Inside the dojo, the smell of sweat mixed with linseed oil greeted him like an old friend. The tatami mats creaked under his wet socks as he stepped onto them, careful not to slip. Kaito stood at the far wall, arms crossed, silent, gray eyes measuring him as he entered. The quiet of the dojo was almost oppressive, yet it also had a strange clarity. Every small movement felt amplified, every breath counted.
"You are late," Kaito said calmly, though not harshly. "Not by much. But you will learn that every second matters."
Shahaan bowed, murmuring an apology. His chest burned from the cold and the walk, but he kept his back straight. Kaito motioned to the center of the dojo. "Footwork again. We will begin where we left off. Today, you push further."
Shahaan nodded, tightening his fists, and assumed the stance he had been practicing for days. His knees trembled, his back stiff, but he focused on the small rhythm his body was beginning to find. Step, pivot, slide. Step, pivot, slide.
Kaito walked around him silently, occasionally adjusting his shoulders or knees with a touch that was firm yet precise. "Tension is your enemy. Let your body flow, not fight itself."
The first hour was agony. Shahaan stumbled repeatedly, his feet slipping slightly on the damp mats, arms shaking as he tried to mimic Kaito's movements. He wanted to collapse, to throw his fists into the wall in frustration. Every part of him ached. His lungs burned, his calves trembled, and the sweat stung his eyes.
And yet, he kept moving.
He remembered the boy on the street. The fear he had felt when the bullies approached. The way he had forced himself to step forward. He remembered Kaito's words from yesterday: courage is acting even when you are afraid. Step by step.
By the second hour, something began to change. His steps were steadier, his pivots cleaner. His arms connected to the movement of his legs. The coordination was imperfect, but it was present. A small victory, hidden in the repetition of motion, but it felt monumental.
Kaito stopped circling and nodded once. "Better. You are beginning to feel the rhythm. The streets will be faster. The attacks will be less predictable. But if you can control yourself here, you will survive there."
Shahaan swallowed hard. He wanted to ask what "there" meant, but he understood instinctively. The streets of Kabukicho were alive. They had a rhythm, a pattern, and those who ignored it got hurt. He had begun to notice that rhythm, just a little, and it frightened him.
After a brief water break, Kaito introduced the next challenge: reaction drills. Shahaan had to respond instantly to attacks coming from unexpected angles, pivoting, blocking, and countering with minimal thought. The exhaustion hit him immediately. His arms flailed, knees bent awkwardly, and several times he stumbled to the mats. Each mistake brought frustration, yet each recovery, however clumsy, brought a surge of pride.
"You cannot stop thinking," Kaito said, watching him closely. "Your mind must guide your body, but not weigh it down. Move with awareness, not hesitation."
Shahaan focused, letting the fear and adrenaline coalesce into something usable. He started to anticipate the strikes, adjusting just in time, blocking with his forearms, shifting weight to avoid collisions. It was not perfect. He was still raw, unrefined, and vulnerable. But it was progress.
Hours passed. Sweat poured from him. His chest heaved, his legs screamed, and his arms quivered with fatigue. His hoodie, soaked from earlier rain, now clung to his back like a second skin. Every inch of him was exhausted, and yet he could not stop. There was a fire in him, fueled by fear, pride, and an undeniable desire to grow stronger.
After the reaction drills, Kaito paired him with another student for controlled sparring. Shahaan felt a wave of nerves as the older, more experienced student faced him. Every step, every feint, every movement was a challenge. He blocked strikes, parried attacks, and even landed a few minor hits of his own. The sparring was clumsy but effective enough to leave both of them breathing heavily, sweat dripping into their eyes.
"Not bad," Kaito said finally. "You are learning control. Not strength, not speed, not even courage entirely. Control. That is the first thing you will need to survive."
Shahaan bowed deeply, feeling his muscles tremble. The dojo was quiet now, the neon light from the street streaking in across the mats. He felt both utterly drained and strangely alive. The city outside, dangerous as it was, seemed a little more understandable. Each alleyway, each shadow, each flicker of movement became a potential signal, a part of the rhythm Kaito had spoken about.
Walking home later, his legs heavy, Shahaan noticed small details he had never paid attention to before. A group of teenagers laughing in a corner, a man unloading crates from a shop, the flash of neon reflecting in puddles. The city was alive, full of threats and tiny victories alike. And somewhere inside him, the fire that had been ignited weeks ago burned a little brighter.
By the time he reached his apartment, exhausted and soaked through, Shahaan realized something he had never admitted to himself before. He wanted this. He wanted to keep pushing, to keep learning, to keep standing even when fear gripped him. Step by step, night by night, lesson by lesson, he was starting to grow.
The streets of Kabukicho had not changed. The bullies still lurked. Danger still waited in shadows. But something inside Shahaan had shifted. He was beginning to see that maybe, just maybe, he could survive, and maybe even protect others, without losing himself.
And as he collapsed onto his bed that night, limbs heavy but heart racing, he allowed himself a small, quiet thought. This was only the beginning.