"Maya, about your Chakra—I won't even ask how you cultivated it..."
Maya cut in immediately. "You can ask. My body was saturated by dimensional energy—energy that came from a strange creature called the God Tree. That's how I gained the ability to cultivate Chakra. Honestly, I'm still only half-certain what happened to me. A few months ago I was a completely normal student; then one day I just—changed. Shifu, is there any danger in that?"
Damn it, she thought. You talk a smooth game, but if I don't give you something real, will a tricky old blind man like you ever hand over his actual techniques? You already know about my Chakra—you've probably been watching me for months. Whatever you know, you know. And I haven't lied. At least ninety-nine percent of that is true. Now that we're master and disciple, better to clear the air early. Otherwise this whole thing isn't worth having.
Stick had made a show of not caring. But hearing Maya's candid explanation, he was plainly pleased. His voice softened. "Don't worry. Based on my—" he started, then caught himself—"based on my many years of experience, your Chakra isn't dangerous. It seems to contain Physical Energy, Spiritual Energy, and Cosmic Vital Energy. All of it is the product of your own cultivation—not conjured from nothing, not bestowed by some alien entity from a foreign dimension."
He paused, turning something over. "The God Tree you mentioned is likely a form of unconscious thought-concept—a manifestation of dimensional will. The same as Dragon Power: there's no actual dragon. That name is simply how generations of K'un-Lun hosts gave shape to something beyond their understanding."
"You asked about the Ancient One earlier. Her power seed comes from the Eye of Agamotto—in broad terms, anyway. But the spells she wields, every single one of them, are her own research and development. The Eye is like an elementary school science reader. And the Ancient One turned herself into Einstein."
(Author's note: In the films, the Time Stone is located inside the Eye of Agamotto. At this point in the story, Stick doesn't know this. This book's setting posits that the Ancient One developed the entire Kamar-Taj school of magic after coming into contact with the Time Stone. In the comics, the Sorcerer Supreme has ties to Earth's Ancient Gods—Doctor Strange's catchphrases invoke the Vishanti and the Pale Lords, and Agamotto and the Time Stone are two distinct artifacts. The films clearly diverged from this, so I'm going with film continuity.)
Matt—who had been sitting through an earful of mystical theory and felt deeply that Stick and Einstein had no business being in the same sentence—saw his moment. "Shifu, you know who Einstein is?"
"I don't just know Einstein—I've got a signed Madonna poster on my wall. Want one?" He glanced over at Matt, then returned to Maya. "There are many powerful objects in this world that can grant people power seeds. Combined with the leakage of dimensional energy, plenty of people undergo strange mutations without any explanation—but very few of them ever develop those seeds into anything. You, Maya, in such a short time, have already put your Chakra to such fluid use and built so many derivative abilities from it. New York's famous little genius, and no wonder."
Maya's expression shifted to one of natural, restrained pride. Stick wasn't wrong—plenty of those jutsu were her own modifications and inventions. She deserved every word.
"All right. That's the essence of cultivation—the basics are covered. One last warning before we wrap up: never casually accept energy from a foreign dimension. Many dimensions have already spawned powerful, malevolent dark entities. Absorbing their energy is worse than suicide. Suicide costs you your life. Attracting their attention costs you your soul."
Both children nodded, solemnly. Stick rose to his feet. "It's three-thirty in the morning. That's enough for tonight. Same place, ten o'clock tomorrow evening—this spot is spacious, well-hidden, and the view's decent."
"Should I walk you out, Shifu?"
Stick didn't answer—just waved a hand and walked away without looking back.
Maya let it go. A man who'd climbed those stairs without making a sound could certainly leave the same way.
As for seeing Matt home—that goes without saying.
And when Maya's main body received the Shadow Clone's memories the next day, she felt not one moment of regret about bowing to Old Stick.
Because it had been the optimal call given the circumstances.
First: Stick's raw hearing was roughly on par with Matt's—the two were comparable in that respect. But his skill in applying that ability was a completely different matter; Stick had decades of practice while Matt was still a novice. Stick had clearly been watching Matt for some time. And since Maya was frequently out with Matt running their vigilante routine, Stick had almost certainly clocked her ninjutsu by now. Some things he already knew.
Second: Maya knew Stick wasn't a bad person. He was Daredevil's mentor in the original timeline—never went villain, start to finish. Not a conventional hero, but not a supervillain either. Character check: passed.
Third—and most importantly: Maya had confirmed Stick's abilities, and she needed a team-leading jōnin. She'd been deliberately picking that fight. Her taijutsu score sat at 0.1; she wasn't fooling herself about that. The entire duel had been a pretext to make physical contact—to sense the energy in Stick's body up close. The qi in his dantian.
The moment her Super Senses touched that qi—felt the golden Chakra in her own sea of energy stir in response—she had already made up her mind.
And that was why she'd grabbed Matt's sleeve and gone straight to her knees.
Maya knew Stick had been telling the truth earlier: he hadn't planned on taking either of them as disciples. He'd only had his eye on Matt—one quiet chess piece in New York for possible future use. But Maya was what you'd call an egg—Western shell, Chinese soul—and she understood exactly what a formally declared master-disciple bond meant to people raised with traditional values. It meant everything. Far more than any casual mentorship.
Bruce Lee was exceptional—a genuine once-in-a-generation talent. But Bruce Lee had never been Ip Man's true disciple. He'd never completed Wing Chun, not fully. There were things he'd wanted to learn, and Ip Man simply hadn't taught them, because the lineage had already been passed to another.
(Author's note: This, too, is internet speculation—I personally find it somewhat plausible. Wing Chun's true heir is Leung Ting, the real-world inspiration for the Huang Liang character played by Huang Xiaoming in the film. Leung Ting is the person most responsible for bringing Wing Chun to a global audience. Bruce Lee, by contrast, developed and promoted Jeet Kune Do—an entirely separate system of his own creation. The two traditions are distinct.)
The results bore Maya out. Stick had gone ahead and revealed his true origins—K'un-Lun, Dragon Power, all of it—without hesitation. He was treating them as genuine disciples from the first night. No withholding, no careful rationing of secrets. And as a bonus, he'd explained for Maya's benefit the fundamental nature of power in the Marvel universe.
Many of the secrets Stick had shared tonight were things Maya couldn't have accessed in a lifetime without someone in the know pointing the way. K'un-Lun wasn't exactly a top-tier faction—its archives were simply old, and old records ran deep. Maya wasn't looking for K'un-Lun as a patron; Stick had made it clear he was estranged from them at present. And besides—she knew exactly how unimpressive K'un-Lun's next champion, Iron Fist, was going to turn out to be. It was entirely possible that Danny Rand would end up depending on Madam President someday.
The value here was Stick himself, as a teacher.
In the original timeline, Stick had offered Matt nothing but a meditation practice. K'un-Lun, Dragon Power—not a single word. Not even his own name or history. And when it came to Elektra later, Stick had done exactly the same: combat techniques only, nothing more.
This world was full of people Stick had trained. Actual disciples? Almost none. Maya had been sharp enough to seize that window before it closed.
And naturally—if Maya had been ordinary, or if Stick had caught her doing anything unsavory during his weeks of observation—no amount of forehead-to-the-floor would have changed his answer.