Chapter 4: The Landlord's Gambit.
Mr. Tanaka was a man who believed in numbers. He believed in profit margins, in market values, and in the cold, hard logic of a well-balanced ledger. He was not a sentimental man. Which is why he was so perplexed by his tenant in the old dojo, Sora Aokawa.
His curiosity led him, late one Tuesday night, to a 24-hour convenience store several blocks from his home. He was there for a bottle of iced coffee to fuel a long night of paperwork when he saw her. She was behind the counter, dressed in the store's drab uniform, methodically stocking shelves with instant noodle cups.
She looked exhausted. The vibrant, fiery energy she possessed in the dojo was gone, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, he could clearly see the dark, purplish circles under her eyes, smudges of fatigue that her determined spirit usually managed to hide. Mr. Tanaka, the man of numbers, did a quick calculation. The rent on the dojo was modest, but not insignificant. The income from a part-time, late-night job like this… it would barely cover it, let alone her own living expenses.
She was killing herself to keep an empty building open. It didn't make sense.
The next afternoon, he paid a visit to the dojo. Lee was not there yet. Sora was sweeping the vast wooden floor, her movements economical and precise. She greeted him with a polite but guarded smile.
"Tanaka-san," she said, leaning the broom against the wall. "I know the rent is due at the end of the week. I'll have it."
"I have no doubt you will," he said, his eyes scanning the empty, spotless room. He got straight to the point. "Aokawa-san, I am a businessman. I don't understand this investment. This property generates zero income. You work a second job, and I would wager you barely sleep. For what? An empty room and a lot of dust?"
Sora's polite mask faltered. A defensive fire lit her blue eyes. She was about to give a sharp retort, but her gaze drifted to a series of scuff marks near the center of the floor, marks left by thousands upon thousands of pivoting kicks. Her expression softened instantly.
A fond, genuine smile touched her lips. "It's not an empty room, Tanaka-san," she said softly. "I have one student. And he is an investment worth more than any amount of money. He's… well, he's like a son to me. And you don't give up on family."
Mr. Tanaka stared at her. He saw her conviction, the absolute sincerity in her voice. And his sharp, business-oriented mind, always searching for an angle, suddenly saw one. It was a long shot, a gamble, but the potential payoff was enormous.
"Aokawa-san," he said, his tone shifting from inquisitive to speculative. "I will make you a proposition. I am waiving your rent."
Sora blinked, stunned into silence. "What?"
"I am waiving your rent," he repeated, "until after the next U.A. High entrance exam. It is an investment." He saw the confusion on her face and elaborated. "Think about it. A Quirkless boy. From a small, unknown dojo. If, by some miracle, your student passes the exam and gets into U.A.… he becomes a story. A legend. And when that story is told at something like the U.A. Sports Festival, where will every parent of a Quirkless child, or a child with a weak Quirk, look? They will look here."
He gestured around the room, a greedy glint in his eye. "This dojo will become famous. I will have a waiting list of a hundred students a mile long. And at that time, you and I will have a new conversation about the rental price. A much, much higher one."
Sora stared at him, her shock slowly melting away, replaced by dawning comprehension. Then, she let out a loud, hearty laugh. It was a genuine, beautiful sound that filled the empty dojo.
"You're a sly man, Mr. Tanaka," she said, shaking her head in amusement.
"It's just good business," he replied with a smirk. As he turned to leave, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. It was a good investment, yes. But it would also, he hoped, erase those dark circles of exhaustion from under her eyes. That, at least, was a worthy short-term dividend.
Time passed. Two more years of sweat, discipline, and relentless effort. Lee was now fourteen, on the cusp of fifteen. The boy was gone completely, replaced by a young man. He stood at a respectable height, his frame lean but packed with dense, powerful muscle forged through years of grueling physical conditioning. He was no longer just a martial artist; he was a human weapon honed to a razor's edge.
It was one month before the U.A. exam. He had just finished a training routine that would have put a pro athlete in the hospital. He had successfully managed to open the Third Gate, the Gate of Life, twice in the last week, his body enduring the strain. He stood in the center of the dojo, his skin still faintly flushed, breathing steadily.
Sora watched him, her expression unreadable.
"Lee," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet room, pulling him from his focus. It was more serious than he had ever heard it.
He straightened to attention. "Sensei."
"You have learned everything I can teach you within these four walls," she stated. "Your body is ready. Your will is iron. But there is a gap in your education. You have theory. You have practice. You do not have experience."
She walked toward him, her footsteps silent on the wooden floor. She stopped directly in front of him, her blue eyes locking onto his.
"You have never faced a true villain, someone who wants to hurt you. You have never felt the chaos and fear of a real fight where the rules of the dojo do not apply."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, serious tone that sent a shiver down his spine.
"For this final month, your training enters its last, most critical phase. Starting tonight… we are going on patrol."
Lee's eyes widened, his mind struggling to process her words. Patrol? Like a Pro Hero?
"It's not legal," she said, her gaze unflinching, answering his unspoken question. "It's dangerous. But it is the final trial you must pass before you walk through the gates of U.A."
In that moment of ringing silence, Lee stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, his mind reeling. On his face, a cocktail of pure shock, a healthy dose of fear, and a surge of wild, electrifying excitement. His real test was about to begin.
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