OFA In The World of Honkai

The morning sun had barely broken through the clouds, casting Nagazora in a soft, muted light as Kenji started his route. His shoulder still ached, each step sending a dull reminder of last night's fight pulsing up his side.

The bandages under his shirt itched slightly, and his muscles protested every time he lifted his arm to adjust the strap of his delivery bag.

Guess I'm not as tough as I thought, he mused, giving a quiet chuckle to himself.

Turning down a busy street, he weaved through the clusters of people heading out to start their day. The usual sounds filled the air: the hum of conversations, the hiss of espresso machines, and the occasional blare of car horns.

As he neared a small coffee shop, a pair of voices cut through the noise.

"Did you hear? There's a Valkyrie demonstration later today! They're saying the Rita Rossweisse is leading it," one of the voices said, loud and clear, with a note of excitement that made Kenji pause.

He glanced over, spotting two students chatting animatedly, their faces alight with enthusiasm.

"Yeah, they're setting up at the main square," one of them continued, eyes wide. "Can you imagine? A real Valkyrie, right there. And not just any Valkyrie—Rita Rossweisse!"

Kenji's gaze lingered on them as they continued to talk, oblivious to his eavesdropping. Rita Rossweisse, he thought, feeling a strange thrill at the name. He'd heard it before, a few times—always in awe-struck tones, often accompanied by phrases like "Schicksal's finest."

She was someone people looked up to, admired. She made fighting seem… well, like an art form.

He adjusted his grip on his bag, his mind racing as he turned the thought over. Maybe watching her fight would teach me something, he thought.

His memory flashed to the alleyway last night, to the wild, uneven movements of his own fists, his power slipping out of control with every punch.

In the heat of the moment, all he'd felt was brute strength and desperation—a far cry from the precision and poise he imagined Rita possessed.

She probably makes it look easy, he mused, his eyes narrowing as a new determination began to take shape.

If he could see her in action, maybe he'd pick up a thing or two, get a sense of what he was aiming for. Right now, his training was all force and no form.

He was just trying to punch harder, to push more power out without thinking of the how. Trying to get more power but no idea what to do with it.

And that's why it felt wrong, incomplete. He needed something to work toward, a model to follow, and who better than a super skilled S-Rank Valkyrie?

The thought lodged itself in his mind, taking root as he moved on to his next delivery.

From that moment, every stop on his route became a countdown. He moved faster, his steps fueled by anticipation, his deliveries almost automatic as he went from place to place, barely pausing to confirm names or addresses.

He pushed through the ache in his shoulder, the sting of bruises on his ribs, ignoring the complaints from his body as he checked off each drop on his mental list.

Keep moving, Kenji, he thought, glancing at the clock on his phone between deliveries. Just a few more, and you're done.

The city blurred around him, each stop a quick exchange, each package one step closer to the square.

His excitement grew with every minute, every block bringing him closer to what felt like a chance, a chance to see real skill, to catch a glimpse of the control he'd been struggling to find on his own.

Finally, he dropped off the last package, barely muttering a "thanks" to the customer before he turned, cutting through side streets toward the square.

He could feel his pulse quicken, his anticipation building as he got closer. The idea of seeing a Valkyrie up close—of watching someone like Rita up close, with her elegance felt surreal.

This was the kind of person who knew exactly how to wield her strength, who understood control in a way that Kenji could only hope to one day master.

As he rounded the last corner and the square came into view, he took a deep breath, steadying himself.

Crowds were already gathering, people spilling out into the square from every direction. Kenji found a spot at the back, pushing up on his toes to get a better view as he scanned the stage.

The anticipation thrummed in his veins as he waited, his gaze fixed on the center of the square where the demonstration would soon begin.

---

The square buzzed with a quiet anticipation as people crowded around the raised stage, murmurs of excitement weaving through the crowd.

Kenji found himself leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the center of the stage where a line of uniformed Schicksal operatives was setting up, making last-minute adjustments to equipment and barriers.

Then, a hush fell over the crowd as a figure stepped into the spotlight, Rita Rossweisse. Clad in her signature maid outfit, she moved with a calm confidence that immediately captured the crowd's attention.

Her expression was serene, her posture flawless, yet there was an edge of intensity in her gaze that promised strength beneath her elegance.

Kenji couldn't look away, transfixed by her mere presence.

One of the operatives stepped forward, nodding to Rita before raising his voice to address the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. Today, you'll see a demonstration of Valkyrie strength, skill, and precision—qualities that define our fight against the Honkai!"

Rita gave a small, elegant nod, extending her hand with a practiced grace as her scythe materialized in a sweep of silver light.

The curved blade glinted dangerously, its edge honed to a razor's sharpness, gleaming under the sunlight as she settled into a poised stance.

She held the scythe with both hands, its long handle balanced with the ease of familiarity, and the tension in the air thickened instantly.

Kenji felt his breath hitch as he took in the sight—there was something mesmerizing in the way she wielded such a massive weapon with absolute ease, every movement brimming with an almost effortless strength.

One of the Schicksal operatives stepped forward, raising a handgun as he looked to Rita for confirmation. She gave the barest nod, her grip on the scythe tightening, her expression calm yet focused.

The operative took aim and fired, the crack of the gunshot echoing sharply through the square.

With a motion that seemed to defy speed, Rita twisted her scythe, the blade arcing smoothly through the air as it intercepted the bullet.

The scythe sliced cleanly, splitting the projectile into two halves that fell harmlessly to the stage floor. Kenji's eyes widened as he watched her shift her weight, seamlessly flowing back into her starting position, her scythe still gleaming in her hands as if it hadn't just sliced through a speeding bullet.

Another shot rang out, and once again, her scythe moved with deadly precision, the blade sweeping down in a controlled arc to meet the bullet in midair.

She intercepted shot after shot, her movements fluid and unhurried, as if deflecting bullets was as easy as a simple choreographed dance.

Each swipe of the scythe was followed by a slight pivot, her entire body aligned in perfect balance, her control absolute.

The crowd gasped and murmured, clearly entranced, and Kenji's heart pounded as he watched. Her skill was undeniable, her control over the massive weapon flawless.

She wielded the scythe as if it were an extension of herself, its curved blade tracing through the air with a precision he could barely fathom. Each swing, each turn, each parry was a testament to her mastery.

Rita moved through a series of acrobatic spins and sweeps, her scythe carving arcs in the air that left afterimages of silver light. Her feet barely touched the ground as she moved, her form lithe and agile, the scythe's blade flashing through the space around her with a grace that seemed almost inhuman.

Kenji could only stare, captivated by the blend of elegance and deadly intent in her movements. This, this was it, this was what he wanted to achieve!

But the real show was yet to come. As Rita took her final stance, the Schicksal team activated a projector, and a large simulated Honkai Beast began to take shape on the stage.

A purple light flickered, forming the outline of a creature with massive claws and a hulking frame, towering over Rita as it let out a guttural roar. The beast's body glowed with an eerie light, its simulated form brought to life with an unsettling realism.

Rita merely shifted her stance, her gaze unwavering as she angled her scythe, ready for the creature's attack.

The simulated Honkai Beast lunged, its claws sweeping down toward her with a savage, feral force. Rita dodged smoothly, sidestepping the attack in a blur of motion, her scythe spinning in her hands as she struck, the blade carving a diagonal path through the creature's arm.

The blue light of the hologram flickered at the impact, the simulated flesh parting under the deadly arc of her scythe.

The crowd held its breath, transfixed, as the creature let out another roar, its claws swiping in a relentless frenzy.

Rita was a step ahead, her movements unfaltering.

She dipped low, letting the beast's attack pass harmlessly over her as she brought her scythe up in a swift, brutal slice, cutting through the beast's torso.

The hologram stuttered, flickering as the damage registered, yet it continued to press forward, undeterred.

Kenji watched, wide-eyed, as Rita maintained her deadly rhythm. Her scythe spun and slashed in flawless arcs, each strike as deliberate as it was graceful.

She moved with an economy of motion, never wasting a single step or swing, her footwork precise, her strikes measured.

The scythe, a weapon that should have been cumbersome, became a tool of exacting grace in her hands, each sweep carving through the holographic beast as if it were real.

The creature reared back, attempting one final, desperate lunge, but Rita stepped forward, her expression calm as she brought the scythe down in a decisive, powerful swing.

The blade cleaved through the beast's head, bisecting it cleanly. The hologram flickered, then collapsed in a wave of purple light, dissolving into nothingness.

The square erupted into applause, the crowd cheering as Rita lowered her scythe, a slight smile of satisfaction on her face.

She gave a small bow, the scythe vanishing in a shimmer of light as she acknowledged the crowd with her characteristic grace.

Kenji clapped along with everyone else, his heart racing. The demonstration had left him in awe, his admiration tempered with a fierce determination.

He could see it now—the level of mastery he wanted to achieve, the control he lacked.

Watching Rita had made it clear: raw strength wasn't enough. He needed finesse, precision, and skill.

As the crowd began to disperse, he remained rooted in place, his gaze lingering on the spot where Rita had stood.

He had a lot of work ahead of him, and he wasn't sure where to begin—but he knew, without a doubt, that he wasn't going to waste another day floundering. He was going to find his own path to strength, one way or another.

With newfound resolve, Kenji turned away from the square, the image of Rita's deadly, graceful strikes etched firmly in his mind.

---

The sun had dipped low by the time Kenji reached his usual training spot—a deserted lot near the edge of town, scattered with old crates and broken pallets.

The shadows stretched long across the cracked pavement, and a faint chill had begun to creep into the air. He dropped his bag to the ground and rolled his shoulders, the memory of Rita's demonstration vivid in his mind.

"Alright… let's see if I can do that," he muttered to himself, casting a glance around to make sure no one was around.

He took a deep breath, focusing, and replayed the Valkyrie's movements in his mind: her steps fluid and purposeful, her strikes cutting through the air in perfect arcs, each movement calculated, balanced.

Start with the basics, he thought, remembering how effortlessly she'd glided around the stage, her footwork light and quick.

He tried to picture himself moving with that same agility, that same precision, and took a cautious step forward, shifting his weight onto his toes.

He took another step, this time swinging his body around, trying to replicate the lightness and balance she'd shown.

But the instant he moved, he felt his center of gravity tilt awkwardly. His foot landed too heavily, his body lagging a second behind as he stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance.

"Come on, Kenji," he muttered, resetting himself. He tried again, forcing himself to move slower, to keep his footing light. But each time he took a step, he felt clumsy, his body jolting with each movement.

His arms flailed slightly to keep balance, and his feet shuffled in a way that felt more like stomping than anything close to the precision Rita had displayed.

Frustration bubbled up, but he swallowed it down, taking a steadying breath. "One more time," he murmured, bending his knees as he tried to mimic the stance she'd held at the start of the demonstration.

He visualized her poised movements, the way her body seemed to flow like water with each step, her strikes unfolding seamlessly from her stance.

He took another step forward, then pivoted, twisting his upper body as he swung his fist through the air, aiming for an invisible target.

The motion was rough, jarring. His balance wavered again, and he caught himself just before he stumbled.

Each attempt felt disconnected, as though his body was moving in pieces rather than as a single unit. The grace, the control, the fluidity—all of it was missing.

This… isn't working, he thought, pausing to catch his breath. Sweat had already started to bead on his forehead, and his muscles felt tense, strained from the unnatural movements. Every attempt felt wrong, each motion awkward and forced.

He clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at him. "Why is this so hard?" he muttered. "She made it look effortless, like it was second nature."

The memory of Rita's flawless footwork, her calculated strikes, filled his mind, but no matter how many times he tried to mimic her, his own movements felt clunky, like he was forcing square pegs into round holes.

With a growl, he reset his stance and tried again, moving slower this time, his steps cautious, his body tense with concentration.

But halfway through a spin, his foot caught on a crack in the pavement, and he stumbled forward, his knee slamming into the ground with a painful thud.

"Damn it!" he hissed, wincing as he rubbed his bruised knee, the sting cutting through his frustration.

He sat back, catching his breath, his gaze drifting down to his hands. His knuckles were already scraped from an earlier fall, his muscles sore from the repeated failed attempts.

She made it look so simple, he thought, replaying the image of Rita's movements in his mind. Her precision, her control—it was like she'd been born with it, like every step, every swing of her scythe was ingrained into her muscles.

He'd thought he could just watch her and pick up on it, that he could learn by copying her stance, her balance.

But reality was starting to settle in, heavy and undeniable. His clumsy attempts to mimic her movements felt like a child trying to walk in an adult's shoes.

There was no flow, no connection between his strikes and his body. And no matter how much he forced himself to move like her, each step felt more like a mockery than an imitation.

Kenji sighed, letting his shoulders slump as he stared down at the scuffed pavement. He couldn't do this alone. He could keep pushing himself, keep trying to replicate her movements, but it was clear now—it wasn't going to work.

Watching her was one thing, but actually learning to move like her was something else entirely. It was skill, discipline, and training, the kind he couldn't just make up as he went along.

He sat there, breathing hard, the sting of failure gnawing at him. The truth was, he needed guidance. Someone who could teach him, who could show him how to move, how to control his power without stumbling around like a fool.

If I really want to get better… I need to find someone who can teach me, he thought, a new resolve settling over him. It wasn't enough to just watch and try to copy what he saw. If he wanted to reach Rita's level—or even get close—he had to take this seriously.

The frustration in his chest gave way to something steadier, a determination tempered by the reality of his own limitations. He was done guessing, done stumbling. It was time to find someone who could actually teach him how to fight.

---

The morning air felt sharp as Kenji stood outside the small gym, a modest building tucked between a ramen shop and a worn bookstore.

The sign above the door was faded, and the windows showed little of what lay inside. Kenji hesitated for a second, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle in his stomach.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped inside. The faint scent of sweat and old leather hit him immediately, a strange but grounding smell that told him this was no glossy training center—this was a place where people came to work.

Inside, the gym was sparse, with just enough equipment to get the job done: a few punching bags hanging near the back, an old mat in the center of the floor, and weights stacked along one wall.

Across the room, a figure was shadowboxing, his movements fluid and sharp. The man's attention shifted the second Kenji stepped in, his eyes sharp and curious.

"Help you?" the man asked, pausing his workout. He looked to be in his late twenties, with a relaxed yet focused energy in his posture, his arms defined but not overly bulky, like someone who'd trained hard but kept himself lean.

Kenji cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. "Uh, yeah. I… I want to learn how to fight. For real." The words felt awkward as they left his mouth, but he forced himself to meet the man's gaze.

The man grinned, tossing a towel over his shoulder. "You serious? We don't do any half-hearted stuff here, kid."

"I'm serious," Kenji replied, a little more firmly, feeling the resolve build up in his chest. "I don't just want to be strong. I want to know how to use it." He hesitated, then added, "I… got into a fight recently, and it didn't go well."

The man chuckled, nodding knowingly. "Yeah, that's usually how it goes the first time. Name's Daichi," he said, extending a hand.

"Kenji." He shook Daichi's hand, surprised at the strength in the grip.

"So, Kenji," Daichi said, looking him up and down, "I take it you don't have much experience. That's fine. We all start somewhere."

He motioned to the mat with a tilt of his head. "Let's see what you've got. Throw a punch for me. No pressure, just let's see where you're at."

Kenji was caught off guard, "Now?" Daichi didn't give a response but it was clear what he wanted to say.

Kenji took a hesitant step forward, feeling the weight of Daichi's gaze on him.

He raised his fists, shifting his stance in an attempt to look prepared. Taking a breath, he threw a quick jab.

Daichi didn't even try to hide the amused look on his face. "Alright, alright," he chuckled.

"Not terrible, but not great either." He gave a nod toward Kenji's feet. "Try planting yourself a bit more. Keep your feet grounded, and don't overextend. It's all about balance."

Kenji adjusted his stance, focusing on the corrections Daichi suggested. He threw another punch, concentrating on keeping his weight centered.

It felt a bit more solid, though still awkward. Daichi walked around him, watching his form closely, his face thoughtful.

"Better," Daichi said, giving him a nod. "But you're still thinking too much. Fighting's not about overanalyzing every little thing—it's about instincts. Knowing where your weight is, feeling the ground under you. Just focus on one thing at a time."

He demonstrated, taking a quick, effortless stance before throwing a few rapid punches at the air, each one controlled and compact.

"See? It's about committing to each move. Half-committed punches are just gonna drain you."

Kenji watched, trying to take in the subtlety of Daichi's movements. There was something easygoing but serious about the way he spoke, as if he understood that Kenji was a beginner but didn't expect any less from him because of it.

"Let's go over it step by step," Daichi said, nodding for Kenji to follow him to the mat. "We'll start with the basics—stance, guard, jab. Everything starts from a good stance, like your foundation."

Kenji settled onto the mat, mimicking Daichi's stance as best he could.

Daichi moved beside him, adjusting his posture with small taps on his shoulder or hip, nodding approvingly whenever Kenji got it right.

"There you go. Now, keep your guard up—chin down, fists up. You want to be ready for anything, right?"

Kenji nodded, his brows furrowed in concentration as he held the stance, feeling his muscles start to strain. Daichi had him practice holding his guard for a while, correcting his form whenever his arms dropped.

The work was surprisingly intense, and Kenji could feel his shoulders start to burn, his legs protesting as he tried to keep his balance steady.

"Good," Daichi said, patting him on the shoulder. "You're committed, I'll give you that. Just gotta work on the basics until they're second nature. Let's see you throw a jab now."

Kenji took a breath, throwing a jab as Daichi watched closely. He corrected Kenji's elbow position and had him throw the jab again and again, each time giving him pointers on tightening up his form, committing to the movement.

Every correction felt like another layer of control settling over him, grounding him in a way that made his power feel… manageable.

After a while, Daichi stepped back, crossing his arms with a nod. "Not bad for day one. Got the determination; just need the follow-through." He tossed Kenji a water bottle, giving him a slight grin.

"It's all practice from here. You keep showing up, you'll get better. Guaranteed."

Kenji took a long drink, feeling a sense of relief mixed with excitement. "Thanks. I'll… I'll keep coming. I need this."

"Good. That's what I like to hear, also you don't have to pay for this session, it's still considered a free trial" Daichi replied, his voice lighter than before.

"You're serious, and that's what counts. Now, go get some rest. You'll need it for the bruises."

Kenji nodded and with that, left the gym towards his next destination.

---

Later that afternoon, Kenji found himself standing in front of a traditional kendo dojo, its clean wooden doors and faded sign a stark contrast to the no-frills gym he'd left earlier.

The sign above the door read "Kendo" in sharp, graceful calligraphy, and a faint rustling sound from inside hinted at activity within.

Kenji hesitated, feeling a flicker of nerves. Alright, Kenji, you got this. Just… go in and ask. Nothing to it, he told himself, taking a breath before sliding the door open.

Inside, the dojo was orderly and serene, with students already scattered across the polished wooden floor.

Dressed in white training uniforms, they practiced various stances, the sounds of shifting feet and murmured instructions blending together.

The atmosphere was calm, but focused—no wasted movements, no unnecessary sounds. It reminded him of a scene from a movie, except here, the tension felt real, humming beneath the quiet discipline.

At the far end of the room stood a young woman, her long, dark hair tied back and her stance relaxed yet precise. She moved with an elegance that instantly drew his attention, her posture reflecting both grace and strength.

She held a wooden practice sword with ease, her eyes fixed on the students around her as she offered small nods of encouragement and occasional corrections. Despite her calm demeanor, there was an intensity about her—a silent authority that made her stand out.

Kenji blinked, taken aback. Where have I seen her before? She looked almost familiar, like a memory just out of reach. Shaking off the thought, he reminded himself why he was here.

His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, nerves creeping back as she glanced in his direction. Her eyes were piercing, yet somehow warm, and Kenji felt his pulse quicken under her gaze.

She approached him with steady steps, her expression calm but curious as she came to a stop a few feet away.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a certain firmness.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him with a look that seemed both kind and discerning.

"Oh, uh… yeah," Kenji stammered, trying to remember how to speak. "I… I'm here to learn kendo." The words felt clumsy, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. "I mean, I've seen a few demonstrations, and I think… I think it's what I need."

She regarded him thoughtfully, as though weighing his words. "Are you familiar with kendo?" she asked, her tone even.

He shook his head, feeling the weight of his inexperience settle over him. "Not really. But I think I could learn a lot from it… the discipline, I mean," he added, the sincerity clear in his voice.

Her eyes softened slightly, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Kendo is about more than just the movements," she said, her voice quiet but certain.

"It's a practice of both body and mind. It requires commitment, patience… and a respect for its principles."

She paused, seeming to assess him, then gestured to the mats with a small nod. "You can observe today's session, if you'd like. We're focusing on basic stances and footwork for the newer students."

Kenji nodded eagerly, a sense of relief and excitement mingling within him. "Yeah, I'd like that, thank you." he replied, his nerves easing as he followed her further into the dojo.

She led him to the edge of the training area, then returned to the group of students, her movements fluid and precise as she took her place among them. Kenji settled onto the floor, watching her with rapt attention.

As she demonstrated the stances, her posture was flawless, her steps deliberate and smooth. Her practice sword moved with a quiet strength, her strikes purposeful, each movement as graceful as it was exact.

Kenji couldn't help but be captivated by the ease with which she handled the sword, her balance perfect, her focus unwavering.

When she spoke, her instructions were clear, each word carrying the weight of experience and care.

"Maintain your center. Your stance is your foundation—without it, everything else crumbles."

She moved through the group, adjusting students' postures with a gentle touch, her eyes sharp but encouraging.

Kenji absorbed every detail, taking mental notes as she corrected each student with an almost invisible touch, her presence calming yet commanding.

It was the same kind of discipline he'd seen in the Valkyries' demonstration, but here, it was grounded, intimate, focused on building each student's skill with patience.

After a while, she glanced over at him, her gaze steady and assessing. "What brings you to kendo?" she asked, her tone genuine but curious.

Kenji blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I… I'm trying to get stronger," he admitted, surprised by his own honesty. "Not just physically—I mean, I want to learn control. I saw a demonstration once, and…"

He trailed off, searching for the right words. "They had this… calmness. Like they knew exactly what they were doing."

She nodded, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Control comes from practice, and practice requires discipline," she said quietly. "It's not something gained overnight. Are you willing to commit to that?"

The question hung in the air, and Kenji felt its weight. "Yes," he replied firmly, feeling the certainty settle in his chest. "I'm ready."

She gave him a small, approving nod. "Very well. I teach here on weekends. You're welcome to join the beginners' group. For now, watch carefully. Observe their stances, their posture."

Her words lingered in his mind, the simplicity of her explanation resonating with him. Kenji watched as she returned to the students.

As the session wrapped up, Kenji felt a sense of awe settle over him. This wasn't just a class, it was something deeper, a commitment to a kind of discipline he hadn't realized he craved.

He stood up, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement.

She approached him as the students began to leave, her gaze steady, a faint trace of a smile on her lips. "So… you want to sign up for classes? The owner isn't here right now but I do have the permissions to sign you up."

Kenji swallowed, a grin breaking through his uncertainty. "Yes. I… I want to learn."

Her expression softened, and she nodded, extending a hand. "Then welcome. My name is Raiden Mei."

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Mei is here!

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