NOVEL WEB No Samurai 3
Maki, for how reticent she was about our ‘date’, was a pleasant hang after all. She cringed every time we met someone she knew, embarrassed to be seen hanging off my arm, but in the tight, noisy confines of Little Tokyo’s alleys, it did make sense for her to lead by touch through the crowds. I also envied the fact that unlike when I walked through Chinatown, people here were respectful enough not to inquire about the specific nature of our relationship. Had these been my home streets, multiple aunties would have already interrogated both her and I about when and how we met, if we were dating or not, what our plans were, if we wanted anything to eat or drink, and why we didn’t want anything to eat or drink.
“What’s the plan for the exorcism, by the way?”
She shook her head. “At dinner. I’ll show you on a map.”
The yakuza were all over, but they blended in well. It was only because I knew what to look for and my ability to spot a fellow fighter that I noticed them. They lingered in twos and threes at every intersection, smoking cigarettes and talking quietly among themselves. Each time we passed by a group, at least one made a point of making eye contact with me. There was no enmity in the gazes, but they wanted me to be sure that my presence had been noted.
Street cats leapt from awning to awning overhead and used the neon signage like little walkways. You could just barely keep yourself dry by stepping hurriedly between covered sections, and the alleys were narrow enough that they kept us free from the wind chill.
“Kitto Katsu!” I said, holding up a stack of imported green tea KitKats. I’d made Maki stop at the first store I saw with them behind the counter. “We’ll crack these open after we’re victorious. Mind putting them in your purse?”
She rolled her eyes but obliged. “You didn’t mention you knew Japanese when we spoke on the phone. If you had, I think I would have been able to come up with something better than this ridiculous flirting plan.”
“That’s because I didn’t speak it then. I learned the language in preparation for tonight. Not bad, right? I don’t know if I’ll keep it up though. My pride wants me to achieve full native proficiency, but that’s a waste of time realistically.”
I could tell she wasn’t buying it, her face carved into skepticism from cold marble. “Be serious. Do you take me for a fool?”
“What? People kicking each other through steel is believable, but me getting to ‘pretty good’ in Japanese over the weekend is unthinkable? I already speak Chinese, it’s not exactly crazy.”
“You’re more than pretty good. There are American-born Japanese here who would be jealous of your ability. The accent can be atrocious at times, but it’s never too much to be unrecognizable.”
“Atrocious, huh? You better be careful, Maki.” I wagged my finger at her. “You might fuck around and have to eat your words. I’m not above reaching native proficiency out of spite.”
“You really expect me to believe you learned Japanese in three days? How, theoretically, did you achieve that?”
I smirked, not bothering to hide the fact I was lying. Maki was clearly too Insightful to bother trying with over white lies; I was only risking giving away my tells before a hypothetical scenario where I genuinely needed to deceive her. But it was fun to annoy the pretty Miko. The way her hair escaped from behind her ears and partially obscured her irritated glances as she frowned up at me was, dare I say, cute.
“I memorized the 4000 most common words and looked up some basic grammar rules online. Then I watched a few movies to double-check I had it right.”
She let out a tired sigh of disapproval, which made my heart go, as her people would say, doki doki. “Fine, keep your secrets. Shall we go to Ito Square? There are usually some street performances to watch.”
Ito Square was one of the city’s modern marvels. The square itself had been around since the 60’s when the city had demolished a decrepit tenement building and replaced it with flat concrete, but only recently had it been somewhere worth visiting. Investors from Japan had come in, backed in their dump trucks full of money, and gone wild. It was also the reason that Little Tokyo was so crowded on rainy days.
A network of overlapping rollout roofs covered the square completely, all designed in a way to redirect the rainfall into the square’s elaborate central fountain. On a sunny day, they appeared to be ordinary, if particularly wide and tall lampposts, but when it rained, they were a rainbow spiderweb of reinforced canvas and LED lights. Ito Square was the pride of Black Harbor and could be found in every brochure and ad campaign for the city, posters of people’s faces lit by soft lighting staring up in awe in every airport. It was so nice in fact, that no one in city politics seemed particularly bothered that all that foreign money had firmly entrenched the Yakuza in Little Tokyo. That was New Jersey for you.
It was banging tonight. They hadn’t even needed to run the outdoor heating; the body heat of so many hundreds underneath the canvas enough to keep us comfortable. The smell of the dozen or so restaurants and bar kitchens mixed together to make an intoxicating atmosphere. Joy echoed from canvas roof to stone tile, the laughter and conversation of hundreds of revelers, and the clashing sounds of street musicians making for a timeless symphony. Here the humans of Black Harbor came together to forget their individual worries and anxieties and form a single, amiable crowd.
My stomach rumbled at the sight of a food stand. Maybe if I filled Maki up prior to sushi I could save a little money.
“Yakitori?”
She gave me an unimpressed look. “Already thinking about the dinner bill, hm?”
“Phwah! You wound me. I’ll have you know I’m far too reckless with my money to have even considered that.”
“Finally, a plausible lie. I was beginning to think you thought I was stupid. I’ll play along. We should space out our energy intake for the night, anyway.”
I didn’t disagree on the premise, but, “‘Energy Intake’? What are you, an android?”
I got us a pair of chicken skewers and we began to circle through the crowded space. Ito Square was big enough to support multiple musicians and street bands. I watched Maki’s face for any indication, a hint, of interest in the acts. The closest she got was a sense of longing when watching a four-piece string band do orchestral covers of pop songs. Frowning, she unconsciously rubbed the tips of her fingers while watching the cellist.
“Used to play? Must have been pretty serious to develop calluses. They’re long gone, huh? Don’t worry, callusing your hands in the same spot again always hurts less than the time before.”
My question startled the woman, who’d been lost in thought. I got a rare, impressed expression from her, but she didn’t answer, tugging on my arm to keep moving after an extended silence.
I spotted a small group of people in familiar uniforms surrounded by a dense crowd and moved us towards the spectacle.
“Oh shit,” I said as we got closer, “I know these guys. Hadiman Silat.”
Hadiman Silat was a traditional Indonesian martial arts school not far outside Little Tokyo. I’d never had a chance to really socialize with any of the students, but ‘Pak’ Hadiman, its master, was big in the charity scene. Anytime multiple schools in Black Harbor came together to raise money for some disaster relief or other humanitarian cause, you could be sure you’d see Pak amongst its organizers.
The crowd formed a circle around the Silat practitioners. In its center was one of their senior students, Henry something I think, in the traditional garb for Caci, Indonesian whip fighting, wearing the horned helmet, the beaded sarong, small shield, and had opted for the longer fuck-off, giant rattan whip that made the sport so interesting. His opponent was an out of shape man in a button-up, obviously here straight from work. A slightly tipsy group of businesspeople cheered him on as he used a shorter, more manageable whip to try and land a hit against the defending Henry. The businessman had clearly been given the shorter whip so that he didn’t accidentally nail someone in the crowd with his wild swings. Soft foam balls had been tied to the ends of the whips, but the body of the rope would still sting or even cut if it landed wrong.
“Hell yes, I love Caci.” I leaned over to Maki to explain. “In olden times, the aim of this sport was to use the knot at the end of the rattan whip to take one of your opponent’s eyes. It was used to settle disputes. Isn’t that awesome?”
“That’s barbaric.”
Watching Henry catch one of his opponent’s better attempts by tangling their ropes together and misdirecting the offending whip to the side made me want to slap myself. I had an immediate epiphany – if you could even call it that. It was more like I’d suddenly realized that I’d been wearing my shirt inside-out and backwards all day, and only after several job interviews. Since my spar with Kas, I had been scratching my head over how I could possibly utilize my style in one-versus-one combat without an active environment to engage with. Meanwhile the answer was literally tied around my waist.
Once the man grew too tired to keep up his assault, Henry flicked his wrist and mercifully smacked his opponent’s forehead with the foam ball at the end of his whip. The ball had been soaked in dye and left a faint red mark behind. The crowd cheered and the sweating businessman handed his shield and whip back.
“Heeey, give it up for John!” called out Henry. “That was a good workout, right? And look how he’s smiling. I promise you, there’s no more fun way to get in shape in the city than at Hadiman Silat Gym!”
“Who’s next! Any man who can land a hit on me wins a fifty dollar gift card to Tamaki Grill! You have nothing to lose but your pride. It’s completely free! No one’s done it yet! Who’s going to be first?”
I turned to Maki wide-eyed and opened my mouth, but she anticipated my question with a sigh. “Yes, James, Tamaki has sushi.”
“Be right back!”
I leapt from standing over the crowd, doing a front flip and landing in the middle of the circle. There was a suitably amazed series of gasps from the onlookers.
“Dibs,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to risk getting in line behind a surprise ribbon gymnastics team and lose my chance. Those girls were pretty slender; they could all be hiding amongst this crowd and I’d never have noticed.
“James Li?”
“What’s up, man? Been a minute. We did that earthquake relief thing in March, right?”
“Uh, shouldn’t you be in a hospital or something?” he asked, wincing in a manner that told me he’d seen at least one of my recent fights on the internet.
“Why? I’ve only had friendly spars lately.”
Henry shook his head, torn between being annoyed that I was interfering in their school’s demonstration, and excited at a chance to test himself. Before he could speak again though, Pak Hadiman came forward laughing and shaking his head.
As a showman, I instantly recognized the shorter man’s smile. The little master wanted to put on a performance for the crowd, and I was happy to oblige.
“Now, now, Master Li,” said Pak, projecting his voice for the audience, “this is a little beneath you, isn’t it?”
“Listen, Pak,” I said, pointing at him brashly, “you can’t wave fifty dollars of sushi in front of me and not expect me to bite. I’m the sort of man who agrees to pay for dinner without thinking about how much he has in his bank account. That’s my martial Dao!”
Pak threw his head back and laughed. “I heard your mother recognized you as the rightful Master of your own Art. Is this how Black Harbor’s newest Master comports himself?”
Ha! Hadiman was a sucker for charity, wasn’t he? He was kind for giving me a chance to advertise my new style after crashing his school’s event unannounced. I would make sure to repay the favor. Though if I had to guess, the old man was probably going to give me a soft ball of a request, like asking me to give a few seminars at his Silat gym – something I would have gladly done anyway.
“Yeah, that’s right! One of the tenets of my new Black City Kung Fu is never turning down a free meal! By the way,” I turned to the gathered crowd, “we are also currently recruiting students. We particularly need responsible and reliable sorts of people. Currently Black City Kung Fu is entirely comprised of reckless maniacs! Many of you will likely die during training, but hear me! I can definitely promise that there’s a chance that some of you might not!”
The crowd laughed and a few even clapped lightly, clearly picking up on the act that Hadiman and I were doing. Of course I wasn’t going to recruit anyone out from underneath him, even if someone did approach me. I’d only added the line to make the Silat gym more approachable.
“Oho, you are as of this city as ever, my young friend! But surely James, you must agree it would hardly be sporting for the Master of Black City Kung Fu to stand against my student, senior and skilled though he may be. Please allow me to step in. I cannot call myself a master of Caci, but I think I at least could challenge you.”
I waved at Henry dismissively. “Of course, of course, I’m not going to bully the man. Suit up, Pak.”
Henry for his part was beaming as he handed off his gear to his Master, as were the rest of Hadiman Silat. If there’s one universal truth among every student at every martial arts school, it’s that getting a chance to see your Master cut loose was always so, so hype.
“In fact, Master Hadiman, if you would oblige me, I have a suggestion to make this even more interesting.”
Pak looked up as he tied the wicker horned helmet under his chin. “By all means, please.”
“I’m sure you didn’t come here with only one gift card. I propose that you put up two cards in exchange for me not using one of your shields!”
He bounced on his heels a bit and chuckled, as if aghast at my arrogance. “Put up two cards in exchange for guaranteeing I lose none? Ha! I would be a fool to decline. Very well, Master Li! You’ll have no shield! Out of my sense of fairness, I’ll allow you to pick which whip you’d prefer to use.”
I laughed as though he’d fallen for my trap. “Pah! Your arrogance does you no justice, Pak Hadiman. I’ll raise you again – for three,” I held up my fingers dramatically, “I’ll use neither your shield nor your whip.”
There was a flash, less than a second of genuine, unrestrained battle aura. It was enough that those closest to the tiny Indonesian man took a half step back without thinking, pure animal instinct driving them away before their brains could even comprehend why. I smiled broader. Earlier I’d had an epiphany, and it was time to bet on its validity.
“You are truly your mother’s son, James Li. Again, I’d be a fool to disagree. I won’t hold you to the strict rules of the sport, but expect no mercy beyond that. We’ll play to three points. One for the body, two for the head. Though I don’t know how you expect to win without a weapon.”
I unzipped my windbreaker and threw it to Maki, who was momentarily embarrassed by the mixture of jealous and interested looks that got her. “Worry about yourself.” I gave a quick bow. “Whenever you’re ready, Pak.”
Pak began to lazily draw circles with his whip as he shook off his shoulders and limbered up. “Normally only one person may attack or defend during Caci,” he said for the benefit of the audience, “but this is for the purpose of a friendly exhibition, so we won’t concern ourselves with that.”
“I also don’t have a weapon to attack with,” I added.
“Somehow, James, I doubt that.”
The end of Pak’s whip was beginning to reach a speed where it was all but impossible to follow with the human eye. I watched his hands and the rattan handle instead. He took a quick sharp exhale, his core going rigid, and snapped the whip directly towards my face.
It shouldn’t have reached, but Pak’s pinky finger twitched slightly as he extended the rope, loosening the threads enough for it to just make contact. That would have tricked most half-decent fighters, who would naturally be keenly aware of their opponent’s reach, and without Style Maker, it might have fooled me as well.
I slipped my head to the right at the last instant and then rolled under Pak’s follow-up attempt to clip the back of my head as he retracted his weapon. Pak and I shared a quick grin at the gasps we’d elicited around us.
“Didn’t know you played guitar, Pak,” I said, casually stretching out my wrists as I waited for his next move. The feat Pak had used to extend the rope of his whip had a peculiar set of prerequisite Skills.
“Ho. You have your family’s eagle eyes. Shall I test them?”
Pak brought the hand holding his shield to the base of the rattan and began to rapidly tap and vibrate the weapon while he continued circling the whip, the circles now making an umbrella-like shape over and around his head and shoulders. It took a bit for Pak to nail the technique, and I could tell that it had been a long while since he’d used it, but soon enough the entirety of the rope whip was invisible, even to my trained eyes. I could still somewhat predict the movements based on the handle, but I was sure Pak had more tricks coming.
I moved into a defensive stance, crunching inwards with my hands out and ready to parry. My weight was balanced equally across both of my feet so that I could move without telegraphing it to Pak.
“Ready yourself!”
I didn’t respond, my focus split between watching the five-foot-tall Silat master and on gathering my Qi into my heel.
As soon as Pak shifted his weight towards offense, I stomped my left heel down onto the paved tiles of Ito Square. Ito was well maintained and regularly cleaned but tens of thousands of dirty shoes had tromped through today, giving me more than enough dirt to work with. My telekinesis puffed up all that dust into a cloud between us, not so dense as to obscure the crowd’s vision, but enough that the whip’s movements left swirls and gaps in it.
Thus began our dance. Pak’s whip was a storm of lashes and I the leaf caught in the whirlwind. An ‘Attack’ in the system’s terms didn’t have to be a single physical strike, but was more a representation of an offensive moment in the course of the fight. Never had that been more obvious to me than now. The end of Pak’s whip nearly intersected with my skull almost a dozen times in a handful of seconds. Similarly, my ‘Defense’ roll was represented by multiple dodges and parries, the back of my hands stinging as I batted away the rope again and again. In terms of rolls, we had two exchanges, but in reality, I must have avoided over thirty attacks in the course of ten seconds.
The much smaller man had me on the backfoot, chasing me with his quick, short half-steps. I could tell that Pak was deliberately trying to corral me with his aggressive footwork, but unfortunately for him, the dust cloud was beginning to spread outwards due to the fanning from the whip before he could realize his plan. He retracted the weapon and gave me a micro-nod to let me know that I could safely do something about it before the crowd started coughing and blinking dirt out of their eyes. I pulled the misty air out from the layer between two canvas rollout roofs and forced the dusty air to clear out.
There was a round of applause as we paused. Pak shook off his hand and pretended to be breathing hard to cover for me as my focus was elsewhere.
“That was a clever trick, Master Li. I thought for certain that I’d land a point. Lucky for you, I don’t think my wrist is conditioned to keep using that particular technique for any longer.”
I couldn’t tell if Pak was being sincere, or if he didn’t want to use his invisible whip attacks after asking me to clear the cloud I’d used to counter them. Despite what he’d said about no mercy, I wouldn’t put the latter past him. Pak Hadiman was a gentleman through and through.
“You should give your wife a break, Pak. A married man’s wrists will never compete with a bachelor’s.” I made a jerk off motion to really get the euphemism across. It also served to show off to our audience how red and battered the back of my hand was. There was a mixture of groans and giggles from the audience. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw Maki facepalm.
“Hahahaha! You rascal! If that gets back to my wife, I really won’t forgive you, James!”
The Indonesian master switched his grip on his weapon and grimaced a bit. Oof, I caught sight of his wrist behind the shield for a moment as he did, and that shade of red was no joke. It must have been a decade plus since he’d trained Caci seriously for his wrist to have so lost the conditioning. As I understood it, the sport was more of a novelty for the Silat gym, their way of preserving and sharing Indonesian culture more than anything else.
Pak took a series of deep, slow breaths as he circulated his Qi. Like when I was in the shrine, I couldn’t instinctively sense the power rising in him, but my Style Maker enhanced eyes could make out all the micromovements, the shifting of his veins and tendons in his neck, and the slight changes in his stance that indicated what was happening. I wasn’t alone in noticing either. Henry and two of the other senior students that had come with Pak to this demonstration began to practically vibrate with excitement at what was about to happen next. More interestingly, I saw Maki in my peripheral completely shift her attention to the older man.
“Still, I think you may be right,” he said. “My wrists aren’t what they were thirty years ago. I’ll need to take a more deliberate approach. Let’s see, I haven’t practiced this in a long time…”
The end of the whip began to bounce up and down as Pak began to rhythmically shake the whip. Back and forth, up and down, with each jerk of the rattan handle the rope started to extend and twitch. Pencak Silat involved the use of percussion and other musical instruments in its drills and training methods, but this was the first time I’d seen it extend to an actual martial technique. Pak kept the beat by striking his heel against the ground and drumming his fingers against the handle of the weapon.
Soon the rope of the whip was more than twice as long as before, and more than just the end was making sharp, swift changes in direction. It started with a 90-degree angle in the center of the rope, and then two, then four, then more and sharper angles started to appear. Once the whip resembled the shape of crackling lightning, Pak started to twist the base in half circles, keeping the beat by switching the direction of the circle like the end of the metronome. He began to draw elaborate three-dimensional geometric shapes and patterns around him and in the space between us.
I whistled as I finally got to see the full scope of the technique I was up against. It required a very small amount of Qi to work, but the finesse was superhuman, which was remarkable for a Major feat. Pak’s battle aura began to escape him as his focus shifted entirely onto maintaining the technique. He must have been consciously holding back his excitement thus far. The circle around us widened as our audience moved as one to give us more room, even as they, like me, were riveted by the sight.
It was time to end this match quickly if I wanted to win. This stance feat of his was giving him five extra Dice with his whip in exchange for reducing his mobility to almost nothing. That made it virtually useless in a real fight, but dominant in the sport of Caci. Without feats that would let me convert extra Successes on Defense rolls into different actions, I had no way of knowing the exact amount that Pak had rolled when attacking. But I had gotten four Successes the first time I’d defended and eight the second, and both times I’d been dangerously close to giving up a point.
Pak gave me a subtle look to let me know I’d have to take care of the talking for this next part. He wouldn’t be able to take more than a few steps while keeping this up, let alone speak. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Impressive ribbon dance, old man! I didn’t realize this match had a half-time show.” I put both of my hands behind my head in a sign of absolute confidence and yawned, preparing my next move by making a Read. “I’m too hungry to stay interested though. Mind if we get back to it?”
He grunted through gritted teeth and twisted his hips. Like a serpent made of living lightning, the whip lashed out at me, its movements erratic and unpredictable.
Unpredictable for most, at least – I had made the safe assumption that with my hands above my head, Pak would make the reasonable move of striking my unprotected body. At about two-thirds of the way between us, the whip went low as though it was trying to tangle up my ankles, clearly his way of preventing me from blocking the body blow with a kick. I obliged the obvious misdirection and hopped my feet back a foot while leaning forward, looking for all the world as though I’d been surprised.
As the foam ball at the end of the whip shot straight up, aiming for my gut, though, I played out my Read. My telekinesis held my shirt in place. With my hands already over my head, it was easy for me to slip out of the shirt as I rolled backwards out of the way. I could see a flash of confusion on Pak’s face as the whip struck the shirt as though there was a body behind it. In his moment of hesitation, I used some very rudimentary telekinesis to tangle the cloth up amongst the rope.
Pak was forced to withdraw the whip to untangle it from my shirt. He made sure to hold the rattan in front of his face, clearly anticipating some kind of treachery, but that combined with my shirt flying back at him partially blinded the man. In that opening, I untied the sash that my mother had given me from around my waist and struck out, tagging him on the solar plexus with the tip.
I grabbed my shirt out of the air as I retracted my sash. While I didn’t have the feats or finesse to do this manually, I was able to replicate the effect and give the appearance of skill with my Telekinesis. The end of my sash spun around the shirt, tying it into a ball not dissimilar from the foam at the end of Pak’s rattan whip.
Pak rubbed his chest with a wince, dropping his stance for a moment to catch his breath and speak. “Yowch! That stings. You snapped that like a towel in the locker room, you hooligan! What an embarrassing way to lose a point.”
When I had first used my sash during my fight with Kuze I had done it out of desperation, and forgotten about it afterwards. It had been a long first full day in this reality. I had worn it tonight partially because the Producers had made the silk “almost indestructible”, and I’d thought it might be useful for knife defense. But, really, it had been for my own morale. If I were to die tonight, I wanted to do it with my mother’s gift tied around my waist.
“With that point, you’ve already lost! Do you know how much a good sushi dinner for two costs? Not to mention that I’ll want to try some sake. For the health of my wallet, I’ll be ending this now.”
I took two spinning, leaping steps forward, torquing my waist with all my strength, and slammed the end of the sash down onto Pak before he could start up his stance again. What the little master had been doing with his whip had required grace and dexterity built from decades of practice. This was pure thuggery.
Pak managed to raise his shield and block but the little knot of balled up cloth and silk shattered the mostly decorative wicker and twine as it ricocheted off. Broken pieces blasted off, dusting the nearest audience members.
The old man tossed the destroyed shield behind him and laughed. His battle aura was raging now. Our crowd had grown quite large, stolen away from nearby performances and food cart lines by the excited gasps and cheers of their peers. Children watched from atop their parents’ shoulders, and some industrious teens had shimmied up the closest lampposts to get better views. All at once, they held their breaths.
“Incredible! You’ve taken your family’s art to its vicious finale and beyond!” His expression grew more serious, though still amicable. “You reflect the soul of this city, James Li. Long have I lived here and never seen it so clearly. Your Black City style truly embraces the laughing brutality of its namesake.”
“I’m the city’s finest son, Pak. But don’t forget, I’m incredibly fickle too. Go on, get back into your stance.”
As the old man began his dance again, I prepared my next Read. It was an easy guess; we’d been broadcasting our intentions to each other up until this very moment. This was one part Caci duel, one part performance, and one part our way of catching up with each other. Pak would be going for the finish, all three points in one strike. He would try to ricochet from body to head, or head to body, I was sure of it. I bet my entire dice pool on the Read. If I was wrong, I would lose in a suitably comical way, and if I was right then he stood no chance.
All I had to do was ensure Pak went for head to body. As his whip sparked towards me, I tucked my chin and held my sash taught, using it to parry everything going for the body. I presented the opening, lifting my chin for a fraction of a second as I backed up, counting on the veteran master to seize upon it. Had he been attacking normally and testing my defenses, he may have second guessed, but I had called it correctly.
Once the foam end of Pak’s whip appeared in front of my face, I reversed course and headbutted it as hard as I possibly could, unleashing the full force of my tactile telekinesis upon the ball. Because of my successful Read and Lance Pressure, the feat I’d bought when sparring Kas, that meant I rolled my Aura + Martial Arts pool twice.
In the space between seconds, twenty-eight Dice clattered in my mind. Fifteen Successes triumphed over Pak’s formidable defense with six extra Successes. I didn’t want to actually hurt the man, nor did I want to embarrass him by knocking him down, so I put three towards the called shot on his head, and the last three towards disarming him.
The little ball struck my forehead and then vanished from human perception as it blasted at Pak like a cannon. You could hear and see the wake as it broke the sound barrier, kicked up the dirt on the ground and shook the canvas roofs overhead. It hit Pak cleanly on his head, but ricocheted up immediately, the sudden counter tension on the whip causing the bound rattan handle to splinter and break in two parts.
Pak reacted quickly, catching the broken whip as it flew out of his hands before it could wing off into the crowd. He stopped and looked at the ruined rattan wide-eyed. I savored a few seconds of satisfaction at eliciting real surprise from the old timer.
“Ha! Three points to two, Pak! That’s my win,” I said, slinging my sash over my shoulder and putting my hands on my hips. Beads of red dye ran down both our foreheads.
[Hidden Quest Complete!]
Defeat ‘Pak’ Hadiman in a game of Caci.
Reward: 20XP, +1 Martial Arts
[Hidden Quest Complete!]
Put on a live performance.
Reward: 5XP, Gain Minor feat Rope and Chain Combat
[Recurring Quest Discovered]
You can receive unique rewards every time you put on a successful live performance.
[Minor Feat]
Rope and Chain Combat – Your mind and body have learned to account for the wild trajectories of rope and chain weapons in the heat of battle. Add 1 Die to your rolls when attacking or defending with weapons that can be swung in this manner.
Pak beamed. “A-amazing! Absolutely amazing! Henry, take this and the shield, we’ll hang them up in a place of prominence. You have a bright future ahead, James. I’m excited to see where you take your new style.”
He began clapping, signaling the rest of the crowd to join in.
I bowed to him and held my arms up to quell the cheers. “Hang on, everyone!” I scratched the back of my head. “I doooo, kind of, feel bad for breaking Hadiman Silat’s whip in the middle of their demonstration though. If you all wouldn’t mind, I’d really appreciate it if you would schedule a class with them before you go! How much does the first class cost, Pak?”
“The entire first week is free, actually!”
“What? That’s crazy! I charge extra for my first class, you know? What if they don’t come back? Well, you people would be fools not to take that deal! What are you waiting for?”
It took me almost ten minutes to extract myself from the buzzing crowd. Pak did in fact extract a promise to teach a seminar at his gym next week, though he was trying to pay me for it, as if I’d let that happen. Evidently, his students were fans of mine and Annie’s new videos, and Pak, being the thoughtful instructor he was, made sure to leverage his social pressure into getting them pictures with me. That started a bit of a rush as more people from the audience asked for pictures as well. I thought the fervor was a bit much until I remembered that my shirt was still off.
Maki was as mirthless as ever once we finally got away, but was less stiff and appeared somewhat more assured.
“What did you think?” I asked, pulling my wrinkled shirt on.
She opened and closed her mouth. “I…I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for offering to help me. I must confess, I thought your confidence was born of naivety, but I was clearly mistaken. Please, forgive—"
Maki tried to do a formal bow but her forehead slapped into my palm before it could move an inch.
“Ah, come on, don’t worry about it. I bullied you into this, remember? Besides,” I fanned out the three gift cards I’d won, “all I want to hear from you right now are the directions to Tamaki Grill.”