VOXISTALE: Novel Edition

Chapter 55

When the pair exited the mouth of the cave, Terrence breathed in a breath of fresh air, the moon hanging high in the sky above. "You've done well today." Gerson congratulated him. "I think you may have earned your title as my student."

"Does that mean I have to call you sensei or something?" Terrence asked, his hands wrapped in cloth, which proved to be very helpful in later accidental punches to cave walls.

"It does," Gerson nodded. "You have begun your training following the way of the turtle. It is known as Sherudo, and is a long forgotten art, developed in feudal Japan." He paused, and turned to look at Terrence with a twinkle in his eye. "Lord Fallian was the one who taught it to me."

"Lord Fallian . . . the guy who you think I'm a reincarnation of?" Terrence scratched the back of his neck, which proved difficult with the cloth attached to his hands.

"I don't think you are," Gerson replied simply, smiling brightly. "I know it. There's only one person in the world who could possess a SOUL of Bravery like yours."

Terrence personally wasn't buying it, but decided to let it go. He had no real reason to argue otherwise with Gerson, who seemed like a fairly wise and intelligent monster. "I still didn't land a hit on you." He stated, folding his arms, making Gerson cackle.

"I know," he stepped behind his wooden booth, digging through it for a moment. "You will in time." He told Terrence. "You must master Sherudo to succeed. Undyne and Asgore both didn't succeed in hitting me for weeks, and those two are some of the best students I've ever had."

"Do both of them still follow Sherudo?" Terrence asked, starting to unwrap his hands.

Gerson shrugged. "As I said, it's a forgotten art. The style of patience, balance, and precision- which I still have yet to teach you -are not most popular. Asgore had many teachers, I was merely one of them. Over time, you begin to develop your own unique fighting style. Asgore learned to fight with the trident, his father's signature weapon, despite him desiring to be a swordsman. Undyne too desired the way of the sword. It wasn't until after her teachings under Asgore and myself that she became the Spear of Justice, much like I once was the Hammer of Justice."

"Why would a person want to have multiple teachers?" Terrence folded his arms. "Isn't it better to learn from one person who really knows what they're doing?"

"How many teachers do you have at school?" Gerson asked.

"There's dozens of teachers at my school," Terrence replied. "Why?"

"Why do you think they don't just hire one teacher who knows every subject?"

"Because they'd have to pay that person the entire school's annual budget."

"Try again."

"Alright, alright. It's because nobody's a master of all subjects."

"Exactly. I may be old and wise, boy, but I don't know everything. Your growth would eventually come to a grinding halt if I was your only sensei for the rest of your life. Learning from more than one teacher will make you stronger than any one of your sensei's. It also enables you to develop a style unique to you."

That made sense. He guessed. It seemed pretty logical at least, and Terrence nodded. "Am I dismissed, Gerson?"

"Hm?" Gerson asked.

"Am I dismissed?"

"Am I dismissed . . . ?" Gerson repeated, and Terrence blinked blankly, before realization hit him.

"Oh! Uh . . . Am I dismissed, sensei?" He asked. Gerson smiled, and gave him a nod.

"As is customary with your sensei, both student and teacher will bow to one another, signifying the end of their interaction, whether that be tea, a friendly conversation, or training."

Terrence offered a bow, as deep as he could manage with his sore muscles. Gerson seemed satisfied with it, offering a shorter bow of his own, before coming back up and turning around. "Get back home before it gets too late," the turtle monster advised. "I expect you to be back here tomorrow, same time."

Terrence swallowed. He'd be doing this again? What if he didn't have time? After all, there were those interviews. "Um . . . Gerson . . . before I go, can I talk to you about something?" Terrence asked. Gerson plopped himself on a stool behind the booth, whipping out a magnifying glass to look at a crystal that sat on the booth's surface.

"Ask away!" The turtle replied.

"So . . . I'm a foster kid. My last foster parents just sent me back to the foster home this morning, and uh . . . a friend of mine has set up some appointments for me. For new . . . families. I don't know if I'll have time tomorrow."

"Hm . . ." Gerson stroked his chin for a moment, twirling his wispy white goatee. "Don't worry about it." He replied. "I'll foster you." Terrence blinked, completely taken aback.

"I . . . what?"

"You heard me. I'll foster you. Better me than some stranger, right?" Terrence blinked. He'd just met Gerson that morning, but . . . he'd already come to respect him, after the day of training he'd just gone through.

"But are you, uh . . . qualified to foster?" Terrence questioned.

"Boy, I'm over two millennia old and have amassed a humble wealth. Mostly of rocks. If they don't accept that, I'll make them. Just tell me when the appointments are tomorrow. You're the one who chooses the family, aren't you?" Gerson asked, pulling back the magnifying glass and bringing the crystal to his mouth, biting down on it. Satisfied, he pulled it away from his mouth and stared at it in interest.

"Uh . . . yeah. It'll be at a place called The Jade House, sometime tomorrow morning. There's a guy named Marcus Jones setting up the appointments, if that helps," Terrence offered, a little surprised Gerson had made such an offer. Training was one thing- fostering was another.

"Good," Gerson set down the crystal and hopped down from his chair, moving to stand in front of Terrence. "I will be there by tomorrow to collect you." With that, he bowed. Terrence hastily bowed back.

"Thank you, sensei. This really means a lot." Terrence smiled.

The two bid each other farewell, and then Terrence was off, heading back toward the Jade House to try and get some sleep for the night. According to his phone, it was about 11:00 at night, meaning he'd been training for nearly six hours. No wonder he felt ready to pass out. On the bright side, he'd mostly worked with his upper body, so his legs had enough energy left in them to carry him back to the foster care center.

In what felt like no time at all, he'd returned to what he'd often called his room. It was mostly empty aside from a bed and a poster of an old rock band called 'Snake Tongue' that he often enjoyed. He'd even gotten Frisk into the music, though the band had broken up long before he'd been born. They were still good though. Stray articles of clothing littered the floor, most of which was too small for him now. He'd stayed off and on in this room for years. For as long as he could remember, really. Now, here he was. Back again. 'Not for long', he smiled to himself before collapsing onto his unmade twin-sized bed with blue sheets. He didn't even bother to take off his shoes as he fell asleep.