Chapter 6: The Art of Negotiating with a Meat Bun Enthusiast

The peace lasted exactly forty-three seconds.

Three figures blocked the courtyard entrance, their shadows stretching across the cobblestones. Classic thug energy radiated from them, the kind of lowlifes who thought scaring civilians made them tough.

The leader stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

“Hey girlie, that’s a nice bun you got there.”

The girl looked up from her coin counting, her expression shifting from content to deeply annoyed. Not scared, just irritated that her lunch was being interrupted.

She clutched the remaining half of her meat bun protectively.

“This is mine.”

Her voice came out flat, matter-of-fact. No trembling, no panic, just pure determination to keep her food.

The thugs laughed, that stereotypical villain chuckle that echoed off the alley walls. The leader had a scar across his nose, probably self-inflicted to look intimidating.

“Hand over the bun and those coins, make this easy.”

I watched from my spot against the wall, my body still frozen from the earlier revelation. These morons were really threatening someone over street food and copper pieces.

The girl stood up, all five feet of her facing down three grown men.

“I waited in line for twenty minutes for this bun.”

She took a deliberate bite, maintaining eye contact with the leader. Absolute power move, honestly. Sauce dripped down her chin.

“You can fight me for it.”

My brain kicked back into gear.

This was it, the perfect moment to look cool and heroic. Rescue the damsel, demonstrate my strength, make a killer first impression. She’d be so impressed she’d beg to become my disciple.

I stood up, smoothing my robes with my free hand.

The magazine crinkled loudly in my other hand.

Right, I was still holding that. The women’s magazine with its questionable cover now wrinkled beyond recognition. Not exactly a heroic weapon, but I’d worked with worse.

“Gentlemen, I think you should leave.”

My voice carried that calm authority, the tone that usually made bandits reconsider their life choices. The three thugs turned to look at me.

The leader’s eyes traveled from my face down to the magazine.

His expression shifted through confusion, recognition, and then judgment. I watched him piece together the scene, probably assuming I’d been doing something weird in this alley.

“Mind your business, old man.”

Old man? I was immortal, not old. Big difference. My eye twitched involuntarily.

“This is my business now.”

The thug pulled a knife, the blade catching afternoon light. His buddies flanked him, producing their own weapons. Standard intimidation formation, completely ineffective against someone who could sneeze away God-Killing techniques.

I rolled up the magazine.

The pages compressed into a tight cylinder, creating what was essentially a paper baton. The cover girl’s face disappeared into the spiral, her smile hidden inside layers of questionable content.

This was about to be so stupid.

“Last chance to walk away.”

The leader lunged forward, knife aimed at my chest. His form was terrible, weight distributed wrong, telegraphing every movement. Amateur hour.

I tapped him with the magazine.

Just a light bonk on the forehead, barely any force behind it. My god-tier strength did the rest, converting that gentle tap into devastating kinetic energy.

He flew backward like someone had tied him to a rocket.

His body hit the alley wall with a wet thump, then he slumped down into a pile of garbage bags. The knife clattered across cobblestones, spinning away into shadows.

The other two stared.

“What the—”

I didn’t let him finish. Two more taps, one to each thug’s shoulder. They launched in opposite directions, pinballing off walls before landing in crumpled heaps.

The courtyard fell silent except for distant market sounds.

I stood there holding my rolled magazine, trying to look dignified. Three unconscious bodies surrounded me, defeated by literature. This was simultaneously my greatest victory and most embarrassing moment.

The girl blinked slowly.

“You knocked them out with a magazine.”

Her voice carried zero judgment, just stating facts. She took another bite of her bun, chewing thoughtfully while examining the destruction.

“It’s about technique, not the weapon.”

I tried to sound wise and master-like. The magazine unrolled slightly in my grip, revealing part of a model’s shoulder.

“That’s actually kind of impressive.”

She finished her meat bun, wadding up the paper wrapper. Her eyes met mine with genuine interest, no trace of the fear or worship I usually got.

“Are you some kind of warrior?”

This was my moment.

“I’m Grandmaster Zenjiro, master of the Sacred Mountain Dojo.”

I bowed slightly, keeping the magazine behind my back now. Professional dignity, that was key.

“And you are?”

“Rin.”

She dropped the wrapper in a nearby waste bin, then dusted crumbs off her hands. Her movements stayed casual, unbothered by the unconscious thugs.

“Thanks for the help, I guess.”

She started walking toward the alley exit like this was a normal Tuesday interaction. No questions about my power, no asking to learn my techniques, just ready to move on.

Wait no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Would you like to become my disciple?”

The words tumbled out desperate and rushed. I needed to recover this, make it sound appealing.

Rin stopped walking and turned back.

“Your disciple? Like martial arts training?”

Her expression showed mild interest, the kind you’d give a street vendor offering free samples.

“Yes, exactly.”

I straightened up, trying to channel that wise master energy. The magazine stayed firmly behind my back.

“I would teach you the sacred arts, help you unlock your potential—”

“Do you provide meals?”

The question cut through my prepared speech like a knife through butter. I blinked at her, my brain stumbling over the interruption.

“I… yes? Three meals a day, prepared by—”

“Is there a roof? Like an actual building with walls?”

She tilted her head, her eyes completely serious. These were her priorities, not destiny or power or legendary techniques.

“The dojo has walls, yes.”

Technically true, though currently some of those walls had holes. Minor details.

“What about payment?”

My mouth opened and closed. None of my other disciples had asked about salary, they’d basically forced their way into my life through pure determination.

“You want to be paid to train?”

“I want to be paid to work.”

She crossed her arms, her business negotiation face firmly in place. This girl was treating martial arts like a job application.

“Room, board, and a monthly salary. Those are my terms.”

I stared at her.

This pragmatic, food-motivated, completely normal person standing in front of me represented everything I’d dreamed of. No dramatic backstory, no burning desire to surpass me, just someone who needed employment.

She was perfect.

“Deal.”

The word came out too fast, too eager. I didn’t care, this was happening.

“Three meals daily, private quarters, and competitive wages.”

“Define competitive.”

“Whatever you want, name your price.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, probably wondering why I was so desperate. Smart girl, but not smart enough to run away yet.

“Twenty silver pieces monthly.”

“Done.”

I would’ve paid her in gold honestly. The cost of having one normal female disciple far outweighed any monetary concerns.

Rin nodded, sealing the deal with surprising casualness.

“When do I start?”

“Right now, we can head to the dojo immediately.”

I gestured toward the alley exit, my heart racing with genuine excitement. Finally, after seven years of masculine chaos, I had a female student.

We walked through the side streets, carefully avoiding the main square.

I could still hear Blade’s shouting in the distance, something about testing worthiness through combat. Rin glanced toward the noise but didn’t comment.

The mountain path stretched ahead, stone stairs climbing toward my destroyed home.

Each step brought us closer to reality, to the inevitable moment when Rin would meet the others. My excitement started curdling into anxiety.

“So, about your fellow disciples—”

“There are others?”

Rin’s pace didn’t slow, but her tone shifted to mild curiosity. We passed the lower gate, its wood scorched from some previous incident.

“Three others, yes.”

I chose my words carefully, trying to find a way to explain without sounding completely insane.

“They’re very enthusiastic about training.”

“Enthusiastic how?”

“They greet me aggressively each morning.”

We climbed higher, the village shrinking below us. Sweat started beading on my forehead despite the cool mountain air.

“Define aggressively.”

“With swords and hammers mostly.”

Rin stopped walking and looked at me. Her expression stayed neutral, processing this information like someone reviewing contract terms.

“They attack you?”

“It’s more like very intense sparring.”

I kept walking, hoping she’d follow. After a moment, she did.

“One of them cross-dresses sometimes, but he’s mostly harmless.”

“Mostly?”

“He uses poison fans for seduction techniques.”

The words sounded worse out loud. I glanced at Rin, waiting for her to bolt back down the mountain.

She just shrugged.

“As long as they don’t mess with my food.”

Her priorities remained crystal clear. I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“And the third one is very strong but doesn’t understand social cues.”

“Like doesn’t read the room?”

“Like destroyed the entire dojo trying to give me a massage with a warhammer.”

We reached the second gate, this one hanging off its hinges from yesterday’s incident. The dojo grounds spread ahead, rubble and broken beams creating an obstacle course.

Rin surveyed the destruction with impressive calm.

“You weren’t kidding about the enthusiasm.”

“I should also mention there might be explosions.”

“Might be?”

“Definitely will be, probably daily.”

We approached the main gate, its red paint peeling and covered in sword marks. I could hear voices beyond it, my three disciples arguing about something.

My hand touched the weathered wood, fingers tracing old damage.

This was the moment of truth. Rin would either accept the chaos or run screaming back to the village. I couldn’t blame her either way, this situation was objectively insane.

“Ready?”

“For explosions and cross-dressing hammer wielders?”

She adjusted her bag, her expression remaining remarkably unbothered.

“Sure, why not.”

I took a deep breath and pushed.

The gate swung open with a dramatic creak, revealing the courtyard beyond.