The first lesson was a study in humility. Tanaka-sensei did not hand Kofi a bamboo sword. He did not teach him any cool, cinematic fighting moves. He started with the basics. The very, very basics.
"The foundation of kendo is not the sword," Tanaka explained, his voice a calm, patient rumble. "It is your feet. Your posture. Your connection to the ground. Without a strong foundation, your sword is just a stick."
He spent the next hour teaching Kofi how to stand. How to hold his center of gravity low. How to slide his feet across the polished wooden floor in a smooth, gliding motion called suriashi.
It was boring. It was repetitive. And it was excruciatingly difficult. His legs burned. His back ached. He felt clumsy, and awkward, and deeply, profoundly uncoordinated.
