The clang of the gong echoed through the hall, announcing the start of the long-awaited martial arts championship in the heart of Belo Horizonte. The atmosphere was charged with energy, and spectators crowded in to witness the first battle: a clash between Mariana, endowed with technical dexterity, and an opponent who radiated an intimidating aura.
The opponent, a true tough nut, possessed formidable physical strength, creating a challenging dynamic. In less than forty seconds of combat, a punch was launched toward Mariana, but she responded with a defense, executing a "bong sal" that reverberated across the arena. At the peak of this defensive moment, Mariana counterattacked with astonishing agility, landing a ram-like punch to her opponent's chin.
The result was swift and decisive: Mariana emerged victorious in less than a minute. Watching that triumph, I couldn't help but smile, already anticipating the skills she possessed. Her performance was not only a display of mastery but also a reflection of an inner strength I deeply admired.
The gong rang again, this time heralding the long-awaited duel between Peter and me. Yet, before the narrative of the fight could unfold, a crucial variable demanded our attention. My Kung-Fu proficiency as Diego, stripped of Raiyokan instincts, had been forged in a mere twelve months of training. However, my situation was no more daunting than Peter's, for he was not a practitioner of any martial art.
In an exchange of piercing glances, we silently established a pact: our superhuman abilities would remain dormant, confined solely to the knowledge of Kung-Fu technique. No extraordinary strength, no spectacular levitation; the battle would be fought on equal footing, where mastery and skill alone would prevail—an ability similar to that which Malik had acquired by consuming the seed.
The heat of battle between Peter and me surged, a Kung-Fu dance even more intense than the feats of Bruce Lee and his master, Ip Man. Every movement was a symphony of technique, executed with a dexterity that defied logic for two martial arts novices. My master and the astonished audience sensed that something unusual was unfolding before their eyes—a skill far beyond the norm for fledgling students.
The intensity of our duel exceeded expectations, capturing the attention even of those who did not understand martial arts. Our excitement was palpable, yet we believed we could conceal our superhuman powers, focusing only on the combat techniques.
However, the refined subtleties of our Kung-Fu, even limited to human speed, were undeniably advanced for two beginners. Each attack, each maneuver, testified to something extraordinary at play.
Facing the match, we realized we had overdone it. The audience's reaction was no longer excitement but bewilderment. It was clear that something unusual had occurred, contradicting our apparent inexperience. We decided to end the fight abruptly, feigning confusion over our own performance. And with the gong signaling the conclusion of the match, we masked our astonishment amid the tense air.
My master, a wise figure, rose to the ring, clutching the microphone. His voice pierced the silence that had settled.
With a serene expression, he shared an extraordinary explanation with the audience: an ancient mantra had permeated the space, granting Peter and me abilities from generations past. The revelation prompted a collective sigh of relief, a divine consolation for the astonishment surrounding our display of skill.
By attributing the event to the divine, my master instilled a sense of peace in the crowd. The spiritual explanation offered clarity to the spectacle. The outcome of the match, as exceptional as the event itself, remained suspended in the air, with the promise of resolution the following day, leaving everyone eager for the final score.
In that moment of reflection, I immersed myself in the nuances surrounding the phenomenon we had witnessed. In the peaceful county of Yetu, where the supernatural seemed to weave naturally into daily life, the inhabitants faced the unusual calmly. Yet in the tournament arena, the atmosphere was charged, a collective expectation seeking understanding.
My master's expression, while sharing the transcendental explanation, acted like a mantra for restless minds. Thus, the audience found a way to accept the extraordinary twist of fate with a tranquility only belief in the divine could provide.
At the end of the tournament, as twilight painted the sky in golden hues, the four of us—Mariana, Peter, Juliana, and I—sought refuge in the imposing São Francisco de Assis Church. The solemn environment seemed to embrace our conversations, as we debated existential questions and the intricate plot of maintaining our secrets.
Hours slipped away in contemplation of the universe, and as our dialogues intertwined, we devised plans to preserve the gift we shared. In unison, we decided to keep it a secret. Yet this decision did not mean renouncing the powers we had been granted. Monthly, guided by a bond we had forged, the four of us teleported to the peaceful county of Yetu.
In that farewell moment, emotions danced between us in a symbolic embrace. The silent commitment we made there, beneath the famous church, would travel through generations, an invisible pact among beings who carried an unparalleled experience.
At the twilight of our journey, as the last echoes of battle dissipated and the curtains fell over the stage of our epics, we realized this was not an end but a point of restart. The closing of one saga, paradoxically, marked the beginning of another, as if every farewell were truly a greeting to the unknown.
The words "everything is over" lingered in the sanctuary of our story, yet simultaneously, "everything begins" whispered like a promise. Indifference—the persistent shadow that seeks to envelop our souls in its cold mantle—was challenged. Problems, like debris left by a storm, surrounded us, but now we understood that facing them was part of the journey.
Irreversible mistakes, the analogical opposite of harmony in the Fibonacci sequence, highlighted imperfection. It was not about avoiding them at all costs but about how we chose to respond. As mentors of our own experiences, we transformed lapses into steps toward growth, scars into maps of resilience overcoming adversity.
In the arduous task of reflection, the wisdom emerged that in a world filled with disparities, indifference was a choice we could not afford. Every action, every word, had the power to influence life's narrative. And thus, in the weave of existence, we must embrace the vulnerability of our human condition.
As this chapter drew to a close, a collective sigh marked the prelude to the next adventure. Life, a cycle of stories, beckoned us to plunge once again into unknown waters, where the next chapter awaited. It was an end and a beginning, a reminder that in the dance of time, each farewell is also a greeting, each ending a new start. Until the next adventure, whispered destiny, as we closed the pages and prepared for the mysteries ahead.
— Kenzo, your son is still alive.
— What are you saying, Peter?
THE END
♫♪Africa ♫
I hear the drums echoing tonight
But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation
She's coming in twelve thirty flight
The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation
I stopped an old man along the way
Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies
He turned to me as if to say
Hurry, boy, it's waiting there for you!
It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had
The wild dogs cry out in the night
As they grow restless longing for some solitary company
I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti
I seek to cure what's deep inside
Frightened of this thing that I've become
It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had
Hurry, boy, she's waiting there for you
It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa
I bless the rains down in Africa
I bless the rains down in Africa
I bless the rains down in Africa
I bless the rains down in Africa
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had
Composition: David Paich, Jeff Porcaro.
Produced by Toto, 1982.
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Raiyokan and the Fibonacci Sequence
FantasyDiego is the reincarnation of a warrior from another universe, now living as a medical student on Earth. Belonging to the legendar lineage of the Raiyokans - Fighters endowed with supersonic speed and superhuman abilities - he faces a crisis: he has...
