When I turned seven, the years of preparation finally met their first real test.
Up until then, most of my training had been quiet. Running through the forest before sunrise, standing in the river against the current, repeating calisthenics under the trees while others played or rested.
To most people in the settlement it probably looked like nothing more than an energetic child burning excess energy.
But behind that routine was a system.
Years of experimentation had slowly refined how I trained.
Flexibility first.
Balance second.
Strength third.
And awareness tying everything together.
By the time I reached seven, that system had begun producing results.
Not dramatic ones.
But noticeable enough that others started paying attention.
The Body Begins to Change
Children grow quickly, but controlled training accelerates that change.
My muscles had become denser from years of calisthenics. My legs grew strong from pushing against the river's current. Running across uneven forest ground had sharpened my balance to the point where my footing almost never failed.
Even my posture changed.
Instead of moving like a child who simply reacted to motion, my body moved deliberately.
Each step had intention.
Each shift of weight was controlled.
Jiro noticed first.
One afternoon we had been racing along the forest path near the river.
He collapsed onto a rock, breathing hard.
I was still standing.
He stared at me suspiciously.
("Why aren't you tired?")
I shrugged.
(Training.")
He frowned.
("You train more than the hunters.")
Maybe.
But the hunters trained for survival.
I was training for something else entirely.
Observation Turns Into Understanding
That year I spent even more time watching the older teenagers train.
Some of them were already strong enough to assist the hunters during patrols or gathering trips. Their sparring sessions were rough but practical.
Strikes.
Grappling.
Throws.
I rarely joined those matches.
Instead I observed.
Watching experienced fighters revealed patterns quickly.
Most people relied heavily on strength.
But the most effective fighters relied on structure.
Stable stance.
Proper balance.
Controlling distance.
Using an opponent's momentum instead of resisting it.
The more I watched, the more obvious those patterns became.
My earlier training suddenly made more sense.
River exercises had built balance.
Calisthenics had strengthened the body evenly.
Movement drills had improved coordination.
All of those things directly supported combat mechanics.
The pieces were starting to connect.
The First Real Test
The opportunity to test those ideas came unexpectedly.
One afternoon several teenagers were sparring near the clearing while younger children watched.
Jiro and I sat nearby.
One of the older boys noticed us.
He was about fifteen.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly amused by the audience.
He grinned.
("You two want to try?")
Jiro immediately shook his head.
But I stood up.
Curiosity had always been stronger than caution.
The teenager laughed.
("Alright, little one. Don't complain when you fall.")
A circle formed around us.
The sparring started casually.
He reached for my shoulders, expecting to overpower me immediately.
But the moment he stepped forward, I shifted slightly to the side.
His hand missed.
He tried again, this time faster.
I stepped backward, redirecting his arm instead of resisting it.
Years of balance training showed their value immediately.
He was stronger.
Much stronger.
But strength meant little without stable footing.
On his third attempt he lunged forward aggressively.
Instead of retreating, I stepped slightly inside his movement.
My foot slipped behind his ankle.
A small push against his center of gravity.
Nothing dramatic.
Just leverage.
His weight was already moving forward.
He stumbled.
Not a full throw.
But enough to force him to catch himself before falling.
The clearing went quiet.
The teenager stared at me for a moment.
Then he laughed.
("Okay… you're interesting.")
Before the sparring continued, one of the adults nearby stepped forward and ended the match.
Still, the reaction from the other teenagers was obvious.
Surprise.
Jiro stared at me like he had just discovered something new.
("Since when can you fight like that?")
I shrugged.
(Training.")
The truth was simpler.
They relied on strength.
I relied on mechanics.
Refining the Training System
After that day my training changed slightly.
Not dramatically.
But I began focusing more on movements that improved explosive power and stability under pressure.
River training remained essential.
Calisthenics continued building strength.
But now I added short bursts of speed during running drills.
Sudden directional changes.
Quick jumps.
Explosive movements.
The goal wasn't simply endurance anymore.
It was control under sudden force.
Knowledge Continues
Evenings remained devoted to reading.
Dad continued bringing books from trade towns whenever he traveled.
Some described herbal medicine.
Others explained anatomy and injury treatment.
The medical books fascinated me the most.
Understanding how muscles and joints worked allowed me to refine my exercises further.
Instead of blindly repeating movements, I adjusted them to strengthen weaker areas and avoid unnecessary strain.
The body wasn't just something to push harder.
It was a system.
And systems could be optimized.
The End of Age Seven
By the time my seventh year ended, several things had changed.
My body had grown stronger and faster.
My training system had proven effective during real sparring.
And my understanding of combat mechanics had deepened significantly.
But most importantly, my confidence in the foundation I had built had grown.
Balance.
Strength.
Control.
Awareness.
All of it worked together.
The system was functioning exactly as intended.
And with that confirmation, I knew something important.
The next year—age eight—would allow me to push those foundations even further.