Chapter Twenty-Three: Three Years of Beatings

The next morning.

Waking from his slumber, Anhe stared absentmindedly at the ceiling for a while, as was his habit. He glanced at the empty space beside his pillow and then got up.

When he entered the living room, he saw that two breakfasts had already been set out on the coffee table: eggs with milk, and rice porridge.

“Sayuri?” he called out.

Almost immediately, Sayuri Amemiya poked her head out from the kitchen. She was already dressed in a schoolgirl uniform, her jet-black hair coiled neatly behind her head. As always, her face was calm, yet as their eyes met, she quickly averted her gaze and a faint blush crept onto her delicate features.

Anhe’s gaze lingered for a moment on her moist, enticingly red lips before breaking into a smile. Last night, after Sayuri Amemiya had said those words, Anhe, eager to prove his innocence, had pulled her to him and kissed her for nearly an hour.

From the kitchen, to the living room sofa, and finally to the bedroom, their kisses left Sayuri’s lips swollen and red by the end, only then did Anhe relent.

That explained why her lips were so especially vibrant this morning.

Seeing the smile spread across Anhe’s face, Sayuri, too, seemed to recall the scenes from last night. Her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade, but she spoke softly, “Wait just a moment longer, I’m making some miso soup.”

With that, she quickly withdrew her head and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Sayuri, you really are the perfect wife~” Anhe called out teasingly, then turned and cheerfully went to the bathroom to wash up.

In the kitchen, pressed back against the wall, Sayuri felt her breathing quicken at his words. Instinctively, she pressed a hand to her chest.

Even through the layers of softness, she could feel her heart pounding wildly.

Memories of last night sent another wave of blush across her face, the tips of her ears burning crimson.

Unlike the kisses she’d given in the past, born out of a sense of duty or to make amends, last night she had truly wanted to be close to Anhe.

She hated to admit it, but when Anhe came home yesterday with that faint scent of lavender lingering on him, she had been deeply unsettled.

She’d never been in love before, but Sayuri knew—she was jealous.

It was only then she realized, somewhere along the way, someone had quietly taken root in her heart.

…

Elsewhere—

Anhe had just put his toothbrush in his mouth when his hand paused abruptly.

A pale blue screen appeared out of thin air before his eyes.

[Congratulations! You have successfully completed Sayuri Amemiya Ending ②]

[Sayuri Amemiya’s current affection: 76 (Likes You)]

[Ending reward granted: Three random master-level martial arts. Would you like to claim them?]

Seventy-six affection points?

Anhe felt a surge of joy—not for the reward, but for the fact that Sayuri Amemiya actually liked him now.

“So, I really am quite charming, aren’t I?” He grinned, recalling how she’d taken the initiative last night.

Steadying himself, he looked again at the rewards offered on the blue screen.

Three master-level martial arts.

Of all the rewards unlocked so far from the three girls, only the martial arts and the physical enhancements had truly tempted him.

Honestly, he’d coveted all of Tokiko Kurorai’s rewards, but he knew—at least, he told himself—that a man should have principles…

He swore to himself that, though he was a man of passion, he was also a man of principle. If he ever did end up with Tokiko Kurorai…

Well, truth be told, he wasn’t opposed. In fact, he was a little excited by the thought.

He slapped himself hard, cursed silently for a minute, and decided to put those thoughts aside for now. There were more pressing matters at hand—namely, the promised master-level martial arts.

He swallowed hard, barely able to contain his excitement, and gave the mental command.

“Claim!”

There was no sudden flood of memories, no instant physical transformation. Just as Anhe was beginning to suspect he’d done something wrong, the world around him abruptly changed.

Shouts and cries echoed from all sides.

The cramped bathroom vanished, replaced by a vast boxing ring. All around the ring, rough-looking foreigners gathered—some with shaved heads and cigarettes, others bare-chested and musclebound.

Beyond them, high prison walls loomed, each with barred windows crammed full of faces straining to catch a glimpse of the action below.

Facing Anhe in the ring was a burly man with dreadlocks, stripped to the waist.

“What… what is going on?” Anhe blurted out.

His only answer was a sudden whip kick from the dreadlocked man, and the slow, mechanical voice that echoed in his mind.

[Skill to be learned: Capoeira. Time remaining: 364 days, 24 hours, 59 minutes.]

…

A few seconds later.

Anhe recovered with a jolt, standing dazed in his own bathroom once more. Sensing the familiar surroundings, he instinctively performed a spinning kick.

But he struck nothing but air.

There was no one else around.

Not only that, but the kick had thrown him off balance, and he staggered, nearly falling, only catching himself by planting a hand on the floor.

Looking around at the familiar room, Anhe’s eyes were wide with shock—shocked both by the high roundhouse kick he’d just executed, and by the three sets of martial arts now etched into his muscle memory.

Though only a few seconds had passed in the real world, Anhe alone knew that he’d spent three full years within that mental space.

For a whole year, he’d fought the dreadlocked man in that prison, learning Capoeira the hard way—beaten at first, then learning to strike back, and finally matching his opponent blow for blow.

When that ordeal ended, the scene changed and he found himself in a Taoist temple, facing an old man in robes. Another year of relentless training—and beatings—left him with a mastery of Tai Chi.

Then, the world changed again, and he was standing in a courtyard, facing a middle-aged man in a Zhongshan suit.

When the man slowly crouched, arms extended, Anhe recognized both his identity and the name of his final martial art.

“Wing Chun—Ip Man.”

…

“Wing Chun—An Man!” he exclaimed.

Still in the bathroom, Anhe sank into a slight crouch, hands extended before him, and called out the phrase he’d repeated countless times as a child.

At that very moment, the bathroom door slid open.

There stood Sayuri Amemiya, her eyes full of concern as she looked at him.

There was a moment of silence before the long-absent narrator’s voice sounded quietly in Anhe’s mind.

[Gazing at the person before you, a flash of murderous intent flickers in your eyes. Caught in your chuunibyou moment, she has already sealed her fate! Perfect—now you can test your three newly acquired martial arts on her. Yet, as you consider her affection level of 76, you fall into deep thought: if she’s doomed anyway, why not… before that…]