The air in the Grand Plaza of Obelus crackled with anticipation. On the raised dais, bathed in the warm glow of the midday sun, stood Kenzo. His name, a whisper of ancient times, felt heavy and significant today, his eighteenth birthday. This was the day every inhabitant of Obelus received their Skill, a unique ability that would shape their adult life.
The High Priest, a venerable man with eyes that held the wisdom of generations, held aloft a shimmering crystal. As he chanted the ancient words, the crystal pulsed, and a name echoed through the plaza, a name that made the collective breath of the crowd hitch.
“Kenzo,” the High Priest announced, his voice resonating with awe, “your Skill is… Limitless.”
A wave of joyous murmurs rippled through the assembled people. Kenzo’s parents beamed, tears welling in their eyes. His childhood friends clapped him on the back, their faces alight with pride and excitement. His teachers exchanged knowing glances, already envisioning the potential of such a gift.
But the joy was quickly overshadowed by a different kind of attention. Influential figures, clad in rich silks and adorned with intricate jewelry, began to push their way through the crowd, their eyes fixed on Kenzo. A wealthy merchant offered him a partnership, promising untold riches. A renowned scholar spoke of the unparalleled knowledge Kenzo could acquire under his tutelage.
And then there were the bolder ones, their intentions far more sinister. A heavily armed man, flanked by grim-faced guards, stepped forward. “Boy,” he sneered, his voice thick with arrogance, “with a Skill like yours, you’d be a fool not to serve me. Think of the power we could wield together.” Others echoed similar sentiments, their words dripping with avarice and a blatant disregard for Kenzo's autonomy.
Kenzo, though flattered by the initial praise, felt a growing unease. The intensity of their attention, the blatant attempts to control his future, felt suffocating. He offered polite refusals to every proposition, his voice calm but firm. He explained that he needed time, time to understand his Skill, to explore its depths in his own way.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of polite evasion, Kenzo managed to slip away from the throng. He found refuge in the quiet solitude of the ancient training grounds on the outskirts of the city, a place usually bustling with aspiring warriors but deserted at this hour.
He stood in the center of the dusty arena, the setting sun casting long shadows around him. Limitless. The word echoed in his mind. What could he truly do? He had always been fascinated by the fluid movements and precise strikes of the martial artists who occasionally demonstrated their skills in the plaza. He had never formally trained, but he had watched, captivated.
Closing his eyes, Kenzo focused. He recalled every demonstration, every explanation of stance, every intricate sequence of movement. He envisioned the textbooks he had seen in the library, filled with diagrams and descriptions of various martial arts.
He focused on Aikido, drawn to its emphasis on redirection and harmony. He mentally studied the Shihōnage, the four-direction throw, visualizing the precise angle of the wrist lock, the pivot of the hips, the controlled fall of the opponent. He moved on to the Irimi Nage, the entering throw, focusing on the swift entry, the guiding hand, the powerful downward spiral. Then the complex wrist twist of the Kotegaeshi, and the subtle pressure points of the Sankyo.
Opening his eyes, Kenzo felt a surge of understanding. The movements were no longer abstract concepts but ingrained knowledge within him. He took a deep breath and began to move.
He executed the Shihōnage with flawless precision, his hands finding the exact pressure points, his body moving with a grace he never possessed before. He flowed into the Irimi Nage, his entry swift and decisive, imagining an opponent being effortlessly thrown to the ground. The Kotegaeshi felt natural, the twist of his wrist generating a surprising amount of force. He even managed a passable Sankyo, though the finer nuances of the lock eluded him slightly.
He continued practicing, moving through various Aikido techniques, then shifting his focus to the sharp, powerful strikes of Karate. He visualized the Gyaku-zuki, the reverse punch, focusing on the snap of the hips and the straight trajectory of his fist. He practiced the Mae Geri, the front kick, concentrating on the precise extension and retraction of his leg.
The mental understanding was absolute. His mind grasped the intricacies of each move, the subtle shifts in weight, the precise timing required for maximum effectiveness. But as he pushed his body harder, a stark reality began to dawn.
His muscles screamed in protest with each powerful kick. His legs, unaccustomed to the rapid pivots and stances of Karate, began to tremble and ache. The skin on his hands, raw from the repeated blocks and strikes, burned with every movement. He attempted a flying kick, a move he had mentally mastered, but his legs buckled upon landing, sending him crashing to the dusty ground.
He lay there, panting, his body a symphony of aches and pains. His mind knew exactly how to execute a perfect Ushiro Geri, the back kick, but his hamstring cramped violently at the mere attempt. He tried to rise, but a sharp pain shot through his ankle.
Kenzo looked at his bruised and battered body, a wry smile touching his lips. His Skill was indeed Limitless in its capacity for learning. He could understand any discipline, any art, any skill with unparalleled speed and depth. But his physical form, his body, it was still bound by the limitations of flesh and bone.
He had gained the knowledge of a master martial artist in mere hours, yet his body felt like it had gone through weeks of grueling training. He ended his test, his legs throbbing, his hands stinging, and a dull ache spreading through his bruised torso.
Limitless knowledge, he mused, was a formidable power. But it was a power that needed to be tempered, guided, and most importantly, understood in the context of his own physical limitations.
Maybe he could be a thief, ha drily laughed.
