My American magical life
Chapter 74 - 74 2 Genius!

74: Chapter 2 Genius!

You are a Genius!

74: Chapter 2 Genius!

You are a Genius!

If encounters had a color, then the color Sani saw when she looked at Kernor was orange.

A bit of strangeness mixed with a lot of caution, and not a little shock.

From the moment Cheng Daqi truly brought Kernor before her to apologize, Sani felt that even if Cheng Daqi announced he was running for President of America, it wouldn’t seem like much anymore.

“Ms.

Sani, I must sincerely apologize for the offense I caused you before.

But I really was just high at the time and completely unable to control my actions.”

The heavyset black man actually bowed his head and apologized, and Sani almost forgot that she was supposed to refuse.

Cheng Daqi noticed Sani’s hesitation and hurriedly shook his head in a signal.

Since Kernor stood in front of Cheng Daqi, he was completely unaware of Cheng Daqi’s gesture behind him, so he didn’t notice anything odd.

“Alright, I acknowledge your apology, but I will not forgive you.”

Sani was unclear about the purpose behind Cheng Daqi’s series of actions, but she still chose to trust him.

“…this.”

Kernor was completely surprised by Sani’s response; he thought to himself that now that he had apologized, why wouldn’t she forgive him?

Such a thought was incredibly naive, but Kernor’s emotional maturity really was stuck at that level.

“Alright, Kernor, now you know Sani’s answer, too bad, I can’t teach you my unique skills.”

Sani still wanted to comfort the black man who was disheartened because of her rejection, but Cheng Daqi stopped her with a look.

The script was playing out perfectly, everything was going smoothly, all that was needed was to continue the act.

“Chan, no, servant, I don’t know how else to express my regret in order to earn your forgiveness.”

Kernor’s view of the world was simplistic; he felt that the sensation of not being forgiven was absolutely terrible.

In his teenage years, he fled his family with no intention of turning back, in pursuit of his “freedom,” “ideals,” “wealth,” and “status.”

He dreamed of making it big like the tycoons in hip-hop songs, earning lots of US dollars, and finding the girl with the biggest butt on the West Coast.

He hoped that one day he could drive a sports car back to his shabby and cramped home and prove to his partial mother that she was wrong.

But street life wasn’t as glorious as it was in stories; apart from making a name for oneself, there were far more unforeseen dangers and inexplicable hostilities.

He had joined gangs, starved with no food for three days out of nine and, skinny as a rail, he wasn’t just penniless—he had to steal to eat.

Because of his short stature, he was looked down upon by everyone in the gang.

Kernor believed they were blind not to see his talent.

So, he began to mix alone on the streets.

Years of street life subjected him to countless beatings by the world.

He felt that he might as well be a vagrant for life.

One day, after having a dream about a white actress, he stumbled out of the dark corner where he lived.

With the thirty dollars he had begged for, he found a big-bootied b***h.

He consumed the pop rocks she gave him, and then he wandered off, dazed, to beg for food.

Kernor felt that day was significant, so important that he couldn’t articulate it.

It was a moment when the wheels of fate began to turn.

He was sloppily beaten up by an Asian, and at the moment Cheng Daqi gently drew a knife across his skin, the cold blade stung him, and it seemed to awaken his numb soul.

He hesitated, he pondered, but it wasn’t just about pleading for mercy.

Past life, past failures, those painful experiences he didn’t want to touch, all the suffering surged to his heart in an instant.

About to be killed, at the moment death loomed over him, he seemed to awaken from a long dream.

Kernor realized that his life was truly over.

The pain that came with the realization of the potential collapse of life couldn’t be escaped with a bit of ephemeral pleasure.

He fled Red Street and returned to the doghole he shared with his buddies, desperate to escape it all.

He lied to himself that Cheng Daqi was the son of two kung fu megastars, the rival of the American team captain, which was why he could knock himself down in no time.

But his companion was a clever bastard, who pricked the bubble of Kernor’s self-comforting lie.

He found videos of Hua Country’s kung fu, watching those people fight with fists and weapons in the world of film and television, then win or lose.

These practitioners of kung fu seemed to be struggling with fate.

A black man with no particular talents, through a stroke of luck, actually grasped at learning kung fu as if it were a straw to save himself.

Kernor didn’t understand kung fu, couldn’t articulate fate, and even less comprehend where his own pain came from, but he hoped he could try to learn kung fu.

That night, he sent a Hua Country kung fu video to Cheng Daqi.

Kernor had no expectations, no expectation that the Asian who had beaten him up would actually teach him kung fu.

But he indeed needed a hope, and for that hope, he watched many videos about Hua Country’s kung fu, learning how to pay respects to a master.

So there was that kneeling that left Cheng Daqi speechless.

The real world is so strange, it makes no sense, lacks logic, and the lead actors’ behaviors can sometimes be absurd.

The only certainty is that behind every absurd choice, the person making the decision has a consistent logic that can reconcile with themselves.

No matter how foolish this logic may be, it definitely exists.

But now, Kernor’s logic about hope was missing an important pillar.

Sani hadn’t forgiven him, his hope had just surfaced and seemed like it would disappear again.

This was the cruelest punishment.

To give someone the hope of salvation, then mercilessly snatch it away.

Cheng Daqi noticed the pain in Kernor’s eyes, realizing that this black, plump youngster was far too fragile.

This fragility was unrelated to age, to the sturdiness of the body, depending only on whether he had a heart strong enough.

When he was muddling through life, this fragility wouldn’t hurt him, because he was sufficiently ignorant.

But the moment he took action, if his actions were even slightly thwarted, that fragility would destroy him.

The flame in his heart was too weak; he had too little fuel to offer it.

It can’t go out, at least call me “Master”.

Even if I can’t teach you kung fu, at the very least I should help you make some money.

“Cole, Sani indeed hasn’t forgiven you, so I can’t impart to you our sect’s ultimate techniques,

but I can teach you other kung fu, are you interested in learning?”

Cheng Daqi had long treated Kernor as part of PLAN B set in motion by the MCN agency, he just hadn’t expected Kernor to request to become his apprentice.

Now Kernor was obviously close to breaking down, he needed to offer this black chap a bit of encouragement and support.

“Of course, Sir, I want to learn!”

Kernor was overjoyed, his voice so loud, that it even startled Sani.

“Don’t call me ‘Master’ anymore, just call me Chan.”

Cheng Daqi really couldn’t bear the odd sensation of a black man calling him “Sir”, and wished Kernor would act normal.

“Okay, Chan, so when do we start the training?”

Kernor had done his homework on Hua Country’s kung fu, his words full of professional terminology.

“We can start now, this is a kung fu only we people of Hua Country can learn, the fifth set of radio calisthenics, take a look, I’ve sent it to you.”

“But, Chan, is radio calisthenics kung fu?”

“Of course, this kung fu was created by several kung fu masters of Hua Country, specially designed for beginners, you first…”

“I get it!

It’s about building the foundation, right?”

“Kernor, you’re a genius!”

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