Karate chopping the air is an art form. It has to be done correctly in order to look cool. You can’t just slice through time and space all willy-nilly and expect to pull it off like a badass. It takes timing and precision, both of which Harry Chest has.
The concentration on his face is fierce as he ruthlessly cuts through the nothingness in front of him. Sweat beads run down the sides of his face like a downhill skier carving up the slopes. His white karate gi is form fitting and hugs his hairy chest snugly.
HC: HiYa!
Swoosh!
Chest’s hand comes to an abrupt stop at waist level as he’s in an action pose in the middle of a dusky dojo. He gathers himself, takes a bow and fetches some water from the dispenser.
Now that’s some cool, crisp refreshment. The water droplets dance around Harry’s taste buds like warrior ninjas extinguishing flames. Hydration is key, especially knowing he’s about to face one of his toughest challenges yet.
Harry walks over and grabs a towel to mop up the sweat which has accumulated on his face. Chest can’t help but notice a large banner hanging down from the ceiling in front of him. The warrior depicted on the woven cloth looks strong and stoic.
HC: Mushigihara. I hope you don’t think I’m a pushover because I’m here putting in the hard time. I’m planning to beat you at your own game. Do you think you’re a samurai warrior? I’ll show you discipline when I chop you down to size and save all the random citizens from your samurai tyranny.
Finished with the pat down, Chest deposits the dirty towel in the soiled linens hamper before proceeding back to the training mat to whisper some guiding words to himself.
Mind, body and soul.
Mind, body and soul.
Mind, body and soul.
Mind.
Harry closes his eyes. In order to be a balanced fighter, one must be equally strong both mentally and physically. Appreciation and respect can certainly be given to a samurai, as they are expected to be sound within both conditions. Harry will be ready.
Body.
Well, does this one really need explaining? Harry puffs his chest out, giving his tuft of chest hair no choice but to protrude from his collar with pride. The strands of hair reach forward like ghosts reclaiming lost souls. Dare not anyone get entangled in this matted mess of follicles, for if they do, it might end up being their last breath.
Finally, soul.
The soul of a warrior always gets tested. Harry is confident in his mettle. He has continually shown resilience and has overcome the obstacles placed in front of him. Many “warriors” have already come and gone in Classic, yet here he is, still fighting the good fight.
HC: The battle between good and evil is endlessly tiring but I never tire.
His eyelids slowly separate as his breathing is calm and relaxed. There’s no one around him in this section of the dojo, so he can take his time as he pleases.
HC: Mushigihara. Our clash will be one of titans. Me and my tuft against you and your sword. Don’t get too cocky thinking you can cut through it with ease though. My hair is made of metal. My will is made of iron. My spirit is made of platinum. My fist?
Harry raises an arm skyward.
HC: Well, my fist is made of gold. I welcome the challenge of the samurai. It’s about time I fight someone on my level! Let the random citizens be witnesses to greatness and may the true warrior walk away the victor. For who knows what spoils might await the participant whose hand is raised in celebration.
Beginning to kneel, Harry bows his head as he feels his session is coming to a close. He can feel the Mushigihara banner looming overhead. How poetic.
HC: I will beat you. I must.
His head raises and stares a hole right through Mushigihara.
HC: Sayonara, samurai. Until we meet again.