Samat did not panic.
He stroked his white, aged beard and barked, "Your mouth is as rude as ever, you foolish disciple. So? Have you finally given up skulking around like some pathetic stalker?"
Takeru grinned and ruffled his coarse, unruly hair.
"I've been cooped up in prison for so long that I forgot Kyoto lies right at your feet, old man. Then, when some puny guy came over claiming to convey your orders, I figured I'd been tiptoeing around for nothing. So today, I decided to barge in without hesitation."
"Heh. I figured all those years behind bars would have burned out your fire. Why didn't you show up sooner? You were released a month ago. Were you off to check on some hidden woman?"
"A woman? Who would be interested in a guy like me? Even if I'd earned some money by honestly doing hero work—which I haven't—it’s laughable to claim I've lost my nerve. No, the one who's truly lost his nerve is you, old man."
"You brat. I'm only saying that because I have nothing left but these final days."
Amid their oddly affectionate banter, a palpable tension filled the space between the two men.
It was like watching an aged, once-mighty lion face off against a comrade who had briefly strayed from the pride only to return.
Kirishima observed them in quiet silence.
Takeru wasn’t exactly someone he liked, yet he wasn’t so petty as to interrupt a long-awaited reunion between master and disciple.
"Days until you die, huh? But you still look spry to me. In my estimation, old man, you'll likely live to be a hundred. And as for why you came late? I had a place I wanted to visit as soon as I got out of that damn prison."
"Huh? You have somewhere else you'd rather go besides here?"
"Remember those kids who were abused by the bastard I killed? When I learned in prison where they were living, I resolved that the very first thing I'd do after my release was head there. Most of them were orphans, gathered together in a single facility."
"Hah. Now that I think about it, I was so preoccupied with you that I never properly looked after them—though there wasn't much I could do anyway."
Takeru offered a faint smile as he regarded his weathered master.
"It's all right. There were plenty of people under your wing; you had enough to worry about without tending to every last soul. Besides, what could a mere civilian do? In a situation like that—when public opinion was already rotten—if you had intervened, they would have dragged you into the fray. In such cases, it's only right for the government to step in."
"So, are the kids doing well?"
"Well... it's hard to say. Considering everything they've been through, they seem to be holding up alright. Being in a national facility meant there was at least an effort to care for them, even if many needs still went unmet."
"That can’t be helped. So, did seeing them make you happy?"
At Samat's inquiry, Takeru's expression flickered.
The smile that had greeted his arrival vanished, replaced by a look mingling anger and the verge of tears.
He allowed his tangled emotions to surface for a moment, then closed his eyes and, when he opened them again, spoke in a subdued tone.
"Happy? I'm not so sure. Honestly, when I first entered prison, I was furious—I didn't understand what I'd done so terribly wrong, and I resented those who glowered at me for killing a man who deserved his fate. Frankly, I'm not much different now. If I could go back, I'd kill him again."
"I know your damned stubborn streak well enough not to need an explanation. You're the kind of man who sticks to his convictions until the bitter end. That's partly why I admired you. I just never imagined that would lead to your downfall."
"Downfall, huh. Well, that's not entirely off the mark. But the funny thing is, those kids never saw me as a fallen loser. To them, I was—and apparently still am—the only hero in the world. Truth be told, I almost shed tears like a fool, realizing that in the end, I did save them."
"That's the reward for saving people. Sure, you were a bit too extreme, but what now? What's your plan?"
"I'm not set on anything yet. But if I had to choose a direction, I'm thinking of heading overseas."
Samat frowned at Takeru's words.
What was this fool—who can barely string a foreign phrase together—talking about going overseas?
"You can't even utter a word in another language. Are you really that desperate to escape?"
Takeru snorted at Samat's remark and then opened his mouth.
"I’d never casually decide to go abroad. I studied hard in prison,"
"Hah. Fair enough. That's impressive, but it's still awfully vague. What do you plan to do for a living?"
"What else? I'll earn my keep doing what I do best."
"Have you lost your mind? Are you planning to become a mercenary?"
"Mercenary? That sounds too crude. Let's say I'll work for a private security company."
"Changing the label doesn’t change the rotten core of it."
"I'm not going to make a living by taking lives. Honestly, I still believe that those who deserve to die should, and if I encounter such a person, I'll kill them.
"If push comes to shove, I'll head to a place where villains are scarce. In such a place, my hero career would probably be held in high regard—and I might even serve as a hero."
"Hmph. Not wrong, I suppose."
"The point is, I'm heading overseas to earn money so I can help the kids I saved do what they want. Frankly, besides you and those kids, I can’t stand most people in this country. I'm not as magnanimous as you, old man."
"Don't sugarcoat it in front of the kid. You know full well I'm no paragon."
"You're still the greatest man I've ever met. Honestly, someone like All Might seems less like a great man and more like a lunatic, so..."
"Don't go saying that anywhere else—you'll get stoned."
"Do you think I'm a child? I know better than that."
"Then why the hell did you end up in prison for acting like one?"
"Ah, old man, you just keep prodding the sore spots."
Takeru scratched his head in exasperation at Samat's jibe, then, turning to Kirishima—who had been listening quietly—directed his ire at him.
"So, who's this kid? Did you take on a new disciple? He looked tough and pretty ferocious last time I saw him."
"You brat. Why are you asking about him when he's right here? But if I must explain, he's not my disciple. He's simply too gifted to be my pupil."
Only then did Kirishima, who had been silently listening to their exchange, speak up.
"I'm Kirishima Eijiro. I'm training under him on a temporary basis—I can only stick around during vacation."
"Temporary? Vacation? Were you a student at U.A.?"
"I'm not in high school—I'm in middle school."
"Middle school? At that size? Hah, you do look young, though I assumed you were more mature."
"I guess I do look a bit young."
Takeru regarded Kirishima from head to toe, utterly dumbfounded.
"So, how long have you been training with the old man?"
"Hmm. Today marks the thirteenth day."
"I thought I said he's not my disciple. This kid made his mark through boxing all on his own. I'm just adding a bit of variety. And now, he's learning so fast I'm starting to wonder if he's going to strip the old man bare."
At the mention of thirteen days, Takeru furrowed his brow, then whistled low in admiration upon hearing Samat's explanation.
Despite time having aged him into a feeble figure, his master still retained the dignity of a fighter—a dignity reminiscent of bygone days when youth reigned supreme.
It was during his third year of high school, when he demonstrated his Muay Thai before his master, that he heard those words:
"You've built your own territory."
Even now, the surge of emotion he had felt then still lived on in his battle-worn heart, defiant against time and the world.
He knew better than anyone how rare it was to be fully acknowledged as a martial artist by a master who had once transcended the ordinary.
And yet, this kid had earned Samat's recognition at just fifteen.
"Heh. Then I certainly can't let this pass. Didn't I mention last time that next time we meet, I'll be the one to test you? The old man is too old to spar with you directly, right? I'll see firsthand how well you've learned, disciple."
"Hey, brat. You're not even my disciple—why are you calling him that?"
"Don't talk nonsense. But why does it look like you're so attached to him? And you're not exactly denying it either."
Kirishima made no objection to Takeru's words.
To him, if the unshakable first teacher in his life had been the gym owner of his previous existence, then Samat deserved to be regarded as his second master.
Samat was a man who excelled both in skill and character.
Though he had rejected the title of "disciple" to avoid imposing on the boy, Kirishima had learned immensely from him—and he expected to continue learning in the future.
What better way to describe the bond between a master who teaches selflessly and a student who learns with all his might than as a master-disciple relationship?
"Honestly, I felt the same. I just never mentioned it because I knew I wasn't the type to fully inherit your Muay Thai."
"Pfft. What does that matter? Takeru here is the one who's going to inherit my Muay Thai, so it doesn't matter one bit. I never cared that passing it on was the goal anyway—the real treasure is the bond that forms between people."
"Then I'll call you Master."
"Oh, so because of you, Takeru, something good came about—I even got to take on a true genius as a disciple."
"What? Then does that make me a fake genius?"
"You'll find out once you spar. I say this knowing you well—if you let your guard down, you'll lose, so give it your all."
"Hah. Come on, old man. Even if I rotted in prison for five years, you really think I'd lose that easily?"
"Do I sound like I'm just spouting empty words?"
Samat's even tone caused Takeru to frown.
In his prime, he had been a formidable hero.
The harmony between his Quirk and the martial arts he learned from Samat had always earned him a reputation as a hidden powerhouse in the underground.
Though he had often taken down villains and—because of his excessively brutal methods—never garnered much popularity, his combat prowess was widely recognized as exceptional.
"Well, we'll see once we spar. Disciple, you don't actually like me, do you? I suddenly show up declaring myself your senior and keep ordering you around. If that appeals to you, then you're either a saint—or All Might."
Kirishima said nothing in response.
Instead, he smiled at Takeru.
After talking with him, it was clear that beneath it all, he was a good man.
Though he had certainly crossed lines, he had never done so for personal gain.
Yet there was something undeniably grating about his unspoken attitude of "I'm stronger than you."
Kirishima wasn't so broad-minded as to ignore that kind of treatment.
With eyes burning and a smile tugging at his lips, Kirishima spoke.
"Not exactly for that reason, but yes—I don't like you. I'd really like to spar with you at least once."
"Good. That look in your eyes, that answer—it's perfect. A martial artist shouldn't always be too fond of people. Old man, may I spar with him here?"
"You're going to start philosophizing about the spirit of a warrior and then go all out again, aren't you?"
"Of course. Isn't it obvious? Even if it's not against a villain, a spar should be fought with full force."
"That ridiculous logic of yours hasn't changed one bit. If you're planning on that, forget it, brat. You planning to bring the house down?"
"Ah. Then what do we do?"
"Remember that spot we always used when I trained you?"
"Oh, that dump? It's still there? I heard they were planning to rebuild it or something."
"That's just the way the city works. Kirishima, you might not know it well, but just remember: it's a place where you can really go all out. You'll understand the rest once you get there."
With that, the two men departed, calling for Kirishima to follow.
Kirishima trailed behind them.
He climbed into the car Samat was driving and sat quietly, offering curt responses to Takeru’s incessant chatter.
Just as Takeru’s surprisingly voluble rambling was beginning to test his patience, they arrived at their destination.
They reached a vast, open lot surrounded by abandoned factories.
The once-glorious place, once teeming with people, now lay desolate and grey as it welcomed the group.
"Here, you two can go all out without anyone getting in your way. There's no risk of things collapsing or breaking."
"I see. It's a good spot."
"Haha. This is where the old man and I used to train. Back then, I couldn't control my Quirk very well—it was dangerous, so we had no choice but to work out in a place like this."
With that, Takeru tossed aside his Hawaiian shirt.
A well-sculpted body was revealed beneath.
"Now then, disciple, there's no need for long-winded speeches, right? You want to fight right now, don't you?"
"That's true. Despite all our back-and-forth, we do understand each other well—even if I don't like you."
Kirishima replied as he also removed his T-shirt.
As his body—chiseled with painstaking effort—was unveiled, Takeru whistled appreciatively.
Kirishima grinned broadly, baring his teeth at the sight.
From everything they'd said so far, it was clear that the man before him was of his own kind.
There was no need for Kirishima to hide his true self in front of Samat and Takeru.
Kirishima activated his [Hardening] and readied himself for a fight.
A fierce, relentless energy surged from within him as his body grew sharper and harder.
The beast had opened its eyes.
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