Baek Doo San
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The throb and pulse of the city alights inside her, matching the momentary thump of her heart. So far, she is, from home and forest and quaint little midday meals. As she trains, she thinks of her soft faced mother, whose increasing fragility both frustrates and endears. Of her oldest brother, who has inherited the dojo and Father's sobriety. And of Hiroshi, with his new life in his new city with a pretty wife and a dojo of his own.
The city air creeps into her head and makes her dizzy. Everything is electrified by life, by blurring lines of scurrying civilians and the gaudy flash of strobe light, that swells and convulses like rouge fireflies. The foxes are mangy, the pigeons scruffy and thin. They nest in bins and gutters, fur and feather clustered together in a stinking mesh of city venom.
In the evening, she scatters bird seed on her window ledge. She takes down old scraps and lays them near the fox's nest. One of the cubs curls by her front door, until an old lady brandishing an umbrella comes and scares it away.
She can't wear her old comfortable kimonos or straw sandals. She goes shopping, and buys plain, simple things, like white waistcoats and black leggings and sweet dolly slippers her mother would have loved. She cuts her hair shoulder short, feeling a pang as her old plaits and "Mickey Mouse" buns from childhood are no more. To cheer herself up, she stops by a stall that sells hair accessories, and purchases some ribbons. As she goes to leave, a white headband catches her eye.
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Two streets from her apartment, a new dojo opens.
It is run by a young Korean man who specialises in Tae Kwon Do. It has been too long since she has sparred with someone else, although the high, jabbing kicks and powerful thrusts of his art differ from her own beloved Kazama skills. None the less, she makes no direct effort to approach the man; his aura is stung with a heavy melancholy she isn't sure she understands.
She begins to take small detours on the way to the shops, if only to steal a glance through the dojo window. The man is a stern but generous teacher, instructing his students with a firmness that reminds her of her father and a charisma that does not.
As he challenges the air in one of his sweeping, powerful kicks, she notes a flash of gold hover around his neck, and in the corner there is an empty seat with a candle placed beside it on the table. A picture of an older man with a young boy riding on his shoulders burns into her brain.
One Sunday evening, she passes only to find the dojo empty. She'd been attracted by the stuttering glare of bulb light, and had expected to see the usual formulaic lines of students high kicking their training dummies. Instead, she is startled by the man resting by the window; his eyes on her.
Her lips part slightly. She swivels her attention elsewhere, but not without seeing the quiver of a smirk edging around his mouth. She hadn't noticed the defining uplift of his jaw, or his striking, hungry eyes.
After that, she sticks to her usual route. Two weeks pass, and she almost forgets about the dojo and the sombre man with the immaculate ponytail.
She's grocery shopping, standing on tiptoe to reach for a tin of tomato soup, when a larger hand closes over it and passes it to her. Baek Doo San stands before her, dressed in jeans and a red jacket, and he smiles; apparently non-threatening.
"You're Jun Kazama, right?"
"Yes." She returns his smile, placing the tin in her basket and moving off the aisle. Unsurprisingly, he follows, striding to keep up with her pace. She has little choice but to attempt polite conversation. "You own that dojo, don't you?"
"Ah." Jun mentally smacks herself. His expression remains impassive, but a look of triumph resonates in his eyes. He's younger then she first thought. "You noticed?"
"Hard not to," is her soft reply, and the words fall so easily from her it takes her aback. He blinks, his brow creasing slightly, before he allows his smile to return in full force. He can't believe his luck.
"Likewise, Miss Kazama."
Outside, the city streets are slickened by December rain. A light, festive gloom has descended on the city; snaking around strings of colourful bulbs and grey lines of hurrying civilians, and the display lights in the shop window glimmer like swarms of eerie sprites.
"I was hoping..." He's still smiling, although his eyes are electrified, expectant. "You would join me for a coffee back in the dojo."
She should refuse. But his aura elevates, lightens and shimmers, so she accepts and Baek Doo San finds his first little stroke of joy in a while.