Готовый перевод Сломанные крылья Серебра / The Broken Wings of Silver: 5

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Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being
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Gradually, I am getting involved in my studies. Despite all the local specifics of the educational process. I have already stopped being irritated by the fact that it will be difficult to learn something new at school. I learn more about the world around me from newspapers.

No, it hasn't become easy. Far from it! To keep up with the level, I have to work hard not only in class, but also pore over my textbooks at home. If it weren't for my ability, improved memorization in astral form, then there simply wouldn't be enough time for meditation. How do other students cope? It seems like no one here has a personal life; there's just no time. Or you have to be a workaholic or a genius.

Over the last five days, there has been progress in only one thing. I learned to perform "separation" in just five "pendulum swings". I couldn't summon a bloody-crimson glow on my astral hands. I also didn't reveal the secret of the Smesharik's tracks, and I haven't seen him again. I tried to call him all weekend. But I did it carefully so as not to attract anyone else. He didn't hear me or didn't want to hear me.

Thinking about who this green-lichen spirit is, I came to the conclusion that he is none other than a brownie. He didn't attack, didn't kill, helped "mask" the room, but didn't try to get acquainted and generally tried to be unnoticeable. A couple of times, I poured milk into a saucer and put it near the threshold, but no one touched the milk. Perhaps in this world, brownies are thanked somehow differently? I'll have to look through local legends and traditions on this matter.

On Friday, I finally decided to join the clubs and signed up for the Library club.

Tomorrow is Tuesday, just the right time to sit in silence and leaf through books. But that's tomorrow, today is Monday. I walk after Physical Education, along a path covered with tightly fitted cobblestones, and look around. I remember Kano's promise, but this time he won't catch me off guard.

I'm not doing well with social adaptation and making friends in class. Honestly, I'm not doing well at all. A rumor has spread through the school like a hurricane that I crossed Kano's path, and now everyone is avoiding me like a leper. No one wants to be friends with a boxer's enemy. Only many girls look at me sympathetically from afar. A handsome man challenges a troll, it's so romantic. The rumors about what our conflict is about are the craziest.

Even Nouri avoids me, though not because he's afraid of Kano, but simply because he feels guilty for not warning me about the club in time. And people tend to minimize communication with those they feel guilty towards. I understand this, and I don't hold a grudge against him. Because of this attitude of the president, Emry avoids me, too. For some reason, this hurts a little. Just a little, but it hurts.

I'm really not angry at the president. If he were older, then yes. But he's just a sixteen-year-old boy who forgot what seemed to him an insignificant detail. I don't see any point in getting mad and winding myself up in anger at him.

But I still haven't been able to forgive Kano, that big guy. I seem to understand his anger and motivation, but I can't accept or forgive him. The rage and malice have already passed, evaporated over these five days; only an icy, cold desire remains to give him a worthy answer. True, I haven't figured out how to do it yet. But it's okay. I'll figure it out, I have no doubt about it.

On Friday, after literature class, the curator Uramo gave me a list of things I had to buy and bring with me to the first Shatano class. The list was short, with only two items: high hiking boots and a set of work clothes designed for a general worker. Okay, boots, theoretically understandable. They might be needed, but why would I need a robe?

I thought that sports classes were held in the school's many gyms or on sports grounds. That was basically the case, but it turned out there was an exception to this rule - Shatano.

Following the plan, I turned around the eighth building and walked along the path of the school park. Warehouse number three should be somewhere around here. Why the sword club was assigned to the warehouse, not like everything else in the gym, I still had to figure that out.

"Cough!" Kano stood at the entrance to the warehouse, leaning casually against the wall.

The boxer had a happy smile on his face. And if it weren't for the way his eyes narrowed, one could say that the smile was kind.

"Come in, don't be shy." The school bully opened the door for me.

"Thank you." Keeping a straight face, I squeezed past him.

This feigned calmness did not come easily to me. I was expecting a blow all the time, but tensing my muscles meant admitting that I was afraid of him, and that was a loss of face in the local version of "etiquette". However, I know from my own memory that if you show your fear, it will come back to haunt you. The worst thing is that I was really afraid of him. I was not afraid, I was not terrified of him, but I did not want to get his fist in my stomach or nose again.

The fears turned out to be false. The boxer didn't lay a finger on me. If it weren't for the anticipatory grin on his face, it would have seemed to me that the president had explained everything to him, he understood everything, and didn't hold a grudge against me. But that smile...

Sport club. I have certain stereotypes in my mind for such a phrase. Well, today they were smashed to pieces by Mr. Lancer.

First of all, who gathers their students for their first lesson in a gardening equipment warehouse?

Second, how can a teacher greet newcomers with the words:

"I am Master Lancer." Pointing a finger at himself. "You are nobody." Already at us, the six guys, frozen in complete shock from what we heard. "Change into robes!"

As I had not had time to get acquainted with anyone in the group before the teacher came and knew only Kano, I did not know the name of the boy who opened his mouth and apparently was going to object to something. So, no sooner had the skinny kid, second year of study, something to say, as the master made an unnaturally smooth, outwardly slow, dragging, but in reality very fast step forward and poked the young man in the solar plexus with a shovel handle, which appeared in teacher's hand out of nowhere.

"Speaking in my classes is forbidden!" Lancer commented on his actions, sitting down next to the schoolboy, who was doubled over in pain, and patting him on the shoulder.

Third, who in their right mind would trust a sadist to teach children? But they did!

"Remember... Complaining about me is useless. Shatano training is regulated by the Code. The main postulates of the Code were approved more than eight thousand years ago and have hardly changed. Since Shatano is recognized in our country as an important element of historical heritage, training according to the Code is approved in secondary and other educational institutions from the age of sixteen. I remind for the stupid, approved according to the Code. That is, if training in my section does not affect your health irreversibly, I will not bear any responsibility before the law of our country. Put this on!"

As soon as we changed into our work clothes, the foreman pushed heavy bags at our feet, each with a name tag sewn on it. In the bag was something like a hockey uniform, or rather not the uniform itself, but the protection. Shields, helmet, breastplate, and so on, all made of thick plastic.

"Showing the first and last time." With these words, the master unsealed the bag at his feet and began to put on the same protection, commenting on what to put on first, what to put on afterwards, and how it all fastened.

In addition to this, he managed to give us his own unique introductory lecture.

"Previously, during the time of the Divided Provinces, first-year recruits took a vow of silence. Alas, in our time, this is unachievable in principle, so you are obliged to remain silent only during these classes. The rest of the time, this ban does not apply to you." Having said this, the teacher sighed with obvious regret. "You can leave the club at any time if you do not agree with the fact that I adhere to the classical, and not the newfangled and considered progressive school of teaching Shatano."

At these words of the master, I surreptitiously looked at the other students. Three of them, Kano and two other athletic-looking young men, for some reason, cast angry glances at me, and not at Lancer. The other two, both clearly not athletes, one tall as a watchtower and thin, the other the complete opposite, short and plump. Just like the classic pair of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Unlike the "athletes", these two, despite the fact that the tall one had already managed to get it from the teacher, looked at Lancer without anger or fear. And no one was going to leave and abandon the section. Bad.

"By the way, regarding 'leaving the club', this does not apply to you, students Kano, Bruso, and Khorin. You all signed up here in exchange for my leniency with your grades now." A look at the boxer. "Or next year." This already applies to the sports pair from the third year of study. "So if you decide to leave this club, you can not count on my leniency." All those listed by Lancer immediately changed their faces. "The rest can do it right now."

I don't understand. Okay Codex. The specifics of the training really can be like that, and since the club was allowed, it's within the law. I don't think Lancer's training methodology is the norm, but judging by the looks of the guy I mentally nicknamed Sancho Panza, he knew exactly what he was getting into and wasn't surprised. I do not understand the other. Why is the master now pressurising the three of not bound by the promise to leave the club? He does it hard and clearly on the edge, but he wants exactly that one of us decides to leave, and the club is closed. But why his student and my class mentor, so insistently push me into this club and describe how Master Lancer sleeps and sees, how he would start training schoolchildren? There's some kind of disconnect that I don't understand yet.

At first glance, putting on sports armor for the first time without mistakes is a non-trivial task. It is not possible to do without mistakes the first time. But, either Master Lancer is a genius of education and explanations, or motivation in the form of a shovel handle in his hands, but everyone got dressed, and it seems like no one messed up anything.

"Since there are no people willing to leave the section yet, let's get down to training." With these words, the teacher turned around and headed for the exit. "Follow me. Run!"

It was pouring a fine, nasty, cold rain outside, but that didn't stop the master. Following him, we ran out into the street and started to run laps around the warehouse. Running in hockey uniforms was not so easy. After three laps, Lancer wondered aloud that six dorks like us hadn't fallen once, which made him incredibly upset! I mean, he wasn't happy that everyone had done so well; he was a weird teacher.

"Follow me!"

Having given this command, the master changed the route, and now we were running along a narrow sandy path, going deeper into the school park. The run was not long, less than five minutes. We stopped at a small clearing surrounded by low but very ‘fluffy’ fir trees.

There were seven flat, large stones on the clearing, one in the center, the other six in a semicircle. The master approached the central one, picked up a board lying nearby, and, placing it on the stone, sat down on top. He simply sat on the board, in armor, in the rain!

"Sit down!"

He'll put us all on sick leave in no time with this method! I don't know why I didn't leave at that moment, spitting on the displeasure of the mentor. Apparently, the herd instinct prevailed over self-preservation, and I can't explain the fact that I, like everyone else, picked up the board, put it on a rock, and stayed wet under the weather that was gaining strength.

"I always conduct my Shatano classes outdoors. Rain, snow, wind, or heat, it doesn't matter. Unlike sports, Shatano is the art of combat, and real fighters who fought in real battles rarely walked on parquet or tiled floors! I don't intend to deviate from the Code in this. If any of you are weak in spirit and start to get sick, then first of all, I will check if he is really sick and not faking it." The teacher's gaze ran over the athletes, literally smearing them. It seemed to me that I really felt the pressure coming from the master. Pressure that somehow reminded me of the "gaze" of Smesharik! "And secondly, if someone starts to get sick, it means his spirit is weak and he has no place here. Shatano is not for the weak." Here, Lancer saw a grin in Bruso's eyes, who glanced sideways with pity at the frail first-year student. "Not for the weak in spirit, not in body! Bruso, any idiot can build up muscles, but training the spirit is many times more difficult!"

‘Training the spirit’ and the feeling of ‘pressure’ from the gaze. I now realise that I would stay in this сдги even if I were hung upside down for training and used as a makiwara. I think I have really found what I was looking for. Meanwhile, Lancer started some sort of introductory lecture.

"Shatano is understood by many to be a common sword art. But this is fundamentally wrong. Because armour is as important to a fighter as his sword. Shatano is a symbiosis of body, mind, and skill. The combination and unity of sword and armour. And each of these elements is equally important. You're wearing hockey equipment, based on the armour of the age of division. You can't trust the real armour yet, but this one, as a surrogate, is suitable for initial training. - At these words, he unbuckled his armour and showed it to us. - In real armour, the outer part of this armour is forged from two millimetres of steel. It is impossible to penetrate it with a sword blow or a rapier jab..If you take the blow correctly. Nor can it be chopped with an axe or halberd. All other armour, in the danger zones, is covered with the same strong steel. Those places where the enemy cannot strike hard are covered with thinner steel. Alas, our ancestors never managed to create protection on mobile joints and make the armour complete. Technologically, they could not achieve that the whole body of the fighter was protected equally well. Unlike other people who compromised, our ancestors were wiser. They concentrated on protecting vital areas, making them virtually impenetrable. But since it was impossible to protect everything with steel, the art of fighting in heavy armour was born -- Shatano. Shatano is the art of unity between the fighter and his armour. A mastery of combat in which the fighter exposes only the indestructible metal to the enemy's blows, and parries blows to vulnerable points.

While the teacher continued his lecture, I looked at the outfit I was wearing. I have to admit, it's a good defence. Correction, for hockey, good. The puck won't hit my solar plexus or neck from the side. But how to protect these ‘holes in the armour’ from a sword, sabre or rapier I can't imagine. Good, at least the belt and everything below was protected reliably, something like a skirt, but from the blow from below, such ‘armour’ will not protect. In addition, elbows, knees, inner thighs, armpits, and almost the whole neck were unprotected, except for the frontal view. The longer I looked, the more gaps I found. It would seem that something was worn under the metal of the armour, some variant of an underarmour. But nevertheless. It seems that all these loud words, ‘the art of fighting in armour’, are nothing more than an attempt to cover up the stupidity of the creators of this ‘miracle’, the armour of the times of Division. Apparently, in this world simply no one has thought of Gothic or Milanese armour. Because if they had, no Shatano would never have been born, banally for lack of necessity.

Lancer spoke for another ten minutes, but more about history and deep traditions than telling anything really necessary and interesting. I listened inattentively, getting used to the protection I was wearing. After all, I had never played hockey, and wearing something like that was new to me.

"The introductory lecture is over." Having risen from the stone, the master bent down and took out several strange-looking sticks from the grass. "These are your bokken*."
/*a training sword in this case/

Passing by the student, Lancer threw a training sword onto his lap. And he did it without any piety or respect, just threw it like a football coach throws a ball. What I caught from the teacher was anything but a sword in the usual sense of the word. A long handle on which three of my fists could easily fit, that's all from the swords I was familiar with. The blade of this training weapon was a bundle of hollow, bamboo-like rods, tied with a strong rope every five centimeters, and the tip was "humanized" with a cork attachment. The weight of this "sword" impressed me, like three or even four kilograms, with a "blade" length of just over a meter!

"These are your bokkens. Alas, but recently the world has become kinder, and these weapons have been introduced into the Code." The master pronounces this word as if he were spitting. "But every cloud has a silver lining. These toys weigh almost one and a half times more than a real sword, so they can be useful too."

The teacher himself did not take the bokken in his hands, but picked up a two-meter bamboo pole from the grass. And how will he teach us? Without showing us by example?

"Divide into pairs." When everyone had looked at their "swords" enough, the master gave the command.

Here, my sixth sense literally screamed about danger, and I tried to get up from the stone to take the plump boy as a partner. But I didn’t succeed. Before I could get up, a heavy palm landed on my shoulder. Looking around, I already knew what I would see. Well, yes, that’s it, Kano’s satisfied and smiling face. It’s clear that my partner was chosen for me. And he holds me so tightly that I can’t break free. Where did he get so pumped up? His palms are like a hydraulic press! I wasn’t the only one who was unlucky. Bruso was lightly holding Don Quixote by the elbow, and Khorin put his palm on Sancho’s neck. If there was to be sparring now, it would be a beating... And anyway, what the hell kind of sparring was there if he didn’t show us a single technique? But no, this teacher can’t be that sick, can he? It turned out he can.

"So. In this part of the clearing, there are three paths laid out with stones. It is forbidden to leave these paths. It is forbidden to hit with anything other than a bokken. Only hits to the cuirass are allowed." Here, Lancer winced. "More precisely, to the chest plate. Leaving the path means defeat. Falling on the path or touching it with a hand or knee means defeat. Missing a hit to the cuirass means defeat. Losing the bokken means defeat. A hit not to the cuirass means defeat. A training fight lasts until ten defeats."

There is an irresistible desire to grab this trainer by the lapels and shake him well. Has he gone mad? Okay, I am against Kano. After all, Dan is very physically developed, the boxer is certainly stronger, but not by many times. But the other pairs, this will be a beating. A one-sided fight.

The master led us along the paths. The paths were six meters long, a step wide. When Kano stood in front of me and raised his bokken over his head, it immediately seemed to me that six meters of distance between us was too short. The boxer, dressed in hockey protection, looked like an angry, just-awakened bear who had crawled out of his den.

"Coi*!"

/*Started/forward -- an obsolete word that has gone out of circulation, in its original sense a military command/

As soon as the command sounded, Kano roared like a bull seeing a hated matador and rushed to attack. All I had time to do was tuck my knees in as a cushion and block. Boken against boken is loud! I'm not used to it; my ears even popped. As the boxer acted fast, but too straight, I had time to reflect on his blow. But my palms shook a lot, but I withstood it! Withstood, which is not the case with the results on other tracks.

"Defeat!"

"Defeat!"

I couldn't see what was happening from the sides, but it was clear from the words.

Once in a film, I heard the memorable phrase ‘if you want to win, don't chop, but slash!’. Having beaten off the first blow, I tried to implement this instruction. But I didn't have time.

Instead of raising the bokken above his head and swinging wide again, Kano did not break the distance. Instead, he bound my sword with his own and turned the fight into a power fight, where he had an overwhelming advantage.

If the fight had taken place on the court, not on the track, it would have been enough to make a wide step to the side, but here I was deprived of the opportunity to make such a manoeuvre. So I lost. And what's more frustrating, feeling his superiority, Kano was in no hurry. He just pressed me from top to bottom, like a heavy press, although I felt that if he wanted to, then a sharp movement easily knocked me down. But no, the boxer was not interested; he looked me in the eye and smirked.

"Defeat!" The sharp strike of the bamboo pole broke the contact of our swords.

Damn! Before I knew it, I was down on my knee. How strong is he?

Once back on his feet and Kano had taken up his starting position, the command followed again:

"Coi!"

The boxer repeated the beginning of his attack. A sword was raised high with the prospect of a powerful downward strike. This time, I decided not to wait for his attack. Despite the fact that fencing had never been engaged in, I still watched films and sports programmes, so I decided to repeat what I saw in them. Namely, a deep lunge, hoping to strike a jab in the chest of the attacker before his wide blow reaches the target. In sports and cinema, this was common, and according to the laws of physics, a straight punch should be faster than a chopping blow.

When we were five paces apart, I stepped forward and, clutching the bokken in one hand, threw the fastest jab I could. Alas, Kano refused to play the blunt, breaking hog. Before my sword could hit him, he took his left hand off the hilt of his bokken and, with a downward motion of his palm, knocked my bamboo blade aside with his wrist. At the same time, his sword, clutched in his right hand, continued its fall right on my head. What about what they show in the cinema?

I clenched my eyes, expecting a powerful overhead kick that I had absolutely no time to block. But instead, Kano did something different. He didn't strike, but took a step forward and put his left palm on my helmet and pressed lightly. And since I was still in a deep lunge position, the pressure made my left knee immediately touch the ground. It happened so fast that I didn't realise for a second that I had already lost.

"Defeat!" The teacher's bamboo pole rests against my chest.

The humiliation...

Losing like that?! It's a good thing I'm wearing a helmet, or I'd be as red as a boiled cancer. How could I fall for this?! After all, the master had said that the blows were only on the cuirass, so the boxer's swing to threaten my head was a bluff I fell for like a child.

How wrong I was to think of Kano as a clumsy heavyweight. Not only is this guy taller, heavier, and stronger. He's also faster than me. How can that be? Was I so unlucky that I managed to cross a real talent?

"Coi!" The master's command interrupted my musings.

This time, I did not wait for the attack, but roared like a wounded moose, encouraging myself with that cry, and lunged at the boxer, bringing the bokken in a broad side-strike. Kano, with obvious pleasure, roared in response to my roar and took off like a rocket coming off the launching table. We collided with a resounding thud. I withstand the exchange of a couple of blows!

"Defeat!" And for the third time, Lancer's stick is stuck in my chest!

What? Why?! He didn't get me once! But then, as if in response to my unspoken outrage, the teacher's pole slapped me on my right foot. I lowered my eyes...

How? My right foot is off the track. Kano outplayed me here, too. He used my wide strikes against myself, blocking them so that I turned across the lane, and then forced me to take a step back with a powerful block. He's smarter than I, too! That thought made my teeth chatter.

We gotta do something about this. I can't lose to a schoolboy, can I?! He is faster, stronger, and in a combat situation, he thinks more calmly and farsightedly, because he is used to the ring and the fight. That's true, but that's no reason to give up or get hysterical.

‘Pendulum.’ Calm down. Breathe evenly. According to the terms of the task, I need to protect only my chest, so I should concentrate on that, ignoring all the enemy's attacks on other parts of my body. I'll try that tactic.

"Coi!"

We met again in the middle of the trail. This time, I watched my feet carefully and tried to throw as many punches as I could. Speed was the only element I had to compete with this monster. A couple of times, I almost fell for his false attacks, first to the knee and then to the neck, but in time, I covered only his chest. On the fifth strike, I was lucky, his bokken sliding just below me.

‘Boom!’ My sword hits Kano's helmet.

On the helmet?

"Defeat!" Once again that master's stick is poking me.

I've been outplayed again. I watch Kano smile and realise he let me get hit on purpose and put my helmet under him. He's playing me like a cat and mouse, outclassing me in absolutely everything. If I were a normal high school student, I'd just accept what's happening. Because that's what happens in life, when you meet people who are just stronger, faster, more gifted than you. It's happened. It's better to get out of their way or try to learn something from such people. But I was jammed, how can I lose with my life experience?

"Coi!"

This time our fight lasted only a few seconds. Kano's broad swing of his sword is met with a counter-strike, but his swing is just a deception. As our swords clash, the boxer relaxes his palm, his blade makes a half-turn, and mine falls into a deep skid, sliding helplessly into his opponent's side, meeting no resistance. His sword swung round, the hilt now looking forward, and his blade rested on his elbow and covered his body from my weapon. But that wasn't all, the hilt of Kano's bokken continued its movement, hitting my breastplate with full swing. A blow of such force that I was carried off the track. And if I hadn't been protected, a couple of ribs would have been cracked at least.

"Defeat!"

Teacher Lancer, I really hope that you are not a bigot or an idiot, and that students come back from your classes alive and well.

"Coi!"

Apparently, Kano was tired of playing with me. From the look on his face, which I could see under the mesh of his helmet, he was simply bored. In this and the next fights, he fought the same way. Punching with all his might, without any frills, pressurising me with his physical superiority. If I'd watched it from the sidelines, I probably would have laughed. But now it was not funny, I did not have enough reaction to counterattack, and I could not always defend myself, even from such primitive attacks. He had won the last five sparring sessions in the same style.

"Finished! Sit down!"

Returning to his seat, he looked round at the other students. The two athletes looked so happy that a cat that found spilled cream would have looked sad. But, surprisingly, the nerds, although they looked wrinkled and dirty, didn't look humiliated or beaten at all. Only Kano and I had a disgruntled look. And on the boxer's face, there was a certain regret mixed with boredom, but I was not bored; I felt crushed. I felt crushed not physically, but rather morally.

"Shatano is the path of affinity between body, spirit, and armor of a warrior. The sword is secondary, an experienced warrior is able to kill an opponent with a blow of his fist, elbow, or knee." Sitting down in the center of the clearing, the teacher spoke. "After the sparring you have conducted, you probably decided Shatano is the path of physical strength. But this is not so. The longer you follow the path of mastery, the less you will care about the strength of the enemy." These words encouraged me a little. "And even his speed." Did it seem to me, or were these words said personally for me? "Understanding the fight, the feeling of affinity between the body and armor will come to the fore. Because it does not matter how fast the enemy strikes, you will have time to move your body a couple of centimeters to the side and take his attack on the armor, no matter how fast he is ... If, of course, you lead the pattern of the duel, and do not allow the enemy to weave your movements into his tapestry ..."

An interesting school of combat. Something similar was born on Earth in Japan, also by the way, due to the imperfection of defensive weapons. But in Japan, the steel for swords was generally bad, so the samurai avoided using straight blocks. Here, judging by everything, there were no problems with the quality of the blades, and the local style turned out to be tougher and perhaps more straightforward. Although it is too early for me to judge such nuances.

The more I listened to the master, the more I doubted my desire to study here. After all, this world is industrially developed. No one here has used swords for a long time, preferring guns or other firearms. And Shikuno, the country I ended up in, is quite peaceful with well-functioning law enforcement services. In Ristol, police officers walk around without weapons, they don’t even carry batons. The same boxing or wrestling in local realities would bring much more benefit. Although as a sport, fencing is dozens of times more popular here than on Earth. Tournaments in various styles gather spectators, no less than we used to go to hockey.

This lesson clearly shows that there is no sign of spiritual development here. Perhaps the humiliation I recently suffered is speaking in me now, and not wanting to be subjected to something like that again, I am simply looking for an excuse to run away. On the other hand, they teach you how to wield a sword, armor, or even a stick here, it doesn’t matter. I clearly felt the spiritual pressure coming from Master Lancer. This means that he can do something and knows something from the skills I need so much. So, no matter how stupid it seems to study such an outdated and outdated martial art, I will not give up my studies with this teacher.

For a couple of minutes, I was lost in thought, ignoring Lancer's story about how cool Shatano is. However, you can hear similar stories in any cheap movie about martial arts, just change the names of schools and styles, but the meaning will not change.

"A master of Shatano who has achieved full affinity with armor may not even wear it, he is able to take a blow from a steel blade on his bare hand without harm to himself. That is how developed his spirit is!"

These words almost made my jaw drop! A sword strike with a bare hand? It seems this world is a bit different from the familiar Earth than I initially thought. I wonder if there are people here who catch bullets with their hands? But the master's next words almost made me smile:

"However, such mastery in our time was achieved only by the great teacher Kabarugo, who devoted more than half a century to Shatano. I tried five times to persuade the great master to take me as a student, but five times I was refused..."

Phe-e-e... I thought it was really "a sword with a hand", and here it's something like "a living legend". Or maybe this Teacher Kabarugo is a talented scammer. And even if he is not a rogue, five decades of studying for such a thing is not something I would like to spend my entire life on.

Apparently, Kabarugo was Lancer's idol, because he spent almost half an hour telling us about this great master and his life's journey. By the way, this journey was not uninteresting, but our teacher turned out to be a completely untalented storyteller. I was not the only one who could hardly keep from yawning.

Finally, this torment was over. The master stood up from the stone and took the bokken in his hands. He winced as if he had swallowed a bitter pill, and then stood in a stance.

"A true master does not limit himself to stances or a certain manner of movement. But! You are not masters. You are only at the very beginning of the path of shatano, so let's start with the basics. Stand like me! Canyo position*."

/* - stone, obsolete/

Having risen to their feet, they repeated the master’s pose.

"Bruso! Straighten your back! Khorin! Don't bend your elbows so much! Tanko! Don't stand on straight legs." Aha, so the thin and tall one's name is Tanko. "Dan! Turn your body!" And with a jab of his bokken into my side, he "told" me which way to turn my body. "Farlo! Hold the sword tighter, relax your legs!" Now I know the name of the plump one.

Lancer walked around us for about ten minutes, trying to get the stance right. As far as I could tell, he didn't like what he saw. And yet, having received at least something similar, he immediately gave the order.

"Sit!"

And just as we relaxed, we literally fell onto the grass, immediately:

"Stand up! Canyo position!"

What? Again?! But why did we sit down then?

"Khorin! Are you clenching your elbows again?! Bruso! Did you break your spine?! Farlo! Legs! Legs! Legs!" Judging by the sound, the teacher supported his words with light blows of bamboo on the shin guards. "Tanko! Knees! Legs not piles! Dan! Who holds the sword like that? Raise the blade!"

And again, for a few minutes, he hit us with a stick on the defense and yelled right in our ears.

"Sit!"

I barely have time to straighten my numb legs when:

"Stand up! Canyo position!"

It's customary in clubs to train for three hours after school. So, changing clothes, jogging, sparring, introductory lecture all took no more than an hour. The other two hours, for me, were an endless series of repetitions. ‘Sit down!.... Stand up!... Canyo position!’ And on and on. My legs stopped listening to me at about the seventh repetition. The only reason I kept going was because Farlo was to my left. He's a first-timer like Dan, except he's never been in the sport before. Nevertheless, every time he got up and put his bokken in the stance. The kid was taking the teacher's poking and prodding. It was hard for him, I could see sweat literally running down his skin. His knees were shaking, and his palms were struggling to hold the sword, yet he got up every time. He got up when I thought I would never get up again, that this was my limit. But looking at this chubby kid with the appearance of a typical nerd, I couldn't afford to give up before he did. Clenching my teeth, over and over again.

"Stand up! Canyo position! Dan! Feet not so wide!... Canyo position! Dan! Turn your feet out!... Canyo position! Dan!!! Feet! Feet! Feet!!. Canyo position! Dan! Who's holding the sword like that?!" A sharp blow to the bokken, and it flies into the bushes. "Raise it!.. Canyo position! Dan! Sword! Sword! Hold it! Run after the bokken!.. Dan!..."

I did not hear what the master was saying to the others. I barely had time to correct what he was demanding of me. In this damn ‘’canyo stance‘’ I was straining muscles that I had never even realised I had in my body before. As soon as I concentrated on my legs, my torso went sideways. As soon as I started to get something, my palms could barely hold the bokken. If I squeezed the grip harder, my feet would move!

"Finished! Bokens on your shoulder! Follow me, run!"

Is this practice really over?! Running around the school park in my hockey defence now seemed like a heavenly holiday.

When we got to the garden warehouse, we made five laps around it, and only after that, Lancer let us take off our protection. Then, without letting us change, the master told us to take all our things and sent us to the sports centre. There we took hot showers, and the master took us to the sauna. The local dry baths were different from what I was used to. There was a common changing room, but individual steam rooms, which was not rational to me, but that was the way it was done here.

But we were not allowed to stay warm for a long time, a quarter of an hour, and then we went out.

"Training is over. Your vow of silence has been lifted." When everyone came out of their booths, the master appeared and cheered with this message.

"But before everyone leaves, please listen to me." The master closed the door to the locker room and turned round to loom over Farlo.

"You! Yes you! Do you really think I'm interested in training a slug like that?!" At the sudden change in the master's demeanour, we all froze. "If you want to make yourself look like a man, then do it at my expense. You've been tailing me for a month, trying to get me to start training, and what do I see?! You didn't get your opponent once! Did you even exercise in the morning?! I don't need a student like that! I can't stop you from practising, but you can quit!" It hurts to look at Farlo, the boy doesn't know where to hide his eyes after such a rant.

"Now you!" Lancer sharply switches to the long sophomore. "Just because your idol was doing Shatano doesn't mean you have to do it too. What makes you think I'm interested in training someone who just wants to be like his idol? Shatano is a warrior's path, not a wannabe. Yes, you have the physical gifts, but even if you build muscle, you'll never achieve mastery. Not with that kind of motivation! I don't want that kind of student! I can't stop you from practising, but you can leave!" After crushing the second one, the teacher took another breath of air into his chest. And I think I know who's next in his rant.

"Dan! You!" Wow, I wasn't wrong. "If you've done swimming before, you should do it. What do you want in a Shatano? To teach someone whose face says: ‘The main thing is not to be worse than the others!’, who's interested in that kind of student? Not to be the best, not to achieve something, but just ‘not to be worse’?! People like you make me sick. Unlike Farlo and Tanko, nature has given you a much more generous gift. But you have the spirit of a commoner, not a warrior. Even Farlo, if you beat the laziness out of him, might, very unlikely, but still might, turn out a warrior, but you do not! Shatano classes are useless to you! I don't want such a student! I can't stop you from studying, but you can leave! Kano, Horin, Bruso, no complaints about you, well done."

After saying so, the teacher turned in a military manner and walked out of the door. There was silence in the locker room. But it didn't last long.

"Y-y-y-y-y-y!!!" Bruso laughed like a horse. "Losers!!!"

"Ha-ha-ha..." Khorin echoes him. "Losers!"

Only Kano is silent. The truth of his gaze speaks far more eloquently than any words or laughter.

"Kano! We're going to the boxing gym on Wednesday! Apparently, there won't be any more classes here!" Bruso smirks.

"Too bad, I was beginning to like it here!" Khorin exclaimed in feigned regret. "It was fun, beating that thing with a stick!"

Farlo dressed quickly, and at those words, he dashed out of the locker room door, his face flaming and clearly struggling to hold back tears. It didn't take a second for Tanko to follow him out, and the lanky guy didn't look any better.

I put on my jacket and quickly laced up my boots, ignoring the jokes of the athletes and their unconcealed mockery. I couldn't help thinking that what Lancer had said was true, but I'd never considered myself a warrior, and ‘commoner’ wasn't a swear word for me. I think there's a second bottom to what he said. Now we just had to catch up with the escaped boys before they left the school grounds.

"See you Wednesday!" With an obvious hint, I said goodbye to the athletes and hurried outside.

Catching up with the escaped boys turned out easier than I thought. Each of them, having run out of the building at full speed, did not run any further. They trudged dejectedly towards the exit from the School District. There were only ten steps between the boys, but they seemed not to see each other, perhaps they did not even see the road, moving their legs automatically. Having caught up with Tanko, I realized that the boy was somewhere far away in the clouds.

I ran ahead of the boys and stood in the centre of the alley, arms out to the sides. Farlo was the first one to hit me.

"Eh-eh-eh?!" Focusing his gaze on me, the first-year tried to collect his thoughts. "Your name is Dan, right?"

While he was saying this, Tanko passed by us. I didn't waste time and grabbed the skinny boy by the sleeve.

"So! Midshipmen!" I wanted to say "musketeers", but there was no such type of military unit in this world. "Don't hang your head!"

Smiling broadly, I grabbed the guys by the shoulders and shook them well.

"Who among you guessed how lucky we were?!" Turning the boys around, I led them along the alley, along the school fence. Apparently, my onslaught was so unexpected that none of them resisted, obediently following me. "You are silent. Did you really guess it yourselves? Then why are you so sad? Are you afraid of not justifying the teacher's high trust?"

At that moment, I reminded myself of the character from the cartoon "Treasure Island," Dr. Livesey. The same smile and laughter broke through the words. It looks idiotic from the outside, but at that moment, nothing else came to my mind to shake up the morally crushed guys.
Ливси

"Trust?" Farlo babbled, walking obediently alongside.

"Stop! Guys, did you really not understand anything?" I stood rooted to the spot, feigning complete bewilderment.

"What understand?" Tanko finally spoke.

"Everything is so neglected!" I howled theatrically. "Have you forgotten how to think?"

"Did Kano hit you hard on the head today?" Farlo tried to move away from me, but I was stronger and he couldn't.

"Stop!" Turning the guys around, I sat them down on the nearest bench, while I remained standing. "Did you really not understand anything the master said?"

"I realized that no one wants to teach me!" Straightening his back, Tanko stretched out like a jumping pole."

"And I was humiliated in front of the seniors!" Folding his hands into a lock, Farlo stared at the pavement."

"How did they get you into high school?" I feigned surprise. "How did you pass the tests? You look smart!"

"Stop humiliating me for today!" The first-grader tried to get up from the bench. But my hand, which fell on his shoulder, prevented him from carrying out this plan.

"And who humiliated you? You were told that you lost all the fights, that's all. But it's logical, they put an athlete used to fighting against you, none of us had any chance of winning by definition."

"But why..."

"Do you think Master Lancer is an idiot?"

"No."

"No."

These "no's" sounded in sync and with some degree of surprise.

"Remember what he said: Shatano is the path of the spirit!" Remembering how Uramo lectured, I tried to copy his manner of speech. "And what development of the spirit without difficulties and obstacles? This rebuke of the master is the first obstacle in our training. I understood it right away! If such a trifle as the displeasure of the master at the first lesson scares someone away, then such a weakling is not worth teaching!"

"But... I did exercises, and the result..." Farlo tensed his biceps. "No result, I'm fat..."

"How that?! At the end of the class, I could barely get into position, my legs were shaking, my arms were shaking, and you jumped up like a freshman. And I've been swimming for years, and can push up a hundred times." It actually surprised me, so I hardly ever played here.

"Really?"

"Why would I lie? You're much stronger than you seem, and you have willpower! Ask Tanko if that exercise was easy for him."

"My knees are still shaking." To confirm his words, the lanky man stretches out his legs. Despite the fact that I do not notice any shaking, I nevertheless continue in the same way.

"There! So you're no wuss, Farlo!" That got the chubby kid thinking.

"But the Master is right with me. I dream of being like Admiral Fiance, and he learnt Shatano!" I don't know who that admiral is, but it doesn't matter now. "And that's where Master Lancer got it right, I'm not going to learn anything by trying to be like anyone else." As Tanko finishes his rant, he looks me straight in the eye.

"Wasn't it Teacher Lancer himself who told us today that he wanted to achieve the same results as Master Kabarugo?" I brazenly substituted ‘being like’ for ‘the same,’ hoping the sophomore wouldn't notice.

"But... Why, then...?" It seems my switch went unnoticed.

"Isn't it clear by now?" I threw up my hands in a gesture of utter despair. "Teacher Lancer is a good master, and his time is valuable. He'll only teach someone who really wants to study Shatano! Those who won't quit at the first difficulty, who won't run away when things go wrong. And if one of us three ever leaves the club, it will be closed! Look, he's got three seniors in his pocket. If they leave, they won't pass his exams. Lancer doesn't want to start teaching a club that could close at any moment. What's the point of training six people if that training can be stopped at any moment because of one person who slips up? So he's just wasting his time. So he pushed us. He sees the three of us as the weakest link in the club! At first, he did not mind after such a distribution of pairs for sparring, then he wore us out with training, and at the end, he finished us with his reprimand. What did he say about me? That I have the spirit of a ‘commoner’, not a ‘warrior’! And he's right, mind you, the master never once lied. Not to me, not to you. But he didn't tell the whole truth, not to either of us. For Farlo, he left out the fact that his will is stronger than most. For you, Tanko, it's not a bad thing to aspire to be like someone else, if you don't aspire to be a complete copy of your ideal, but to replicate their achievements. He called me a ‘philistine’ without mentioning that the best warriors are those who have lived a peaceful life and then, as a result of events, were forced to stand up in defence of that peaceful life. Lancer is testing us. It was not for nothing that he repeated the same phrase three times during his speech: ‘I cannot forbid you to study...’. Am I the only one who got the hint?"

"No... If you look at it that way..." Tanko's hesitating. "Then."

Well, I don't know what to tell them next! My enthusiasm has gone, and I'm out of ideas. I need to finish this impromptu lecture.

"Okay, guys! Decide for yourselves, I'm not your nanny! If you don't want to go, don't go. If you really are weak, then don't waste your time. I know one thing. On Wednesday, I personally will come to class. And whether this class will take place or not depends on each of you. Bye!"

Waving to the guys sitting on the bench, speechless from such a situation, I threw the bag with things on my shoulders and quickly walked towards the exit of the School District without looking back.

In fact, I didn't believe what I had said to those boys. There were many logical gaps in my speech. My only hope was that the boys, being in such a state, would not notice these gaps.

In fact, I was inclined to think that what Teacher Lancer had done today was only for one thing. To close the club. Why would he do it? There could be a lot of reasons. For example, he teaches people for money outside of school, and these classes probably bring him much more money than the school bonus for running the club. That is, he has no reason to waste his time on school kids who study for free. The plus of this theory was that the Shatano section had not worked at the school for many years. Everyone knew Lancer conducted his classes as harshly as possible, and no one wanted to sign up for the "sadist's" club.

Yes, for the sake of appearances, the master "wanted" to train a school group. Apparently, he needs, for some reason, for everyone would think that he wants to teach, but the group is not formed due to circumstances beyond his control. A primitive scheme, but apparently Lancer is talentedly playing out his desire to teach schoolchildren in front of everyone, and everyone bought into it, even his student Uramo believes him.

In principle, as soon as I came to this conclusion, it was a great excuse to skip these classes without losing face. If I hadn't caught up with the boys, one of them would definitely not have come to the next class on Wednesday. That way, I would have been free from the club, and Uramo would have had no reason to hold a grudge against me.

Walking down the pavement towards home, I twitched in doubt. Why had I caught up with the boys and reprimanded them? Do I need to learn so badly, exactly Shatano? Just because I haven't found any other alternative for spirit development yet doesn't mean there are no alternatives in principle. Maybe it's easier to look for something else? If my plan works and Wednesday's class is held, all hell will break loose for me. Lancer's going to try to wear us down, and today's training will seem like a walk in the park compared to the pressure he's going to put on us to leave. Is it such a good idea to learn from someone who has no desire to teach you?

The truth is, it's a really lame idea. But somehow I think Lancer is a real master and teacher. Which means, if he sees some really promising students who won't break under the intense pressure of the first class, there's a very good chance he'll teach us. Seriously teach us, much more seriously than he teaches even paid groups.

I may have done something stupid, but I just need to understand how Lancer does it. The very spiritual pressure that I clearly felt. And I need to learn how to resist that pressure. I don't ever want to be as helpless as I was when I met the brownie again. Besides, if something goes wrong, I can always stop supporting Farlo and Tanko, which would cause them to break under Lancer's pressure, and the class to stop.

This thought cheered me up quite a bit, and I opened the door to the apartment with a smile and whistling something.

While the food was cooking, I went to the laundry and threw the dirty robe in the washing machine. Apparently, all Shatano classes will really be held outdoors. It would be good to buy another set of work clothes, as a spare, especially since they are not that expensive.

Stirring the soup on the stove, I read history so as not to waste time. On Sunday, I noticed that combined memorization, first in the physical body and then repetition in the astral, brings a much better effect.

In the real world, it was not necessary to memorise. It was enough to read the text thoughtfully. In this case, its memorisation in the astral was faster and more complete. The only restriction is that memorisation in spiritual form should be done no later than an hour and a half after reading the text in physical reality.

Today has thrown me off my game. This is not at all how I imagined the sports club at school. As they say, ‘life did not prepare me for this’. The master's behaviour, I must admit, shocked me. To be honest, I never fully understood his motives. How would the teacher behave if Wednesday's lesson took place? Was I right to bet on the fact that Lancer is primarily a fanatic of Shatano, rather than prioritising money, which is more profitable to earn from private training? However, in vain I puzzle over it, because if the second option is true, the master will simply increase the load to an unacceptable level. Plus will increase moral pressure even more. I don't think he'd humiliate himself with threats or direct pressure. That is, persuading the boys to continue classes, I basically risk nothing. But the benefit of having such a master teaching me, if successful, is hard to overestimate.

Until eight o'clock in the evening, I repeated what I had learned at school, memorizing everything, and also ran through the subjects for tomorrow. It seems I am gradually getting into the rhythm of school life. The astral memorization gives me something that most local schoolchildren probably don't have - free time.

More precisely, schoolchildren may have free time, but I am not going to give myself such a luxury as lying on the bed or watching local TV shows, merciless in their senselessness. I have many more interesting activities...

Here I froze in surprise, I never thought that training, classes, and all that stuff would ever be called interesting!

In my past life, I was a big fan of computer games in the role-playing genre. I was immensely fascinated by the possibility of developing and improving my character. The plot, quests, and game atmosphere - all this was secondary for me. The so-called pumping came first. And now, as a result of the transfer of my soul, I have the opportunity to develop myself. Of course, if I admit to myself honestly, then on Earth it is possible to engage in self-development. Nobody forbade me from going to gyms, swimming pools, getting a second higher education, or studying what I like. Nobody forbade me - yes, it was just boring to do it. In the game, the result of your efforts is almost instantaneous, and in life, for example, to increase the volume of the biceps at least by a centimeter, you need to work hard for weeks. That's the whole truth, it was more fun and interesting for me: to play, drink beer with friends, walk with a beautiful girl along the embankment, than to do something that does not bring visible and quickly tangible benefits.

How many times have I tried to force myself to do the same exercises in the morning? I can't count, but the maximum I could do was a week. And I wouldn't say it was laziness, no, I was just bored. It's boring to do anything useful, and this boredom easily defeated my weak willpower.

Here, in this new life, everything is completely different. There is no boredom. Astral paths, a new world, demons, magic, I have not been so interested in life, probably since my earliest childhood. Today, seeing how the almost extinguished fire flares up in the eyes of the boys, as a result of my speech, I understood this in full. Previously, this feeling was shaded by fear, but now, apparently, I have already gotten used to the very idea that demons live next to me and magic exists. I got used to it and stopped trembling from every rustle. Of course, this does not mean that I have become very brave. No, I still get scared sometimes, but only the attitude to this fear, it has somehow changed, transformed into something that pushes forward, and does not paralyze to the point of trembling ...

Until ten o'clock in the evening, I was studying according to a self-study guide. "Ray of Attention" is an incredibly difficult lesson. The initial stage, focusing my attention on an arbitrary point of the body, was easy. But the second step of the exercise, making it so that absolutely all my attention was concentrated on the chosen place. That was a big problem. Nevertheless, I was not going to quit the exercises, as before, because something was not working out, this time. If it doesn't work out today, then it will work out tomorrow or in a week. If I don't give up, then someday there will be a breakthrough and the exercise will work out as it should. As soon as the desire to quit the exercise became almost irresistible, as I remembered Farlo and how he got to his feet, covered in dirt and on shaking legs. I may be physically weaker than such a unique person as Kano, but if I lose in strength of spirit to a sixteen-year-old boy, then I am not worth a dime, as someone who thinks of himself as a man.

Because of my experiments and thanks to the self-study guide, in order to get enough sleep and feel energetic and full of energy in the morning, it was enough for me to sleep six hours. Usually, after sunset, I did not risk performing the separation, since the demons are still somewhere nearby. But today, I decided to break this rule.

Having flown over the body lying on the couch, I looked around and then moved to the center of the room. Having stood on my "feet", I tried to take the kanyo position. It was not as easy as it seemed, since I could not see myself from the outside and could not accurately judge whether my position was correct or not. And the spirit is not reflected in the mirror. In addition, I did not have a bokken in my hands, but I decided not to pay attention to this element of the position for now.

I experimented for more than half an hour, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that my pose wasn't quite right. Was it really impossible for me to use my astral skills in my shatano classes? This was very bad news, because if it really didn't work out, then in order to achieve at least some results, I would have to practice for years. I was not at all happy with this arrangement.

Once again, having taken the position, I began to recall the words of the master: "pull up your leg", "turn your toe out", "straighten your back". This method moved the training from a dead point, but still, I clearly felt that I was not doing it quite right, and there was no one to correct me.

Despite the fact that I did not achieve the "ideal stance", the classes were useful. Three times I returned to the body and consolidated the result obtained in the astral plane in the muscle memory of the physical component. As with memorizing information, this method worked now. If everything goes without any surprises in the future, then I will be able to significantly reduce the time of my training.

Having completed everything planned for today, already lying in bed and wrapped in a blanket, I thought about Lancer's words about my main motive being "not to be worse." Remembering the lesson, and that's how it is. I was more worried about not doing everything right and not giving in to others. First Kano in sparring, then the main task became not to give in before Farlo. And it would be okay if there was some kind of sports, competitive motivation in this, but no. If I admit to myself honestly, my motive was much more petty; I was simply infuriated by the very possibility of losing to a schoolboy.

It's stupid to get mad over such a trifle. I can't be better at everything and everyone, even if we're talking about school students. Someone will be stronger, someone will be smarter, someone will know more in some area than me. From a logical point of view, my desire "to be no worse" is irrational in its essence. And the fact that I'm so worried about my loss to Kano, there's something unhealthy about it.

The truth was in plain sight, but I still didn't want to look it in the eye. Because, as often happens, the truth is a nasty thing and not nearly as pleasant. My complex stems from the fact that I am a simple, ordinary, average person, an ordinary philistine. Each of us considers ourselves extraordinary, but life gradually knocks this "exceptionality" out of us, showing us our place through examples. After all, who was I on Earth? Yes, an ordinary, completely gray person. What have I achieved at twenty-eight? Graduated from university? Changed two dozen jobs before finding the one where I could stay for more than a year? Went to the bar with friends every Friday? Yes, I didn't even get married and didn't have children. Half of St. Petersburg was like me. Biomass that burning up the planet's resources. And even my hobby, which I thought allowed me to realize myself as a person, turned out to be a useless, talentless empty shit.

Like many others, when reading fantasy books, I imagined myself in the heroes' place, dreaming about what I would do in their place. One of my favorite dreams was to go back in time and live my life over again. It seemed to me that with my experience, I could live a completely different, more interesting, and exciting life, avoid many of the mistakes I made earlier, and so on. At the heart of this dream, again, is the same desire to stand out and be different from everyone else. The dream is understandable, and even in it, I am not unique; every second person dreams of this. And so I actually got what I wanted, a second life, started in a young, healthy body.

And what happens?

If I admit it to myself...

Exclude the astral travel skill I acquired...

That conclusion would be deplorable for me. Even with my knowledge and experience as an adult man, I would quickly fall into the middle of the class in my local school. The only thing I could have used to get by was Dan's appearance and his many years of swimming, but again, there was not a single gram of my personal merit in that.

They say that accepting yourself as you are, without illusions and self-deception, cleanses the soul and opens the way to self-improvement. Perhaps so, but that night, as I lay wrapped in a blanket, I felt incredibly sick, to the point of nausea.

What is even more surprising is that in the morning, I opened my eyes in a wonderful mood. It seemed that for the first time in my life, I was breathing deeply. What difference did it make who I was? What's wrong with someone being better than me at something, even if that someone is a schoolboy? All this is a trifle, not worth attention. The main thing is who I can become. And I really can become someone much greater than I was, even if a series of coincidences or someone else's will is to blame for this opportunity. What difference does it make what the root cause is? The main thing is how I utilize this second attempt granted to me.

At school, on the wave of this mood, I not only managed to write down everything the teachers said, but also thought about my own. I finally got into the rhythm of local life, which means that everything should go a little easier from now on...
* * *

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP