The technical name of my father’s dojo is the Megumi Kara Tsuyo (Strength from Grace). I teach the after school class from 4 to 5:30 p.m. My father’s adult class, the one with Jigoro, begins at 6 and runs to 8. To get the most out of our brief class period, I’ve pushed the concept of punctuality to the point of having everyone in the dojo dressed in their kendo gear and ready to go at 4’o clock on the dot. The only person who’s generally a few minutes late is Spree.

To open the class, I stand in front of my students in the center of the room while they form a straight line organized from the lowest ranking students on the left to the highest ranking student, Spree, on the far right of the group. Spree orders the class to sit in the seiza kneeling position. We all kneel for a brief meditation. When I feel the meditation is sufficient, I nod to Spree. He then orders the class to face the main wall, and we bow. Afterwards, he orders the class to face the instructor. He and the other students bow to me with their heads touching the floor. I repeat the gesture, and then order the class to stand.

We move on to the warm up exercises and stretching. In total, this process takes us about six or seven minutes. Next, I want to jump right into the offensive techniques that we’ll be practicing this day. As per my father’s instructions, we always begin the first day of the week with the most basic and fundamental techniques. My father is a deep believer in the value of practicing the basics. For my students this can sometimes seem boring, yet the inherent value of this practice reveals itself in the progress they make. Even my newest student, eight-year old Emiko Gozen, shows great promise after only three months of practicing the basics. So in this dojo we stick to the fundamentals.

The first and most basic technique is the head strike. The formal name for this is “men,” literally meaning head. Its two variations are hidari men (strike to the head above the left temple) and nigi men (strike to the head above the right temple). I summon Spree to approach me as my training partner. He takes a centered fighting stance directly opposite of me. I mirror his stance in the same position. To demonstrate the technique that I want my students to focus on, I lunge forward with a single step called the fumikomi-ashi and strike the center of his head. Spree is wearing his helmet and body armor, so this doesn’t hurt him.

After demonstrating the technique three more times, I let my students get to work. There are 24 members of the Hanabira, not including myself. Our demographic breakdown is 12 males, 12 females, 16 high school students, and 8 students in middle school or below. I’m also proud to say that we have an equal mix of native-born Chowans at 12 and foreign-born or immigrant students, also at 12. Spree Flitz is in fact half-Chowan and half-Søren, but as his Chowan father married his immigrant mother, Spree counts as Chowan. Eli and Eowin Genesis were both born in Whimsy and their parents immigrated to this country eight years ago.

Having immigrant students may not seem like much to brag about to some people, but I think that it is. Cho has a new and emerging immigrant population. Mass waves of immigrants only began to migrate to this country in the past 20 years. Unfortunately, there’s still a lot of racial and cultural prejudice in Cho. My immigrant students often face problems in their daily lives, yet here at the Megumi Kara Tsuyo all people are accepted and treated as equals.

I watch the performance of my students with a smile of satisfaction hidden behind my mask. The Hanabira are my pride and joy. I derive great pleasure from using my kenjutsu knowledge to benefit the lives of others. The little ones are a special pleasure to me. Technically, they’re not as proficient as the older students, but what they lack in skill they make up for with enthusiasm. They have so much fun during class and they bring bundles of joy to everyone around them. Even Spree is occasionally protective of the little ones. That’s important in this town where there’s so much corruption and gang influence these days. My biggest nightmare would be for my students to become no account gang members. I worry about this every single day without exception.

Fortunately, there are some great kendoka in this class. Their good example will hopefully keep everyone’s morale high, which will be pivotal in overcoming the myriad negative influences in Prosperity. As I previously mentioned, Spree is the best kendoka after me. He’s also the class’s most senior student. The siblings Eli and Eowin are another couple of formidable swordsmen. They always set a good example for the class with their hard work and positive budo spirit. Other particularly noteworthy students are Daitaro Hanabi, 16, Takeshi Maeda, 14, Tatiane Munoz, a 13-year-old from Selva, Miho Ito, 16, and the best female swordsmen after me, and Shazi Assaf, a 16-year-old immigrant from Kanabo who already knows a fencing style that uses a curved sword called a scimitar. These students work with me as co-instructors to help exemplify proper techniques and martial mannerism to my younger students.

Saving the best for last, I use the final 30 minutes of class time for sparring practice. My senior students and I line up in the center of the room. The rest of the junior students rotate to our positions every five minutes. This allows all of them to get in practice with kendoka who know what they’re doing well enough to not hurt them while also providing constructive criticism. Our first wave of sparring is just about to begin when uninvited intruders suddenly step into our dojo.

These intruders are four more Shenrong Butchers. They come in strutting and rudely step into the dojo without even removing their shoes. Their presence causes my heart to palpitate with nervousness. My anxiety has to do with the influence they could exert over my little ones and not because I’m scared to fight them. Yet at the same time, I can’t just run up and start swinging my sword at them. My father’s 14th principle of kenjutsu is “Do all within your power to avoid a fight. The sword must be your last recourse.” My students have heard this principle a thousand times, and it would scandalize them more than anything else to see their instructor run up and attack people without even trying to open a dialogue. As such, my hands are tied. I take off my gloves and remove my mask so that I can speak to them as if they were civilized human beings, which I already know they aren’t.

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“Spree, keep the class going,” I order once my mask is off. Spree takes an examining look at our uninvited visitors, and then gestures with his sword for the class to continue. Amid the clinking sound of wooden swords, I move to the Shenrong Butchers to see what they want.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

One of them steps forward. He’s a savage young man with fiery red hair thrown every which way, a red kimono top that’s neither tucked nor tied together, and red hakama pants. He evaluates me with his chin in his fingers. “Just looking,” he says.

He and his companions glare beyond me to watch my students sparring. At the same time, I do a little evaluating of my own and sum up the young man and his companions. There are three men and one woman. They’re all too old for high school, but still quite young looking. My guess is they’re all in their 20s. Each of them has either dyed red hair or red clothing to signify that they belong to the Shenrong Butchers, and unlike the group of them we encountered before, these four are armed with swords. To fight them with my bamboo shinai would be folly. I have to try to convince them to leave peacefully with words.

“If you’re looking for kendo lessons, then go somewhere else. We don’t teach gangsters at the Megumi Kara Tsuyo.”

Their front man replies, “I’m not looking for lessons; I’m looking for soldiers.”

“Listen up!” he shouts with a volcanic voice. At once I cover my ears. My head rings from the unexpected percussion of his voice. Even worse, his call gets Spree and the other students to stop what they’re doing. He steps around me and moves closer to my class. In a panic I scurry to get back in front of him and point my sword to his throat. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he doesn’t even flinch. He moves straight into a recruitment speech instead.

“Yo, the name’s Ifrit Kazan. I’m the leader of the Shenrong Butchers. Word has it that some of your guys put the smack down on some of my guys earlier today. Congrats on that. We’re recruiting and the number one thing we look for in new members is power. Now, you might be thinking, why in the fiery gray hell would I want to join the Sherong Butchers? Well, let me tell you.

Being a butcher comes with a lotta perks. For one, no more stupid flippin’ school with its dumb teachers, and pointless home work assignments. Two, whatever you want is yours. Candy, toys, nice food, your choice of boys, girls, women, men, whatever you want. Name it and it’s yours. Three, you get to roll deep in a gang of winners. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with you when you’re a Butcher. And four, every new member gets one wish granted. Whatever you want. Ask for a star and I’ll pull one down for ya. Any questions?”

I answer for everyone. “Great speech, but we’re not interested. Now leave!”

Ifrit points his finger to someone behind me. “You don’t have to raise your hand, but go ahead.”

I spin around in horror. Someone has a question?

“Do the members get paid?” Spree asks.

“Good question,” answers Ifrit. “Our members generally don’t need money since everything is provided. But those who bring in the bacon are our raid parties. If you join a raid party, then, yes, you receive a commission percentage of the cut. Bonuses are given to those who perform especially well. Our tops guys pull down about 50,000 âmes a month. So yeah, the money’s good. Other questions?”

“No!” I shout.

“Do we really get girls?” I hear my student Daitaro ask.

I turn to him deeply hurt. “Daitaro!”

Ifrit smirks as if it were a stupid question. “Of course! All the girls you want. In the Shenrong Butchers, we share our women. Nobody is reserved. In fact…” He turns around to look at the female Butcher behind him. “Vanessa, show him your tits.”

The young woman grabs the bottom of her shirt. I immediately blast her with the Light Breeze spell to stagger her backwards. “Stop it! There are children present here!”

“Good point,” Ifrit says. “Shame on you Vanessa.”

“Other questions?”

I swing my bamboo sword at Ifrit’s neck and stop only a half-inch away from it. “You’ve had your say. Now get out!”

Spree shouts, “Ifrit, you said that the members get their choice of women, but what if the woman you want isn’t a Butcher? What then?”

Ifrit ignores me and smiles. “The Shenrong Butchers take what they want. End of story.”

I begin to shake with anxiety. My Hanabira are actually listening to this psychopath while I stand by helplessly. It’s like a scene out of my worst nightmare. I feel a sudden stinging sensation in my fingers and toes. I think I’m about to have a panic attack.

Ifrit takes a step backwards. “Alright guys. If you ever feel like joining up with us just tell one of our members that you’re from this dojo and that you want to see Ifrit. They’ll bring you to our base where we can talk.”

Finally, Ifrit and his cohorts depart. They’re just in time. My symptoms are starting to grow worse and I have to get away. As soon as they’re out the door, I shout, “Class dismissed!”

This throws my students for a loop. Ending a training session in the dojo is not like the bell ringing at the end of a class at school. There’s a formal proceeding of lining up and bowing that has to be respected. However, I’m about to lose it.

I run out the backend of the dojo and journey to the far end of a narrow hallway where there is a room that only members of the Hiko family are allowed to enter. In this room, there is a set of samurai armor with our family’s sacred sword placed on a stand in front of the armor. The sword is called Megumi, which means “Blessing.” It has divine-grade properties and it vastly expands the martial abilities of its wielder. However, not even our sacred sword can save me from a panic attack.

Feeling the sensation of imminent death as my heart beats hard enough to explode, I collapse to the ground.