The low-toned thud beneath Sarah's sternum set the pace as she set down on the concrete walk outside her apartment. Stepping from the shade of the building, she squinted hard as the sunlight exacted its retribution for her lateness the night before. But she had grown accustomed to mornings like this, and her eyes adjusted quickly. A second, a thought, and a breath passed through her as one wave, and she turned herself in the direction of Little Asia. Her first strides fell like curbstomps, aligned with the beat in her chest.
The music of the body, she reminisced to her first lessons with Ken Shimazu. Her footfalls eased as she settled into her pace, treading the sidewalk with the calm alertness she had honed through a life time in Mapleview; 'aware but not scared,' as people on her block always said; that was at least one thing she could say she had mastered.
Punctuality after late nights, however, elluded her. It was 10:00AM when Sarah slipped in through the back door of the Lucky Noodle. She ceremoniously brushed the dirt from here worn, black Converse, and crossed the backroom into the kitchen.
"You are late, Sarah." Ken Shimazu's voice carried from somewhere out of sight.
Sarah following his voice around to the industrial stove top, whereupon a large pot of fresh noodles was slowly cooking to a boil. Shimazu was nearby, cutting up chicken, his back turned. Sarah almost asked how he knew it was her, but she was well enough aware of how perceptive he was; his ability to sense energy put hers to shame. She simple found herself an empty stretch of counter space and leaned back.
"Late night," she said bluntly; she had long stopped apologizing, knowing that the nights weren't something she'd stop having any time soon.
"Another evening in the Pits?" Ken set down his knife and wheeled around. He looked his young ward over carefully.
"And who managed that?" He pointed to a spot just below Sarah's right eye.
Sarah's hand pressed her cheek, feeling the bruise from a prize fight the night prior.
"It's nothing. Some other girl... muscle for 70th Street. 'Torres,' I think... thought she'd make an example out of me. Pretty strong; punched hard. Was even harder to punch." She showed Shimazu her knuckles, equally bruised as her face. Punching the bitch had been like trying put a fist through a steel wall; even using Chi, Sarah's hits amounted to next to nothing.
"And how did you overcome her?""Used some of the judo techniques you showed me the other day; she wasn't expecting to get flipped on her back like that. Plus I was faster, and frankly, she had no gas to fight for very long." For a second Sarah thought she sensed a slight beam of pride in Shimazu's eyes. If she had, it was short lived, as the ramen chef returned to cutting chicken without so much as a 'good job.' She wasn't surprised by that, nor by his actual response.
"What I teach you is meant for self-defense and protecting the community. Not beating up people in dingy, basement fight clubs. I've told you this before.""I know. I know!"Sarah pulled away from the counter and stood next to her Sensei.
"I do it because I need the money. It's not much, but a c-note twice or three times a week is worth a few scrapes and bruises. I know I can beat almost anyone in the Pits. It's easy cash in pocket.""And what happens when you rough up the wrong person? Like an enforcer for 70th Street? Or a Blue Dragon hitperson?"Sarah bowed her head before Shimazu's sharp side eye. He was right. She had spent her walk from home expecting Valentina Vega's crew to run up on her, if not Vega herself.
"That's enough talking for now. I have to open up shop soon. Go downstairs a practice your forms. Once I get things going I will check in."You don't need any extra help up here?""I Have plenty today. Downstairs. Forms. Shimazu scraped the chicken cuts into a frying pan, with no further words.
"Yes, Sensei.
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