Hidden Power Of Journal

The scene before me was a mixed bag of emotions. Watching the nine chosen to be the 'Knights of the Orphanage' vigorously training, I couldn't help but feel detached from the camaraderie that had formed among them. It was as if I were observing a different world.

As they chanted slogans and ran around the playground, I couldn't shake the memories of my own time in the orphanage.

It was a place where I'd felt isolated, bullied, and rejected. My own [Blessing], the Journal, had been of no use in those early days, and I had been powerless to defend myself.

The children, teenagers, and teachers who cheered them on from the stands were a reminder of the community I'd never truly been a part of. While I knew there were good people among them, the scars from my past experiences still ran deep.

I chose a different path during my time here. I prioritized self-care, ensuring I got enough sleep, regular meals, and diligent training after each meal.

Occasionally, I found solace on a bench with a book, silently observing the others.

Today, as they prepared for the crucial match that would determine the orphanage's fate, I couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment.

While they rallied together as a team, I remained on the sidelines, a quiet observer of their efforts.

As I sat on that bench, reminiscing and the children's voices that echoed through my memories, I couldn't help but smile wistfully. It wasn't their fault that my time at the orphanage had been marred by my deep-seated resentment.

My memories of the orphanage had long been tainted by a sense of future hatred, stemming from the realization that the place I once thought was my saviour had been my downfall.

It was hard to muster any positive feelings about those days, at least not in my current state of mind.

But dwelling on the past wouldn't help me now. I was here to prepare for the upcoming match, a battle that could determine the fate of the orphanage.

My training was different from the vigorous exercises the others were engaged in. Instead, I focused on something more specific—boxing.

I watched videos of a renowned boxer known as "Gun Man" on my phone. He was famous for his skills, even capable of competing with senior knights. In a few years, he would go on to establish his martial arts school.

I was determined to learn boxing through these videos. Boxing was a martial art known for its versatility, and the sooner I mastered it, the better. In my previous life, I'd never had the luxury of time to pursue such training amidst my struggles to make a living.

Now, with a new chance at life and a potential future to shape, I delved into my virtual boxing lessons, eager to acquire this valuable skill that might serve me well in the battles to come.

The videos played on my phone screen, displaying Gun Man's fluid movements and precise punches. I watched closely, trying to absorb every detail, every technique he employed. His footwork, his stance, the way he shifted his weight with each punch—all of it was crucial knowledge.

"Boxing is all about control," I whispered to myself, echoing Gun Man's words from one of his instructional videos. "Control of your body, your breathing, and your opponent."

As I continued to study, I couldn't help but admire the boxer's discipline and dedication. He had perfected his craft through years of hard work and unwavering commitment. It was a stark contrast to my past, where I had struggled just to survive.

But this regression had given me a second chance, an opportunity to change my destiny. I wasn't going to waste it.

The video tutorial had ended, but its teachings lingered in my mind. Gun-man's voice echoed in my head as he emphasized the importance of footwork in boxing.

"This footwork will develop into 'stepping.' The centre of stepping is balanced, also known as the centre of gravity. Not only when running, but also when walking, power should always circulate in the lower body."

As the last words from the video played out in my memory, I slowly rose to my feet, determined to put the newly acquired knowledge into practice.

"Footwork," I muttered to myself, recalling the precise steps demonstrated by gunmen on Video TV. Despite my initial hesitation, something felt oddly different as I followed the movements.

My steps were light, and I moved with surprising agility, mirroring the gunman's actions from the video.

However, the abnormality of the situation quickly caught my attention. This wasn't just improved physical coordination; it was as if the movements had been etched into my muscle memory.

I could execute them flawlessly as if I had been practising boxing for years.

"What's going on?" I questioned aloud, baffled by the inexplicable phenomenon. My abilities had been enhanced beyond what I thought possible.

"…"

I am momentarily speechless.

However, the cause of this unbelievable 'upgrade' in physical talent is surprisingly easy to infer.

"Is this because of the Journal?" I asked myself in confusion.

I decided to test this newfound prowess. With a powerful strike, my fist collided with a nearby tree, splintering the bark and leaving a distinct fist mark embedded in the surface.

It was a display of strength and precision that left me momentarily speechless.

My thoughts raced as I tried to make sense of this extraordinary development. The Journal had to be the key.

It had always been a mysterious element in my life, and now, it seemed to have granted me a passive Blessing.

The concept of passive Blessings was rare, but I had awakened one. The Journal enabled me to passively absorb and replicate physical skills just by watching them.

A faint smile crept onto my face as I contemplated the implications of this newfound ability.

It was akin to a supercharged form of 'Copy and Do,' where my body watched, remembered, and mimicked actions with uncanny precision.

"The body first watches, remembers, and mimics exactly," I murmured to myself, realizing the incredible potential that lay within this newfound gift from the Journal.

Hours passed as I immersed myself in the world of boxing. I practised the basic movements, shadowboxing in the park, and imagining an opponent in front of me. My muscles ached, and sweat poured down my face, but I didn't stop. This was just the beginning.

By midday, the other orphans had finished their training and were heading inside for lunch. I watched them from a distance, feeling a sense of detachment. I was on a different path now, one that required solitude and focus.

After a quick meal, I returned to my training. I had a long way to go before I could even consider myself proficient in boxing, let alone a match against skilled opponents. But I was determined to put in the effort, to learn and improve with each passing day.

The days leading up to the match blurred together as I continued my rigorous training regimen.

I pushed my body to its limits, honing my skills, and building my strength. The memories of my past struggles served as a constant reminder of why I was doing this.

The match day, February 26th, drew near, and the tension in the orphanage grew palpable. The fate of our home rested on the shoulders of the nine chosen warriors, and I was one of them.

As the day approached, I couldn't help but wonder if my newfound boxing skills would be enough to make a difference.

But I refused to let doubt creep in. I had the power of knowledge from my previous life, the determination to change my fate, and now, the discipline of boxing to back me up. I was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The match day arrived, and the orphanage's dojo was filled with a sense of anticipation and nervous energy. The nine of us, the chosen warriors, stood side by side, ready to represent our home in the battle that would decide its future.

As the doors to the dojo opened, revealing our opponents, I took a deep breath and stepped forward. This was it, the moment I had been preparing for. With the skills I had learned and the memories of my past, I was determined to fight with everything I had.

As the first round of the match began, I realized that this was more than just a battle for the orphanage. It was a battle for my redemption, a chance to rewrite my story and prove that even the unluckiest of souls could rise above their circumstances.