The Bruce Dumbledor style. A custom made martial art I developed in my mind world over eight long years.
Mnex once said, "Sarcasm is not a martial art." But his endless commentary irritated me so much that I started to believe otherwise. Maybe sarcasm wasn't a weapon yet. But I could turn it into one.
Among all the fighting philosophies Mnex had dumped into my head, I asked the first question that came to mind: "What was Bruce Lee's fighting style?"
Everyone probably knows that. I didn't.
According to Mnex, Bruce Lee had developed a philosophy the art of using whatever works. Whatever fits the situation. Whatever you have. He called it, well, I think it was something like 'JDK.' But he started with Wing Chun.
As soon as I heard that, the classic line popped into my head: "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."
Boxing, wrestling, Muay Thai… I studied them all. I took the pieces I liked and mashed them together.
Of course, none of it worked with my three year old body. But I wasn't going to stay three forever, was I?
Over the past eight years, I fused those styles with razor sharp sarcasm. The result? A unique system. The "Bruce" part, clear. The sarcasm, unmistakable. And the "Dumbledor"? Still a work in progress. Maybe something with flaming fists.
Actually, I'm thinking of calling it Phoenix Strike. Lightning fast Phoenix Strike. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
"Hey! Get out of your fantasy world and bring that magic into reality," Mnex snapped.
Oh, right. Thinking about it wasn't enough.
"Yes," he said. "Pull your first spell from your mind world into the real one."
I wandered to a quiet corner of the mansion's backyard, away from everyone. Facing the garden wall, I took a stance.
If Mnex hadn't yanked me out of my imagination, I could've spent hours refining my imaginary martial art. In true Hadouken spirit, I launched my palms forward, aiming to hurl fire.
Nothing happened.
"Son?" my grandfather's voice rang out. I didn't even have to look to hear the skepticism in his tone. "What exactly are you trying to do?"
"Uh… throw a flame. Far away."
"You can't control mana like that," he said, slipping into instructor mode. "Watch."
He stepped forward. A small flame bloomed in his palm. Then, with a flick of his wrist as if tossing a rock, he hurled it. The flame soared fifteen, maybe twenty meters before vanishing.
"How far it travels depends on how much mana you push into it. When you pull a spell out of your mind world, it uses the mana you stored there."
Sounds simple in theory.
In practice? Brutal.
I kept trying from morning until the midday heat kicked in. Still nothing. Neither Hadouken nor Incendio worked.
"The sun's at its peak. That's enough for today, Henry," my grandfather said. "Don't worry. You'll get it tomorrow. Nobody casts a spell in the first week after creating their mind world."
Still… I wanted one last try.
I gathered mana.
I focused on the flame I'd left behind in my mind world.
As the two forces merged, heat started to build in my palm. I didn't wait, I flung it forward before it could burn me.
Fwoosh.
"Hahahah! Congratulations, Henry! You summoned your first flame… mosquito! Hahaha!" Mnex's voice rang out, full of glee.
My grandfather stepped forward and patted me on the back.
"Well done, son. You never cease to impress. Creating your mind world in such a short time, and now your first spell? Truly impressive."
I looked down, brushing off the praise. If it weren't for Mnex's forced laughter echoing in my mind, I might've actually felt proud.
But instead, I just felt… annoyed. His artificial voice took something magical and cheapened it. As if no achievement could ever feel real while he was commenting on it.
"What are you talking about?" my grandfather said. "When I first entered my mind world to try spellcasting, I wouldn't come out for days. Even then, it took a full year before I succeeded. And that was considered prodigious."
Mnex? You heard that, right?
"Yes. If he's telling the truth, then he must've spent about 2500 to 3500 years in his mind world. That's some commitment."
"So how did you manage it?" I asked. "Didn't the years you spent in there mess with your head when you came back?"
If there was a way to handle it better, I wanted to know. I might fail again and again but no one could say I wasn't trying. Especially not my stubbornness.
"Years? I wish I actually had years in there. I only started when I was twelve…" My grandfather's voice softened as he began recalling his past.
But I wasn't listening anymore. I was talking to Mnex.
Mnex? Did I hear that right?
"Yes. I believe there's an anomaly in your mind world. Your grandfather said it should've been small at first. I didn't question it at the time, but now… it's worth investigating. This may be uncharted territory."
He had said that. That it would begin small and grow over time.
"Grandpa?" I asked.
His expression shifted slightly. He flushed, caught off guard. "Yes, son?"
"How big was your mind world when you first entered it?"
He thought for a moment, stroking his chin, eyes narrowing in memory. Then he dragged his foot in a slow arc across the dirt, tracing a full circle. Then he stepped inside it.
"About this big," he said.
"I think we've found our answer," Mnex muttered. "Your mind world is significantly larger than it should be. But we still don't have data to explain the time dilation effect."
"Don't worry," he added, "If it's any smaller than this, remember your grandfather was twelve. You're three. So by height comparison, totally normal."
I just smiled.
That day's training ended in what I could only call a successful failure.
But I wasn't done.
I still didn't know why my mind world was so big or why time felt so strange in there. Until Mnex finished his analysis, those answers would have to wait.
So, I decided to shift focus.
Time for some physical training. Bruce Dumbledor style.
After lunch, of course.
The training grounds were mostly empty. A few scarecrows, a few worn targets. Some soldiers jogging or practicing alone. Sir Theo was leading drills and Doyle was with him.
I passed by with a casual "Good morning" and took position in front of an empty scarecrow.
I raised my fists. Took a stance. Threw a punch.
Pain.
Then I tried a kick.
I lost balance immediately and fell flat on my back.
"Wonderful," Mnex said in his usual mocking tone. "At least you're consistent."
In the mind world, this was never a problem. But here my body wasn't cooperating.
"Of course not," Mnex continued. "In there, you were training your mind, not your muscles. Out here, those muscles still don't exist."
Well, sorry for not having a jacked body at the age of three.
Also Mnex. You control hormones.
So why haven't you done anything about muscle growth?
"Oh! You finally said something reasonable. Yes, I could. But muscles don't pop into existence overnight. You'll need to eat properly and train consistently. I'll assist along the way."
So you just never thought of helping before?
"Don't flatter yourself. Even a broken clock is right twice a day."
I spent the entire afternoon trying to translate eight years of mental training into muscle memory. I didn't stop. Not once.
By the time the sun dipped low, only Theo and Doyle remained on the field.
Then I heard a voice.
"Henry!"
It was my father.
I turned, panting and dripping with sweat. I didn't know how long he had been watching.
"Yes, sir," I said, wiping my brow and bowing slightly.
"We've finished building the coops and saunas as you instructed. Get ready, we'll inspect them together."
So it had begun.
The first step of the chicken empire was complete.
Soon, there'd be meat and eggs on every plate.
And today… we'd laid the foundation.