Hardcore Exorcist: Reborn to Grind

Starting that day, I began taking my cohort-mates on as disciples. Sparring, drilling, passing on what I knew.

“Come at me head-on. Hit hard—right here. This is your opening. Strike, break balance, grapple—your choice.”

“Yow—owowowow!”

I trained myself while teaching them. Two birds, one stone.

“Hah… hah… what the hell is this?”

“A Binding Clutch technique. Submission hold, basically.”

“Joint locks, huh. Might work on people, but Demons? Those things are tanks. They’ll just shake you off.”

“Is that right? You sure about that?”

My master taught it to me. That means it works. Simple as that.

“We’ve been fighting Demons all over the place for our Ninth-Class tests. We know what sticks and what doesn’t.”

“Yeah. Ikaku’s a beast, but he’s never been outside the estate~”

They’re getting a bit cocky.

“No offense, Ikaku, but if I go all-in on body enhancement, I think I could break this hold.”

I have one of them in a joint lock—arm behind his back, elbow and shoulder pinned. 

Any normal human would be out of options. But mana users aren’t normal.

“Interesting. Go ahead and try it then,” I say.

“Don’t mind if I do!”

He surges with mana. Skin pulls tight, veins popping.

He said he could hit 200% enhancement. That’s the kind of jump where a guy with 40 kg grip strength hits 80, or someone who benches 60 pushes 120.

Probably not that linear, but still. I figure he’s blown past human limits.

“You got this! Go for it!”

“Time to show him what real experience looks like! Teach that flower-in-the-greenhouse a lesson!”

“RAAAGHH! Hah… hah…”

After a while of thrashing my cohort-mate runs out of gas.

I maintained the lock the whole time.

“Hah… hah… okay, I give. Uncle. Let go, will you?”

“Two hundred percent still wasn’t enough, huh. The human frame gives me all the leverage, so I guess this is how it goes.”

Not gonna lie, I was sweating a little.

Good thing it worked.

“Hey, actually though...”

“What?”

“Never mind the technique… Ikaku, your arm strength is kinda nuts.”

“Still going on about that? This is a Binding Clutch—a legitimate technique for neutralization. It’s not about my arm strength or anything like that.”

“Hmm…”

“You don’t look convinced.”

“You’ve got power too. Let’s arm wrestle.”

We head to the dorm cafeteria and square off.

“Don’t throw the match to make a point.”

“We going neutral?”

“Hell no. I’m going 200%.”

“Then it’s no contest. Did you forget I can’t use mana?”

There’s no way I can win with pure output against body enhancement.

“It’s gotta be the same setup as earlier. Come on, Ikaku.”

“I shall serve as referee, lads. Ready... go!”

They don’t even wait.

My opponent powers up.

I’m afraid my elbow might snap, but he doesn’t rush. Just slowly dials in the pressure, testing me.

I match him, gradually applying force.

“Guh! Ngh...”

His face scrunches up like a pickled plum. Red, twitching.

I still got gas in the tank.

Feeling like I might actually win, I press harder.

Could be a fake-out, though. Maybe he’s playing weak just to humiliate me later. That’d be annoying.

So I stay cool and keep the pressure steady, like I don’t give a damn.

Bit by bit, his hand drops.

Finally, it hits the table.

He collapses, panting and soaked in sweat.

“Can I say what I’m thinking?”

“Hah, hah, hah... what?”

“You’re weak. All that enhancement, and this is it? You’re just a regular dude.”

“Excuse me? You’re just freakishly strong.”

“How’s that even happen? You hiding some kinda trick, Ikaku?”

“Nope. Nothing really.”

I arm-wrestle the other two next with same results.

Maybe if your base conditioning sucks, all the enhancement in the world doesn’t mean much. Or maybe my body’s just built different.

I don’t have the answers… but I do know enough to revise their training plans.

* * *

Five Years Since Training Began

* * *

It’s a warm spring day. Birds chirping sharp and loud.

Back of the Akai estate, West Wing, there’s a prefab shack and a tool shed.

It’s just me and Master here, face to face.

My shirt’s soaked and heavy. Fists red, cheek bruised.

I’m tired—but I don’t let it show.

My master comes from a Systema background—Russian martial arts focused on relaxation. He teaches me how to breathe.

Proper breathing doesn’t move your chest. It moves your back. You shift the direction of lung expansion, so from the front, you look still.

It matters. People are easiest to hit when they’re exhaling. Less oxygen, less core pressure, no pain-dampening or shock-absorbing breaths.

I learn to hide my breathing. Learn to read others.

But against Master, I’m just clueless.

His breath is like a blank wall. No tells. No windows.

“Hff!”

He comes in. Two short steps, close and fast.

But I see it—his right fist coming in. Do I go in or out?

I go out.

He thrusts. I meet it with the edge of my hand, chopping the outer bicep.

He keeps pressing in. I flow with it, snake-like, my touch sliding from shoulder to wrist to forearm to elbow.

There’s an opening. I counter with a Rising Elbow.

My elbow snapped into his chest—or so I thought.

He caught me. Saw through it.

My breath hitches. My foot’s hooked. This is bad.

But it’s too late.

Sky flips and my spine breaks form.

I get slammed down, head bouncing.

Vision blurs as I see a Seismic Kick descending. A lethal attack.

I curl and roll aside.

The kick lands behind me. The shockwave whooshes past.

Then—my collar’s yanked. I’m tossed up like I weigh nothing.

In that second of hang time, I’m utterly defenseless.

I want feet on the ground. Anything to stabilize.

But he doesn’t give me that.

“Hfff—Hah!”

I force a quick breath.

It’s the perfect timing for a Surge strike.

Then his fist slams into my ribs.

I brace for pain as I’m slammed into the wall.

I’m downed. But I climb back up in a flash.

My master remains in his finishing stance, eyes wide.

“…Magnificent Force Redirection.”

“Cough cough. Thanks.”

Force Redirection’s fundamentally a receiving art.

Most Force comes from inside. Force Redirection is about redirecting your opponent’s force. It’s all about rotation and axis—your spine, your pillar.

He hit my side, just within Force Redirection range. Any deeper on my centerline and I’d have taken the full hit.

“You’ve taken ten clean hits.”

“Cough cough. I lose.”

We decide to rest on this pleasant day.

There's a cherry tree growing behind the West Wing, so we sit side by side to admire it while settling down.

Master is having rice balls.

I down protein and chicken breast.

“You’re an Expert now, Ikaku.”

“…Huh?”

He says it like nothing.

“I had about 30% Mana Ascension going, yet you landed eight hits. Adapted like hell. You’re my equal now.”

“That’s a stretch… but I’ll take it.”

Still sitting, I turn to face him.

With my right hand in a fist and left hand open, I give a respectful bow.

It’s the classic martial arts salute.