Kirishima returned to the mansion, masking the turmoil inside with a cheerful smile as he sat down to dinner with the Sri Muang family.
After meeting the pretty older sister who sang every day, Tetsuya was so exhilarated that he vowed to see her again next time.
Based on his firsthand impression of Hatsume’s personality, it seemed she would only be interested in meeting him if he had some novel invention to show off—something that might just spur Tetsuya into action.
Kirishima laughed softly at the boy’s remark and proceeded to recount how Tetsuya had behaved in front of Hatsume.
The family burst into laughter as they listened to tales of his nearly unintelligible ramblings and the eccentric antics that had left both of them in a fix.
Even Samat couldn’t quite hide the subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips beneath his stern gaze.
After the pleasant dinner had ended, Kirishima stayed with Tetsuya as he tinkered with his gauntlet. Once the boy had dozed off, Kirishima quietly made his way to Samat’s room.
Behind the silently opened door, he could see Samat gently tapping away at a tablet, absorbed in writing.
"Oh? Eijiro, was it? Thanks for keeping Tetsuya company," Samat said.
"Not at all. He’s a sweet, well-behaved kid. It wasn’t any trouble," replied Eijiro warmly.
Samat chuckled softly at Kirishima’s modest explanation.
"I know how hard it can be to keep kids entertained. Raising my first and second sons taught me that well enough. Especially with the first one—I had no clue what I was doing, so it was a real struggle."
"Wow. Hard to imagine that when I look at you now," Kirishima teased.
Samat laughed heartily as he stroked his white beard.
"So, what brings you here? You’re usually busy with your own business at night."
"Well, sir, do you happen to know someone named Takeru?"
At this question, Samat’s expression suddenly darkened.
He fixed Kirishima with a steely, cold gaze. After a long moment of silence, he spoke in a heavy tone, "How do you know that name?"
"I took Tetsuya out, and there was a man who just stood by our house the entire time—from when we left until we returned. Something about him struck me as off, so I approached and asked about it."
"And?"
"At first he tried to hide who he was. I was about to grab him by the collar, but he slipped away quite easily despite putting up a fight. Then he asked if I was your student, told me his name, and said to inform you that he had returned. He even mentioned he’d see you again soon, calling himself your disciple."
Samat ran a hand through his hair before stroking his beard thoughtfully.
The deep lines on his weathered skin revealed the burden of his thoughts.
After a low, thoughtful murmur, he tapped the table twice as if sealing his decision. "Hmm. Since you’ve already met him, I should explain: he’s my disciple—a foolish, headstrong kid. Not a bad guy, mind you, but..."
He trailed off, locking eyes with Kirishima. "Come to think of it, he reminds me a lot of you."
"Huh. I wouldn’t call myself foolish or stubborn," Kirishima replied lightly.
"Not that exactly, you little brat. I mean, he’s hot-headed and loves a good fight," Samat said with a teasing smirk.
"I guess I do have a bit of that in me."
"See? You don’t even deny it. And when things go sideways, he won’t think twice about using any means necessary."
"Really? Have I ever shown that side in front of you? I mean, I try to behave well when you’re around."
Samat let out a soft laugh at Kirishima’s surprised retort.
Despite his youth, the boy possessed a maturity beyond his years—but he still had much to learn.
"That’s the wisdom of an old man. Honestly, one doesn’t have to be exceptionally wise to see through you."
"Hmm. Is that so?"
"Yes. You aren’t the type to go around boasting about yourself."
"To be frank, when I become a Hero, I’m sure I won’t need to brag. Other people will hunt me down, piece together my story, and spread it for all to see before I even say a word."
Kirishima shook his head as if acknowledging a hard-earned truth, and Samat could only chuckle at the boy’s mature premonition.
Sometimes the boy spoke as if he had already lived a full lifetime, even though in truth it was a past experience Kirishima had endured long ago—a fact of which Samat was blissfully unaware.
"Still, the two of you are quite different. You don’t really get caught up in the idea of dispensing justice, do you?"
"No, I guess my stance is more about doing what I can," Kirishima replied.
"Takeru, on the other hand, was entirely different. He had that same obsession you have with martial arts, but he applied it to his sense of justice. You and I might treat martial arts merely as a means to personal ends, but he saw them as a tool for the greater good."
"From the way you describe him, he sounds like a decent guy."
"I did say he wasn’t a bad man. But in society’s eyes, he wasn’t exactly a paragon either. He acted entirely on his own terms."
Samat sighed heavily, his face etched with bitterness.
Just the thought of Takeru made his chest feel heavy. After all, Takeru was the only disciple he’d ever taken on since beginning Muay Thai—his one and only, in all his sixty-six years.
Whenever he thought of what had become of the boy, a deep sadness welled within him.
Deciding it was time to warn Kirishima, Samat continued, "I’m telling you this so you can learn from his mistakes. You might get carried away when you’re fired up, and no one can predict what you might do."
From everything he’d observed, the boy was calm and good-natured in everyday life. Yet beneath that polite exterior lay a boundary—a line in his heart that, if crossed, would compel him to mete out immediate, brutal punishment.
And that punishment? It was as ruthless and savage as it was swift.
"It’s been thirty years since I first met that foolish disciple. I remember it was a scorching summer, unbearably hot."
"Oh, he looked about forty—so does that mean you met him as a teenager?"
"Yes. He was only eleven. I arrived in Kyoto at twenty-six, and after twenty years of relentless fighting, I had managed to claim one street as a safe zone. Naturally, a few like-minded souls began to gather around me, forming a kind of faction. They tried to prop me up as their leader, but that was never my style."
Kirishima nodded in understanding.
He was the sort who was never cut out for the politics of an organization.
If anyone tried to make him the head of a group, he’d either flee immediately or tear the whole thing apart with his own two hands.
"That day, after I’d told those fools to stop their nonsense and disband their makeshift 'organization,' I was on my way home when a ragged little kid blocked my path. He shouted, asking if I was really the toughest guy on the street."
"Haha. That kid had some nerve."
"Yes, bold indeed. I tried to shrug it off, saying I didn’t know if I was the strongest, and attempted to pass by. But the kid clutched my pant leg, insisting that I help him become stronger. Honestly, I was so taken aback I almost ignored him."
"No doubt that must have annoyed you, sir."
"It really did. He ended up following me all the way to my house and hollering outside the gate like a madman. But he befriended my eldest son so well that I ended up taking him in without much fuss. And just like that, he quietly became my disciple."
"Haha. You really got completely talked into it, sir."
Though his words were rough, the nostalgia in Samat’s eyes softened as he recalled those days.
In a life filled with twists and turns, that had been the moment when things started looking up.
"The kid had great potential—strong character, unyielding drive, and plenty of talent."
"If you’re praising him like that, he must have been exceptional."
"Truly, he was a genius. Although, looking at you now, I’d say he was more of a prodigy than a genius."
"Haha."
"The problem was, his parents had been killed by Villains, leaving him with a burning hatred—a very fierce one."
"Hmm? But isn’t harboring hatred toward Villains a natural response?"
"I believe in revenge. I don’t see anything wrong with repaying blood with blood. But the danger was that he merged that hatred with his own sense of justice. He was righteous in his own way, yet he let that blend of emotions justify everything he did."
"That does sound unsettling, though I suppose it can happen."
"It can, if you’re just an ordinary person trying to stay away from violence. But he wanted to be a Hero—and he became one."
"Ah."
"I’m repeating myself, but a Hero must never let hatred for Villains take root. And if it does, it must be kept concealed at all costs. A Hero’s duty is to enforce justice, not pursue personal vendettas."
Kirishima nodded solemnly as Samat’s serious gaze met his.
It was a question he had pondered time and again since arriving in this world.
The Heroes of his past life—in those over-the-top, almost mythical tales—were entirely different from the Heroes of this world.
Here, being a Hero was a legitimate profession with clearly defined social responsibilities.
They were not permitted to overstep their bounds, and even when violence was unavoidable, it had to be both justifiable and acceptable to the public.
After all, a Hero, as a public figure, could not exist without the support of the people.
That was why Heroes were expected to act—and appear—to be fair and proper.
"That kid was lacking in that regard. At first, people adored him because he was strong and would take on Villains without hesitation. But he got carried away and began crossing the line. In the end, he killed a Villain in the midst of an arrest."
"I see."
In that moment, Kirishima’s mind flashed back to the gleam in Takeru’s eyes.
It wasn’t that Takeru had lived a charmed life, but there was something distinctly harsh and unsettling in that look.
Just the sight of it made Kirishima feel a burning irritation, as if he wanted nothing more than to knock the arrogance right out of him.
People who believed themselves born to rule could hardly tolerate such defiance.
"If things had ended there, it might have been better. After that, he killed a few more Villains—the punishments and suspensions grew more severe. Yet, there were still those who admired his extreme methods, who found satisfaction in his brutality, and somehow he managed to persist as a Hero. Barely. When I heard what happened, I went to confront him, determined to knock some sense into that hot temper of his. But then, something went wrong."
"What happened?"
"The fool killed a Villain in broad daylight—right in front of everyone. And not just any Villain, but one who was on his knees, pleading for mercy. The guy hadn’t even put up any real resistance, yet Takeru repeatedly pummeled his face. The Villain had a Quirk and monstrous physical strength, so you can imagine the scene: his face was utterly mangled. Everyone witnessed it live."
"Hah. That just doesn’t seem right."
"It wasn’t. In the end, Takeru was stripped of his Hero license. I later learned that the Villain had abducted and sexually abused children. My foolish disciple had witnessed it firsthand—and that drove him over the edge."
"If I saw that, I’m sure I’d lose it too. He’s the kind of scumbag you’d want to tear apart on the spot."
Kirishima could empathize with Takeru, at least deep down.
For someone like Kirishima—still partly clinging to remnants of his American identity—a child abuser was a monster so vile that even tearing him limb from limb would hardly seem enough.
"That might sound righteous, but those who saw it all didn’t know the full story. Public opinion turned Takeru into nothing more than a murderer without any heroic dignity. My foolish disciple tried to explain what had happened, but the truth—something no one wanted to face—was completely brushed aside. From what I later heard, a tiny correction only appeared after he’d already lost his Hero status, and by then, no one cared anymore."
"That man’s life has been full of pitfalls, hasn’t it?"
"If that had been the end of it, maybe things would have been all right. But the idiot got drunk, got into a brawl with a passerby, and ended up seriously injuring him. I don’t know what was said, but a man who once stood as a Hero ended up striking a civilian—there was no way that could end well. In the end, he landed in prison five years ago. And now that bastard is out."
Samat sighed wearily, his exhaustion evident.
For him, watching the life of his only disciple unravel so completely was a burden too heavy to bear.
"So take care of yourself too. Don’t let your anger drive you to kill indiscriminately. Always assess the situation calmly."
"I don’t plan on killing Villains in public, at least. If worst comes to worst and I must take a life, I won’t kill someone who’s already been subdued."
"We’ll see about that. Tch. I’ll handle the fool myself. You focus on learning."
"Huh? I don’t even know his address or contact details. How do you plan on finding him?"
"I’ve lived in these parts for fifty years. If he’s anywhere nearby, trust that I have my ways. Now, stop worrying about that and concentrate on your martial arts. You have less than ten days left here."
"That’s true. Then I’ll leave it in your hands, sir."
Seeing Kirishima bow his head, Samat chuckled softly.
After all, he wasn’t exactly his disciple.
Samat wasn’t the kind of man who, after barely two weeks of teaching, would call someone his disciple—and fundamentally, Kirishima’s approach was always his own.
Still, with that devilishly blessed talent and his easy smile, Samat was certain that Muay Thai would become a cornerstone in Kirishima’s life as a Hero.
Hoping the boy would avoid the pitfalls that had doomed his own disciple, Samat bid him farewell.
Having had all his questions answered, Kirishima returned to his room without hesitation.
The night of their meeting was drawing to a close.
**
After that, Kirishima completely forgot about Takeru, devoting himself to learning Muay Thai at an astonishing pace.
His kicks, once a bit clumsy, now traced clean, precise arcs through the air.
He had even grown adept at the close-range clinch fighting that had nothing in common with boxing.
The elbows and knees he employed from that stance were devastating, especially coming from a man of Kirishima’s stature.
In just over ten days, he had laid down a solid foundation, prompting Samat to click his tongue in approval.
"Tch. You really are a fast learner. If I keep you here any longer, I’ll run out of new tricks."
"Come on, sir. That’s not like you. I know I’m still far from perfect—but at least I can say I’ve mastered Muay Thai when my punches come through."
"By your standards, there are probably fewer than ten people in the world who can claim to have truly learned Muay Thai. Heh heh."
Just then, as the two of them chatted amiably, the door swung open and a familiar voice rang out.
"Big bro! I’m here! And there’s a new uncle too!"
"Long time no see, old man. And it hasn’t been that long since I last saw you, disciple," came the reply.
The rough, gravelly timbre prompted Kirishima to instantly shift into a fighting stance.
His skin seemed to harden as his senses sharpened, and a protective field spread out around him capable of deflecting any attack.
When Takeru saw Kirishima glaring at him with cold eyes, the man from ten days ago raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"Hey, now. Don’t get all worked up. I didn’t come here to fight. Besides, even though I call him old man, he’s still my master. Do you really think I’d dare to hurt him?"
His flamboyant floral shirt fluttered with the gesture as he spoke.
Kirishima listened carefully, gradually lowering his guard. He maintained his defensive stance and the [Hardening] effect, but at least he no longer displayed outright hostility.
Takeru grinned broadly and said, "That’s right. Good boy."
Only then did Kirishima realize exactly why he found the man so infuriating.
The man was his kind—someone who believed without a moment’s doubt that he would be the best.
And because he looked down on Kirishima from that pedestal of self-assurance, dealing with him was anything but pleasant.
It was the sort of person who made you want to knock the arrogance right out of him.
Kirishima offered a crooked smile as he met Takeru’s gaze.
It was a sour reunion—like an unripe wine, not yet at its full maturity.
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