After eating gyoza, Zaboru led Bruce Lee to the ZAGE gym in front of ZAGE Tower. The building wasn't flashy from the outside, but it had a quiet authority to it, clean glass, solid steel frames, and the kind of entrance that made you feel like you should stand straighter the moment you stepped in.
Bruce Lee smiled as they stopped in front of it. He looked up once, then back to Zaboru, as if he could already guess the level of discipline inside.
"Impressive gym," Bruce said.
Zaboru chuckled and pushed the door open. Warm air and the faint smell of rubber mats and metal plates greeted them. The place was active even in the morning, not crowded, but alive. You could hear the rhythm of training: a distant jump rope, the clean snap of gloves hitting pads, and the low, heavy sound of iron being placed back onto racks.
Bruce nodded as they walked in, clearly thinking this wasn't an ordinary private gym. It was closer to a training facility built for professionals, with enough space for multiple disciplines without feeling messy.
They passed rows of equipment and stepped toward the boxing and ring area, where two men were already dominating the atmosphere.
The first one was impossible to miss. Toji Bakurou, the ZAGE gym instructor, a massive, muscular guy who lived for building his body. Right now he was doing squats with 200kg like it was nothing, breathing steady, posture strict, moving with control instead of ego. Each rep looked clean, like he respected the weight.
The second man was just as loud in a different way. He wore a tank top, his arms covered in tattoos, hair styled into a sharp pompadour, and he was hitting a heavy bag like a rocket. The bag kept swinging, but he didn't chase it. He timed it, stepping in at the perfect moment and slamming strikes with confidence, like he was angry at the air itself.
Zaboru recognized him instantly.
Murai Mujin.
He was one of Akechi Hamazou's former Yakuza generals, now serving as a general under Aoshidan. And Aoshidan was Akechi's security company, the kind of organization that didn't survive on reputation alone. Murai wasn't just a big man throwing punches. He was trained, experienced, and built for real work.
Bruce Lee's eyes widened. These two had potential too. Where did Zaboru even find guys like this? The big one moved like a machine under weight, and the tattooed one hit like he meant it.
Zaboru laughed and called out, voice echoing through the ring area. "Oi, Murai! Toji! Even on holiday you're still in the gym! Hahaha."
Murai turned first, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. He flashed a grin like he owned the place. "Ohh, hey Zaboss!" He jerked a thumb toward Toji. "I'm here to accompany this dude. He seems lonely. All he can think about is weight lifting."
Toji sighed and racked the bar with a heavy clank, then rolled his shoulders like the 200kg hadn't been real. "What the hell, dude?" he muttered. "Who the hell comes here because you got dumped by a woman? Sucks to be you."
Murai opened his mouth to talk back, already offended, then froze mid-sentence. His gaze slid past Zaboru and landed on the man standing beside him.
"What did you s—" Murai's voice cracked. "Wait… is… iss that Bruce Lee?"
Toji finally looked up properly. The color drained from his face. "Ho… ho... HORII SHEET!—" He swallowed. "It's Bruce Lee."
Both of them moved at the same time, stepping forward with the kind of respect that bypassed their usual tough attitude.
Murai bowed too fast, like his body acted before his pride could stop it. "Mr. Lee, I'm a huge fan!"
Toji nodded hard, eyes wide. "Yeah. Same."
Bruce Lee chuckled, polite but calm, the way someone does when they're used to being recognized but still appreciates sincerity. "Thank you."
Then he turned his head slightly toward Zaboru, smile sharpening. "But today, I want to spar with your boss here."
Murai and Toji both snapped their heads back to Zaboru.
"Boss…?" Murai blinked like he thought he misheard.
Toji's eyebrows rose. "I know you can fight a bit, Zaboss, but…" He looked at Bruce Lee again, then back at Zaboru, still struggling to connect the two images. "Are you really going to spar with Bruce Lee? Right now?"
Murai leaned in, voice dropping like this was suddenly serious. "This isn't some friendly pad work, you know. That's Bruce Lee."
Zaboru nodded, trying to keep the grin casual. "Yeah, I will get my ass kicked, but it's still worth a shot. Hehe!"
He stepped toward the mat and started preparing without wasting time. Shirt off, short pants, bare feet on the soft surface. He rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms, then settled into a fighting stance that looked clean and familiar, like he'd drilled it until it became instinct. Even Murai and Toji quieted down a little, because Zaboru didn't move like a businessman playing tough. He moved like someone who actually trained.
Bruce Lee chuckled and took off his shirt as well, calm and relaxed, like sparring was just another morning routine. He didn't rush into a stance right away. Instead, he studied Zaboru the way a craftsman studies a tool. Weight distribution. Hip alignment. Guard height. The micro-adjustments in Zaboru's feet.
Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, not because he was impressed, but because he was reading.
'Almost perfect imitation… but still imitation,' he thought.
Then Bruce smiled, the kind of smile that didn't look friendly or cruel, just honest. "You better not hold back, Zaboru."
The room felt a little colder after that line, like the air understood Bruce wasn't joking.
Zaboru was surprised, but he nodded anyway. Even after Bruce's warning, he still decided to hold back a little, not out of arrogance, but out of instinct. He didn't want to hurt Bruce by accident. He didn't want to disrespect a legend by turning the spar into something ugly.
So he moved in carefully.
With a clean boxing step, he closed the gap and threw a quick straight punch, testing distance more than trying to score. Bruce Lee slipped it like it was nothing, head moving a fraction, shoulders relaxed, feet barely shifting.
Zaboru followed up immediately with a low kick, aiming for control, not damage.
Bruce dodged that too.
And then it happened.
Bruce's fist snapped forward so fast Zaboru's eyes barely registered the motion. The punch landed on his face with a sharp impact.
"AGH!"
Zaboru staggered half a step, blinking hard. His eyes widened and his mind screamed at the same time. 'What the hell… he is so fast!'
It wasn't only speed. It was timing. Bruce didn't throw randomly. He threw at the exact moment Zaboru's weight shifted, the exact moment his guard opened for a breath.
Bruce Lee smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was a teacher's smile, the kind that says you made a mistake and now you have to learn.
"See?" Bruce said. "You are nothing, and you dare hold back against me, Zaboru?"
His grin sharpened, eyes bright with challenge. "Show me your full power. I can take it."
Zaboru's eyes widened. He swallowed, then nodded. If Bruce asked for full power, then he would answer seriously. Still, he made one quiet rule for himself: the moment he felt he might truly injure Bruce, he would stop. Respect first.
He exhaled once, then his body moved.
Zaboru leaped in with explosive speed, closing the gap like a snap of wind, and fired a straight punch aimed clean and sharp. The air cracked from the sudden acceleration.
Even Murai and Toji were shocked.
"Holy shit," Murai blurted. "He's fast!"
Toji's mouth opened, then closed again, like his brain didn't know what to say.
But Bruce Lee only smiled.
In Bruce's eyes, Zaboru's movement wasn't chaos. It was readable. The footwork, the shoulder rotation, the slight tension before impact, it all flowed like water carrying clues. Bruce's perception shifted into something calm and terrifying, a slow-motion clarity that made the exchange feel almost quiet in his mind. It was one of Bruce's own secrets, the way he could see an opponent's intent a beat earlier and treat speed like something he could measure.
While Zaboru was moving at full power, Bruce looked like he was moving normally.
That was the frightening part.
Because "normal" for Bruce was still faster than most people could react to.
Bruce Lee parried Zaboru's straight easily, not with force, but with a clean redirect that made Zaboru's fist slide past his guard like it never had a chance. Zaboru didn't stop. He retaliated immediately with a Muay Thai knee, driving in hard, trying to catch Bruce during the transition.
Bruce read it.
He caught the knee with a sharp forearm block, turned his hip just enough to soften the impact, and with that same motion he shifted Zaboru's balance off center. It wasn't dramatic, but Zaboru felt it. His weight leaned the wrong way for a split second, and Bruce took that tiny opening like it was a door left wide open.
Bruce's leg moved as if he was going to chop Zaboru's supporting leg.
Zaboru reacted fast, lifting his leg to avoid the kick, but that was exactly what Bruce wanted. The kick was a threat, not the finish. The moment Zaboru's guard adjusted downward, Bruce's fist snapped up and smacked Zaboru's face.
The punch was heavy.
Zaboru's head jolted, and a hot sting exploded across his nose. He blinked and tasted iron. Blood started to run.
Before Zaboru could even reset his stance, Bruce's foot came up toward his face, fast and precise. Zaboru tried to dodge, shifting his head and shoulders away, but Bruce's kick followed like a targeted missile. The foot corrected mid-flight, chasing the direction Zaboru chose.
The impact slammed into Zaboru's face anyway.
His vision flashed, his body stumbled backward, and the force threw him out of the exchange. He skidded back across the mat, catching himself before he hit the ropes, breathing hard, shocked at how quickly the lesson turned brutal.
Zaboru was dizzy, shocked, and breathing harder than he wanted to admit. 'Holy shit… even with an Enlightenment Body, I can't keep up with him.' His cheek throbbed, his nose bled, and his eyes kept trying to refocus, but the only thing that stayed clear was the truth: Bruce Lee was reading him like a book.
Bruce laughed, relaxed, almost amused by the gap between Zaboru's confidence and reality. 'As expected… his body is insane. That kick could shatter the skull of a normal person, but he takes it like nothing.' Bruce Lee grinned, not mocking, but impressed in the way a real fighter respects durability.
Zaboru wiped the blood with the back of his hand and didn't step away. He didn't complain. He didn't ask for a break. He simply tightened his stance and came forward again.
He struck Bruce Lee again and again, fast combinations mixed with sudden angles, trying to force an opening through sheer pressure. But Bruce kept parrying, deflecting each attack with effortless economy, using the smallest movement to erase the biggest threat. Zaboru's fists and kicks looked sharp, but Bruce's defense made them look like waves crashing into a rock.
Murai and Toji stared in awe, forgetting their own training like they were watching a legend unfold in real time.
"Did Zaboss really need my protection?" Murai muttered, eyes wide. "I don't think even I can beat him…"
Toji nodded slowly, still stunned. He had seen strong men. He had seen trained men. But watching Zaboru keep coming while Bruce Lee stayed calm, smiling, and in control made the difference feel terrifying.
The sparring continued. Bruce Lee stayed calm like water, parrying Zaboru's attacks one after another and dodging with an effortless rhythm that made every exchange look unfair. Zaboru kept pushing forward anyway, trying different angles, changing tempo, mixing punches and kicks, forcing Bruce to keep reading
Zaboru kept switching styles mid-exchange like he was flipping pages in a book. One moment he stepped in with a karate straight, sharp and direct. The next he shifted into Tae Kwon Do footwork, snapping kicks to test distance. Then he flowed into Silat angles, cutting to the side with low, unpredictable movement. A breath later he borrowed Kung-Fu rhythm, loose shoulders and sudden bursts, and when Bruce tried to close him down, Zaboru answered with boxing, tight guard, fast jabs, quick resets.
He even threw in strange movements that didn't belong to any dojo, little feints and patterns he remembered from fighting games in his previous life. In his head, they made sense as "mix-ups," and with his Enlightenment Body and Deep Memory Dive, he could imitate what he had seen once and make it look real.
Bruce Lee chuckled, and the sound carried both amusement and disappointment, like a teacher watching a talented student sprint in circles.
Zaboru attacked again, again, again, trying to overwhelm Bruce with variety.
But Bruce parried every strike with calm precision. He redirected punches, slipped kicks, and stole Zaboru's balance in tiny, almost invisible ways. Then he spoke, voice steady in the middle of the storm.
"It's futile," Bruce said. "I'm not afraid of a guy like you, the guy who practices ten thousand moves once."
He tapped Zaboru's guard away with a flick, as if proving the point then punch his face.
"I'm afraid of the guy who practices one move ten thousand times."
Zaboru's grin widened, blood still warm at his nose, eyes burning with excitement. Bruce Lee had just hit him with the famous quote, right here, in real life. And instead of discouraging him, it lit him up even more.
"Hehehe… okay," Zaboru breathed.
So he kept attacking.
Minutes passed like that, heavy and brutal. Zaboru's breath got rougher, sweat finally forming despite his body's advantages, while Bruce's breathing stayed smooth, like he could do this all day. Every time Zaboru thought he found a crack, Bruce closed it with a tiny movement, a shoulder slip, a hip turn, a step that stole distance.
After a full ten minutes of sparring, Zaboru's eyes sharpened. He stopped chasing a clean hit and started hunting for one moment.
He threw a sequence that looked familiar, almost predictable, and Bruce reacted on instinct—parry, slip, reset.
But Zaboru had planned it.
A feint.
Not a basic fake, but a layered one, a technique Bruce himself had used before. Zaboru let the first motion sell the lie, then shifted his weight at the last instant, pulling Bruce's guard just slightly out of place.
For the first time, Bruce was half a beat late.
Zaboru drove in and landed a clean hit to Bruce's stomach.
It wasn't the hardest hit Zaboru could throw, but it was real. It made a sharp sound, and even Murai and Toji gasped.
But Bruce's counter came like lightning.
Even while absorbing the body shot, Bruce's fist snapped up and punched Zaboru in the face, a clean, brutal answer that stopped any celebration from forming. Zaboru's vision flashed, his legs wobbled, and he dropped to one knee, then both, breathing hard with blood at his nose again.
He laughed anyway, breathless and proud, like a kid who finally scored once against an unbeatable boss.
"HAHAHA! I got one hit!" Zaboru wiped his face and shook his head, still grinning. "Sorry, Bruce… I can't go on." Zaboru then laying down
Bruce Lee laughed and nodded, rubbing his stomach once like he was confirming the hit was real. It had been a while since someone managed to tag him cleanly, and Zaboru's strike hit like a truck. Still, Bruce stood up straight and smiled like nothing important had happened.
"You still think you underestimate me?" Bruce asked, voice light but eyes sharp. "You held back at first, remember? You tried to be polite."
Zaboru sat up, wiping the last blood from his nose with a tired grin. "I learned my lesson."
Bruce nodded, then continued, more serious now. "And I know why you don't want to be my disciple. You think you have insane talent, so learning from me would be unfair." He leaned forward slightly, pointing at Zaboru's chest like he could point at the truth inside him. "But you're wrong about one thing."
Zaboru's smile faded into attention.
"Your talent is absurd, yes," Bruce said. "Your body is ridiculous. Your copying ability is crazy. But talent is not the same as mastery. And speed is not the same as understanding." He tapped the mat once. "You can imitate technique, but you still need a path. You still need foundations. You still need someone to cut away the useless movement and force you to become honest."
Bruce's grin returned, confident. "I can teach you. And we don't need to do it often. Once or twice a month is enough, as long as you come seriously. We can train here at ZAGE Tower, or anywhere you prefer."
Zaboru stared for a moment, breathing slowing, the excitement turning into something heavier. This wasn't a fan moment anymore. It was responsibility.
He nodded slowly. "Fine."
Then he corrected himself, and his voice softened with real respect. "Bruce… no Shifu. Please teach me."
Zaboru bowed his head.
Bruce Lee's expression warmed. He nodded, accepting it like a promise, not like a trophy. "Good," he said. "But remember, disciple means discipline. If you come, you come to learn. No ego."
Zaboru lifted his head and smiled, tired but sincere. "No ego."
And just like that, it became official.
Zaboru became Bruce Lee's disciple.
They continued to train for a while longer, lighter drills this time, Bruce correcting footwork, breath timing, and stance details that Zaboru didn't even realize were flawed. Murai and Toji watched in silence, like they were witnessing something they never expected to see inside their own gym.
Eventually, the morning pulled everyone back to reality. Bruce had his schedule. Zaboru had a world to run. Murai and Toji had their own work.
One by one, they went their separate ways.
To be continue
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