The air in the dojang was thick with incense and the low hum of distant city life. I stood at the entrance, shoes in hand, uncertain whether to step inside. A matronly woman at the front desk barely glanced up. "You're here for Master Samuel, yes?" I nodded, throat dry. She pointed down a narrow hallway. "He's waiting. Don't keep him." Her voice carried an edge that made me pause, hinting at an unspoken expectation or challenge that made my skin prickle with apprehension. My heart hammered as I padded down the corridor, the sound of my own footsteps impossibly loud. The memory of the phone booth—of tearing that page from the directory and seeing the name Samuel Sung—flashed in my mind. It was the only lead I had, the only thread connecting me to something that might resemble purpose. Yet, something felt strangely mismatched, as if stepping into this unknown might lead me to more questions than answers.
At the end of the hall, a simple sliding door stood half-open. Beyond it, sunlight spilled across polished wood. Master Samuel stood in the center of the room, back straight, arms folded. He was older than I'd expected—gray at the temples, weathered, yet with a presence that radiated controlled strength. His eyes, when he turned, held both warmth and something sharper, like a blade hidden in velvet.
"Daniel," he said, voice calm and deep. "You finally arrive."
I hesitated, unsure if I should bow. He saved me the trouble, inclining his head in a gesture of welcome. "Sit."
I lowered myself onto the floor, legs tucked awkwardly beneath me. He studied me in silence. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant city and the faint crackle of incense.
"You have questions," Samuel said at last. "But answers are earned, not given."
I swallowed. "Then how do I earn them?"
He smiled—a quick, almost imperceptible thing. "First, you must show me who you are."
I blinked. "I'm not sure who that is."
"Good," Samuel said, his tone approving. "That's honest. But here, in this place, we discover the truth through action, not words."
He rose in a single, fluid motion. "Stand. We begin."
I scrambled up, nerves jangling. Samuel circled me, eyes appraising. "Show me your stance."
I tried to recall the muscle memories from Daniel's body. Feet apart, knees bent, hands up. It felt both natural and unnatural at the same time.
He grunted. "Not bad. But not yours yet."
He moved suddenly, testing me with a swift, probing jab. Instinct took over, and I felt the texture of the wooden floor grain under my bare feet as I adjusted my stance. I blocked, pivoted, and shifted my weight as if I'd drilled these moves a thousand times. The air snapped with the swift movement of Samuel's sleeve. He nodded, pushing me faster, testing, feinting, and striking. My body responded, each block and step precise yet almost fluidly instinctual, while my mind struggled to keep up.
After several exchanges, Samuel took a step back. "You move like a man haunted by another's ghosts."
I let out a shaky breath. "Maybe I am."
He considered that. "In this world, many carry ghosts. Some become slaves to them. Others learn to wield them."
He gestured for me to sit again. I dropped to the floor, sweat prickling my brow. Samuel poured tea from a battered kettle, handing me a cup.
He sipped, eyes never leaving mine. "You seek something. Someone."
"My sister. Chloe."
His gaze softened, just a little. "Family. The strongest anchor."
I nodded, unable to speak. He set his cup down with deliberate calm. "To find her, you must first find yourself."
A silence stretched. Then, softly, Samuel asked, "Why do you fight?"
I struggled for words. "To protect. To atone. I… I don't know anymore."
His face was unreadable. "Good. Doubt is the beginning of wisdom. Here, we face ourselves first. The rest follows."
He stood, beckoning. "Come. The day is long. Your training begins now."
For the next hour, Samuel led me through drills—stances, strikes, techniques I barely understood but my body remembered. He corrected me, sometimes with a word, sometimes with a sharp tap. When I faltered, he was patient. When I excelled, he was silent, letting discipline be its own reward.
Finally, panting and sore, I dropped to my knees. Samuel crouched beside me, voice low. "You carry much pain. Turn it into strength. Tomorrow, you return. Earlier. Stronger."
I met his eyes. "Why help me?" He smiled, a little sad. "Because I, too, once searched for someone. And because sometimes the world gives us a second chance, not to erase the past, but to change what we do with it. This moment, this chance you have now, could be your own way to make peace with what came before." He rose and left me kneeling in the golden light, breathless but alive, the seeds of hope just beginning to take root.
I rise, ready for tomorrow. I leave and get an apartment room close to the dojang.
I head to bed, awaiting the next day.
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[done, thanks for reading this chapter]