Jack grinned, rolling his shoulders as he faced the old man in the courtyard. "So, Master Perv, you really wanna throw hands?"
The old man stood calmly, hands csped behind his baot even b to get into a stance. "I told you before—address me properly."
Jack cracked his knuckles, ign him. "Alright then. Since I'm forced to stay here, might as well make the best of it. Let's see if you back up all that a kung-fu wisdom, old man."
Jack exploded forward, foot smming against the ground as he lunged in with a right hook aimed straight at the old man's jaw.
Then—
His fist hit nothing but air.
The old man was gone.
Jack's eyes widehen he felt a sharp tap at the back of his neck.
BAM!
His face crashed into the dirt, a sharp pressure on his spine keeping him pinned.
The old man sighed. "That was reckless. Try again."
Jack gritted his teeth, pushed up, and spun around with a low sweep.
Missed.
The old man had already stepped away, watg him with the same bored expression as before.
Jack sprang back up, adjusting his stance. "Alright. Got lucky that time, old man."
The old man tilted his head. "Lucky?"
Jack grinned. "Yeah. That won't happen again."
The old man sighed. "Let's test that theory."
Jack rushed in again.
But no matter how fast he threw puhe old man was faster.
No matter how hard Jack tried to predict his movements—he was unreadable.
No matter how many tricks Jack used—they all failed.
Every punch, every kick, every feint—dodged effortlessly.
Jack had fought dozens, maybe even hundreds of people in his past life. He knew how to brawl, how to street fight, how to win dirty.
But none of that mattered here.
Because the old man?
He wasn't just strong.
He was on a pletely different level.
Jack lunged forward, trying to grab the old man's wrist—
SMACK!
A sharp strike nded against his forearm, sending a numbing jolt up his entire arm.
"Tch—!"
He barely registered the pain before—
BAM!
A palm strike hit his chest, sending him stumbling backward.
Jack's feet scraped against the dirt, barely keeping him upright.
His ribs burned.
His lungs ached.
His body was already starting to scream in protest.
The old man didn't even look like he was trying.
Jack panted, gring. "Alright, alright. Maybe you're a little fast."
The old man tilted his head. "Fast?"
Jack grinned. "Yeah. Like an elderly roadrunner. But don't worry—I'll adjust."
The old man sighed. "I see your arrogance remains intact."
Jack dashed fain, trying to use his speed to close the gap.
This time, he didn't aim for a direct attack.
Instead, he threw dirt up from the ground, trying to blind the old man.
But before the dirt even reached his eyes—
SMACK!
Jack felt a sharp impact against his wrist, f his hand open.
The dirt scattered harmlessly.
Jack's mind reeled. How the hell—?!
Then—
A foot smmed into his stomach.
Jack felt the air leave his lungs as he was lifted off the ground.
"GHH—!"
His body crashed onto the dirt again, rolling before ing to a stop.
He groaned, coughing as he pushed himself up. "Motherfu—"
Before he could even finish cursing—
The old man's foot was on his throat.
Jack froze, blinking.
The old man stared down at him, unimpressed. "Dead. Again."
Jack gritted his teeth.
The old man removed his foot and stepped back, waiting. "Get up. Try again."
Jack groaned, rolling onto his stomach. "Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"
The old man gave a faint smirk. "Perhaps a little."
Jack coughed, spitting to the side. "Sick bastard."
But despite his ag body, burning lungs, and throbbing limbs—Jack stood up again.
And he charged in.
And he lost again.
The training tinued like this for weeks.
Every single day, Jack fought.
And every single day, Jack got his ass kicked.
At first, he fought like his old self—wild, uable, dirty. It didn't work.
Theried fighting defensively. It didn't work.
Theried pure aggression. That REALLY didn't work.
The old man never used full force.
A, Jaever won once.
His bones bruised.
His muscles tore and rebuilt.
His breathing became sharper.
The old man never gave him an easy answer.
Every time Jack asked for a teique, a shortcut, or a trick—
"Figure it out."
Jack learned by gettien down.
But the thing about Jack Hou?
He never gave up.
No matter how much he lost, no matter how many times he hit the dirt,
Jack always got back up.
Weeks ter, Jack stood in the courtyard again, arms covered in fresh bruises, sweat dripping from his brow.
The old man watched him, waiting. "Ready?"
Jack grinned, his stance more trolled this time. "Always."
The old man moved first, dashing forward with blinding speed.
Jack read the movement.
He didn't panic.
He didn't swing wildly.
Instead—
He waited.
At the st sed, Jack shifted his weight, just barely slipping past the attack.
The old man's eyes narrowed slightly.
Jack threw a terpunch—
The old man blocked it easily.
But—
Jack saw the flicker of approval in his expression.
It wasn't a win.
Not even close.
But it was the first time he had dodged a strike ly.
And for now—
That was enough.
…
Jack sat at the wooden dining table, arms crossed, body covered in fresh bruises from his test beatdown. His ribs ached, his knuckles throbbed, and his left eye was swelling shut.
But worse than all of that?
His pte.
Yet again, his lunch was nothing but vegetables—steamed greens, boiled roots, and whatever tasteless grass his master pulled from the damn garden.
Jack stared at it.
Then, slowly, he banged his fist oable.
"I WA."
The old man tinued eating, pletely unfazed.
Jack's eye twitched. "I'm a growing boy, you soon-to-be ashes! I NEED MEAT! This isn't a well-banced diet for a child!"
The old man sipped his tea. "You're not a child."
Jack scowled. "My body is! And if I don't get some protein soon, I'm gonna start gnawing on my own goddamn leg!"
The old man shrugged. "Then you better pick the left o's weaker."
Jack gaped at him.
The old ma his chopsticks down. "I won't cook again. If you're ing, I'll eat it all myself."
Jack's face twisted irayal.
He g his pte, then back at his master, who was already reag for his portion.
Shit. If I fight him on ay stomach, I'll actually die.
Jaatched the pte back, shoveling food into his mouth aggressively. "Fine. But if I pass out from malnutrition, I'm haunting your ass."
The old man gave a rare smirk. "I'd like to see you try."
…
Jack stood in the courtyard again, belly full, fidence even fuller.
He bounced on his heels, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, old ma's do this."
He had been training for weeks. Getting his ass kicked daily.
But now?
Now he could dodge some attacks. ter a few strikes.
He wasn't the same weak little bastard who got steamrolled on the first day.
He was better.
Stronger.
Faster.
The old man gave him a slow, calg look. "Hmph. You're fident today."
Jack grinned. "You better watch out. You might actually have to try this time."
The old man sighed. "Alright, then. I won't hold back as much."
Jack's grin faltered slightly. "Wait, what?"
Then the old man moved.
And Jack immediately regretted everything.
"WHAT THE FU—"
Jack barely saw it.
A blur of movement, then—a palm smashed into his chest.
Jack's feet left the ground.
He soared backwards like a ragdoll, crashing into the dirt so hard he bounced.
Coughing, gasping for breath, Jack scrambled back to his feet, eyes wide.
"You were holding back that much before?!"
The old man nodded. "Of course."
Jack cursed, wiping blood from his lip. "Sick bastard."
The old man was already in front of him again.
Jack barely had time to raise his arms before—
SMACK!
A spinning kick smmed into his ribs.
Pain exploded through his entire body.
Jack staggered back, barely staying upright.
"Shit—!"
Arike to his leg.
Then his shoulder.
Then his gut.
Jack felt like a goddamn pinball, getting battered from every angle.
No matter how much he tried to block or ter—
The old man was just too fast.
Too precise.
Jack was losing. Hard.
And then—
His left ear twitched.
A straingliion crawled down his earlobe.
Jastinctively reached up, fingers brushing against his dangling earring.
The momeouched it—
Something shifted.
His hand tightened around something solid.
A staff.
Jack blinked.
It wasn't big.
Just a small, thin rod, no bigger than a drumstick.
The old man's eyes narrowed. "So… you gaihe approval of the Ruyi Jingu Bang already."
Jack stared at the tiny sti his grip.
Then scoffed. "Approval? It's just a damn drumstick."
As if offehe staff suddeended.
Jack yelled in surprise, struggling to hold onto it as it grew into a full-sized on.
Then—his fingers snapped.
Pain ripped through his hand.
His grip failed.
The weight of the staff was too much.
Jack colpsed onto his knees, watg in horror as his fiurned purple, crushed uhe sheer weight.
Then—
The staff shrank bato his earring.
Jack gasped in pain, clutg his broken fingers. "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"
The old man walked ng at Jack's hand.
"Hmph. You weren't ready for its weight."
Jack gred at him. "YOU THINK?!"
The old man shrugged. "You'll walk it off in a week."
Jack stared in disbelief. "MY FINGERS ARE CRUSHED, YOU SADISTIC CORPSE!"
The old man ignored his pints.
Instead, he simply grabbed Jack by the colr.
Jack yelped as he was dragged toward the massive tree. "OI! WHAT NOW?!"
The old man exhaled. "Since your staff is unusable for noill start with something simpler."
Jack groaned. "What, more puo the face?"
The old man smirked. "Worse."
Jack gritted his teeth. "Oh, I swear to God—"
The old man plopped him down at the base of the tree.
"It's time to learn how to trol your qi."
Jack froze.
Then sighed heavily.
"This is gonna be some bullshit, isn't it?"
The old man patted his shoulder. "Absolutely."
Jack groaned.
…
Jack sat cross-legged at the base of the massive tree, his broken fihrobbing like a bitch.
The old man stood in front of him, arms folded, eyes calm as ever.
"Close your eyes," the old man instructed. "Feel your surroundings. Feel the wind carving through your stone body."
Jack sighed, closing his eyes. "Alright, alright."
He focused.
Stone… rock…
…The Rock.
…Dwayne Johnson.
Jack's eyes snapped open. "Wait, is Dwayne Johnson even famous yet in 2002?"
WHACK!
A wooden staff smmed against Jack's skull.
Jack yelped, clutg his head. "OW, WHAT THE HELL?!"
The old man gred down at him. "Stop talking nonsense aate properly."
Jack grumbled, rubbing his scalp. "Fine, fine. o go full child abuse on me, you prehistoric fossil."
The old man whacked him again.
Jack bit back a scream and forced himself to sit still.
He took a deep breath.
And for the first time in his chaotic, bullshit-filled life…
He slowed down.
No jokes. No smartass remarks. No movement.
Just… stillness.
The air felt cooler.
The grouh him felt firmer.
The wind traced along his skin like unseen fingers, carrying the st of earth, leaves, and faint inse.
His owhing became clearer—a steady rhythm against the quiet world around him.
The old man, watg him from above, narrowed his eyes.
Jack was silent.
Not moving. Not fidgeting. Not even muttering some dumbass ent.
"...Did he fall asleep?" the old man muttered.
Then, as he took a step closer—he paused.
Jack's body was still in the courtyard.
But his mind?
It was somewhere else.
Jack opened his eyes—but he wasn't in the courtyard anymore.
He stood in a vast, empty space, stretg endlessly in every dire.
No sky. No ground.
Just… nothing.
Jack's brows furrowed. "The hell is this?"
He took a step forward, his footsteps eg despite there being nothing to step on.
Then, something shifted in the distance.
A faint, golden light.
It flickered, barely there—like a fme fighting against the wind.
Jaarrowed his eyes. "That's… new."
Before he could move toward it—
A sudden, sharp ughter shrough the silence.
"KEKEKEKE…!"
Jack's eyes snapped open in the real world.
His master stood in front of him, arms crossed, shaking with barely tained amusement.
Jack blinked rapidly, disoriented. "…What?"
The old ma out another dry, wheezing chuckle.
"Kekekeke… If I k was that easy, I would have just crushed your fingers on the first day."
Jack's eye twitched.
"I fug knew you ehat, you sadistic bastard."
The old man grinned, eyes glinting.
"Wele to the first step of qi cultivation, monkey."
Jack scowled.
And just like that—his journey into real power had begun.
