Hikigaya frowned as he walked down the street, holding what looked like a tourist guidebook.
Except it didn't list sightseeing spots—it listed martial arts schools.
His goal was to learn martial arts.
The words of that self-proclaid "Seth" cosplay uncle had really stuck with him. Of course, he had to admit, if that uncle hadn't revealed such an utterly inhuman side of himself—one that made Hikigaya deeply question and feel unsafe in this world—he wouldn't have seriously started searching for a dojo to learn martial arts.
Is martial arts easy to learn? Probably not. If it were, there'd be martial artists all over the streets. If it were easy, everyone would be learning it.
Look at the masters in movies—they're all discovered when they're just kids.
Even in those rare cases where a random prodigy gets pulled off the street by so scruffy old man disguised as a beggar (maybe a real one) and handed a five-dollar book of the "Buddha's Palm" technique or sothing, they still have to get beaten half to death by the boss before they can officially start "cheating" and beco a master.
He had walked all this way, but had he seen a single scruffy old man selling secret books?
Not one! But there were several shady guys promoting a new kind of condom…
Screw cheat protagonists! I hate cheat protagonists! Why don't I get to be a cheat protagonist!?
Even if I can't be one, at least give a world guidebook or sothing! What the hell is this world?! I barely got into the school-life setting before supernatural stuff started happening—and now, just a few days later, it's jumped straight into fantasy?! What type of light novel did Zaimokuza write?
Damn, damn, damn! Genre classification is a serious business! Even if it's an isekai, can't you please be a bit more professional!?
This is like being told to collect the seven Dragon Balls while filming a patriotic propaganda movie. Everything is just wrong.
He patted the satchel slung across his body. Inside was the ceramic jar. Hikigaya wouldn't dare throw this thing away now.
Especially after he had tried to open it the other day.
Not only did it not open—he even threw it from the rooftop and hit it with a stick, to no effect at all.
What the hell is this jar made of, adamantium? It looks like ceramic, right? It feels like ceramic for sure.
Technology is advancing way too freakishly fast—Hikigaya felt like he just couldn't keep up with the tech world anymore.
If soone invented this thing, couldn't they at least announce it on the news or sothing? Not saying anything—feels like an intentional trap!
He couldn't open the jar, and didn't dare throw it away. Given the strange circumstances he was dealing with, following the cosplay uncle's advice seed like the best course of action for now.
He stopped walking.
He had arrived at the first dojo listed in the guidebook.
Take a look—Pencak Silat.
Tch… What the hell is that…?
He wouldn't even ask for so elegant, high-class nas like Tai Chi or Kung-fu. Even common ones like Karate or Taekwondo were at least familiar. But Pencak Silat…?
And look, there's English on the sign. That's English, right? A dojo with bilingual signage?
Ugh, I hate English the most!
Whatever, let's just go in and see.
Just as Hikigaya lifted his foot, he suddenly heard a commotion. Looking in the direction of the noise, he saw a group of people marching toward him.
They were dressed in white martial arts uniforms, but their expressions were anything but friendly. They radiated the aura of "Yeah, I'm a thug, so what?"
It looked like their destination was this very dojo.
The foot he had raised imdiately dropped back down.
This… doesn't seem safe?
As he was thinking that, the group had already reached him. They spotted Hikigaya and quickly surrounded him.
Oh crap, is this gonna be one of those "We're beating you up just because you were standing at the door" scenes?
Should I call the cops?
Or just cover my face and lie on the ground? Maybe then they'll pity and hold back?
Before Hikigaya could make a decision, a tall young man walked right up to him, looking full of himself, and began babbling.
Literally babbling—because Hikigaya couldn't understand a word.
Well, not entirely true. He caught one word.
"Sumida!"(Korean suffix)
So they were Koreans.
Ah, I'm so tired. Too tired to even complain. I just wanna go ho and sleep.
Hikigaya didn't respond, which annoyed the "Sumida" guy. He grabbed Hikigaya's collar and continued babbling.
What's wrong with this Korean's eyes? Can't he see that I clearly don't understand a word he's saying?
All Hikigaya wanted to say was—
Dude, your breath stinks. It's killing .
Just then, a voice cried out—"Stop!"
At that mont, Hikigaya felt like crying.
What took you so long?
Do I get compensation for emotional trauma?
"What are you trying to do to our student?!"
Huh? I'm a student now? I haven't even entered the dojo!
Looks like learning this martial art makes your eyesight worse.
Hikigaya felt he had better leave quickly.
Thud!
His butt hit the ground hard.
This ti, the tears ca for real—because he landed on the ceramic jar.
It jabbed him so hard he nearly passed out.
"Haha, look at that dumbass. Figures—this is monkey martial arts, after all!" the Korean guy laughed, then turned to the people who had run out from the dojo. "We're here for a friendly spar."
By this ti, Hikigaya had more or less recovered, and he clearly heard that first sentence.
Lately, Hikigaya had been very unhappy.
Anyone in his situation would be miserable. Even with the ntal fortitude that ca as a free bonus with transmigration, it didn't an he could just smile and brush off all this madness.
Negative emotions, once they reach a certain point, are bound to explode.
"Hey, we're monkeys, huh? Then what are you?" Hikigaya looked at the Korean guy mockingly. "Is this how noble martial artist should behave?."
"You Japanese pig! You looking to die?!" the young man roared.
Too bad that line had zero effect on Hikigaya.
In fact, it drew a lot more hostility—from the surroundings.
After all, this was Japan…
And not so remote backwater either…
"Shut up, Chi-seong!" soone in the crowd shouted. "Is this how a true son of Korea should behave?"
Hikigaya curled his lip.
Only now you are reacting?
The man who had shouted stepped forward. First, he berated the Korean youth harshly (Hikigaya couldn't understand the words, but guessed from the expression), then walked over and bowed to Hikigaya.
"Sorry. My disciple was rude."
So… what the hell is going on? Why does everyone think I'm from this dojo?
Damn it, is this so kind of sign that I am destined to learn this bizarre martial art with a na I've never even heard of, in a dojo that insists on bilingual signage?
Hikigaya saw himself as an attacker, not a receiver. Even though this wasn't the first ti, being forced like this felt awful.
Wait, why am I already assuming I have to learn martial arts? Wasn't I just planning to take a look?
These damn people ssed up my whole train of thought.
Annoyed, Hikigaya turned his head.
Across the street, a barefoot young man wearing so kind of ethnic clothing stood silently, watching the scene unfold.
Just as Hikigaya's gaze landed on him, the young man turned and looked right back—with a strange, eerie expression.
Under that stare, Hikigaya suddenly felt completely uncomfortable.
But the young man quickly looked away again. Then, he grinned and began walking toward the dojo.
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