"You don't have to bow like that. I was simply doing my job."
His voice softened just a little, almost like he wasn't used to someone giving him actual gratitude. It wasn't cold, but the shift was subtle—an instructor trying not to look flustered.
Job or not, it didn't erase what he'd done for me. He could shrug it off as if it was nothing, but to me, it meant everything. He shaped me. Guided me back when I knew absolutely nothing—when I was fumbling through every stance, every swing, every breath like a clueless idiot who barely knew where his own feet were. He never made me feel stupid, never rushed me even when I took longer than normal. Every correction was gentle, steady, patient, like chiseling a dull stone into something barely decent. He gave me the tools I used now—the foundation that kept me standing.
Without him, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't even be able to pretend I had a chance in this world.
