Author's Note: I don't have a timetable pinned down for this story, but it probably takes place over several Season 1 episodes, and ends before Episode 10. Enjoy!
He's the best in the city. Trust me.
Korra enters the basement with few expectations, and she isn't disappointed. Not completely, anyway.
It's sparse. Almost like the arena's gym, but smaller, much smaller, maybe big enough to house a few Satomobiles. The equipment is different, too. One side is lined with mirrors and a handlebar that runs the length of the wall. Along the other, a few tattered punching bags hang from chains on an I-beam in the rafters, and a combat mannequin sits in the corner. The floor is hard wood and stained in uneven streaks, and she thinks it's probably not paint but sweat. The ceiling is covered in some places and open in others. She can tell the brick walls were once red, but their color is pretty much gone, so the whole room has an earthy feel, gray and brown. Even the air is moist.
There are no nets, no targets, no water buckets and no coin crates. It's close and cramped, not spacious and fresh. It's definitely not a bending gym. To Korra, it's both familiar and foreign.
As is her request.
There is a noise from the back and a door opens. A man steps into the room wearing a plain black shirt and drawstring pants, wiping his hands on a rag. He notices Korra – she knows from his glance – but he turns away, mopping his forehead and his neck. She waits but he says nothing. Doesn't even acknowledge her presence beyond that one look.
Asami's words echo in her head. The best in the city. So she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, and says, "Excuse me!"
Now the man speaks. "Mhm, I saw you. School's closed for the evening."
Korra furrows her brow. So much for being polite. She takes a breath. "Are you Master Chuang?"
Again he ignores her. Instead he tosses the rag in a bin and leans over to grab his bare feet. He stretches. But he says nothing.
Korra clears her throat and begins, "Hey, I'm just…" but she stops. She swallows, and with it goes some of her pride. It hurts, but she knows she needs this. "I'm looking for training, is all."
Across the room the man looks at her again, his head angled down as he bends at the waist. "Do I know you?"
Blunt bastard, he is. She can't help but throw one back. "I don't know, do you?"
Now he straightens up and pads across the floor. As he approaches, Korra examines him, and he her. The man is older and about her height, medium build, thinning black hair. His thin face is pocked and pitted, and his eyes are a dark brown, almost black. She watches his eyes zip from her boots to her crown. He scratches his arm. "You're not one of my students."
"No." Then she adds, "Sir."
That gets a half smirk – just for a second – before his features harden again. "But I've heard you on the radio. You're the Avatar."
It's a small victory, and Korra can't help but revel in it. She folds her arms. "That's me."
His eyes narrow and sweep over her face. "What was your name? Kera? Kona?"
Korra frowns. She can't tell if he's playing a game or not, and she doesn't like it. She's already been through this with Lin. "Korra."
"Ah. So it is." The man walks past her now, moving to a rack of equipment on the wall next to the entrance. He selects a pair of gloves and slips them on. "And you said you wanted training."
She grits her teeth. For a moment she forgets why she came here, of all places. Is he making a fool of me? "Yes."
He moves to a punching bag and begins tapping it lightly with his knuckles. "I'm not a bending master."
Korra clenches her fists. It's all she can do to stop from turning on her heels and walking out the door. Hardly been here two minutes and I can't stand this arse. "I know, but-"
He starts punching. "I train non-benders how to fight."
"Yea, I saw the sign outside. 'Master Chuang's Martial Arts.' I wouldn't need bending to see it."
He pauses and looks over his shoulder. "Then I'm listening."
She takes a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Best in the city. "You say you listen to the radio. So you know what I've been doing, and you know about the Equalists, about Amon. His men aren't your run-of-the-mill thugs – they're competent. They know how to chi-block and they're good."
He resumes punching. "Go on."
"I need someone-" Korra stops. This feels strange, and she can't place a finger on why. She's had masters before. Learning under another shouldn't be any different. But this time something inside finds the notion alien. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I need someone to teach me how to fight, like them, in case I can't use my bending."
Once again the punching stops. When Korra looks up she sees the man still facing away, gloved hands on top of the bag. For a while he says nothing. Korra just waits.
Finally: "Who did you say told you about this place?"
"I didn't. Asami Sato told me. She was a student of yours."
He nods and grips the bag's chains with one hand, looking at her again over his shoulder. "Alright. I'll do it."
She blinks. "I- oh." That was easy. "Well, uh, I appreciate it. Thank you."
"Thank you, sir."
Korra frowns. "Sir."
She swears she sees him smirk as he turns his attention to his punching bag again. His fists pound leather. "This Thursday at seven hours past noon. Or Friday. Whichever is convenient. You'll be training alone." The bag sways. "I'm Master Chuang."
