Another offer

Meet Colonel James "Steel" Mitchell, a tall, muscular man with tan skin, black hair, and aged between 40-45. He's a retired military veteran, his stoic exterior concealing a heart of gold. Currently, he serves as our Physical Education teacher. Despite his intimidating gaze and disciplined demeanor, beneath it all, he's a caring and lighthearted soul.

However, there's a peculiar aspect to him — a strange addiction to manga. His bookshelf is a treasure trove of adventures, which, truth be told, irks me. Gideon once mentioned, "Manga readers are spoilers."

"Good evening, Colonel," I greet him.

"Evening to you too. How has your day been?" he replies, his voice contradicting his stern appearance.

"Fine, sir," I answer.

"Too bad I'm gonna have to spoil it for you," he says with a mischievous grin.

Instantly, a bad feeling creeps over me. "You're here in detention, right?" he asks.

"Yes, sir, I am," I reply.

His stern gaze falls on me. "Well, guess what?"

"...what, sir?" I ask hesitantly.

"Turns out your favorite person is a liar. He's dead now."

~Thud.~

I fall to my knees, expressions of despair covering my face. "No, it can't be, he can't be dead, he's strong, he can't die."

"Hmp, you still fancy what you live most? This world is cruel. Believe it or not, he's dead, and he's never coming back to life."

"If you say he's lying, does that mean THAT person killed him?"

"That's right, my favorite person killed your favorite person," Colonel pauses and continues, "Sukuna killed your almighty Gojo, muahahaha."

"No! Damnit, you've already spoiled it for me, damn manga reader."

"Hehe, what can I say, I'm always ahead."

"We'll see about that. Anyway, what have you been doing?" I stand up, dusting my knees.

"Reading manga, what else? It's not like I have students who visit the gym. I would call this a vacation if only I'm not in charge of your physical education."

"Looks like you're having fun."

"Yep, who says manga isn't happiness; it's treasure," he says with eyes full of admiration.

"I wanna meet those amazing creatures who draw manga. I'm gonna have all of them give me an autograph."

"Say, aren't you too old for that kind of stuff?"

"Me? Old? As if. Age is just a number, and I look pretty young for my age. What matters is that I make sure these authors know that someone is a big fan of their out-of-this-world creativity."

"You're such a manga addict, sometimes it makes me wonder what's scary about you and why the students call you the reaper."

"And you're an anime addict that's a masochist."

"Hey, don't believe those damn rumors. I'm not."

"Hehe, then why do you keep coming here?"

"I wouldn't be here if the teachers liked me."

"Are you that bad a student? You should quit school; it's not meant for you."

~Ack!~

"That hurts, you know?"

"You can go on with your assignment; I have something to discuss with you when you're done."

"Ok."

"Oh, and don't make any noise that will distract me."

"Since you like manga so much, why not draw yours? I bet you'll be a good author and create a fine world."

"...?"

"Hahahaha," he starts with a slow laugh, escalating into a big one. "Thank you, kid. I can't believe I didn't think of that. It's true; I have a lot of ideas, and I'm a good artist too. I should draw my manga too." He thanks me as his eyes sparkle in excitement.

"Yeah, but that'll be tomorrow. You don't have any tools for drawing, do you?"

"You're right; thanks a lot, kid."

"You're welcome. I'll get to it," I said as I head to a spot a few meters away from him to start my training.

Having visited here frequently, I've noticed that the man everyone calls scary is only so when you distract him in his reading mode or when his favorite characters get killed.

A weird thing, though, he's a super fan of the villains, quite a contradiction for a peace-maker, bound to have mood swings.

He assigned me 20 push-ups, 20 pull-ups, and lifting weights of 15kg. Being close to him doesn't grant me any special privileges; he flogs me whenever I sweat too much. He's ruthless and worthy of the name Reaper.

He also increases my training every week, probably because every week I end up in the gym on detention.

Tired of always flogging me, he set up a machine that flogs me when it detects water dropping from my face. I cried a lot.

When I asked him why he's doing all this, he said, "If you're in a hot environment, you wouldn't sweat while lifting up a piece of paper. I want to make it that you lift these weights, and it feels weightless to you."

I really didn't understand him; it's called weight for a reason, so making it weightless is defying the law.

But of course, I couldn't argue his point. Soon it all made sense when I learned of his family's technique.

"Hands that pull up mountains."

They are well-known for their strength, trained since a very young age. Even before martial arts became popular, they did this to stay strong, protecting themselves and their loved ones in an unfriendly environment.

They are strong enough to push or pull a car about ten meters.

And to top it off, this man joined the military and advanced to the rank of Colonel within two decades.

After training till the end of every classes, I repeated the training for a few more hours after closing hours, I was sweating and crying, because I couldn't endure such torture, tears was supposed to be a means to comfort myself.

After what seems like studying and taking pity on me Colonel says, "Ok, I think that's enough for the day."

Wiping tears off, I rejoice inwardly for the end of this torture. At first, I thought I'd get used to it, but there's no getting used to pain.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about, Colonel?" I ask after some minutes of rest.

"Oh, about that, it's something serious, and I want you to accept it," he says as his dark, cold gaze sends shivers down my spine. I know he's dead serious.

"O...k, what is it?"

"I want you to be my student and inherit my family's technique."

"...huh?"