The next morning started like a sp from the universe. Quite literally.

  “Up.”

  I jolted awake, halfway choking on my own tongue. Standing over me was Granny—arms crossed, sun behind her like some ancient deity of morning suffering.

  ‘Who needs an arm clock when you’ve got a war general with a tea addiction?’

  She didn’t wait for acknowledgment. Just tossed my training gi at my face and stomped outside. The message was clear: no words, no warmth, no mercy—just training.

  I dressed quickly, still groggy, still yawning, and followed her out into the back courtyard. The early light cut golden sshes through the trees, but the warmth was deceptive. My muscles already ached in anticipation.

  “Today,” Granny announced, “we double the weights.”

  I stared at her, deadpan. “Was this not your ‘gentle’ morning warmup already?”

  “Nope. That was the baby version.”

  ‘Of course it was. I bet her idea of gentle is getting drop-kicked by a tiger.’

  She handed me the weighted gear—ankle wraps, wrist bands, a weighted vest that felt like someone had stitched together lead bricks and cursed motivation.

  This wasn't training. This was punishment disguised as tradition. I groaned but didn’t compin. Not out loud, anyway. Internally? Oh, I was composing opera.

  ‘This woman’s version of “basic exercises” would make Olympians cry blood. And yet here I am, at five years old, casually living through what I used to call a week-long gym hell back in my past life.’

  I never told anyone about that. About my life before this one. Why would I? Earth-me was just a regur guy. No martial arts glory. No muscles. Just a Dragon Ball fan with a death wish to not die again.

  Now I had this second life—and it was kicking my ass before breakfast.

  After Granny deemed my “warmup” done (read: left me shaking like a noodle and drenched in sweat), she nodded toward the front of the house.

  “Sasha’s taking you to school.”

  I blinked. “That’s today?”

  She smirked. “You thought yesterday was the only pain you’d feel this week? Kid, I’m just getting started.”

  I bathed, dressed, and stared at myself in the mirror.

  My outfit was an altered gi—white sleeveless overshirt trimmed at the neck and hem in bck, the Roux Dojo symbol stitched proudly across the chest. A wide bck sash wrapped around my waist, holding my pants snug and more importantly, hiding the inch of tail regrowth currently attempting to peek out like it had something to say.

  “Stay hidden, you furry little traitor,” I muttered.

  I looked like a baby martial artist in a period drama.

  Cue Granny walking by the doorway.

  “You going to school or a martial arts tournament, Monk Boy?”

  “I like to look ready,” I grinned. “You never know when kindergarten might become a battlefield.”

  She snorted.

  Sasha, ever punctual and stylish, arrived downstairs with her tablet in one hand and car keys in the other. Her hair tied up, her bzer crisp, her attitude—pure mom energy. She paused when she saw me.

  “You look… serious.”

  “I take education as seriously as a kick to the face,” I said solemnly.

  “…That might be the most accurate thing I’ve heard from you.”

  The ride to school was uneventful, but I kept fidgeting with my waistband, terrified my tail would pop out and introduce itself to civilization like, hi I’m an alien, do you like moons?

  Sasha handled my registration at the front desk of West Ward Elementary. She filled out paperwork, signing me in as the adopted son of Carl and Sasha Roux, and handed me over to a teacher who was the physical embodiment of a marshmallow.

  Miss Airi.

  She was soft, squishy-voiced, and positively glowed with optimism. Her gsses were too big, and she wore a cardigan that screamed wholesome protagonist in a tragic fshback.

  “Welcome, Kalbi! We’re so happy to have you in our css!” she beamed.

  I waved politely. “Thanks. Let’s hope your css feels the same way.”

  They didn’t.

  Oh no. They really didn’t.

  Elementary School: Popution—Tiny Chaos Gremlins

  The kids in my css were… something else. They looked innocent enough, but ten minutes in, I’d been hit with:

  A paper airpne

  An eraser

  A spitball (who even teaches kids to make spitballs anymore?!)

  And the sound of snorting.

  Literal, honest-to-Kami snorting. At least three of them had this weird habit of making pig sounds when excited or annoyed. One kid even did it while reading.

  I sat at my tiny desk, arms folded, watching the room descend into madness while Miss Airi tried her best to wrangle the chaos.

  ‘I’ve faced boulders. I’ve dodged Granny’s kicks. I’ve done squats with trees strapped to my back. But this… this is the real test.’

  By the time school ended, I had mentally filed five children under “Future criminal threats,” two under “Maybe not terrible,” and one—one girl with pigtails who stared at me like I was edible—under “Avoid at all costs.”

  I returned home with my tiny bookbag and my not-so-tiny trauma.

  Waiting for me?

  Granny.

  On the mat.

  Gi tied. Feet pnted. Hands ready.

  “Mock battle,” she said.

  “No hug? No ‘how was your day’? Not even tea?”

  “Mock. Battle.”

  I sighed, dropped my bag, and walked to the mat.

  Ten minutes ter, I’d been flipped, tripped, swept, spped, and forced to dodge a spear’s butt end that moved like a cobra on steroids. I didn’t win. Of course not. But I nded one good hit.

  And she grinned like a proud wolf.

  After that, she let me colpse in peace, panting on the floor. Then sat down next to me and pulled out a thin stick of incense, lit it, and pnted it in a small bowl.

  “You ever hear of ki?”

  I blinked. “Energy stuff? Internal power?”

  “Exactly. Some say it’s the soul’s strength. Others call it pure energy. One man… learned to shoot it from his hands.”

  My eyes widened.

  ‘No. She’s not talking about him, right? She can’t be. Turtle Hermit himself?’

  Granny stared into the smoke, as if seeing the past.

  “Could shoot beams. Balls of light. Whole waves of energy. One move could ftten a mountain.”

  I knew she was talking about Master Roshi. She never said his name, but I remembered the tale—the old man on the isnd, who trained Goku and Krillin, who blew up a mountain just to impress a girl.

  ‘I wonder… can I learn that too?’

  But I didn’t say anything. I just listened, eyes shining with the promise of the future.

  Then she handed me a new assignment.

  “Kata movements. Thirty reps. Before dinner.”

  I groaned but stood up.

  By the time Carl and Sasha came home, I was shirtless, dripping with sweat, finishing the st round of movements with arms aching and tail twitching from under my sash.

  Granny had already started dinner, and I stumbled into the kitchen like I’d just escaped a small war.

  We sat at the table—me, Granny, Carl, and Sasha. A real family dinner. Ptes of rice, tofu, and stir-fried vegetables were passed around.

  Carl turned to me with his usual chipper curiosity. “So! First day of school. How was it?”

  I took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Then looked him dead in the eye.

  “Well,” I began with a grin, “it started with what you’d call a bodybuilder’s workout… tripled. Then I met a very cute teacher who was tragically surrounded by snorting and crying gremlins. Came home, got beat up in a mock battle by your mom, then heard a bedtime story about a guy who shoots beams out of his hands. Now I’m here. Eating dinner. So, you know. Your typical Monday.”

  Carl twitched.

  Sasha just closed her eyes and nodded like she was aging ten years per word.

  Granny didn’t even flinch. Just ate.

  I grinned. “Best day of my life.”

  They let me eat in peace.

  I went to bed curled up next to Granny in our shared room, the tatami mat beneath me still warm from the day’s heat. My body ached. My brain was full. My heart… felt good.

  ‘This is my life now. School. Training. Ki. Weird kids. Old warriors. Homework. Death squats. Repeat.’

  I smiled as my eyes drifted shut.

  Tomorrow, it all begins again.

  And weirdly?

  I couldn’t wait.