I became the King of Ryukyu

Yuki sat in a chair by the window, her hands, as delicate as freshly peeled bamboo shoots, holding a thread-bound book.

He was flipping through the book while talking.

The Pacific breeze caressed the girl's hair, rustling the pages of the book and carrying away her whispers as she recounted recent events with her brother—all happy, trivial things, without a trace of sadness.

Aside from the occasional involuntary movement of my eyeballs, I, like Koyuta, showed no other reaction.

Cheye, the chubby boy, also stepped forward and said that he had learned how to draw his gun quickly and use the ultimate bomb, which earned him a sharp rap on the head from his sister.

Zheng Yi felt that when Che Ye mentioned drawing his gun, his father's eyes seemed to move more frequently.

After talking for a while, the siblings expertly began to rehabilitate their father's leg muscles. Zheng Yi, not wanting to help, looked around the ward.

This isn't a large hospital like Okinawa Prefectural Hospital; the fees are much cheaper, the equipment is old, but the environment is very clean.

For patients like these who are bedridden in the hospital for a long time, once family members reduce visits or show a lack of concern, caregivers will start to slack off.

Therefore, it is not surprising that secondary diseases such as bedsores may occur.

My skin is clean, and my muscles have only a slight atrophy, which must be thanks to the frequent visits and care from my siblings.

The girl's back was slender, and her hands, as white as bamboo shoots, were covered with several calluses.

Zheng Yi wondered how much savings Mr. Yuta had left behind. Given the dismal state of Isshin Izakaya's business, he thought it might be better to just rent it out.

At this moment, he noticed a family photo of me and Gu Jia on the bedside table. The young and handsome man was hard to identify as the same person as the wrinkled middle-aged man on the sickbed.

Several thread-bound books were placed next to the picture frame.

In Zheng Yi's memory, during her free time, or rather, during the gaps between work sessions, You Ji would always be holding a similar thread-bound book.

Most of them are recipes, but there are also some collections of Chinese poems and haiku.

Chinese poetry is one thing, but recipes are really unnecessary.

Zheng Yi suspects that the horseshoe pastry he made this morning came from the book at the very top, "Quanzhou Kung Fu Recipe Collection".

The local cuisine of Ryukyu and the cuisine of Fujian have a close relationship, and dishes made by geisha may break this thousand-year-old bond.

Thinking this, Zheng Yi narrowed his eyes.

Half of another book is visible below "A Compendium of Quanzhou Kung Fu Recipes".

The chuunibyou-esque name "Isshin Shonshū" (一心神速流) bothered him slightly.

The image of Mioko Honbu's arrogant and disdainful face, and the shark swimming with its tail in her hand, flashed through my mind.

She mentioned the Yixin Dojo, but I don't know if it's related to that.

"Brother Zheng Yi, would you like to learn our family's boxing style?"

Mioko's delicate little face turned into Tetsuya's chubby face.

"Eh? Isn't my family a family of chefs? You know martial arts too?" Zheng Yi asked curiously, his gaze unconsciously drifting towards Youji's small hands.

If Zheng Yi had been beaten up by a 180-pound elementary school student, he would have accepted it, since it was, for the sake of argument, a Japanese elementary school student. As everyone knows, Japanese elementary school students cannot be judged by ordinary standards.

The problem is that he is always suppressed by the delicate hands of the pretty girl, which greatly frustrates Zheng Yi's inherent male chauvinism.

"Huh? A family of chefs?" Tetsuya shook his head vigorously. "We're a family of martial arts practitioners. I remember there was a really lively dojo downstairs when I was little!"

As he spoke, he threw a punch with all his might, creating a whooshing sound as he left a blur.

Zheng Yi remained calm and composed, maintaining the dignity of the behind-the-scenes leader of the "Make Ryukyu Great Again" team, but his heart was in turmoil.

This must be the Isshin Dojo that Mioko Honbu was talking about!

Given Yuki's Time-Space Claw, the Headquarters's Light-Speed ​​Punch, and the 180-pound elementary school student in front of him, he had reason to suspect that these people were secretly creating superhuman settings behind his back.

After all, it involves time travel and a real-world game, so Zheng Yi's worldview is indeed very different from his previous life.

"Can a fist be faster than a bullet?" he asked.

"Of course not!" Tetsuya looked at him, puzzled, and waved the toy gun at his waist. "Boss, times have changed!"

"Oh, I see." Zheng Yi breathed a sigh of relief. Since there were no martial artists who could fly or escape from the sky, or were invulnerable to swords and spears, he, as a transmigrator, still had an advantage.

I took out a few more thread-bound books from my shoulder bag and replaced the ones on my bedside table.

This reminded Zheng Yi of the sacrificial offerings that were taken down during ancestral worship ceremonies in his hometown.

She handed over the book "Isshin Shinshin-ryu" and said, "It will satisfy your useless curiosity, but from the perspective of our family friendship, I advise you not to get interested in martial arts or anything like that."

"Because times have changed?" Zheng Yi asked.

"Of course—no!" Yuki shook her head, "Because your body is too weak and you're too old."

Zheng Yi felt as if a sharp sword had pierced his chest.

Indeed, starting to learn martial arts at 18 can feel like being caught off guard and feeling powerless.

However, the moment he received the book, all his doubts vanished.

So what if I started learning late and have a weak foundation?

No problem, the invincible game will make a move!

[Ding, Item Found: Southern Shaolin Taizong Fist Technique (Fragment)], Learn Now?

This learning session will cost 20 Action Points.

When Zheng Yi thought of Taizong boxing, the first person that came to mind was Emperor Taizong of Tang, Li Shimin.

The Xuanwu Gate attack, eight hundred people seized the highest power in Chang'an City, the strongest carbon-based life form in the 7th century, the top hexagonal war god in human history, the filial father and loving sister-in-law, the Heavenly Khan Li Erfeng!

Although he was famous for his archery skills, Zheng Yi believed that his boxing skills must be just as good.

This brought him great comfort.

In front of the person in a vegetative state, he thought through all the suffering he had endured in his life before barely managing to suppress the urge to smirk.

An hour later, Yuki paid an additional 50 yen in advance at the hospital front desk. This was only because her father was able to breathe independently, required less equipment, and had comprehensive medical insurance; otherwise, the bill would have been astronomical.

This is why Zheng Yi absolutely refused to rent a place for free.

The rent of 15000 yen is indeed cheap, but it is a loft with a ceiling height of only a little over two meters, so it is not easy to rent.

At the hospital entrance, Zheng Yi said goodbye to my siblings and me.

He didn't go straight back to Isshin Izakaya.

Despite his eagerness to learn Isshin Shinsho-ryu, or Taisho Kenpo, he still had to rush to work at the convenience store.

After waiting for quite a while on the platform, Zheng Yi finally got to board the monorail train bound for Matsuo.

The carriage was still stuffy and humid, and the shirt sticking to my back made me very uncomfortable.

To make matters worse, an Indian man got into the car with him.

He had dark skin, thick body hair, and his phone was blasting upbeat dance music.

I don't know when it started, but it seems like the whole world is full of Indians.

For two consecutive years, the Tourism Division of the Naha City Department of Economy and Tourism has rated them as the most popular tourist group.

In response, Zheng Yi only wanted to stuff the armpits of the Indian man in front of him, which were constantly emitting body odor under the sweltering Ryukyu weather and accompanied by cheap perfume, into the nostrils of the head of the tourism department.