Once inside the dojo, we split up and headed to the locker rooms to change into our uniforms.
After finishing, I stored my belongings in a locker and made my way to the training hall, where the other students—and Sensei—were already gathered. As I entered, I casually returned the greetings directed my way. I've built up a bit of a reputation, after all.
When it comes to sparring, Kawasaki and I are technically the most eye-catching pair. That's why most of the students get especially enthusiastic whenever we face off.
Of course, the others show solid skill as well, but Kawasaki's movements set the bar higher—she seems to improve with every passing day.
Once attendance was taken, the session began with basic warm-ups. After that came theory for those who had questions, while the rest of us practiced with the training dummies.
When the scheduled time passed, it was finally time for sparring. And at that moment, I was in a particularly good mood to give Kawasaki a proper beating.
"Before we continue, there's something I'd like to say," Sensei announced, his expression brimming with energy.
The room fell silent as all the students turned their attention to him.
"As you all know, years ago I won first place in the national karate tournament. After that, I competed for several more years, but eventually decided to take things more calmly. However, that competitive flame has been reignited, and I intend to aim for the national title once again."
At his words, everyone—including myself—voiced our support.
Normally, places like this are run by older instructors, but Sensei is still young—around twenty-six. It surprised me a little that he'd stepped away from competing, but now that he's returning, good for him.
"But before we continue," Sensei said, turning his gaze toward me, "Tsurumi-kun, would you like to have a match with me?"
Come to think of it, I've never actually fought him; I've always focused more on facing Kawasaki.
"I don't have a problem with that," I replied, meeting his eyes and accepting the challenge.
If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that dojo instructors are like the final boss.
Once the match was decided, the students began chatting excitedly, placing their bets on who would win. Amid the noise, Kawasaki approached me.
"You sounded pretty confident when you accepted," she said.
"I know my limits, that's all," I replied in my usual tone.
"Seriously, though… do you think you can win?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Her doubt was understandable. After all, my opponent was no ordinary fighter.
"I'm facing someone who won the national championship, who's been training for years, and who even runs his own dojo."
"So… would you lose?"
"Nah. I'd win," I said confidently as I stepped forward to face Sensei.
He took his position across from me, keeping a proper distance. Around us, the students backed away, watching intently.
"What rules are we using?" I asked while stretching.
"First one to knock the other down wins," he replied cheerfully.
I had expected it to be point-based, like usual. That alone made things far more interesting.
Kawasaki stepped closer, taking on the role of referee—something fairly common whenever Sensei focused on theory and the students moved on to practical training.
"Takashiro Kaito. It's a pleasure," Sensei said energetically.
"Tsurumi Raiden. Let's have some fun, Sensei."
Introducing ourselves before a match has always been customary. At first it felt strange, but over time it became second nature.
Over these months, I've learned many things—more precise movements, refined techniques. And because of that, I can say this martial art doesn't fully suit me.
It's fun, I won't deny that. But in a real fight, I wouldn't limit myself strictly to karate techniques. Still, if I train long enough, perhaps even that statement will become meaningless.
Getting into this was nothing more than a personal whim of mine—after all, who hasn't dreamed of learning karate in Japan?
Even so, self-motivation alone wouldn't be enough. Having a skilled professional guiding you makes all the difference. That's why, in this moment, my only thought is to win.
"Begin!"
At Kawasaki's signal, I fix my gaze on Sensei. We both take our stances, ready to start—and to finish—this match.
I make the first move, stepping in fast and throwing a punch with my right arm. Sensei evades it with a swift lateral motion and counters with a kick, which I manage to block using my left arm.
The impact is no joke—my arm goes slightly numb, forcing me to retreat a step.
As expected from a professional, his response is immediate. Sensei launches into a flurry of strikes and kicks, each one dangerous. I'm forced to evade and block constantly, my eyes locked onto his movements. His speed and power are impressive.
Around us, I can hear the students reacting, but their voices quickly fade into the background. My focus is entirely on my opponent. Both of us are smiling—this fight genuinely excites us.
We move in a constant exchange, blocks and evasions flowing without pause, as if we can read each other's intentions. I block, retreat, then advance again. Neither of us leaves an opening.
Without warning, Sensei lowers his stance and attempts a sweeping kick. I pull my leg back just in time, narrowly avoiding it. He gives me no chance to breathe—using the same motion, he rotates his hips and launches a rising kick toward my head. I lean my torso aside, dodging it by a hair's breadth.
I barely manage to reset when he closes the distance again, firing a rapid series of punches toward my torso. I block one, two, three, deflecting the blows with my forearms as I step back half a pace. I counter immediately, throwing my own strikes to force him back, but he blocks them just as cleanly.
Then I spot the slightest opening and fire a straight kick to his chest. I know he'll evade it—it's not meant to land, only to force movement. As expected, he shifts to the side. In that instant, I retract my leg and step in, driving my left fist toward him.
Sensei blocks it solidly, but I'm already rotating my hips—my right leg rises toward his side.
He reacts instantly, lifting his knee to intercept the kick.
Still… that was exactly what I wanted.
I drop my leg at the last second and step forward, throwing a straight punch to his torso. Sensei retreats half a step, blocking with his forearm.
I don't stop. I search for the smallest mistake, the slightest opening. I throw a left punch—he deflects it. Our wrists clash hard. Using that contact, I lift my left leg and snap a kick toward his side. The movement is clean and fast… but he had already seen it coming.
Instead of blocking as I expected, Sensei steps in with the opposite leg and launches a front kick straight to my chest. Everything happens in a split second. With my leg still in the air, I barely have time to react. I cross my arms and absorb the impact.
The force—and my poor footing—send me sliding back, though I manage to stay upright on instinct alone.
Before I can fully recover my guard, Sensei closes the distance again. With no other choice, I throw a side kick with my right leg, trying to create space.
He blocks it with his forearm, but I use the moment to twist my body, attempting to strike with my other leg while airborne. It was a good opportunity—but Sensei blocks that as well, even if he's forced to take a few steps back.
As for me, unfortunately, I haven't learned how to fly. I hit the ground, roll quickly, and spring back to my feet.
What can I say? I'm used to being thrown around…
Determined to end this quickly, I close the distance once more, going on the offensive to pressure him and force an opening.
Sensei seems to anticipate every move—a clear testament to his years of experience. My strikes are either blocked or evaded with precision, and in return, he constantly probes for openings in my guard. He never overcommits. He never wastes movement.
During those brief exchanges, I realize something—his arm, the one he used to block my earlier kick, is moving slower than the other. That's my opening. If I can exploit it, I can finally break through his guard and gain the upper hand.
I shift tactics immediately, moving from punches to kicks. He evades them to the sides, and when he counters, I block and use my other leg as support, twisting my body to launch rapid side kicks.
Just as I thought, he uses his other arm to block.
I close the distance, slipping past his punch by shifting sideways, lifting my leg to aim for his weaker arm. It's a feint—because as I pull back, I raise my right leg instead.
Without hesitation, he makes the obvious move, turning to the side to evade.
Unfortunately for him, that's exactly what I wanted.
Using the same leg I had raised, I plant it against the ground and twist my body into a spinning side kick. The rotation adds an extra burst of power.
There's no way to dodge it—only to block it. And once he does, he'll be exposed, leaving me free to bring him down in a single motion.
Just as expected, he raises his arms to block my kick, sealing his own fate.
But the resistance I expect never comes.
At the moment of impact—or rather, the lack of one—I see the pleased expression on Sensei's face.
As if he had intended for this situation to happen from the start.
Sensei didn't block the kick—he redirected it. Using his arm and its momentum, he altered its course mid-strike.
The next thing I knew, my world turned upside down, and a sharp pain shot through my back.
For a brief moment, I lay there motionless, staring up at the ceiling.
I'd never really thought about it before, but the dojo's ceiling is surprisingly detailed—the lights, the structure, everything perfectly aligned.
Funny how you only notice those things when you're flat on the floor.
"Match over! The winner is Sensei!" Kawasaki announced.
After the call, I could hear the other students congratulating him, praising the display he had just put on—truly befitting a seasoned professional.
What happened was simple. When my kick was redirected, I was left completely open. As if it were nothing, he swept my leg out from under me, taking my balance with it.
Well… at least I wasn't split in half.
Deciding I'd admired the ceiling long enough, I gathered myself and sprang back to my feet.
"That was a great victory… no, wait—a great defeat," Kawasaki said as she approached, grinning widely, clearly amused by the sight of me on the ground.
"Oi, oi, why are you saying that with a smile on your face?"
"It's the first time I've seen you fall like that since I met you. I can't help enjoying it."
"There's a first time for everything. Besides, I'm used to it."
For over two years, I'd grown very familiar with the ground during training. With enough effort, I managed to reduce how often I met it—but improvement never comes without falling again and again.
Back then, my former Sensei's words were spot on:
"It doesn't matter how many times you're knocked down—it matters how many times you get back up."
And since I'm stubborn by nature, improvement wasn't optional. I refused to remain a punching bag, and in the end, I managed to make every one of them bite the dust at least once.
You learn more from defeat than from victory—though I won't deny that I thoroughly enjoy winning.
"Sounds like it wasn't easy," Kawasaki said.
"'Difficult' doesn't even begin to cover it. Still, I'm too stubborn to let things stay that way."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly saying Is that so? without words.
"Tsurumi-kun, that was a good match." Sensei approached us, having just finished explaining the movements and their proper timing to the other students. Truly, a great master.
"Even so, I wasn't good enough," I replied, shaking my head.
"You cornered me more than once. Your strikes and kicks were strong—there were moments when I wasn't sure blocking was the right choice."
"I could say the same. My arms are still numb from your kicks."
I know how to recognize skill when I see it. Sensei didn't reach that level by slacking off.
"That's good to hear," he said with a broad smile, before turning to Kawasaki. "Now then, Kawasaki-san, would you like to spar with me?"
For a moment, I thought she might hesitate. After all, she had never beaten me.
That thought vanished instantly.
"Bring it on."
Something about her expression felt off—in a good way. It was completely different from usual, and I could tell, having trained with her for months. It reminded me of the very first time we met and faced each other.
With the next match decided, I stepped into my role as referee, while the other students buzzed with excitement over what was about to unfold. Before I arrived, Kawasaki had been the strongest among them, so their reaction made perfect sense.
Once both fighters were ready, Sensei and Kawasaki faced each other, each assuming their stance. Tension thickened the air as the students watched closely, fully aware that this match would be something special. Kawasaki, wearing her usual serious expression, kept her eyes locked on her opponent, while Sensei smiled with the relaxed confidence of a seasoned fighter.
"Takashiro Kaito, it'll be a pleasure," Sensei said in his usual energetic tone, giving a slight bow.
"Kawasaki Saki. Likewise," she replied without breaking eye contact, returning the bow. Her voice was calm, yet carried an unshakable determination.
"The rules are the same as the previous match. That's all—begin!"
At my signal, they moved almost simultaneously. Sensei launched the first attack—a fast, powerful side kick aimed at Kawasaki's torso. She blocked it with her arm, but the impact still forced her back a few steps. Without giving her time to recover, Sensei followed up with a flurry of strikes directed at her head and chest.
Kawasaki responded with agile footwork, shifting sideways just enough to avoid each blow.
Sensei's speed was impressive, but Kawasaki wasn't falling behind.
Moments earlier, the students had been chatting excitedly. Now, complete silence filled the room.
The reason is obvious—this version of Kawasaki is far beyond the one I faced before. Even I can't take my eyes off her.
Each of Sensei's strikes came faster and heavier than the last, yet Kawasaki refused to yield. His movements were precise and efficient, constantly searching for an opening, while she maintained a solid defense, responding with sharp, well-timed counterattacks.
I can say this with certainty—having fought her many times myself—Kawasaki is stronger, faster, and more direct than ever before.
The exchange continued: rapid punches, sharp blocks, kicks, and evasions, each one testing the other. The students watched in near silence as the tempo of the fight steadily climbed.
Had she always been holding back against me?
Suddenly, Kawasaki launched a low side kick, aiming to throw Sensei off balance. He blocked it with his leg and immediately countered with a sharp downward kick, which she barely avoided by stepping back.
Without hesitation, she shifted into offense. Lunging forward, Kawasaki unleashed a rapid series of strikes toward Sensei's torso. He blocked them efficiently, but she didn't relent. Each strike came faster than the last, forcing him to retreat while maintaining his guard with flawless precision.
Even though the fight appeared evenly matched, the outcome was already decided. I don't know if Sensei had planned it from the beginning, but there's more than one reason I was chosen to fight first.
Sensei spotted an opening and drove a straight front kick toward Kawasaki's chest, clearly aiming to break her balance.
But that was exactly what she had been waiting for.
Instead of blocking normally, she twisted her body to the side, letting the kick graze past her. In the same motion, she dropped low and swept her leg across the floor.
Sensei reacted instantly, stepping back just in time to avoid the sweep.
Kawasaki didn't stop there.
Using the momentum, she planted one arm against the ground and lifted her body, spinning fluidly as she brought her leg down in a powerful descending kick that struck Sensei squarely on the head.
They definitely didn't teach us that…
The blow caught him completely off guard. Sensei had no time to react and collapsed to the ground.
It was a risky move—but an effective one.
For a brief moment, the entire room fell silent. The students stared in disbelief as Kawasaki straightened up, breathing a little heavily, a faint smile of satisfaction appearing on her face.
"Match over! The winner is Kawasaki!"
I've said it before, and I'll say it again—she's a monster.
Cheers and excited voices erupted as the students rushed toward her. Meanwhile, I walked over to Sensei, who still looked completely dazed.
Kawasaki hadn't executed the technique perfectly, so she only managed to disorient him long enough for him to fall.
Before saying anything else, I held my hand out in front of him.
"Sensei, how many fingers do you see?"
"Eight…"
I suppose that's fine… I guess.
"I'm a bit rusty," he said with a smile, still lying there as he stared up at the dojo ceiling.
"It's a nice view, isn't it?" I replied sarcastically.
"Hahaha, it's quite relaxing…"
I reached out to help him up, and he took my hand without hesitation.
"The reason you made me go first is because of Kawasaki's confidence, isn't it?"
"I see you noticed. You're quite perceptive," Sensei replied, nodding.
I had already suspected as much after watching Kawasaki's match.
Before anyone could say anything else, Sensei raised his voice.
"Alright, everyone, gather around. I have something else to tell you, and after that, you can begin training among yourselves."
After witnessing that display of skill, it was obvious the other students were itching to start practicing. I felt the same way when I was their age—watching the senior students fight always filled me with excitement and made me want to train alongside them, even if it usually ended with me flat on the ground.
Once everyone had gathered, Sensei began to speak.
"As I mentioned before, I plan to try once more to win the national karate tournament. To do that, I first have to qualify at the local level, then at the prefectural level, and finally compete in the nationals. However, as you've seen, my level has declined over the years."
His voice remained calm, as if he had already come to terms with it.
"Tsurumi-kun cornered me several times, and as for Kawasaki-san, she actually defeated me. I still have a long way to go, so starting next week, I'll be stepping down from teaching."
The words hit us like a bucket of cold water. In other words, today would be our last class with him as our instructor.
"Don't misunderstand," he continued. "I'm not closing this place. I'm quite attached to it. Instead, I'm thinking of asking a friend to take over teaching. He's quite skilled—though not as skilled as I am."
He added the last part with a grin, easing the tension and drawing a few smiles from us.
As discouraging as it sounded, he was right. If he truly wanted to win something like the national tournament, it wasn't something he could achieve with determination alone—it demanded full commitment.
Running this dojo wasn't just about teaching us for a few hours a day; it meant balancing his passion for karate with the reality that this was also a business. Even so, Sensei had always given his all to us.
"So, I hope you'll forgive me."
With that, he bowed deeply.
After his apology, none of us looked upset or disappointed. How could we be? He was simply chasing his dream. And besides, if he won the nationals again, this dojo's reputation would only grow.
"Then you'd better make sure you win, Sensei."
One of the students broke the silence, and with that single remark, the atmosphere shifted. One by one, the others added their words of encouragement. None of us could resent someone who was striving to achieve their dream.
I exchanged a glance with Kawasaki, and she seemed to feel the same way as everyone else.
"Thank you. I truly have the best students a teacher could ask for," Sensei said with a warm, slightly wistful smile. "Alright, I won't take up any more of your time. You may begin your training."
He clapped his hands, signaling us to start.
Just like that, the students split into groups and began sparring, trying to imitate what they had witnessed earlier.
Now then… what should I do?