Watching Yukari-senpai move in the dojo was like watching a spell being cast. I was completely entranced. The room was unusually quiet. Wooden floors creaked gently under our feet, and the calligraphy on the walls whispered silent mantras—"discipline," "respect," "don't give up before you die."
Everyone seemed to have locked those words into their hearts as they watched Yukari-senpai's performance with military precision.
Yukari Fujimoto.
She stood tall in her karate gi like a statue carved from sheer will. Her headband was in its usual place, hair slightly tousled yet still regal. Every move she made felt like composing a new symphony—full of rhythm and control.
We locked eyes.
I smiled.
She did not.
— "Akiyama," she said sharply.
— "Ready!"
I said it so forcefully that I slammed my knee into the mat and crashed down like a collapsing tent.
Starting score: 0/10.
Yukari rolled her eyes.
— "Stand up. You're no longer in the 'go-home-after-school' club. Welcome to the 'try-not-to-die' club."
I swallowed hard.
Try-not-to-die club? What the hell did I sign up for? Maybe I should've joined the robotics club. At least robots don't sweat.
— "Today: basic stances. Then, a few fundamental techniques. That's all I want. But if you mess up… we repeat. A lot."
She smiled slightly at the end—but not the kind that says "this will be fun."
It was the kind that says, "Your soul might leave your body before your legs do."
The problem?
I knew absolutely nothing about karate.
But from where Yukari-senpai stood, I probably looked like some seasoned black belt who knew what the hell he was doing.
First exercise: Zenkutsu Dachi — front stance.
Me: "Zen... Zenkutso... Zengatsu... what?"
Yukari: "Just do it."
I spread my legs, bent my knee slightly, and got into position.
My reflection in the mirror stared back, clearly asking: "What am I doing here?"
I looked like someone had dragged a street dog in and tried to teach it how to walk upright.
Yukari silently stepped closer.
She adjusted my foot.
Leaned in.
Fixed my posture with her hands.
Then—SLAP! A corrective smack right on the rear!
I jolted. Looked around.
Some students were whispering.
Some were hiding their giggles behind their hands.
And there I stood in the middle of the dojo—like a bright red flag flapping in the wind.
— "You're standing too stiff. This is karate, not a department store window."
I turned an even deeper shade of crimson.
Great. I'm now broken, emotionally and physically.
We continued.
Techniques. Punches. Blocks.
Yukari demonstrated. I tried.
She demonstrated again. I tried again.
She demonstrated a third time… and I just fell over.
Finally, Yukari put her hand on her forehead.
— "Your body coordination is like a soup spoon. Always diving straight into the bowl whenever you're left alone."
— "Well... I'm more emotionally agile and spiritually prepared?"
— "Your soul already left the dojo ten minutes ago."
Silence.
She looked at me for a moment.
Took a deep breath.
And then—one of those rare moments happened:
She smiled.
Like, genuinely.
— "But you don't give up. That's... something to respect."
I looked up.
Inside my chest, I heard the faint sound of a video game level-up jingle.
Level Up: +1 Respect from Senpai.
— "Thank you, Yukari-senpai."
— "But you still suck."
And just like that, the smile vanished.
As I mourned its passing, someone stepped in from the edge of the mat.
Hinata.
Holding two sports drinks, smiling brightly as she approached us.
— "Saw Takashi was still alive, figured I'd bring some refreshments!"
I slumped down to the floor, half in shame, half in exhaustion.
Yukari turned and nodded respectfully to Hinata.
— "Your friend's persistent. Somewhere inside him... there's a warrior spirit. Tiny, but it exists."
Hinata giggled.
— "He's still searching for his soul. But if you're teaching him, he might just become a warrior one day."
Yukari chuckled softly, then looked at me.
— "Same time tomorrow. Don't be late, Akiyama."
She turned and walked out of the dojo.
I was still on the floor.
Hinata held out a drink.
— "One day you'll be a karateka. But for now... start with opening this."
I couldn't open it.
She took it back, opened it effortlessly, and handed it to me again.
I just smiled.
Takashi Akiyama... Today you were smacked, mocked, and body-slammed by life.
But in Senpai's eyes, you leveled up from 'soup spoon' to 'plastic fork.'
And really, what is better about being a plastic fork?
Maybe now I can still fall into the bowl—but at least I snap cleanly under pressure.