I pushed open the door and entered the dojo. The space inside was larger than I expected, with wooden floors that gleamed under the soft lighting. The distinct scent of polished wood and a hint of sweat hung in the air. The room was spacious, with high ceilings that gave the place a feeling of openness. To the side, a small office was tucked near the corner of the entrance, and at the back, a storage area was neatly arranged, holding various martial arts equipment.
In one corner of the dojo, I could see a group of adults training. Some were using punching bags, their focused strikes echoing in the room, while others were sparring in pairs, their movements swift and fluid. The intensity of their training was evident, the sound of their feet shuffling and fists connecting filling the air.
I also noticed a group of children, ranging in age from about five to twelve, practicing under the guidance of a young adult, probably in his mid-20s. His energy was contagious as he moved among them, offering words of encouragement and guidance. Beside them, a separate group of teenagers, ranging from fourteen to eighteen, were being trained by a middle-aged man. Their movements were sharper, more precise, reflecting the years of discipline they had likely put into their training.
And then I spotted her—Itsuka, one of the teenagers. I recognized her instantly. It was Kendo Itsuka, her orange hair pulled back into a neat ponytail as she executed her fist strikes with intensity. Seeing her here was a surprise, but it made sense.
The dojo was more crowded than I anticipated—around forty to fifty people were inside, all training in different areas. The bustling energy of the space made it feel alive, yet focused.
The middle-aged man, who was overseeing the teenagers' training, noticed me standing at the entrance. His eyes briefly flicked toward me before he signaled to his students, instructing them to continue their training. Then, with purposeful strides, he walked toward me, his gaze steady and measured.
When he reached me, he gestured for me to follow him. Without a word, I complied. He led me into the small office tucked away in the corner of the dojo. The room was sparsely furnished, with a desk and a couple of chairs. The man turned to face me, his expression scrutinizing, as if trying to gauge who I was in an instant.
I bowed slightly, the motion feeling a bit more formal than I intended, and then said, "Hello, my name is Jin Kuroda. I want to join the dojo."
The man studied me for a moment, his eyes piercing, as if weighing my sincerity. Finally, he gave a small nod and spoke, his voice deep and steady. "You want to join?" he repeated, his tone thoughtful.
I nodded. "Yes, I do."
He didn't speak right away, and I could feel the weight of the silence between us. His gaze never wavered from mine, his expression unreadable. After what felt like a long pause, he crossed his arms and leaned slightly forward, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "Tell me, Jin Kuroda, why do you want to join this dojo?" he asked, his voice calm but authoritative.
His question was simple, yet it carried a certain weight. It was clear that this wasn't just a formality; he wanted to understand my reasons, my intentions. I hesitated for a moment, taking in the gravity of the situation. I had thought a lot about this decision, and now was the time to explain myself.
"I... I want to learn how to defend myself," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I've never been able to protect myself when things got difficult. And with everything going on in the world, I need to be prepared. It's not just about fighting, but to be able to stand my ground."
The man listened carefully, his eyes never leaving mine, as if processing every word I said. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of activity from the dojo outside. After a long moment, he gave a small, thoughtful nod.
"Martial arts is not just about physical strength," he said, his voice softening just a bit. "It requires discipline, respect, and mental fortitude. It's about the mind as much as the body. Are you prepared for that kind of challenge?"
I met his gaze, the weight of his words settling into my chest.
"I'm ready," I said, my voice steady. "I'm ready for whatever it takes."
He studied me for a few more seconds, as if making sure I wasn't just saying the words. Then, finally, he gave a small nod, a subtle approval in his eyes.
"Very well," he said. "We'll see if you're truly ready. Follow me."
He turned and walked back toward the dojo, the faint sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway as I followed behind him. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of excitement and anticipation swirling inside me. This was it—the beginning of something that could change everything.