Unexpected Encounters
I had a goal now. Mikasa Ackerman. The dojo's undefeated champion. The measuring stick against which I would test my progress, my growth, my transformation. There was something else too, this body recovers quickly. I can feel the ache starting to wear off even as I'm walking. I'd have to investigate that.
But first, I needed fuel. My stomach was growling like a caged beast, and I knew I wouldn't be able to think straight until I got some food in me.
I headed to a nearby café, a cozy little spot with a menu that boasted the best protein shakes in town. I ordered the biggest one they had, a monstrous concoction of whey, peanut butter, and banana. The first sip was like ambrosia, a rush of nutrients and flavor that made my taste buds sing.
As I drank, I pulled out my phone and opened up the notes app. It was time to get organized, to put together a plan of attack for the next three months.
First things first - training. I needed to hit the dojo at least five times a week, pushing my body to its limits and beyond. Mornings and after college were best, before the demands of the day could interfere. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Two hours each session, focusing on technique, conditioning, and sparring.
But the dojo was just the beginning. If I wanted to unlock my full potential, I needed to train my mind and my voice as well.
Singing lessons would be key. I did some quick research, found a well-reviewed vocal coach who offered evening sessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Two hours each, working on technique, range, and stage presence.
Acting classes were a bit trickier to schedule, but I managed to find a weekend workshop that looked promising. Four hours every Saturday and Sunday afternoon, diving into character work, improv, and scene study.
And of course, I couldn't neglect my college coursework. Lectures and labs took up most of my weekdays, with study sessions and project work filling in the gaps. It would be a balancing act, juggling the demands of my training with the requirements of my degree, but I was determined to make it work.
By the time I finished my shake and my scheming, I had a full weekly schedule mapped out:
Monday:
5:00 AM - 7:00 AM: Dojo training
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM: College classes and labs
5:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Dojo training
8:00 PM - 10:00 PM: Study and project work
Tuesday:
6:00 AM - 8:00 AM: Conditioning and cardio
9:00 AM - 3:00 PM: College classes and labs
5:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Singing lessons
8:00 PM - 10:00 PM: Study and project work
Wednesday:
5:00 AM - 7:00 AM: Dojo training
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM: College classes and labs
5:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Dojo training
8:00 PM - 10:00 PM: Study and project work
Thursday:
6:00 AM - 8:00 AM: Conditioning and cardio
9:00 AM - 3:00 PM: College classes and labs
5:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Singing lessons
8:00 PM - 10:00 PM: Study and project work
Friday:
5:00 AM - 7:00 AM: Dojo training
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM: College classes and labs
5:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Dojo training
8:00 PM - 10:00 PM: Study and project work
Saturday:
7:00 AM - 9:00 AM: Dojo training
10:00 AM - 12:00 PM: Study and project work
1:00 PM - 5:00 PM: Acting workshop
6:00 PM - 10:00 PM: Personal time and relaxation
Sunday:
7:00 AM - 9:00 AM: Dojo training
10:00 AM - 12:00 PM: Study, project work, and meal prep
1:00 PM - 5:00 PM: Acting workshop
6:00 PM - 10:00 PM: Personal time and relaxation
I looked at the schedule. It was a lot, no doubt about it. But I could handle it. I had to handle it.
Because this wasn't just about winning a tournament or impressing a rival. This was about reclaiming my life, my identity, my very sense of self.
In my old world, I had been a warrior, a champion, a force to be reckoned with. In this new world, in this new body, I was a no one. But not for long.
By the time I left the cafe the afternoon sun was at its peak as I made my way to Akihabara, Tokyo's legendary electronics district. I had a few key items on my shopping list - some new clothes for my training sessions, and a high-quality microphone and monitor for my singing practice.
As I walked through the bustling streets, my mind started to wander. A melody began to play in my head, a song from my past life that I hadn't thought about in years.
"Tonight, gonna leave that nine to five upon the shelf, an' just enjoy yourself..."
I hummed along under my breath, my feet starting to move in time with the beat.
"Groove, let the madness in the music get to you..."
I was so caught up in the memory that I almost missed my stop. I hopped off the train just as the doors were closing, earning a few irritated glares from the other passengers.
But I didn't care.
First stop - clothes. I found a store specializing in athletic wear and picked out a few moisture-wicking shirts and shorts, perfect for long hours of training. The salesman tried to upsell me on some fancy compression gear, but I waved him off.
Next, the electronics store. I spent a good hour browsing the shelves, comparing specs and prices, before finally settling on a sleek black microphone and a compact monitor speaker. The total made my wallet wince, but I knew it was an investment in my future.
As I made my way back to the train station, my purchases tucked securely in the bags, I smiled. This Sunday was productive. I could feel that little by little, piece by piece, I was building the toolkit I needed to succeed in this new life.
Lost in thought, I almost didn't notice when I started humming again. The same song from before, the melody insistent and infectious.
"Let the madness in the music get to you..."
I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me, carry me away.
"Life ain't so bad at all... If you live it off the wall..."
I must have been singing out loud without realizing it, because when I opened my eyes, I saw a young woman across the aisle staring at me. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink.
For a moment, we just looked at each other, caught in that awkward moment when you realize you've been caught doing something embarrassing in public.
But to my surprise, she smiled. "That's a catchy song," she said, her voice soft but clear over the rattle of the train. "What is it?"
I blinked, taken aback by the question. "Oh, uh, it's 'Off the Wall' by Michael Jackson. You know, the King of Pop?"
Her brow furrowed, confusion clouding her delicate features. "Michael Jackson? I'm not familiar with him. Is he a new artist?"
Now it was my turn to be confused. Michael Jackson, a new artist? The man was a legend, an icon, a household name across the globe. How could she not know who he was?
Unless...
I took a closer look at the woman, really seeing her for the first time. She was beautiful, no doubt about it - waist-length dark brown hair with neatly trimmed bangs, big emerald-green eyes that sparkled in the fluorescent light of the train car, fair skin that looked soft to the touch. And her figure, well... let's just say she filled out her sundress in all the right ways.
"Here, let me show you," I said, pulling out my phone. "I'll look up the song, and you can listen to it yourself."
I typed "Michael Jackson" into the search bar, expecting to see the usual flood of images and videos.
But what I got instead was... a Facebook profile. A man in Texas, grinning at the camera in a cowboy hat and boots, standing next to a pickup truck.
I frowned, scrolling through the page. It was just an ordinary guy, living an ordinary life. No mention of music, no hint of the global superstardom that should have been Michael Jackson's legacy.
What the hell was going on?
I looked up at the woman, saw the question in her eyes, the expectation. I couldn't very well tell her that one of the most famous musicians of all time had seemingly vanished from existence, replaced by some random dude in the Lone Star State.
So I did what any self-respecting man would do in that situation. I lied through my teeth.
"Ah, sorry, my mistake," I said, forcing a laugh. "I got the name wrong. It's a pretty obscure song, probably not one you'd know."
She tilted her head, studying me with those big, green eyes. For a moment, I thought she was going to call me on my bullshit, demand a real answer.
But then she shrugged. "Well, it sounded nice. You have a good voice."
I felt a flush creep up my neck, a warmth that had nothing to do with the stuffy air of the train car. "Thanks, I've been practicing."
"It shows," she said, and there was a note in her voice that made me look up, meet her gaze. There was something there, a sparkle of interest, of intrigue.
The train lurched to a stop, the doors sliding open with a hiss. The woman glanced at the platform, then back at me. "This is my stop," she said, a hint of regret in her tone. "It was nice talking to you..."
She trailed off, letting the unspoken question hang in the air between us.
"Kazuya," I said. "Kazuya Kinoshita."
"Kazuya," she repeated, and I felt a shiver run down my spine at the sound of my name on her lips. "I'm Hina. Hina Tachibana."
"Nice to meet you, Hina," I said, and I meant it.
She smiled, a real smile this time, bright and warm and full of promise. Then she was gone, slipping out the doors and into the crowd.
At that moment, I made a split-second decision. I grabbed my bags and hopped out onto the platform, ignoring the annoyed looks from the other passengers.
Hina's eyes widened as I approached her, a mix of surprise and something else I couldn't quite read. "Kazuya? What are you doing?"
"I realized this is my stop too. What a coincidence, huh?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? And here I thought you were just trying to extend our conversation."
I clutched my chest. "Hina, you wound me. I would never be so transparent."
She laughed, and the sound sent a thrill through me. "Well, since you're here, I guess I can't stop you from walking with me. Unless you have somewhere else to be?"
I grinned, falling into step beside her as we made our way out of the station. "Nope, I'm all yours. Lead the way."
We walked in comfortable silence for a bit, weaving through the crowds of commuters and shoppers. I snuck glances at Hina out of the corner of my eye, trying to drink in every detail. The way the sun caught the highlights in her hair, the graceful curve of her neck, the confident sway of her hips.
She caught me looking and smirked again, but there was a warmth in her eyes that made my stomach flip. "See something you like, Kazuya?"
I coughed, feeling my face heat up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. It's just... you're really beautiful."
The words were out before I could stop them, hanging in the air between us. Fuck, get your shit together Kazuya.
Hina just smiled, a real smile this time, soft and genuine. "Thank you. That's sweet of you to say."
We lapsed into silence again, but it was different now. Charged, electric, like the moment before a lightning strike.
I cleared my throat, desperate to break the tension. "So, uh, have you eaten yet? I was thinking of grabbing a bite."
Hina shook her head. "No, I haven't. I could definitely go for some food."
I nodded, scanning the storefronts around us. "Great. What are you in the mood for? Ramen, sushi, curry...?"
She thought for a moment, tapping a finger against her chin. "Hmm... how about pizza? I know a great place nearby."
I blinked, surprised. "Pizza? In Tokyo?"
She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't knock it till you've tried it. This place is legit."
I held up my hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm down for anything. Lead the way, pizza master."