Jujutsu Strolls Novels & Stories

The head of the Sunland Martial Arts Association, Okajima, looked grim. His beady eyes darted around, and he fidgeted uncomfortably in his suit as if it were covered in thorns. The phone in his hand was heated up like a hot potato and nearly out of battery.

Brazilian jujitsu, Baby. It is not some kind of 'super' martial art. As far as I knew, none of them were. If you were trying to break, or establish physical control over another person, it was pretty spectacular though. Along with the A****n 'house' style, she knew something akin to Krav Maga. Stanica was hampered by her unwillingness to do me serious harm, as was I toward her. The difference was, all I had to do was stay in the hallway, while Stanica had to get me through the doors. The stalemate was broken by two fresh full-bloods coming from the changing room to the facilities.

Miria answered with a small smile. Jai’s eyebrows rose at that, slightly amused to know that there was a martial art school around here. Surely it would be either wushu or karate, but it would be fine either way. Both arts could wash off his boredom for a while. He made a mental note to visit the place, if possibble, tomorrow after bidding Barun and Miria goodbye. “I don’t know about that brotherhood. But I am interested.” Jai honestly replied. Barun chuckled. “Well child, even if you’re only standing there, they could surely see you have talent.”

He used his uniform and tugged it to create air. “Are we only allowed to practice here at school?” He asked as he wiped the sweat on his forehead. “No.” Ginny answered. “But this is the only available place where we can do it.” “This is an inferno. I think we’re the only one practicing here.” Heiji roamed his eyes around the school while copying Ibarra’s ‘air technique’. “Guyssss!” Judiel called with a beam on his face while holding refreshment. Mira was also waving the plastic bag she was holding as if she’s telling us help finally came.

I said without admitting how curious I was to hear about Richard’s other woman. “Rory and I met at the rope-tying class.” Richard bit into a piece of garlic bread. “She was studying Japanese culture as part of her major. And the way she spoke of it—her lust for everything Japanese—titillated me and drew me in as well. I began to take classes in a rare form of martial arts called Bujinkan. It’s a Japanese offshoot of Chinese martial arts. Those who have made it their life study say it is the first Japanese martial art to diverge from the Chinese ways. Its purest form is Ninjitsu, where one uses the momentum of the attacker to ward off injury.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But I digress.

In response, his body instinctively performed a secret technique, "Instant Step." A martial arts skill from the mid-tier stage, allowing for explosive movement in a short range. In an instant, Logo vanished from sight, leaving behind a vivid afterimage due to his incredible speed. Boom! Jesta landed, sending shockwaves that devastated everything within a ten-meter radius, cracking the ground and splintering small trees, creating chaos. Fifteen meters away, Logo panted heavily, his chest rising and falling, as he reached behind, drawing his scythe. His fingers worked swiftly, and the fire of birth, a golden-blue energy, flowed down his fingers, enveloping the scythe and seeping into its metal

"Good! Now, the *Ecliptic Evade*." Dropping into a crouch, I illustrated the duck and roll technique, highlighting the importance of using an opponent's momentum against them. The field transformed into a dance floor of whirling, evading warriors, each one striving for perfection. By the time we progressed to the *Celestial Charge*, a challenging blend of sprinting and precision striking, sweat glistened on brows, and breaths came faster. But the determination remained unyielding. A teasing voice punctuated our intense session.

Kicking off my shoes at the edge of the mat, I bowed before stepping on to it. Pushing everything but the feel of my body out of my mind, I started doing my warmup routine. A couple lazy laps around the edges of the mat to get the blood pumping. Once I felt the zip and zing sparkling through my body, I fell into a set of falling drills. Not quite a Judo roll, but close enough to be useful. The harsh slap of my open hand on the mat was a satisfying smack that brought a smile to my mouth.

Says nothing. We move to footwork next. He calls out the sequences: shift left, pivot, slide back, center. We drill them again and again. I mess up a few, slip once in the dew-slick grass, but each time I reset faster. My legs remember what to do before my mind catches up. Then come the strikes. He holds the pad on his forearm, same as the last. Only this time, I don’t rush. I don’t swing wildly. I focus.

Some stretched with fluid, practiced movements while others sparred with precise, controlled strikes. The clearing was surrounded by forest, with equipment scattered around. Punching bags hung from sturdy tree branches, sparring mats spread across the grass in neat rows, and obstacle courses winding through the trees at the clearing’s edge. Everyone stopped and looked when I walked up, and I wanted to disappear.