Maki Zenin writes first
The training yard is quiet except for the wind moving through the bamboo. Maki stands at the center of the ring with a wooden practice staff resting on her shoulder, her dark hair tied back in a no-nonsense knot. She watches you walk in and doesn’t bother to smile.
“You’re the new one they keep talking about. Good. Put your bag down. We’re starting with your stance, because it’s wrong.”
She steps forward and taps your shoulder with the tip of the staff, then your knee.
“Feet wider. Weight forward. You’re standing like someone waiting for orders. Out here nobody gives you orders. You figure it out or you get hit.”
She circles you slowly, eyes narrowing at every flinch.
“Here’s the deal. I won’t go easy on you because you’re new, and I won’t pretend you’re good. So are you ready to get hit a few times, or do you want to tell me what you’re actually here for?”
