Hajime no Keitaro: The Secret to Defense
Keitaro managed to successfully dodge four balls in a row before the fifth smacked him squarely in the nose. He yelped and rubbed his nose with an ugly wince, walking away from the barrel of the tennis ball service machine. "What's the matter?" Takamura growled, switching the machine off. "In the ring, that would be nothing more than a light jab. Can't you even take that much before quitting?"
"This is really frustrating," Keitaro grumbled, kicking one of the balls littering the ground, sending it bounding across the concrete. "Every time I duck away from one, there's another right there to meet me. How can anyone move fast enough to avoid all of them?"
Takamura placed his hands on his hips. "If you can't figure this out, you may as well just give up. This teaches nothing more than basic defensive strategy."
"What do you mean?" Keitaro asked, mimicking what Takamura was doing.
A sly grin passed across Takamura's face. "It's more fun watching you try to figure it out. But you are sure going to feel like an idiot when you do. It's quite simple, actually."
"I hate you," Keitaro admitted truthfully.
"The feeling is mutual, kid. I could be doing things much more interesting than this. Get your ass back in front of the machine," he ordered his charge, pointing at the wall directly in line with the barrel of the machine.
Keitaro reluctantly stepped in front of the machine, kicking the balls lying there out of the way. He raised his hands and nodded at Takamura. Takamura flipped the machine back on and stepped back. "Don't walk away when you get hit this time. You are going to take punches in the ring, no matter how good you think you are. Be prepared to get hit."
"Fine," Keitaro growled in annoyance, bending his knees, his eyes boring a hole through the barrel looming just a handful of feet away from him.
That night, after the sun had set, Keitaro dipped slowly into the pool of hot water on the balcony of the second floor of Hinata Sou, gasping and wrenching his face as each scrape and bruise touched the steaming liquid. With his body completely immersed, he dropped his arms into the water and immediately cursed at the pain shooting through them. He did not know how much more punishment he could take from those wretched little yellow balls before his body gave up on him. After three long weeks, he had only managed to avoid being hit by five balls in a row. His goal? Fifty. Ten percent. Nowhere close.
Leaning his head against the edge of the tub, looking at the ceiling above him, he was sure he was missing something important regarding his task, but he could not place it. The more he tried to think about it, the more his head hurt. He was obviously burned out, but he refused to admit it. His muscles screamed at him constantly, and every movement seemed to take a Herculean effort lately.
After bathing and clothing himself, Keitaro dragged his body under aching feet down to the kitchen for something to drink. He passed Kitsune and Motoko in the foyer, grunting an unintelligible greeting to them as he passed. Neither of them asked if he was okay. In fact, no one did anymore. There was no need. Just by looking at the young man, they knew he was in pain. A pain they were certain he did not wish to discuss.
Sitting with a tall glass of cold milk, Keitaro stared blankly at the opposing wall. He knew tomorrow would be worse. How much worse could it get? It hurt to think, let alone sway his body. Would he make any progress? Not in his condition. But he knew he would do it anyway, because that was the road he chose. There was no shying away from it now.
The muffled ringing of the telephone in the foyer reached Keitaro's ears, tugging him sharply back into reality. He pushed with his arms on the table to stand when he heard Shinobu's voice say, "I'll get it."
"Thank you, Shinobu-chan," Keitaro whispered, sinking back into his chair. He sipped his milk with a weak smile, enjoying the taste of the beverage. After placing the glass back on the table, the door behind Keitaro swung open.
"Sempai, the telephone is for you," Shinobu said meekly.
"Do you know who it is?" Keitaro asked.
"Sounds like some old man. He seemed pretty grumpy."
"Coach," Keitaro muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing," Keitaro said, shaking his head at the teenager. "I'll be right there."
"Okay."
Keitaro rose from his seat, his knees threatening to buckle at any time. He stifled a pain-induced grunt, shuffling along out of the door and to the phone. He picked up the receiver and spoke into it. "Hello?"
"Keitaro?"
"Yes, coach."
"I heard from Takamura. I want you to rest for a couple of days. Stay at home and don't do anything too physical."
"But coach, I…"
"I don't want to hear it! If I even smell you near my gym in the next two days, I will personally cane you so hard your children's children will feel it! Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir." Keitaro was quickly learning to not argue.
"Get some rest. You need it! Clear your head!"
The phone clicked in Keitaro's ear, signaling that Kamogawa hung up on the other side. With a great sigh, Keitaro returned the receiver to its home. A great part of him felt relieved that he was free to rest for a while, but now he had no idea what to do with himself. His legs yelled at him for relief. First things first, then. Find a chair.
Keitaro sat with a huff into the armchair in the foyer, Kitsune seated to his left in the loveseat, Motoko to his right in the sofa. "Who was that, your girlfriend?" Kitsune asked playfully.
"You wish," Keitaro responded, adjusting his butt in the seat for maximum comfort. Although he almost wanted to say, "I wish." "It was the coach," Keitaro explained. "He wants me to take it easy for the next couple of days."
"A true warrior never needs to rest," Motoko said with her typical monotone voice.
Keitaro chuckled lightheartedly. "It's a good thing I'm not a true warrior, then. Because, honestly, I need it."
Kitsune laughed. "You've got that part right, at least. You are the furthest thing from a warrior."
Motoko's expression remained smooth as a river rock. "Not that I expect you to get far anyway, but without the heart of a warrior, you don't stand a chance."
Keitaro felt a burning sensation within his chest, but he suppressed it. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. We'll see what happens," he said with finality, trying to drop the subject.
Motoko stood up angrily. "Don't come crying to me when you lose then," she growled, storming out of the room with her sword in tow.
Keitaro raised his arms in confusion. "What did I do?"
"I think she's just trying to help," Kitsune said.
"Telling me I am wasting my time isn't exactly helpful."
"It's the only way she knows how."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you think I'm wasting my time?"
"Does it really matter what I think?
"I just want your opinion."
After a pause, Kitsune answered, "Honestly, I don't know what to think anymore." The two sat in silence the rest of the evening, staring into nothingness.
Keitaro woke in surprise the next morning, seeing the sun high up in the sky when he turned over on his futon. Had he really slept through most of the morning already? He lifted his head to look at his alarm clock, which he had not set to go off at four in the morning as usual. The clock read nine thirty-three. Impossible. That would mean he slept for almost eleven hours.
Keitaro's knees buckled when he stood, and he braced himself before attempting to rise once again. At last making it to a standing position, Keitaro removed his pajamas, changing into a casual outfit suitable for the season. Leaving his sanctuary, he went downstairs, following the sweet smell reaching his nose all the way to the dining room.
Without more than a simple good morning to all the girls seated around him, Keitaro took his place at the table, trying to shake the cobwebs from his head.
"Long night?" Naru asked him.
"Actually, I think I slept too long," Keitaro answered, stretching out his sore arms.
"Keitaro looks like he got beat up again," Su chimed, looking at Keitaro with concern, much to his surprise.
"No worries, Su-chan," Keitaro replied reassuringly. "It's looks much worse than it is."
"You always say that," Naru muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Sorry," Keitaro said. He didn't know how else to say it, honestly.
"Well, can I expect you to show up tonight?" Naru asked Keitaro.
He almost said for what before catching himself, remembering tonight was a study night. "Of course," he said nonchalantly, hoping no one noticed his look of surprise.
After eating, Keitaro rushed back to his room in a slight panic. He remembered he and Naru were supposed to be prepping for a mock exam in just a few short weeks, and they were supposed to be doing independent study when they were not together. Being so busy with his gym work, he completely forgot about his studies. "She is going to absolutely kill me," he hissed, closing his door behind him, and grabbing his backpack from the corner of his desk.
After a short afternoon of mostly fruitless studying, Keitaro dragged himself upstairs to Naru's room, knocking on her door pitifully. When Naru opened her door, Keitaro let himself in, not daring to look her in the eyes, fearful she would see right through him. Nevertheless, something about his demeanor caught her attention. "What's the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing," Keitaro answered a little too quickly, dropping his loaded backpack full of textbooks next to the large, square table they studied at.
"This," Naru began, then trudged across her room with her head and arms drooped, doing a rather good impression of Keitaro before looking at him again, "is nothing?"
Keitaro had to pinch himself to keep from laughing at her. Did he really look like that? If so, there was no use in trying to hide anything. "I'm just not feeling all that confident about tonight."
"I already know you've been slacking off on your studies," Naru said casually.
"You did?" He looked at her with a look of genuine surprise.
"You've been out so much lately, and it's been obvious you haven't been going out to study. You pretty much wear your actions on your body. You always come back looking like you had been jumped by a gang of thugs."
Keitaro looked down at his hands. "Sorry," he said.
"Oh well," Naru said with a huff, "let's just see where you are at." She pulled a study test from her own backpack, sliding it across the table to Keitaro.
He pulled it closer to him and peered over it, half expecting it to be written in some foreign language.
"Need a pencil?" Naru asked, holding out a newly sharpened wooden pencil for Keitaro to take from her.
"No, I've got one, thanks," Keitaro waved a mechanical pencil for her to see, not looking up from the document.
Naru continued to watch him for a few more moments before pulling her own test out and beginning work on it.
Roughly an hour later, Naru put her pencil down. Keitaro looked up at her. "Done already?" She nodded and motioned Keitaro to continue.
Keitaro knew he was taking far too long to finish. He heard Naru's voice in his head say, "When it comes to tests, if you don't know how to get the answer right away, odds are you will never get it." He wanted to rip the test to shreds and storm out of the room, but he took a couple of deep breaths and continued.
After another half hour, a time in which Keitaro caught Naru staring at him on more than one occasion, he finally finished the test, tossing his pencil into the air and falling backwards onto his back. "I really bombed this one," he said, feeling defeated.
Naru calmly reached for his test, putting it next to her and fetched a textbook, flipping through the back pages for the answer page. Keitaro sat back in silence with a dash of trepidation as he watched Naru grade both of their tests. Her silence was to him as thunderous as his own.
At long last, Naru sighed, setting down her red marker. She wordlessly pushed Keitaro's test across the table. He leaned forward and lifted it to his eyes. He had managed a sixty-three, still seven points shy of a passing mark. "How did you do?" he asked, unfazed by his sub-par grade. He had expected it.
"Ninety-two," Naru replied. "Shall we review?" Keitaro nodded, shuffling over next to his study mate.
When they had finished for the night, Keitaro had a firm understanding of what he had missed on the test. "On a lot of these, you just tried too hard. Like here," Naru noted, pointing at one question in particular. "What is all this mess?" she asked.
Keitaro shrugged. "I had an idea about it; I guess I just took the long way around."
Naru nodded. "This, this, and this. These are all extra steps you didn't need to take to get the answer. That will kill you on timed tests like these. You've got to learn to be a minimalist."
As she continued to lecture Keitaro on the science of testing, she caught him staring at her with a crooked half-grin. "What are you staring at?" she asked, trying to sound annoyed as her blood rushed to her face.
"Oh, sorry," Keitaro said, looking away. "You just sound a lot like a real teacher. You've got a knack for this sort of thing. And yes, I mean that as a compliment," he quickly added at the end as he saw her face turn.
"Well, honestly," Naru said, tracing her finger on the table, "doing this with you, however annoying it is, especially with a dolt like you, has made me think a lot about majoring in education."
Keitaro positively beamed at her. "I definitely think you should! If you can get me to understand this stuff, it would be a cinch for you to teach practically anyone else."
Naru looked at Keitaro, smiling broadly. "Thanks," she said. Keitaro's heart swelled proudly. It was not often Naru spoke plainly genuine to him. It seemed to him, however, that each time she did, she was revealing the tiniest bit of her true self. And it was probably a good thing she only did it in small doses. Too much of this would probably overwhelm him. Even now, looking at her smiling face, he felt his head begin to spin.
He changed the subject back to reviewing their performances on the practice test, which they discussed until the wee hours of the morning.
Yet another tennis ball thumped into Keitaro's forehead, causing him to curse loudly in frustration. Takamura turned off the machine, clutching his stomach in a hoarse belly laugh. "That never gets old," he howled between gasps.
Keitaro toyed with the idea of picking up a ball and hurling it as hard as he could at Takamura's head, but he knew he could not outrun him, and decided against it. "Are you quite finished?" Keitaro asked with a harrumph.
"You're never going to do it that way," Takamura noted, still chuckling at Keitaro's perennial misfortune.
"I'm doing the best I can," Keitaro snarled back.
"If you were, this would be nothing," Takamura bellowed, turning the service machine back on without warning.
Keitaro ducked just in time to avoid a ball headed straight for his already tender nose. He swayed right to avoid the next ball, and was forced to over-correct on the next one. The fourth ball nailed him squarely in the stomach.
"You just don't get it," Takamura sniggered. "You are even more dense than Ippo, and that's really saying something. Don't just move your body! Think!"
Keitaro froze in place, ignoring the ball that slapped into his chest.
"What's the matter?" Takamura asked, flipping the machine to the off position.
"Of course," Keitaro said softly, a grin playing on his face.
"What?" Takamura asked, his face wracked in confusion.
Keitaro stood up straight, clutching his head. "I'm such an idiot!" he yelled up to the heavens.
"I dunno what you are talking about, but you just now realized that?" Takamura chuckled.
Taking his pose once more, glaring at Takamura with a grimace, Keitaro said, "Turn it on."
Takamura flipped the machine on wordlessly and stepped back, folding his arms over his massive chest. As time progressed, and with each ball loosed from the machine, the smirk on his face disappeared, turning slowly into a toothy grin.
Early the next morning, Keitaro stood in front of the wall, staring down the barrel of the tennis ball machine. After this, if he ever saw one of those contraptions again, it would be far too soon. Coach Kamogawa stood by, silently brooding over the situation as he leaned on his cane. Ippo, Kimura, and Aoki stood next to Kamogawa. Ippo watched intently, while Kimura stifled a yawn and Aoki leaned against the opposite wall, looking disinterested. Takamura took his place behind the machine's controls.
"Let's see what you've got!" Kamogawa barked. Taking the cue, Takamura flipped the machine to the on position, turning the speed up to the maximum.
Keitaro raised his hands, letting his elbows hand loosely at his sides, taking a fighting pose. The first ball shot out of the machine with a loud FWOOMP, and Keitaro shifted slightly to his left to avoid it. The ball missed him by several inches, and he heard it whiz past his right ear. Just as quickly as the ball passed him, he was back in his original position, ready for the next missile.
After a few more easy dodges, Kamogawa ordered Takamura to raise the output of the machine. Takamura cranked a knob on the machine all the way around until it stopped.
The machine began to whir with the labor of firing balls more quickly, but Keitaro remained clam and focused. He bent his knees down an inch more and relaxed his arms. Two balls fired in rapid succession. Keitaro quickly ducked the first as it slammed into the wall just above his head, and shifted his weight to the right to avoid the second. He immediately returned to his original position.
That exchange got Kimura and Aoki's attentions. "Did you see that?" Kimura said, turning his head to Aoki.
"Yeah, I did. Looks like he finally figured it out."
Balls rocketed out of the machine at a frightening pace, but each missed their mark, even if only by mere millimeters. Keitaro made it look easy, bobbing and weaving his head up and down, side to side.
"Satisfied?" Takamura asked Kamogawa, grinning at him like proud father.
Kamogawa waved his hand at Takamura, who turned the machine off. Keitaro looked a bit surprised that the exercise was over, and he turned his head to look at Kamogawa in confusion.
"What was the point of this exercise?" Kamogawa asked Keitaro.
"For me to learn to defend myself," Keitaro answered, but by the tone of his voice, it sounded more like a question.
"And what is the best method of defense?" Kamogawa asked again.
More confidently, Keitaro answered, "To make the smallest movements possible to avoid punches."
"And why is that important?" Kamogawa continued with the exam.
"If your movements are too large, you will be off balance and susceptible to combinations," Keitaro answered immediately.
"Correct," Kamogawa said, tapping his cane on the concrete. "Congratulations, you've passed the test, and much earlier than I expected I might add." Ippo applauded while the others stood silently with smiles on each of their faces.
Keitaro's jaw dropped at first, and as the realization set in, he jumped up and down and pumped his fists.
Kamogawa raised his cane, bringing order back among his charges. "Now, when you get here tomorrow, I want you to get taped up and gloved immediately. We start training for the pro test starting then!"
"Yes, sir," Keitaro said, barely able to contain his glee.
Kamogawa walked away stoically, entering the gym and going into his office. Closing the door behind him, he let out a curt chuckle. "He's pretty good after all," he noted aloud.
"How did you figure it out so quickly?" Ippo asked Keitaro as they changed back into their street clothes in the locker room.
Keitaro pulled his shirt over his head, wiping down his bare chest and back with a towel. "Oh, I just remembered something my study partner said to me the other day."
"And what was that?" Ippo asked.
"Don't try so hard," Keitaro said, gazing at something unseen.
"That's pretty good advice," Ippo said, zipping his bag closed. "See you tomorrow!"
"See you later," Keitaro returned, waving at Ippo as he walked out of the locker room. Keitaro sat down, reminiscing over his success. He had been sick and tired of dodging little yellow balls, but it was a great relief for him to have finally done it. He could hardly wait for tomorrow to come. He would finally get a shot at learning some offense.
With a loud crash, the door leading to the gym area whipped open, slamming against the wall. Takamura stepped in, glaring wildly at Keitaro, who looked around for some avenue of escape, but there was none.
"Thanks to you, I have nothing fun to do anymore," Takamura snarled at Keitaro.
"Sorry," Keitaro apologized sheepishly, sidling along the bench away from the stalking Takamura.
"You thought just by avoiding a few balls would free you from my grasp?" Takamura cackled.
Keitaro shook his head quickly, ready to bolt at any given moment.
"Well, tomorrow, the old man and I are really going to show you hell. You'd better be ready for it!" Takamura bellowed, now standing directly over Keitaro.
Keitaro tried to respond with his most casual voice, "I can't wait."
With a grunt, Takamura turned tail and sauntered back into the gym area, not bothering to close the doors behind him.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Keitaro slid back towards his bag, throwing his gym shoes into it and zipping it closed. Suddenly, he was not looking forward to his new training regimen as much. As he stood to leave, draping his bag over his shoulder, he wondered just how much more torture would be in store for him starting tomorrow.
Next time on Hajime no Keitaro: As the pro test looms ever closer, Keitaro begins to get cold feet. Does he have the heart to follow through with his convictions, or was Motoko correct when she said he lacked the heart for boxing? Find out next time on Hajime no Keitaro!