CHAPTER 17: THE WEIGHT OF DISCIPLINE
- May 29
- 3 min read
The corridor outside the training halls was louder than usual.
Students moved in small groups—some whispering, some laughing, some already tense about the next session. Hari walked between Lin Mei and Faris, talking freely for once, his voice lighter than it had been in days. Iniyan followed a step behind, listening more than speaking.
Hari didn’t notice the shift.
He didn’t sense the sudden stillness ahead.
He turned the corner laughing—and crashed straight into someone solid.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs.
Hari stumbled back, blinking, already opening his mouth to apologize.
Then he looked up.
The corridor had gone silent.
Standing before him was a short, broad-shouldered man, no taller than Hari’s chest. His posture was rigid, spine perfectly straight. His expression showed no irritation, no surprise—as if interruptions like this were expected.
Katsuro Shinji.
The name itself carried weight within the Shaolin grounds.
Around them, students instinctively stepped back, creating distance as if pulled by gravity. Whispers spread quickly.
“That’s him.”
“The Japanese instructor.”
“Don’t look.”
Hari’s heart thudded. He bowed slightly. “S-sorry, sir—”
“Grab your ears.”
The words were calm. Flat. Immediate.
Hari blinked. “Sir?”
“One hundred squats,” Katsuro Shinji said, already turning away.
No raised voice.
No anger.
Just instruction.
At that moment, another instructor approached.
He was tall, composed, his movements smooth and deliberate. His voice, when he spoke, was warm.
“Shinji-san,” Han A Rin said respectfully, dipping his head. “May we excuse this once? The boy is new.”
Katsuro Shinji turned.
“You give excuses in your class,” he said. “Not here.”
That was the end of the discussion.
Hari swallowed hard and obeyed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Some students stopped to watch.
A few laughed nervously.
Others frowned, unsure whether this was necessary.
By thirty, Hari’s legs began to shake.
At fifty, sweat rolled down his face.
At seventy, his breath came sharp and uneven.
At ninety, his vision blurred.
He finished at one hundred and stood still for a moment, legs trembling, waiting for the burning in his muscles to settle before he moved again.
Iniyan watched quietly, fingers tightening for a brief second before he looked away.
Katsuro Shinji didn’t look at Hari again.
Hari returned to his seat later, legs aching, chest tight. Lin Mei glanced at him with concern. Faris leaned closer.
“I’ve never done this much exercise, even in school.”Hari muttered weakly.
No one laughed.
Moments later, Katsuro Shinji entered the hall.
He stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning the room with precise detachment.
“When you step into this world,” he began, “you stop belonging to the normal one.”
The room stilled.
“The global governments recognize aura users as assets,” he continued. “And as threats. Normal people do not know of you. They are not allowed to.”
A low murmur spread—then died under his gaze.
“If knowledge leaks,” Katsuro Shinji said, “memories are erased. Cleanly. Completely.”
He paused.
“Forgetfulness,” he added flatly, “is sometimes mercy.”
No emotion.
Only fact.
“This secrecy exists for balance,” he went on. “Because some will always try to rule the world through aura.”
His eyes hardened.
“Those people are hunted.
Stopped.
Eliminated.”
Another pause.
“As aura users, your duty is not glory,” Katsuro Shinji said. “It is restraint. Peace. Control.”
Silence filled the hall.
“This is not a gift,” he concluded. “It is responsibility.”
The bell rang shortly after.
No one spoke as they stood.
Hari walked slower this time, legs still sore, thoughts heavier than before. He understood it clearly now.
This place was not meant to be kind.
And Katsuro Shinji was proof of that.
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