done in a game, what's to say it can't be done in real life?

Who's to say I can't fight on with only one arm? What's stopping me from taking over the world again?

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The answer to those questions are as follows:

"Everyone", and "No one".

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30 years ago, 10 years after I began my "rehabilitation".

I began my rehabilitation with the basics. Jogging to improve my stamina, and weight training so that I could swing a sword again.

Now, 20 years after my prime, I can confidently say that I am stronger that I've ever been.

My feet fly swifter that it ever has, and my sword strikes more more quickly than most others.

Most others, because a sword was never something that was meant to be held in one hand.

But despite my limitations, I did not give up. I had risen to the top again, and now stood almost exactly where I was.

The Olympic Kendo Finals.

In Kendo, there are no special rules to cater to the handicapped, and no special tournaments for them. There was no Kendo event in the paralympics.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

But quite frankly, I was getting tired.

This match has lasted longer than it should have and has gone into "Ippon Gachi", an overtime system similar to a "Golden Goal" in soccer, where the first person to score would win.

We made pass after pass at each other, with both side getting weaker and weaker each time, and it was obvious to the both of us that the next strike would decide the match.

My opponent was the first to move, coming in for what would be his last strike, but instead of pushing forwards like most would, I sidestepped to my right.

Normally, a kendoka would almost sidestep to the left, since it needed a smaller movement, and it was easier to counter-attack from that postion, but I was a unique case. I had hoped that catching my opponent by suprise would land me my victory.

With the quickest flick of my wrist and fingers (which seems to have become my greatest weapons), I struck swiftly towards my opponent's wrist. But my shinai missed the target, and hit the handle of my opponent's shinai instead.

Normally, this wouldn't have done much, but the combination of fatigue and suprise caused the shinai to spring out of my opponents hands. If it touched to floor before he could catch it, it would be counted as a foul and I would win the match.

Was I silly to not have wanted this? To have wanted to win by my own strength, and not by technicality or by dumb luck?

It is said, that in certain circumstances, one's perception of time would come to a standstill. Where the world around you simply seemed to slow down.

Part of me was watching the shinai fall the ground in slow motion.

But most of my concentration was on the small, tiny hand that so suddenly grasped my left hand.

: Papa! Do your best!!!:

I heard the voice of an angel, cheering for me from the heavens, and I couldn't help but do what she wanted.

With the last of my strength, I swung my sword upwards.

But what seemed like one stroke was in truth two.

The first stroke hit the opponent's shinai, flinging it high into the air, while the second smacked him in the head, creating a sound almost like a gunshot, the same sound that ended my career all thos years back.

Later, I was told that not even the high speed cameras that were present that day could properly capture the move. That all that the recordings showed was an afterimage. An eerie image of a single wing sprouting from my back.

In fact, of all the people in the stadium that day, I suspect only the well trained eyes of the judges could see what just happened, and I suspect that if it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have won in the way I did.

"M-MEN ARI!!!"

:My Papa is the GREATEST in the WHOOOOOOOOOOLE World!!:

That was the last time I felt that small, tiny hand.

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20 years ago.

The next 10 years of my life could be said to be the "true" prime of my life.

I traveled around the world, challenging anyone I could find. From martial arts masters, boxers ( not that it wasn't a kind of martial arts), to action move superstars.

It didn't matter whether we fought armed or unarmed. Didn't matter what weapon we used, or how many fought against me at a time. I brought them down with my sword, my single hand, or my own two feet.

I single-handedly challenged entire dojos and martial arts corporations, and sometimes humiliated them so badly that they had to close down.

I tried opening my own dojo, but closed it down soon after when I realized I have no passion for teaching. To this day, my sole disciple is my grand-daughter.

Ah... Yes... My grand-daughter.

For better or for worse, my son named her after his deceased little sister. And I swear, she's the splitting image of her. A reincarnation, even.

It was shortly after she was born that I opened up my dojo, and she would sit at the side and watch, just like my little angel did, and she joined the moment she was old enough to. Even after I closed the dojo I continued teaching her.

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10 years ago.

By now, you could say that I've become a "has-been". Yesterday's news. Soemone the world has almost forgotten. (Though I heard that recently a Korean man has taken over the position of "Strongest Under Heaven")

Granted, it was all my fault. After my "rampage" all those years ago, nobody dared to accept my challenges anymore, let alone challenge me themselves.

And since I could no longer find any human opponents, I turned my attention to other sources.

With all the money I made from competitions and sponsers, I invested in a company who called themselves "Unicorn", who was researching Virtual Reality.

And as their biggest investor, they agreed to (and were even extremely happy to) let me help test their new system.

In that Virtual Reality I faced many opponents. People who were impossibly fast or strong, or even both. Enemies with impossibly tough armor, or simply an impossible number of enemies.

I've fought Dragons, and Werewolves. Near Immortal enemies, and creatures that defied imagination.

So you can imagine that I wouldn't be suprised when I saw a ghost in that same Virtual Reality.

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This year, not so long ago.

Connect to Royal Road?

Yes/No?

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Author's Notes:

Hello Again so soon!

If you've been reading the recent chapters of "Trust me, I'm an Engineer", it's pretty easy to figure out who this story is about.

In truth, Toshimitsu Takamiya was a character concept I thought of a long time ago for a fanfic, which I scrapped since I didn't like the idea of an overpowered MC.

It was only after I started writing this fanfic that I suddenly thought of a way to nerf him. So who knows? Maybe after I'm done with this one, I'll start Takamiya's story.

I've been writing this side story over the past few weeks in preperation for this weekend.

As usual, any comments and criticisms are welcome!