The old man looked at him.
Not angry.
Not insulted.
Almost sad.
“What are you trying to prove?”
“That you got lucky.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because they’re watching.”
The old man turned toward the students.
Then back.
“Yes.”
“They are.”
Tyler’s face hardened.
“Put on gloves.”
The old man shook his head.
“No.”
Tyler laughed.
“There it is.”
The old man began walking toward his shoes.
Tyler spoke loudly enough for the class to hear.
“Knew it.”
The old man stopped.
Daniel said:
“Tyler, shut your mouth.”
But Tyler kept going.
“Old-school tricks are one thing. Real striking is different.”
The old man slowly turned.
“What do you teach here?”
Tyler frowned.
“Karate.”
“No.”
The old man shook his head.
“What do you teach?”
Tyler gestured toward his belt.
“Advanced fighting.”
The old man looked at the black belt.
Then at him.
“Interesting.”
Something about the word irritated Tyler more than an insult would have.
“What’s interesting?”
The old man pointed toward the belt.
“That means something different where I come from.”
Tyler folded his arms.
“And where’s that?”
Daniel finally answered.
“Okinawa.”
The room went still.
Tyler looked at him.
“What?”
Daniel sighed.
“His name is Kenji Sato.”
Nobody reacted immediately.
Then Assistant Instructor Mei Tanaka looked up sharply.
“Kenji Sato?”
The old man glanced toward her.
She stared.
“My father has your book.”
Tyler turned.
“Book?”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“You really have no idea who you challenged.”
Kenji put on one shoe.
Tyler looked around.
Nobody was laughing now.
Mei stepped closer.
“Sensei Sato?”
Kenji smiled.
“Just Kenji.”
Her eyes widened.
“You trained under Hiroshi Nakamura.”
“For a while.”
“And Masao Uehara.”
Kenji shrugged.
“Long time ago.”
Daniel turned toward the students.
“Mr. Sato has been training martial arts for more than fifty-five years.”
Tyler stared.
Daniel continued.
“Karate.”
“Judo.”
“A little aikido.”
“Police defensive tactics.”
“Military instruction.”
Kenji lifted a hand.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“You make it sound like I fought in three wars.”
Daniel looked at him.
“You trained my father.”
“That does not make me ancient.”
“You are seventy-one.”
“Seventy-two next month.”
“That made my point worse.”
A few students laughed.
Kenji smiled.
Tyler did not.
He stared at the old man’s hands.
Suddenly all those tiny movements meant something.
The timing.
The balance.
The complete absence of panic.
Tyler asked:
“Why are you dressed like that?”
Kenji looked down at his shirt.
“Like what?”
“Normal.”
Kenji smiled.
“I went to lunch.”
The students laughed.
Tyler looked toward Daniel.
“Why is he here?”
Daniel crossed his arms.
“He’s teaching the weekend seminar.”
Silence.
Tyler’s face changed completely.
The weekend seminar.
The one Daniel had promoted for two months.
The one Tyler had complained about because the guest instructor’s name had not been announced.
Daniel wanted students to attend without being influenced by reputation.
Tyler had called that “marketing stupidity.”
Now he understood.
Kenji finished putting on his shoes.
Then reached for his tea.
Tyler stood alone in the center of the mat.
Still shirtless.
Still wearing the black belt.
It suddenly looked heavier.
Daniel looked at him.
“Class is over.”
Nobody moved.