A Little Stronger
dark heroAfter that day, the three became inseparable.
What had started as a strange encounter over a kidnapped kitten somehow turned into a friendship where seeing only two of them together felt unusual.
At school, Akane joined Nezu and Segu whenever she could. After school, the three often spent time together, and on weekends Akane sometimes appeared so early that Segu accused her of secretly living nearby.
The three played games, studied, wandered around the city, visited parks and shopping centers, and occasionally introduced Akane to ordinary things that were completely new to her.
Those outings also taught Nezu and Segu something important.
Akane had absolutely no common sense.
She wasn’t stupid.
Far from it.
The problem was that Akane had been raised like a princess.
Her definition of normal was fundamentally broken.
The first time they entered a convenience store together, Akane stopped in front of the automatic doors.
They opened.
She stepped backward.
They closed.
Forward.
They opened.
Backward.
They closed.
Segu watched this happen three times.
“Akane.”
“They can see me.”
“They’re automatic.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop bullying the door!”
Another time, they took a bus.
Everything went perfectly until they reached their destination and Akane simply stood up and walked toward the exit.
Segu grabbed her.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside?”
“You need to pay!”
Akane blinked.
“For what?”
“The bus!”
“You have to pay just to get off?”
Segu stared at her.
“Akane… how did you think buses worked?”
Akane thought about it.
“I never really thought about it.”
Somehow, that answer was worse.
There were many such discoveries.
Apparently, normal houses didn’t have someone whose job was to prepare your bath.
Clothes didn’t magically return clean and folded after being left somewhere.
Calling a restaurant and asking them to “send the usual chef” wasn’t considered delivery.
And buying an entire vending machine because it didn’t contain the drink you wanted was, according to Segu, completely insane.
“But then we can choose what goes inside it.”
“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”
Nezu usually stayed out of those arguments.
This unfortunately meant Akane frequently used his silence as support.
“See? Nezu agrees with me.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
“STOP DOING THAT!”
Their days became noisy.
And fun.
But while the three spent more and more time together, Nezu also began keeping the promise he’d made to himself.
And Steve kept the promise he’d made to him.
Their training started almost immediately.
At first, Nezu expected Steve to teach him how to punch harder.
Steve didn’t.
He expected exercises to make him stronger.
There were some.
Just nowhere near as many as Nezu expected.
Instead, Steve spent an unreasonable amount of time throwing him onto the ground.
Again.
And again.
And again.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Nezu stood up.
Steve attacked.
Nezu grabbed his arm, tried the movement Steve had shown him and—
Thud.
Nezu was on the ground again.
“Again.”
Nezu stood.
Thud.
“Again.”
Thud.
“Again.”
Segu and Akane sometimes watched.
Segu usually encouraged him.
Akane was considerably less helpful.
“Why does Steve keep throwing you on the ground?”
Nezu stood up again.
“Training.”
Akane frowned.
“Wouldn’t it be more efficient to hire someone closer to your size?”
Steve looked at her.
“That would defeat the purpose.”
“Then perhaps two people closer to his size?”
Segu sighed.
“Akane, I don’t think throwing more people at Nezu is going to help.”
Akane considered that.
“Three?”
“THAT’S THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I SAID!”
Steve eventually explained what he was trying to teach.
Nezu was small.
Even for his age, he wasn’t particularly strong.
Trying to overpower someone bigger than him was pointless.
So Steve taught him not to.
If someone pushed, Nezu learned not to push back.
Move aside.
Redirect them.
If someone charged at him, their speed wasn’t only an advantage.
It was momentum.
And momentum could be stolen.
Balance could be broken.
Arms could be redirected.
Joints had limits.
The human body had rules.
Nezu simply needed to learn them.
And Nezu was very good at learning rules.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Steve’s lessons gradually changed.
The physical training continued, but sometimes Steve would suddenly stop in the middle of a session.
“How many exits?”
Nezu looked around.
“Two.”
Steve shook his head.
“Three.”
Nezu frowned.
Steve pointed toward a window.
Nezu understood.
The next week Steve asked again.
“How many exits?”
“Four.”
Steve smiled.
“Good.”
Sometimes Steve would place objects around the training area before Nezu arrived.
A chair.
A broom.
A towel.
A bottle.
Then they would spar.
Afterward, Steve would ask a simple question.
“Why didn’t you use the chair?”
Nezu looked at it.
He hadn’t even thought about it.
The next time, he did.
Soon Nezu began entering rooms differently.
Doors.
Windows.
Furniture.
People.
Distances.
Things he could climb.
Things someone could trip over.
Things that could become obstacles.
Steve noticed.
“Better.”
That single word made Nezu happier than he would ever admit.
Then Steve started giving him problems instead of techniques.
“He’s twice your size.”
“Don’t let him grab me.”
“Good.”
“He has a knife.”
“Run.”
Steve raised an eyebrow.
Nezu hesitated.
“…Unless I can’t.”
“Better.”
“Two people are attacking you.”
“Keep one between me and the other.”
“Three?”
Nezu thought.
“Depends.”
Steve smiled.
That was the answer he’d been waiting for.
Nezu slowly began understanding what Steve wanted him to learn.
Strength wasn’t just muscles.
Knowing what to do was strength.
Knowing what the other person would do was even better.
Steve taught him to watch shoulders instead of fists.
Feet instead of faces.
To notice where someone was looking.
To listen.
To think.
And, most importantly, not to fight fairly just because the other person expected him to.
One afternoon, after several months of training, Steve gave Nezu another problem.
“Three men are chasing you.”
Nezu waited.
“They’re stronger than you.”
Nezu nodded.
“Faster.”
That was worse.
“They know how to fight.”
Nezu frowned.
“You don’t have a weapon. There’s nobody nearby to help you.”
Nezu thought.
“Where am I?”
Steve smiled slightly.
“Good question. Open street.”
“Any buildings?”
“No.”
“Cars?”
“No.”
“Anything I can use?”
“No.”
“Can I separate them?”
“They stay together.”
Nezu became increasingly annoyed.
Every possibility disappeared as quickly as he found it.
Eventually, he looked at Steve.
“I can’t beat them.”
“Correct.”
“So what’s the answer?”
Steve pointed behind him.
“Run.”
Nezu blinked.
“You said they’re faster.”
“I didn’t say you’d get away.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“The point is that running gives you a better chance than fighting three people you already know you can’t beat.”
Nezu frowned.
“But I’m still losing.”
“No.”
Steve’s expression became serious.
“That’s something you need to forget.”
Nezu looked at him.
“Running away isn’t losing. Getting yourself hurt for no reason is.”
Steve tapped Nezu lightly on the forehead.
“Use this.”
Nezu rubbed the spot.
“If you need to fight, fight.”
Steve pointed toward his legs.
“If you need to run, run.”
Then toward his eyes.
“And before doing either, look.”
Finally, he pointed toward Nezu’s head again.
“Then think.”
Nezu remained silent.
Steve smiled.
“Your brain is probably the strongest thing you’ve got. It would be a shame not to use it.”
Nezu looked down at his hands.
They were still small.
His arms were still thin.
Segu could probably still beat him in an arm wrestle.
Akane definitely couldn’t.
Probably.
With Akane, somehow, it was safer not to make assumptions.
But compared to the boy who had desperately thrown himself into a fight to save a small black kitten…
Nezu was a little stronger now.
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