Location: Warehouse Drill Yard – Dawn
Itsuki Hiroto awoke before dawn to the distant clang of metal on wood. He rubbed his eyes and peered out the narrow window of his modest quarters in the Guild Administration complex. Before him stretched the Warehouse Drill Yard—a gravel expanse ringed by stacked crates and punctuated by training dummies made from burlap sacks and old billows.
Sera bounded in, juggling three steaming flasks. "Morning, Captain. You've got recruits in ten minutes."
Hiroto groaned. "Recruits? I thought the audit was over."
She winked. "You're Regional Logistics Commander now. Every guild faction wants a piece of your… expertise. They requested 'Combat‑Ready Filing.'"
His heart sank. "Combat‑Ready Filing?"
Virelya appeared at the door, swordbelt gleaming. "They call it 'Clerk Fu.' You invented it when you punched that crate into a stack last month. Now they want formal lessons."
Hiroto sighed. "I just want noodles."
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Location: Warehouse Drill Yard – Early Morning
At first light, a ragtag group assembled: goggle‑wearing clerks in ink‑splattered robes; porters hefting crates twice their size; armored scribes wielding quills like bayonets; even two former assassins-turned-door-guards, their daggers holstered in named sheathes. A banner fluttered overhead:
WELCOME TO CLERK FU ACADEMY
Mastered by Commander Itsuki Hiroto
Hiroto shuffled to the center, trying not to stare at the crowd's eager faces. He cleared his throat. "Um… good morning. Today we learn… logistics defense."
A murmur of excitement rippled through the recruits. Sera handed him a wooden filing crate—sturdy oak with metal reinforcements.
Hiroto weighed it awkwardly. "Hold the crate with both hands… parallel to the floor." He demonstrated, arms trembling under its weight. The recruits followed suit.
"Now," he continued, voice shaky, "shift your stance—feet shoulder‑width apart—bend your knees. Channel your focus into the crate." He took a hesitant breath. "And… strike the first stack."
He lunged forward, crate held like a shield, and tapped the edge of a neatly organized stack of barrels. CRACK! The barrels wobbled, then fell in a domino line, each rolling into place with surprising neatness and sealing itself shut.
Gasps echoed through the yard. The recruits stared at the crates: each now aligned perfectly, lids sealed, inventory tags matched.
One porter whispered, "He masterfully… deflected chaos."
Hiroto blinked, rubbing his wrist. "That's… okay?"
A scribe bowed, quill tapping the ground. "Teach us, Master Jar‑" He paused at Hiroto's horrified stare. "Master Hiroto."
Location: Filing Hall Dojo – Midday
By mid‑morning, Hiroto led the recruits into the Filing Hall Dojo—a vaulted chamber lined with filing cabinets instead of tatami mats. Each cabinet was labeled: "Herb Records," "Spice Ledgers," "Export Logs," and "Emergency Sandwich Coupons." The recruits formed two lines facing each cabinet.
"Today's kata," Hiroto announced, voice gaining confidence, "is the 'Cross‑Index Strike.'" He held aloft a ledger bound in red ribbon. "You will draw this ledger from the shelf, pivot your hip, and slide it into precise filing."
He demonstrated: palming the ledger, pivoting on one foot, sliding it into the "Spice Ledgers" slot with a sharp snap. The cabinet door closed with a satisfying click. He bowed. "Go."
A wave of motion followed: clerks leapt forward, pulling ledgers from the closest cabinets. They pivoted, sliding them into new slots with crisp precision. The room thrummed with snapping cabinet doors and whispered shouts of encouragement: "Yes! Perfect index!" "Smooth pivot!"
Hiroto watched, astonished. What began as a nervous demonstration had become an orchestrated dance of file‑sorting. Even the former assassins moved with grace, extracting "Combat Incident Reports" and "Vault Entrant Logs" then filing them in microseconds.
Sera kept time with a pocket watch, calling out corrections: "Right shoulder up! Left foot back!" Virelya paced the perimeter, nodding approvingly when crates and ledgers flew true, or stepping in to correct a misaligned shelf.
After thirty minutes of nonstop kata, the recruits formed a perfect semicircle. Hiroto raised a hand. "Rest! And… good job?"
They erupted in applause, chanting, "Clerk Fu! Clerk Fu!"
Hiroto cleared his throat. "We… we'll take a lunch break."
Location: Guild Cafeteria – Early Afternoon
The Guild Cafeteria buzzed with talk of Clerk Fu. As Hiroto slurped noodles at a long table, groups of recruits practiced pivot‑slides in the tiled corridor; wooden crates stacked along the walls became impromptu training dummies.
A dignified merchant delegate approached, accompanied by two young apprentices. "Commander Hiroto," she said, curtsying, "might you extend your… martial filing to our Merchants' Council? Our cloth inventories are in disarray."
He choked on his noodle. "I… uh… sure, maybe later."
Behind her, two apprentices performed a swift crate‑toss drill, tossing small cloth‑filled crates into labeled compartments with pinpoint accuracy. The merchant's eyes gleamed. "Marvelous. I will send the request scroll."
Hiroto patted his chest. "Please don't send more than one."
Virelya appeared, steely patience in her gaze. "We need to finish the training session today—then I have sword drills."
Sera slid in beside her. "I have emergency teacup distribution." She held up a satchel of "Tranquility Tea."
Hiroto groaned. "I just want a quiet corner."
Location: Warehouse Drill Yard – Late Afternoon
Back in the Drill Yard, the final session began with "Advanced Crate Kata." Recruits formed a grid around a towering pyramid of crates. Hiroto stood atop a low platform, bamboo cane in hand.
"Observe the 'Cascade Re‑stack,'" he called, swinging the cane. The surrounding crates fell outward in perfect arcs, landing upright in a larger, more stable formation. Each crate clicked shut.
A ripple of awe passed through the recruits. They rushed in, arms and legs moving in precise bursts: grabbing crates, stepping lightly, re‑stacking them into a square fortress whose walls were twice the original height.
"Block!" Virelya shouted as a rogue crate rolled toward Hiroto. He leapt aside—archivo style—grabbed the crate mid‑roll, and slid it back into the formation. The recruits gasped. Sera dangled a teacup in his direction. He gratefully accepted it.
As the sun dipped low, the recruits knelt in a circle, chests rising in steady breath. A hush fell. Hiroto looked at the smooth, shifting walls of crates—an impromptu armory of inventory rather than weapons.
The head clerk bowed. "Master Hiroto, we are ready."
They rose as one, chanting the new dojo creed:
"In order, there is strength.
In filing, there is power.
Through silent organization, we conquer chaos."
Hiroto's heart pounded. He stared at the kneeling crowd: clerks chanting, crates standing sentinel, parchment‑blades sheathed. He realized that without meaning to, he had forged Clerk Fu—a martial art of logistics that could topple rebellions with a single pivot.
Location: Guild Introduction Foyer – Dusk
As dusk settled, the Drill Yard emptied. Hiroto, Sera, and Virelya walked through the foyer, passing banners now emblazoned:
"CLERK FU ACADEMY – ENROLL NOW"
Sera shook her head. "You're an accident factory, Captain."
Virelya sheathed her final sword inspection. "But a very effective one."
Hiroto closed his eyes, weary to the bone. "I train them… and they worship me."
He flexed a hand, inhaling the lingering scent of wood polish and ink. "Better this than a rebellion."
They paused beneath a flickering lantern. Hiroto exhaled. "Tomorrow… I'll teach them to sort enemy weapon manifests."
Sera grinned wildly. "Master Hiroto strikes again!"
Virelya gave a rare laugh. "Just remember: no sudden yawns during class."
Hiroto managed a small, tired smile. "I'll try… but no promises."
And as the lantern's glow washed over the hall, the first cohort of Clerk Fu disciples marched off—leaden crates at their heels and quills in their belts—ready to wield the deadliest martial art known to any realm: the perfect file.