Chapter 1

Admiral Yamamoto did not die from the attack by the Lightnings of the 339th Squadron on the morning of April 18, 1943. He successfully ended the war with the rank of admiral and lived another twenty long years, surrounded by his wife and children, as befits a patriarch, national hero and founder of the "Divine Fist" school. But Winston Churchill never made his speech in the House of Parliament and was not even prime minister. After 1938, Joseph Stalin suddenly became incredibly religious, went to a monastery and even wrote a couple of books there. And these are just a few facts that distinguish this world from mine.

Yes, after some time it took me to realize the fact of my death and subsequent resurrection, I realized that this world was not my home. Besides the fact that I was resurrected in the body of a skinny boy of sixteen years old, the fact that this same boy was Japanese brought a lot. 

Yes, moreover, he lives in Japan and has always lived in it. As a bonus, I received the memory and skills of my new body, yes, I know Japanese, all these hiragana and kaju, I know how to use the suffix -san and at what angle to bend in the presence of an elder, but not a relative or boss at school or work, and other useful things that allow you not to stand out from the general background. So questions like "What happened to Shinji-kun that he even forgot how to hold a chopstick in his hands?" - did not have.

And it's not that there was anyone to ask these questions; after all, Shinji-kun, in whose body I currently reside, was not particularly interesting to anyone. He doesn't have a father and, as far as I can look into his (this body's) memory, he never had one. There are some relatives on my mother's side; my memories depict a tall and thin older man with pursed lips. He looks at Shinji-kun and his mother like Lenin looks at the bourgeoisie and like a soldier looks at a louse. Not very good-naturedly, let's say. He looks with disdain. Even contemptuously. He looks and does nothing.

Shinji-kun's mother lies at his feet in dogeza - a position of deep repentance, resting her forehead on the tatami, her black hair scattered over her shoulders and the floor. Shinji-kun himself is also sitting next to his mother in the dogeza, but he is a child and he is getting bored, and he looks up for a second, just enough to catch that expression of contempt and disdain on the man's face. Who this man is and why this scene looks like a cliché from a cheap B-movie about the yakuza? I don't know. There is no answer in Shinji-kun's memory either.

But there is a memory of the coastal city, the streets drenched in the sun, the delight when you roll along these streets on an old bicycle with peeling blue paint and a broken reflector, the taste of ice cream bought from a fat seller near a purple cart with the inscription "Coca-Cola", there is a memory of a childhood friend - a red-haired boy with freckles all over his face and a friend - a funny girl with black braids, of a house where there was always a delicious smell of bread - Shinji-kun's mother baked bread herself, according to some family recipe and in the house in the morning There was always fresh bread, with a piece of which, spread with nut butter or honey, Shinji-kun skipped to school.

School, the clock, which made its "ding-dong-ding", notifying that he was late and needed to increase his pace, classmates whom he remembered and even had warm feelings for them, no one teased, did not offend Shinji-kun, the class was friendly, and the teacher, Matsuda-san, an elderly woman in a strict gray suit with a kind smile - everyone respected and obeyed. A good childhood, yes.

Until my mother got sick. Shinji-kun's memory began to fail and tear into pieces, like an old film in an outdated projector. And color. Everything became black and white. Although, no, there was almost no white. The hospital gown was white. And mom's face on the pillow. And the tips of Shinji-kun's own nails as he clenched his fists. Everything else was black. Or gray. Doctors' faces. The suit he had to wear. Coffin. Funeral ceremony. An altar, in front of which sticks of incense were smoked, and behind them, a mother smiled from a black and white photograph. And a small black ribbon crossing the corner of the photo. 

Here Shinji-kun's memory broke off and showed nothing for a long time. It was as if nothing had happened. Until the moment when Nanase-neesan came to mind. Onee-chan Nanase. Big sister - here she was adamant. Onee-chan Nanase was not Shinji-kun's sister, she was not his aunt or cousin, as far as Shinji-kun understood, they were not related at all. Nevertheless, Nanase-neesan developed a vigorous activity, the essence of which eluded Shinji-kun himself, but as a result they moved to another city. Bigger. Further from the ocean. With a real metro and skyscrapers, with huge shopping centers and millions of cars on the streets in the morning and evening. 

And that's when Shinji-kun managed to step onto the road without looking around. I woke up in the hospital with a wild headache and what is usually called false memory syndrome.

Who am I now - a person from a parallel world, where Admiral Yamamoto died under the large-caliber Brownings of the 339th squadron, on the morning of April 18, 1943, having absorbed the memory and life of Shinji-kun, or a fusion of these two personalities - an ordinary Japanese schoolboy and an older myself? 

Who knows? I suffered from this question for three days while I was in the hospital and a tearful Nanase-neesan brought me fruit to my room, cutting out rabbit figures from pieces of apples and telling funny stories about animals and spirits. By the way, she herself believed in spirits. And she believed in magic too.

And how can you not believe if there is magic in this world. Or rather, not exactly magic, here they call it "concentration of ki" - vital energy. But no matter what it's called, in local magazines and newspapers there are photographs of how a man turns over a bulldozer with one hand, and how bullets ricochet from a girl with a pretty face and for some reason green hair.

 On the TV installed in the ward, the documentary series "Samurai of Old Tokyo" is periodically shown - and there is simply trash going on there. Traditional Japanese swords are used to cut skyscrapers, repel a bomb strike from the American army, one of these seven samurai calls on a natural Godzilla to attack an aircraft carrier and other wonders from Hong Kong films of the early eighties. 

 This world was different - somewhere in small things, like changing the color of a familiar logo (yes, Coca-Cola chose a bright purple color here!), and somewhere in big ways - like the twin peaks of Fuji and the name - Fuji Twin Mountains. Although, what is a major change and what is a minor change is not for me to judge. Ray Bradbury (by the way, who never existed in this world) had a story about a butterfly that changed the world... where and how this world diverged from mine and why some things remained unchanged - I don't know the answers to these questions.

 - Yamashita-kun! - a voice rings out and I jump in my chair. Yes, we are still sitting in school, and history class is still going on, and a huge portrait of Isoroku Yamamoto, Great Admiral of the Navy of the United Japanese Empire and the patriarch of the Divine Fist School, is looking at me from the blackboard. Who survived in April '43 to defeat the country's enemies with one precise blow in the decisive battle of Midway and the war was ended by a truce in '45. Yes, no nuclear bomb over Hiroshima. They're giggling behind us - that slow guy again, Shinji-kun, counting sparrows in class.

 - Satomi-san! - I jump up and bow. Japan. How can there be no bow - "this worthless person again managed to fall asleep during the history lesson of the magnificent Satomi-san, I offer my sincere apologies and am ready to atone for my guilt and wash away the shame before my ancestors... in any acceptable way." Here.

- You're sleeping in class again, Yamashita-kun. - says Satomi-san, softening: - repeat what I just said? - I obediently repeat the textbook material imprinted in my memory. Satomi-san nods, sits me down and continues the lesson, stopping from time to time to pick up the next "lucky one" and check his mastery of the granite of science.

The bell rings, or rather the school clock sounds its "ding-dong-ding" and after we all stand up as a class and bow together to our sensei - domo arigato, gozarimashta! - the class scatters through the corridors for a big break. Tsuji sits up to me and casually pushes me on the shoulder, behind him stands his faithful henchman Akai, a short guy with freckles all over his face.

- Hey, slowpoke! - says Tsuji, leaning on my shoulder: - go to the vending machine to get some drinks for us. Get me some cherry flavored soda, two of them.

- I'll have a cola. - Akai nods: - grab some more yakisoba on the way.

- Exactly. Yakisoba. - Tsuji ruffles my hair: - come on, don't slow down, the break is not eternal. - and laughs. I look at them and involuntarily sigh. These two have been haunting Shinji-kun for quite some time.

From the very moment he moved to the big city - then Shinji-kun was crushed by the death of his mother and a change of place of residence, a new school, new people, and generally speaking, he was never the life of the party or just a sociable guy. He was a wuss. Also, a crushed rag. Just a gift for school bullies, such an ideal object for bullying. 

- Tsuji-kun. - I say, standing up and removing his hand from my shoulder: - I hate to say this, but you and I are not friends. So, I suggest you go get your own drinks and yakisoba. - after all, I'm old enough to start my first day at school with a fight, and even with children... even if I myself have the same body.

But life experience, will, ability to resolve conflicts and an established style of oratory should allow me to explain everything at once and properly. So, to speak, solve everything peacefully. Yes. Maybe.

- What?! - Tsuji's eyes became bloodshot and bulged: - what did you say, motherfucker?!

- I... - I started to repeat, but at that moment it was like a truck drove into my head. Or rather, in the ear. Bam! My head went dark and my ears were ringing. Tsuji opened his mouth, and I looked up at him. Why? Because I was sitting on the floor.

-...Are you crazy, you retarded stub?! - Tsuji hissed from above, and I was just beginning to understand what had happened. He hit me in the ear. The body of small Shinji-kun was not used to such treatment and sat down on his butt, receiving a knockdown. I shook my head, carefully so as not to shake it again, grabbed the desk and stood up. My legs couldn't hold up, I was shaking, there was a ringing in my ears, there was a copper taste in my mouth, my heart was pounding, trying to jump out of my chest.

The whole world has become somehow distant and detached. So, I thought, we've already been through this, I know what's happening to me, it's just sensory shock, adrenaline and other "fight or flight" hormones, I need to pull myself together, I've been in this situation a hundred times, it's just a body I have an inexperienced body, the body of a young asshole, no, that's wrong, don't talk about Shinji-kun like that, he had a difficult childhood and no father in his upbringing, so he grew up the way he grew up. The more important thing is to decide what to do now. Crap. Massaraksh. 

Unfortunately, it is impossible not to respond to such an attack. I will have to see this through to the end, otherwise it will only get worse. Even if my current body is not created for combat, moreover, even if it is not sufficiently trained, I still have to put things in order in the current table of ranks. I exhaled.

- Do you only know how to put sucker punch? - my question made Tsuji choke on his words.

- Maybe we can go out and figure it out? - I continued, nodding towards the door: - there's a big breake for now.

Tsuji could not ignore the challenge to a ritual duel. There was no way I could. It's one thing to give cuffs and slaps on the head to those at the lowest level of the school hierarchy, and completely another thing to avoid a challenge. Yes, he could just pounce on me in class and fuck off with his friend Akai, and even invite someone from his retinue.

But that would be the end of his career as the "most important alpha in the class." No, he had to not only accept the challenge, but also do everything to ensure that the fight was as fair as possible, showing that he was still the coolest one here. Fighting a pariah is still a pleasure. If you win, well, no one else expected it. If you lose, you lose twice, you lost to such a brat. No profit, just frustration.

- Are you out of your mind, Slowpoke? - Tsuji grins, looking into my eyes: - I won't collect money for your funeral. They will bury you there in the yard. 

- So you refuse? Are you afraid? - I end the conversation with the final argument. What did they write on the cannons - "the last argument of kings"? This is the kid's last argument at all times - "What, are you chickening out?" Simple as one finger and reliable as a sledgehammer.

- Hm. Yes, sure. Went. I'll kick your ass so hard that you'll complain to your whore mom about why she gave birth to you like this. - Tsuji snorts and steps aside, making an inviting gesture with his hand. They say, please, welcome to your funeral. But these children's jokes work well with children and against children. I nod my head, politely, as if I was expecting such a gesture from the doorman, and follow the movement. 

At the classroom door. Out into the hallway, down the steps and into the schoolyard. Then around the corner, to where there is a small room, either a storage room or a warehouse for sports equipment. It is there that high school students gather and smoke, away from the watchful eyes of guards and teachers, and it is there that showdowns and fights take place. Yes, a ritual duel.

I walked, quickening my pace, feeling behind me how Tsuji and his henchmen were hurrying behind me. Because of his gesture, with which he tried to show his superiority, I seized the initiative and now everything looked as if I was walking to the place of the fight, and he was in a hurry after me. However, all this, of course, will not matter if I lose this fight. It doesn't matter who walked and how, who said what to whom first, and how boldly you looked into the eyes of your opponent, if you lost.

A holy place is never empty. As soon as I turned the corner, I saw several high school students standing near the storage room. Rolled up sleeves, long forelocks, cigarettes in his teeth, shirts unbuttoned almost to the navel.

- Eh, kids, what do you need? - addressing one of them, the shaggiest one, with a dyed white forelock, spectacularly spitting on the ground. The spitting is swift and the best.

- We'll fight. - I inform him.

- Oh, my. Great. Then we'll see. - he says and turns to: - Look, the little ones will be settled right now.

- Cool, man. - his friends respond and feign interest. I turn back and see Tsuji and his entourage - Akai, Nobu and Takashi. Besides them, several other classmates and even a few girls came running here - apparently with the intention of the show. Among the girls, I unexpectedly see Yuki, or the Snow Queen of our class, with her retinue - two twins, Aya and Miko. Tsuji is unexpectedly pale and indecisive, it is unclear why on earth he is jittery before the fight? Nonsense, he can't take Shinji-kun seriously, the eternal wimp and incompetence.

- So! - the high school student claps his hands and smiles a toothy smile, without letting go of the cigarette from his mouth: - We have an event today! Who will fight? Oh, that means you... and you... clearly. So today there will be a great fight at the Tokyo Arena! Nerd-kun vs Fatass. I will make sure that everything is done according to the rules, fairly and without dirty tricks. So, no punching in the balls, biting off ears or finishing off someone who is down. I want to see a fair fight! - he spreads his hands, clearly imitating a sports referee. 

- Wait, Akino. - says one of his friends, long and ridiculous like a pole: - shouldn't we ask them if they are ready to make peace and all that? This is a duel. Like in "Seven Samurai of Tokyo".

- No way, - the shaggy man shakes his head: - firstly, it won't be interesting, and secondly, they came to fight anyway. By the way, I accept bets and bet on Fat-Ass myself. Must defeat Nerd-kun in the first round.

- How interesting. - I look at Tsuji and understand that he was deflated not because he was afraid of me, my changed behavior or the fight. He got cold feet when he ran into a trio of Hermits from our school.

Fuck knows why they decided to call themselves that, but in our school table of ranks, this trio occupied a place of honor somewhere on Olympus. They said a lot about them, but Shinji-kun didn't have to see them live. Or he had to, but of course he was too busy running around to get soda for Tsuji and his cronies. Even Tsuji would be fraught with danger if he caught their eye one more time. 

People like me were not and could not be of interest to the trio, but arrogant guys like Tsuji could well receive a portion of well-deserved attention with all that it entails. Therefore, my school "friend" immediately pressed his tail and portrayed a pose of submission, as expected when seeing a more alpha alpha.

- So, how long will we wait? - the third lazily drawled, extinguishing his cigarette on the wall of the closet: - when will the fight begin?

- Yes now. - Tsuji grinned, slowly taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves: - now I'll show someone his place here. This won't be long, excuse us Akino-san, but there is one fool in our class... who is itching.

- Heh. Well said... - the shaggy Akino shook his head: - let's get started. 

- I'm ready. - I had already taken off my jacket and also rolled up my sleeves - the gesture was not very necessary, but symbolic, and neglecting symbols in a ritual duel is fraught with misunderstanding on the part of the public. I handed the jacket into the hands of one of the twins in the Snow Queen's retinue - I just poked it into her hands and that's it. If I had approached with a request "hold my jacket," they wouldn't even have answered me, they would have simply snorted and turned their nose up, but she didn't even have time to figure out how she was holding it in her hands, and the innate Japanese accuracy and sense of duty prevents her from throwing him to the ground. Then, probably, they will throw it at me and call me names, but that's later, but for now one of the twins (and I still haven't learned to tell them apart) is holding my jacket.

- Great! So! - the shaggy Akino raised his hand, looked at me and Tsuji in turn and sharply lowered it down: - let's start!

As soon as the word was spoken, Tsuji rushed towards me. He was heavier than me, had some experience in fighting and, they say, even went to the judo section. A smart choice would be to retreat from the line of attack and try to come in from the side. But I was already a little tired of all this kindergarten and wanted to finish everything as soon as possible. Besides, Shinji-kun's body was unprepared for a long fight. In truth Shinji-kun would have run out of steam in the second minute. 

Therefore, delaying the process is not our choice. I did not step back or to the side. I took a step forward. Jab. I had already realized that my current body was not durable or physically developed, but the coordination and skills that I had developed throughout my past life were still with me. Not completely, but as much as it was possible in this awkward teenage body.

Therefore - jab. A good jab is like an electron in modern physics - not so much a particle as a wave. This is an instant, biting and almost invisible blow to the ordinary eye. This blow cannot break bricks or crush walls, it cannot throw a person back or knock him to the ground. This shock wave is designed to scout and stop an enemy attack - both at the same time. The boxer can close his eyes and probe the space in front with jabs - jab, jab, jab... and as soon as the glove makes contact with the opponent, a powerful right cross or hook. The jab also easily stops an opponent running towards you by slightly shaking his head. 

In this Japan there was no Western occupation, there was no dominance of Western films and culture, but there was a rise in patriotism and national consciousness, as a result of which local martial arts - karate, kempo, judo and so on - were popular. Moreover, no one even called it karate or judo - these were names for gaijins. Instead of karate, there were numerous schools from Kyokushin and Kudokan to the "Divine Fist" and "Golden Phoenix". 

As a result, my classmate did not bother to cover his head or tuck his jaw, he moved forward with his head held high and his arms outstretched to the sides, apparently about to throw me or simply grab me and throw me to the ground. Even with my limited strength, the jab shook his head and made him stop. It's not even a knockdown, much less a knockout.

A mild shock to the brain that does not cause loss of consciousness or a fall, but simply forces you to pause to take control of your surroundings. Any person who has been hit on the head at least once in their life knows this feeling of a slight stupor, an attempt to comprehend the situation, and weakness in the knees.

A second, a split second - and this effect will pass without a trace, the person will straighten up and continue the attack, and that is why you should not let the enemy come to his senses after a jab. The hand in the jab resembles a snake, an Indian cobra in a throw, a slight push comes from the hip, all the power always comes from the hip, from the legs, continues with a slight turn of the body, straightening the arm and ends - like a blow with the tip of a whip - with a twist of the fist. Bam! Bam! Bam! - one after another, my weak jabs churned Tsuji's head, like the yolk in a soft-boiled egg.

It's a paradox, but a person who gets a quick knock on the head seems to be lost in time, the processor does not have time to digest the information, he is forced to boot over and over again, but the blows interfere and interrupt the recovery process. Three quick, sharp jabs stopped Tsuji for a split second and as soon as that happened, I loaded a straight right straight into his jaw. BAM! Something crunched in his right hand and Tsuzdi collapsed to the ground, rolling his eyes.

- Crap! - I said, cradling my right hand. I hope he didn't break it, Shinji-kun's bones are weak, it's quite possible.

- Wow! - said someone very close. Shaggy Akino, one of the "Trinity of Hermits": - cool. I've never seen anything like this.

- What? Are you kidding! He cheated! - Akai jerked towards me, clearly with bad intentions, and I raised my hands, preparing to meet the attack, but the shaggy guy put his hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

- Everything was fair, little one, no need to raise a fuss. We saw everything. Izamu and Goro saw everything. Right, guys? - his friends nod and Akai seems to deflate, becoming noticeably smaller.

- But how is it even possible? - he says to himself. Tsuji-kun begins tossing and turning on the ground, opens his eyes and looks around at those around him with a puzzled look.

- Oh, alive. - the shaggy Akino is happy about something: - can you get up? - He extends his hand, lifts Tsuji from the ground, busily pats him, shaking off the dust, touches his face, as if checking something. Tsuji winces in pain, but says nothing, blinking his eyes in confusion.

- Everything is fine. There isn't even a fracture. - Akino states: - well, good. So Nerdt-kun won, and Fat-Ass lost in a fair fight. Okay, I didn't actually take bets. - He looks around at those gathered and frowns: - Well, that's it, the circus is over, look, run away from here, the break will end soon.

The people begin to disperse, and I only now realize that almost our entire class and even some of the parallel ones have gathered near the storage room.

- Nerd-kun! - Akino says, as soon as I take a step towards the Snow Queen's retinue - the twins look at me with rounded eyes, Aya (or Miko - I can't tell them apart) holds my jacket in her hands and bites her lip in indecision: - Hey, Nerd-kun!

- Akino-san? - I turn to the patty and indicate a slight bow. He laughs. He clearly doesn't care about the degree of back angle when bowing or the respectful suffix. 

- Nerd-kun, I would ask you to stay. You are an interesting fellow and I have a couple of questions for you. - He squints like a cat in the sun. I'm wondering. My task in this world, in this new reality, is extremely simple - I want to live a calm and happy life, enjoying everything that it can provide me.

Yes, finish school, go to college, find the girl of your dreams, or at least the calm and quiet Yamato Nadeshiko, and even have a couple of children, have a cat and goldfish, die surrounded by grandchildren at an old age and be reborn into slime. Or into a spider. In general, get from this rebirth all the comfort and coziness of the modern world. This means that I would like to integrate into social life. Make friends and acquaintances, acquaintances and loved ones - but Shinji-kun had big problems with his social life. Only a suicide could refuse to communicate with Akino from the "Trinity of Hermits"; these guys are considered the strongest in our school and their reputation was so-so. 

On the other hand, so far everything was quite friendly, and if they suddenly want to fuck me up, they will probably fuck me up - I felt that Shinji-kun's body had practically reached its limit.

- Yes, of course, Akino-san. - I nodded: - I'll just take the jacket. - I turned to Aya (or Miko) and, bowing (oh, this Japan), said: - thank you for taking care of me. - Oh... yes. Here is the jacket, Shinji-kun. - The twin hastily handed me my jacket, bowing at the same time. And how do they manage to do all this? A European would definitely have a jammed back, but that would be a shame...

- Thank you. - I accept the jacket and throw it over my shoulders - my right hand begins to irritate and pushing it into the sleeve is now inappropriate for the place and time.

- That was...interesting, Shinji-kun. - the second twin tells me and they bow to me in sync. Yuki Ono, or the Snow Queen of the maiden pride of our class, also shows a bow, but barely, literally only indicating a bow with her eyes.

- I don't think you need to stay here... - she says, without even looking at the shaggy man and his company: -Shinji-kun. The break is ending soon. 

- Thank you for your concern, Ono-san. - I say: - it won't take much time. She purses her lips and leaves with her retinue. The twins mince after her, like Chinese tangerines after Emperor Shin Huangdi. I turn to the Trinity Hermits. They are still standing in the same places - the shaggy Akino, the thin Izamu and the big Goro. Cigarettes are extinguished, hands are in pockets, casually leaning on the fence, some on the wall of the pantry.

- And what was that, Nerd-kun? - Akino asks: - what kind of technique is this? You don't look like a fighter, you have an untrained body, and these blows... - he shakes his head: - these are not tsuki, there is something else here. Chinese Kung Fu? Monkey school?

- No. This is not kung fu. This is from boxing. Jab. - I say. There is no point in hiding, the jab technique looks simple. But learning how to do it correctly can take years. A jab is a wave that you need to learn to feel, send it, start moving from your feet, from your fingertips, hips, shoulder, arm extension and, ultimately, turning your fist.

And having learned to do it in a wave, in turn - learn to do it all at the same time, so that your fist moves like the tongue of a snake, covering the distance to the enemy in less than one twenty-fourth of a second. At this moment, the fist experiences overloads of up to 10 G - it should. 

One twenty-fourth of a second is the amount of time it takes for the eye to notice movement. If you move faster, strike faster, then it cannot be seen. Nobody sees a good jab. They defend against it by seeing the movement of the legs and hips, but if the jab is performed by a real master, then everything happens at the same time and you can notice the blow only by feeling it. High-class boxers exchange super-speed blows somewhere even on the verge of intuition, sensing the enemy, preventing him from attacking, attacking in response, attacking before the enemy does it. 

- Boxing? How interesting. How do you know about this very boxing? - Akino asks. I understand him. Indeed, I wonder how a nerd would know about boxing. Some school of the "Long Fist" or "Eight Trigrams" is easy here, but boxing?

- I had an uncle. - I hastily come up with: - he showed it. I haven't studied before, but today I suddenly remembered.

- Yeah. I remembered. - thin Izamu turns to Akino and his eyes widen: - listen, this little guy is like the hero of the manga "Hammerblow"! At a critical moment, his powers awaken and he inflicts defeat in the name of the Hammer of Justice! I have an idea...

- I don't need your ideas here...

- Listen, it's a great idea. In order to awaken his strength, he needs a critical moment, the situation must be dangerous, well, the villain Octopus attacked his girlfriend or Doctor Doc planted a bomb in a bank or...

- He doesn't have a girlfriend. Although... do you have a girlfriend? - I shake my head negatively and the shaggy Akino sighs, making a hand-face gesture: - he doesn't have a girlfriend and we don't have an octopus to put him on this poor girl, you're such a pervert!

- It's not about the girl at all. - the thin man is not offended: - it's a matter of principle. He needs to spread his wings and find his potential - in the name of the Hammer of Justice!

- Do not listen to him. - Akino tells me: - he's a little crazy on this whole topic, don't pay attention to him and don't even think about discussing manga with him. And if you do get a girlfriend, keep her away from him. 

- A... - Izamu adds: - but that's not the main idea here. The thought here is this: let's all beat him good together, but it's important not to hold back, but to beat him well. And in a critical situation his strength will awaken and he will scatter us to the sides. - here he looked around those present with triumph: - this is how we will help the guy reveal his potential.

- Uh... I'm sorry, Izamu-san, but I'm sure that I don't have any potential. - I said, trying to assure these good people that this kind of effort would only be a waste of energy.

- Well, until you try, you won't know. - Izamu shrugged his shoulders philosophically, but the cheerful sparkle in his eyes did not go away. I didn't like this shine. It is with this brilliance that scientists begin vivisection of an "interesting object" to find out why it twitches so funny.

- Leave the guy alone, Izamu-kun. Don't pester people. We won't bully him. At least until he deserves it.

- It's a pity. Will have to wait...

- I'm sorry, Akino-san, but I have to go to class. The change will end soon and...

- A? Yes of course. Go. - Long-haired Akino waved his hand in the air, having lost all interest in me. And good, I thought, returning to class and massaging my right hand. The pain had already subsided, there was no swelling or abrasion on the knuckles. It's strange, it seemed to me that I heard a characteristic crunch at the moment of impact, and there was pain. Although allowance must be made for Shinji-kun's untrained body, this was most likely the first time his fist experienced impact. I quickly ran through Shinji-kun's available memory and didn't find anything resembling training or fighting. As expected. And in general, it's time to stop referring to this guy in the third person, strictly speaking, now I am him.

Both his life experience and mine are fused together, simply due to the fact that my life experience is much greater, my life principles and willpower are much stronger - I am the main ingredient in this fusion. But from the point of view of everyone around me, I'm still the same Shinji-kun and we shouldn't forget about it.