I couldn’t help myself. The first question I asked Rene in the hall was:
“Iron Head? Was that the movement technique you mentioned before?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But I only brought it up. I’ve never studied it, and I’m not planning to — either for use or instruction.”
“Why?” I really wanted to know. After those comments I’d read, his answer might change my mind.
“It’s too extreme, and very injury-prone,” Rene said calmly, then nodded toward the corner where I usually trained. “Come on. Stance.”
“But is it effective?” I asked, stepping into the square.
“It is. Very effective. It can literally substitute for an ultimate.” He paused and looked at me. “You’ve seen the demo, right?”
“Yeah. The metal dummy and the cultivator in the blue helmet.”
“Well then, that was a very good helmet. In duels, helmets crack like walnut shells under a hammer. Paradoxically, it’s dangerous for beginners like you — but beginners are also the ones who can benefit from it the most.”
“Duels?”
“Duels…” Rene smiled. “Check the archive footage. Duels involving Iron Head usually end in a one-shot. But it’s not always the user who wins. Mobility is king.”
I nodded. I still wanted to do that skull-first dash… just a bit less now.
“You can learn it if you really want to. But I’d suggest waiting. Don’t rush to collect techniques like trading cards. Until you understand yourself, you won’t understand what suits you.”
Rene walked a circle around me and told me to start the technique’s training mode.
“Today I’m giving you some extra attention. But only today, so no distractions. Full cycle: shoulders, elbows, fists. Two short rounds per section, no more than five strikes per arm each time. I count, you execute. Then — full technique. I have something else for you after that.”
Apparently, even nodding is enough to screw it up — the hologram lit up red right away.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” Rene counted.
I only managed to fly out of the hologram twice. And if I hadn’t nodded at the start, it would've been just once. But Rene didn’t say anything — just gave me a brief nod. He didn’t leave. Didn’t disappear into the coach’s room, didn’t go off to check on others. His presence — his undivided attention — pressed down like a stiff collar, and at the same time, kept me focused.
We went through the shoulder cycle, the elbow cycle, and two rounds of fists. Then I performed the full technique. The hologram stayed mostly red during the last run, but a few more blue flashes had appeared.
“Good,” Rene said. Which, coming from him, meant absolutely nothing.
“Now for the main part. You’ve learned… you’ve familiarised yourself with the outer form of the technique. Now we move on to its essence – the inner form. Yesterday you learned how to channel qi into your fists, and that really was Fist Qi…”
“Can you do it differently?” I blurted out, then felt ashamed. “Sorry, stupid question.” Of course you could. You could pour Fist Qi into your legs or forehead. You could pour lightning or fire qi into a fist…
“Come on, switch off the hologram. Projections again,” Rene pointed at the wall — the one my projections had never even reached.
I gathered qi in my solar plexus and ran it along the familiar route – sides, shoulders, forearms, fists.
“One!” he commanded.
I released the qi through my left fist. The projection shot forward a few metres and vanished without even a pop.
“Two!”
The right one made a sound this time, but so faint I barely heard it.
I dampened the flow and felt a mild burning in my core.
“Two more!” Rene didn’t give me a pause.
I let the energy flow again. Then again. The hardest part was controlling it right at the end.
“Good. Next phase — controlling the qi flow inside your body. You’re no longer letting it run wild. Your task is to build proper channels in your arms specifically for this technique. Training mode,” Rene continued the briefing. “Channel formation.”
As soon as I switched to the right mode, holographic arms reappeared before me — only this time, they were green, with glowing channels running through the muscles. The channels stayed visible even when I slotted my hands into the hologram. Like thick tubes, they stretched out from the solar plexus and ran toward the deltoid muscles, then narrowed slightly and descended into the forearms through the long head of the triceps, where they split in two. I no longer remembered the names of the muscles they passed through. One thick channel ran deep inside the forearm, the other, thinner one – near the surface, just under the skin. That upper one led to the knuckle of the index finger, while the deeper channel split into three and led to the other knuckles.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Hey!” I suddenly remembered. “Did I ever tell you about my amnesia?”
“Kate told me,” Rene said. “That’s exactly why I’m giving you this much attention right now. These hologram channels are the road map for your qi. The problem is, you have to move it at the same time you move your arms. Go on, give it a try.”
I took a deep breath and tried to picture those green channels not just as a hologram, but as part of my own body. My own body… not the one that used to belong to Jake. It had felt like mine for a long time already, but the occasional reminder of its previous owner still brought some discomfort.
I started slow.
I sparked the reactor in my solar plexus and pulled on the protuberances.
Movement — shoulders, elbow, fist. Just as I’d learned.
I let the qi flow carefully, like a stream of water through a massive pipe. No pressure — just enough to let it be there.
And it did flow. Just not where it was supposed to. Not through the channels. I saw it right away: the hologram showed the energy spreading out across the whole shoulder — flowing wide through all the muscles, which greedily absorbed it. The lower part of the shoulder glowed too brightly, the qi flooded the triceps, soaked the forearm, and only a small part of it reached the fist. A faint projection appeared and fizzled out after half a metre without even a pop.
“Well, not quite it,” I muttered, clenching my fist. I could still feel the energy pulsing in my elbow — like it had gotten stuck there.
“Again,” Rene said curtly.
I nodded and tried to go faster.
The movement — this time more aggressive, more confident, with force. And I felt it immediately: the arm was ahead — the qi hadn’t even started moving yet. I’d literally outrun myself. The strike flew from the left... no, it didn’t. The qi hadn’t reached the fist yet. It arrived at the knuckles just as the hand began pulling back.
Pop!
“Fuck!”
It felt like someone had smacked my knuckles with a bat. I shouted and yanked my arm back, trying to catch it with my right.
Snap! The qi detonated in the right one.
“Bloody hell!” I started flailing both arms like a lunatic.
My fists throbbed. No cuts, no bruises yet, but the pain — sharp, stabbing, deep — settled into my knuckles and slowly spread through my fingers. Like someone had replaced my nerves with tightly strung wires, then yanked them just for fun.
“Too fast,” Rene commented calmly, stepping closer. “Your arm moved quicker than your qi.” He grabbed my hand and tugged at the fingers, and I nearly pissed myself.
“I n-o-t-i-c-e-d!” I snapped.
“That was a weak detonation — your fingers are intact and not even broken. Though you’re in for a decent bruise if you don’t do something about it. That’s it for today’s training. Off to the infirmary.”
And off I went. What else could I do? By the time I got there, my fists had swollen up like boxing gloves. The pain had dulled a little, but something inside had started twitching.
What if I did that… with my head…
No! No rushing into Iron Head. I should at least master one technique properly first.
There was a small queue at the infirmary’s admissions desk — seven cadets were sitting on benches near the entrance. One was holding his head, one had his leg stretched out, and the rest — guys and girls — were like me, fussing over injured arms.
I walked up to the front desk, where this time it wasn’t a thin-horn sitting there, but a second-period girl.
“Purpose of visit?” she asked.
I raised my swollen hands, and she rolled her eyes.
“Am I supposed to guess what happened?” she asked, her voice sharp with attitude.
“Training,” I grunted. “Qi exploded.”
“What kind of qi?” she asked, heavy on the ‘you dumb arse’ vibe.
“Fist Qi.”
“Next time just say that right away!”
She quickly typed something into the terminal behind the desk and pointed me to the waiting bench.
In the end, only the guy with the head injury got called in out of order. The rest of us — with arm and leg problems — had to wait. My hands had swollen so much the bait ring was cutting into my finger, and it had started turning purple.
The dark-skinned girl who came in after me — also with a hurt hand — noticed what I was looking at and gave me a compliment.
“Nice ring.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering if she might be a demon agent. Just in case, I checked her name through the interface. S. R. Mehra. Then, after a long delay, I added the old lie I’d nearly forgotten. “Found it in the metro.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, really! I even found the girl who lost it. We’re dating now.”
“You serious?” she tilted her head.
“Dead serious.”
“Sullivan,” the nurse called out. “Room three.”
The examination was relatively quick. This time the doctor was a tall blonde, and she used a hand-scanner for the preliminary check. She liked the readings, so she moved fast.
“Widespread damage, but nothing critical. Qi detonation from improper technique use. I see it a lot these days. And there’ll be more, once more of you start breaking through the first bottleneck. The question is, how fast do you want to heal?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“I mean, we can drain the excess fluid and inject a healing elixir under the skin — you’ll be good as new in two hours. Or we can give you a healing salve — the swelling will be gone by morning, and your joints will recover by midday tomorrow.”
“What’s the catch?” I asked. Because I honestly saw no reason to choose the second option.
“The salve costs one point. Fluid drainage and elixir injection — twelve.”
“Whoa!”
“Yep…” the doctor agreed.
“What about units?”
“No,” she shook her head. “It’s not a single procedure, it’s a series. Points only.”
“Screw it then,” I decided. Twelve points — that’s six to eight hours in the Fist Garden, assuming I don’t get distracted with walks or peeking around. “Quick healing will clearly benefit my mental state.”
“It might be a bit unpleasant,” the doctor warned.
And she was barely exaggerating. The pain from the procedure was manageable.
They stuck my hands into some miniature pressure chambers, and it felt like something inside was trying to tear them apart. The nails hurt the most. The skin underneath pulsed, as if trying to shed its outer shell. I couldn’t see what was happening inside, but when I was finally allowed to pull my hands out, the swelling was gone — though the skin had shrivelled and sagged, and my nail beds had turned blue. I could probably give Kate a run for her money in the creepy-hands department now.
“I’d recommend taking the ring off while you still can,” the doctor said. “It might obstruct proper fluid flow during the next procedure.”
The treatment wasn’t over. I had to insert my hands into another machine — also without a clear lid — where each hand and finger was locked in place with rigid clamps, and then dozens of needles pierced the skin. The pain was sharper this time, but it passed more quickly too.
When the machine finally let go, I saw dozens of punctures across my hands. Some were bleeding. Others were oozing blue elixir. My hands swelled again, but this time the swelling faded within half an hour.
I absolutely love the medical tech around here.
Maybe I should train to be a doctor myself? Brew elixirs like Doc — each one worth a quarter of a million...