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Karakura Town, Walk in the Park


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The sun remained far below the horizon of the distance with few taking the chance to be out in the world, but among the select that decided to about was a specific man going for his early morning run. Jeremiah Brandon Richardson (the Third), a name acquired by a father that was not his, who remained an American in a town only because of a job working for a father that he recently discovered to be his. Black shorts with white compression shorts underneath, black running shoes built for the resistance to move forward with momentum, and a black sweater covering his white compression shirt. 

His house was not too far from the park, which made the ride to this location not too complicated, although his job was located about 15 miles east in Kagamino City. Karakura was less populated than the actual region of Kagamino and it allowed him to enjoy the quite living of a residential district, despite his coworkers best efforts to convince him to settle around work or even further west to Naruki City. The best part about getting up early meant that he had plenty of time to get to the park and start working out before having to make it to his commute to work. 

Headphones placed firmly in his ear, Jeremiah kept his focus forward with each step as he began to mouth the lyrics of the sound; "...I'm counting my bullets, I'm loading my clips, I'm writing down names, I'm making a list, I'm checking it twice and I'm getting 'em hit, The real ones been dying, The fake ones is lit, The game is off balance, I'm back on my shit, The Bentley is dirty, My sneakers is dirty..." Slowly he started to slowly down as he approached the location where his bike was locked up and got to his bag. He reached into his bag and pulled out his white wraps. 

Jeremiah slipped his thumb through the small loop and began to wrap the fabric around his hand, ensuring to get around his knuckles and wrist. "...I just win again, then win again like Wimbledon, I serve, Yeah, that's him again, the sound that engine in is like a bird, You see fireworks and Corvette tire skrrt the boulevard, I know how you work, I know just who you are..." He pulled taught on the fabric before securing it on the latch on his wrist and adjusted. Once it was set he took the remain fabric and began working on his left hand, "...And I'm gon' shine like I'm supposed to antisocial, extrovert, And excellent mean the extra work, And absent-ness what the fuck you heard, And pessimists never struck my nerve, And that's a riff, gonna plead this case, The reason my power's here on earth, Salute the truth, when the prophet say..." His left hand was tightly around, slightly more than his right, and he worked to correct that a bit before latching it firmly and sealing up his bag. 

With momentum in his step, almost rhythmically, Jeremiah made his way to a small patch of the grass that could be considered a clearing that had a decently sized tree otherwise. He made his approach of the tree with the beat moving his steps, "...The more that I try, the more that I want, The more that I grind, the more that I shine, The more that I stride, the more that I stunt, The more that I cheat, the more that she leaves, The more that she cry, the harder to trust, The more that I lie, the more that she dies, Somehow I realize I'm harder to love..." His stance was set and his hands in front of him with the lowered posture. Eyes were locked on the part of the tree that were considered his eye line and slowly released his breath. A two and a half seconds passed before he allow his lungs to absorb air once more.

WC - 660

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With the first breath pushed out from his lips Jeremiah sends out a quick straight punch with his leading left hand in the orthodox stance, his momentum carrying with an intense and blitzing speed. He brought his left hand back in front of him maintaining the stance firmly but keeping light on his feet. Quickly, Jeremiah recoiled with his left arm and delivered another straight punch towards the tree but stopping just short of the actual bark, "One." His arm came back and using that momentum he shifted his feet to bring his rear right hand forward and across his body, "Two." Once more he brought the last punch back to his body and settled back in his stance. 

Settled, he followed again with the first left jab followed by the second right cross as the form has been with consistency as the left hand continued with the sequence of the left hook, "Three." The pattern continued as he reset himself back to the neutral state of the orthodox stance, eyes fixed on the tree picturing an individual in front of him as he continued the method once more. The goal was to maintain the focus as if there was an opponent in front of him, which is the key to performing Shadow Boxing. The leading jab, the cross from the rear, the left hook, followed by the sequential right arm "Four."

He halted on his strikes for a moment and lowered his posture with quick movements allowing himself to step back and forth or side to side making sure to maintain his effective footwork. The movement was fluid with each of his bobbing motions, the weaving flow, and the slipping techniques ensuring that his effective maneuvering skills. Constantly he shifted his position, moving around the immediate area and shuffling around the tree to harness his latent power. After a few moments of the constant shifting, Jeremiah started to integrate his punches into the movement and this time he altered the punches between various combinations. Not only was his changing the combinations with every punch, he was also changing his levels from between higher strikes towards the head and body shots. 

After a devastating right uppercut in a sequence he finally stalled his training for a moment and allow his breathing to catch up. He took a moment to make his way to finish the rest of his water and head to refill the bottle. "...No, this ain't a diss to the game, it's a gas to the flame, Nowadays, everybody sound the same, shit's lame, Like a moth to the flame, I'ma reel 'em in and kill 'em, Know you feelin' lyricism when I'm spillin' it, I'm feelin' myself..." Once he refilled the bottle he continued to make his way back to the clearing, making sure to get another sip of his water. 

"...But you don't wanna hear me spit the facts, Your shit is ass like a tailbone, And you're trapped in your cell phone, On my chicken scratch, or my self-loathe, I don't want to fuckin' listen to you spit your rap someone else wrote, Used to get beat up by the big kids, Used to let the big kids steal my big wheel, And I wouldn't do shit but just sit still, Now money's not a big deal, I'm rich, I wipe my ass with six mil'..." He leaned over to set the bottle at the base of the tree with the exposed roots and as he stood up he turned around and gave a moment for a controlled breath looking over at the shadow silhouette of himself standing across from him in the orthodox stance that he practiced in so much. 

Slowly he adjusted himself as he made his way towards the shadow figure, "...They can hate but I never allow it to get to me, Like I've got an arc reactor blocking it and technically, I'm more like the suit that Shuri made for T'challa, That can absorb all of the negativity till it’s bottled..." Once he was perhaps less than a meter from the shadow his hands came up and his feet shifted towards the appropriate stance mirroring the shadow, "...And let it all build up inside until every hit has been duplicated, Then redistribute it to energy I can use to make the music, I refuse to let you win and I will never quit, Like I'm the projection of your worst dream from the scarlet witch, bitch..."

He took the step forward and let go a jab as a testing punch and watched as the shadow dodged the first one and quickly he continued with a second jab. Still the shadow was prepared to dodge once more but as a mix Jeremiah moved his torso preparing the right cross. His eyes caught the soft moment that the shadow prepared to dodge to which Jeremiah responded to swing his left arm instead with a hook. The shadow responded with its own movement to avoid the hook and shot for a body shot. Jeremiah kept his form low and stepped back which gave the shadow the chance to lean in for a follow up. Jeremiah shifted his step towards the inside of the shadow to get in closer and shrink the reach as he went to match the high head hook with his own low body shot. It was a solid contact as they both stepped away from one another. Each one postured up for a moment before dropping back into stance at the same time and stepped in once more for another sequence. 

WC: 930
TWC: 660 + 930 = 1590

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Sequence after sequence Jeremiah faced off against his own shadow with relentless speed and unfaltering force, maintaining his momentum and aggression with each passing moment. His footwork became more concentrated matching the pattern of his body moving around the punches as they were sent in his direction and the fluid nature of his arms driving along the body line against the shadow. They were matched evenly, as one would expect, although the shadow displayed a small hint of advantage over Jeremiah but in a way so minor that few would even stand to identify the discrepancies. This continued until a sudden fragment of light breaking over the horizon shot through the trees and struck the shadow, piercing his body and diluting his form. 

The sun had finally begun to rise and that meant that it was time to get ready for work. His focus came back from the sunrise in the horizon upon the shadow as the final fragments had finally dispersed leaving Jeremiah on his own as a pair of joggers broke through his vision from the nearby trail. With an exhausted exhale, he made his way to the base of the tree and grabbed his water battle. He took a few sips before heading back to his bag with the rest of his stuff.

There he started removing the wraps, "...Fill 'em with the venom and eliminate 'em, Other words, I Minute Maid 'em, I don't wanna hurt 'em, but I did 'em in a fit of rage, I'm murderin' again, nobody will evade him, Finna kill 'em and dump all the fuckin' bodies in the lake, Obliterating everything, incinerate and renegade 'em, And I make anybody who want it with the pen afraid, But don't nobody want it, but they're gonna get it anyway..." He had carefully rolled the wraps up and tucked them into his bag before making sure to seal the zipper, to avoid another trail of fabric behind him, and proceeded to remove his sweater as well, "...'Cause I'm beginnin' to feel like I'm mentally ill, I'm Atilla, kill or be killed, I'm a killer bee, the vanilla gorilla, You're bringin' the killer within me out of me, You don't want to be the enemy of the demon who went in me, Or being the recievin' end of me, what stupidity it'd be..." His pace maintained with the verse as he tight his jacket to his bag and through it on his shoulders and proceed to unlock his bike from the rack. A verse with speed and he was able to keep up even after performing an intense workout and avoiding the needed to take additional breaths, "...Every bit of me is the epitome of a spitter, When I'm in the vicinity, motherfucker, you better duck, Or you finna be dead the minute you run into me, A hunnid percent of you is a fifth of a percent of me, I'm 'bout to fuckin' finish you bitch..." Everything was properly set on his bike and he was prepared when he pulled the bike from the rack and set it on the pathway for him to ride out of the park. It was another early morning handled well after an uneventful night, and thus begins the day for Jeremiah on his way to work. "...I'm unfadable, You wanna battle, I'm available, I'm blowin' up like an inflatable, I'm undebatable, I'm unavoidable, I'm unevadable, I'm on the toilet bowl, I got a trailer full of money and I'm paid in full..."

Leaving thread, continued in Gold Standard Consultation 

WC: 360
TWC: 1590 + 360 = 1950

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