The cassocks were a deep dark green, a shade that seemed to absorb light and convey a sense of calm and mystery at the same time. The fabric, extraordinarily soft to the touch, moved fluidly, almost as if it had a life of its own, draping naturally and lightly over the body. It was evident that it was made from the highest quality material, whose elegance lay both in its simplicity and in its perfection.
Across the surface of the cassock, small white details could be seen, almost imperceptible at first glance, but upon closer inspection, they revealed fine embroidery made with great precision.
"These last few days have been very strange, so we need to train in case another guy like the ones we saw at school and in the park shows up," Kiyo said.
"What do I have to do?" I asked, not knowing what to expect.
"First, I want to know what you know."
"Does that mean we're going to fight?" I asked, feeling a knot in my stomach.
"Yes, and don't hold back. I want to see what your potential is."
"I don't know how to fight, but I'll do my best."
"I hope so, Kirata. Don't disappoint me," he replied, getting into position.
We prepared to fight, staring intently at each other. Nerves consumed me, but I knew I had to do it. Kiyo seemed excited, waiting to see what I was capable of.
"ATTACK!" he suddenly ordered.
I ran towards him, focusing all my strength on a punch aimed at his face. The air whistled through my fingers, but before my fist could connect, Kiyo disappeared from my sight, as if he had anticipated every one of my movements. I felt the emptiness where his face should have been, and before I could react, a shove pushed me back.
I came at him again, throwing a series of clumsy punches, but Kiyo dodged them as easily as before. He was enjoying his superiority.
Suddenly, he kneed me in the stomach. I felt the pain, but I also noticed how Kiyo was surprised to see that I wasn't giving up. My resilience caught him off guard.
"But what's going on, Kirata?" he said, confused by my clumsy moves. The dojo was filled with tension and anticipation. The sound of our strikes echoed in the air.
Despite my failures, I didn't give up. This time, as I approached him again, I tried to grab his hand and, with a quick movement, knee him in the stomach. In the blink of an eye, he dodged the attack and grabbed my arm firmly, blocking my move entirely.
"Did you really think you'd surprise me with that?" Kiyo said with an arrogant smile, not letting go of me.
"Well, I had to try," I replied, forcing a nervous smile.
"It's a good effort, but if you want to impress me, you'll have to do much more than that," Kiyo said, releasing me as he got back into position, now with a much more serious look.
We stared at each other, and Kiyo was the first to attack this time, hitting me hard in the face and then kicking me in the stomach, knocking me down. The sound of the blows echoed in the room, and the pain pierced me, but I wouldn't give up.
"That hurt," I said, breathing heavily.
"What's the matter, Kirata?..."
I took advantage of his distraction to come at him again, and with a direct punch to his face, I knocked him down.
"HEY! That was dirty..." he complained as he got up. "Let's stop here and start the main training."
Five weeks of training passed. The dojo became a space full of effort and perseverance. The echoes of punches and our labored breathing filled the place. Slowly, I felt my body and mind getting stronger. Kiyo constantly pushed me beyond my limits, and the dojo became the battlefield where my endurance was tested.
As we progressed, Kiyo taught me the fundamental techniques: how to throw punches with precision, how to position my feet correctly, and how to rotate my hips to maximize the power of each strike. I learned to keep my guard up and dodge attacks more efficiently, though most of the time, I failed. Every mistake was corrected with a blow from Kiyo, followed by detailed instructions on how to improve.
He didn't just show me how to attack, but also how to master my mind. He kept telling me that the real opponent wasn't always in front of me, but rather the chaos inside me. Every time anger or fear started to take over, his words echoed in my head. Controlling my emotions was, in many ways, harder than any physical technique.
"Kirata, if you let fear consume you, you're finished," he would say arrogantly, as if it were the most obvious lesson in the world. "And if you let yourself be carried away by rage, you'll be a pawn on the board, moving without thinking. Trust me, you don't want that."
Every time I got carried away by my emotions, his tone would become more sarcastic.
"Are you really going to let something so trivial control you?" he would say, looking at me as if he were far above me. "If you want to stand a chance, learn to use them to your advantage... or get used to losing."
During those days, the hand-to-hand combat was intense. I faced Kiyo using every lesson I had learned: fast punches, awkward dodges, and inaccurate counterattacks.
Without realizing it, I started to notice small improvements. My attacks became more precise, my movements more fluid. What once seemed impossible now felt natural. I kept making mistakes, and Kiyo made sure to point them out with every hit he landed, but I knew I was improving. My body adjusted, my mind adapted to the rhythm of combat.
"You're still slow, Kirata. You can't just act on instinct. You need to think," he reminded me every time he blocked one of my attacks.
Each day ended with a meditation session. Kiyo insisted that my mind had to be as calm as my body. Through meditation, I learned to maintain inner peace amid chaos and not allow emotions to cloud my judgment during a fight.
It's March 24, 2019, and after those weeks of training, the school finally reopened. I guess I'll have to go tomorrow, even though I haven't done the pending assignment. I'm not too worried, I'm the best in the class. However, it was a group project, and well, everyone already has their teams. I guess I'll do it alone.