There seem to be a few more cars in the parking lot when I arrive at the center today, and the fact that there are cars here catches my attention. Cars aren't common due to their expense in both up-front costs and in paying for the magic cores that fuel them. In the lower districts, we usually only see vehicles being used to deliver things to a business, pick up trash and recycling, or for police officers. Not for normal people.
I should have noticed this last night and realized that they had clients from the middle districts. While cars aren't common there, either, someone working for a higher company in the middle districts might have a car, especially if they're splitting costs with someone else.
Reaching the front doors, I enter the foyer and approach the reception desk. Tabitha and the woman from yesterday are sitting behind it, while Thomas is leaning against the wall behind them, sipping a hot drink from a mug.
"Good evening," I greet them as I push my hood back.
"Good evening, Kieran," Tabitha gives me a concerned look as I pull my membership card out for her to scan. "Lucas didn't try anything with you last night, did he?"
"Try something?" By the time I realize what she means, she's already responding.
"He mentioned he spent the night because it was late," she says. "Despite him being able to just light-walk home in relative safety. Power users also tend to be pretty horny, and he's been getting hookups ever since he broke up with his boyfriend to deal with that. He didn't stay over to force-"
"No," I interrupt. "Lucas didn't try anything. We just slept, that's it. It was my idea for him to stay over, I was a bit worried with it being late and everything. With how tired he was, I was worried someone might be able to jump him before he noticed. It was just-nothing happened. Don't worry."
"Okay," she lets out a sigh of relief. "We were wondering if we'd need to get Grandpa involved over it. Lucas hasn't done something like that yet, but you never know when someone uses their powers as much as he does."
"Yeah, no, he's good," I say. "He's fine."
"Okay," she chuckles. "Thomas will take you to the area you'll be meeting Lucas in. You're a little early, so his class is still going at the moment."
"Thanks," I say. "I was wanting to make sure I got here in time, in case something came up on the trip."
Thomas sets his mug down as she nods, then he beckons for me to follow him. We walk towards the back of the facility, leading up to a door with a scanner.
"Scan your membership card," he tells me, and I do, the light on the scanner switching from red to green. "Come on."
He opens the door and lets me in, then follows behind me.
"We're pretty strict about entry to here," he tells me. "If you're caught letting someone in and they aren't a gold member, your gold membership will be revoked, and probably your full membership."
"What if it's a staff member?"
"That's fine," he chuckles. "We're going up the stairs here."
Thomas leads me up to the fourth floor, and to a room where Lucas is teaching seventeen people martial arts. They're varying in age between ten and fifty, all dressed in white gis with various colors of belts. White and black, I recognize. There are also orange, yellow, green, brown, and purple, too.
Lucas, on the other hand, is wearing a dark blue gi with a black belt. His has five white stripes on each end of the belt, too.
"Here we are," Thomas says quietly when we enter, giving a small bow to the room. "Always bow to the room when entering or exiting, and do the same to the mats before stepping on and after stepping off. Never set foot on the mats with shoes on."
"Understood," I nod, taking a seat on one of the benches lining the wall.
Thomas leaves, and I watch the end of the lesson. It mostly consists of a set of cool-down exercises, and the session ends and quarter-to-six.
"Thanks for coming today," Lucas says as everyone is stepping off the mats. "Remember to practice in your own time as well if you wish to improve, and stay safe this evening."
Some of them put on shoes and jackets and leave, others slip on shoes and exit, probably heading to the changing rooms up here. Just as Thomas mentioned to me, everyone bows to the mats after stepping off of them, then to the room before leaving. They all do so with their hands at their sides, a slight bow at the waist while keeping their backs and necks straight. Not deep bows, just slight ones.
Lucas himself disappears into a room off of this room for a few minutes, returning after everyone has left with a folded gi in his hands.
"Here you go," he says. "This should be in your size, and since we're alone in here and the door is closed, you can put it on without heading to the changing room. Or if you're worried someone might step in, you can use the changing rooms, just hang a left when you leave, second door on the left."
"I'll change here," I pull off my hoodie. "What's with the different belt colors?"
"It shows your rank," he answers as I undress. "White is for beginners, black is the highest. For those under sixteen, we also use yellow, orange, and green to denote their next rank up, as many kids tend to be discouraged by how long it can take to reach blue belt, the next adult belt, and so don't feel rewarded. For adults, it goes from white to blue, then purple, then brown, then black.
"How quickly you reach each one," he tells me as I pull on the gi pants. They're light and comfortable, sort of like pajama pants. "Depends on your skill level. That's what we test for here – your skill. Some people are able to advance to black within six months, others take a few years to reach blue."
"Depends on how much they train in their own time?"
"Partly," he nods. "Dedication, private lessons, and a few other things can contribute. Some people have a natural talent for it, such as me."
"I see," I pull on the gi jacket, then try to figure out the belt.
"Here," he walks me through it by showing me with his own belt. I still screw it up, so he moves behind me and undoes the belt. "Watch it like this, that should help you see how it's done."
Having him standing like this, his arms around me, is rather distracting. I'm barely able to focus on this, and that tells me all I need to know. I apparently did fall for him in under a day, and I completely missed the demonstration due to thinking about the feel of his body against mine like this, his calm words in my ear.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"Got it?" Lucas asks once he finishes tying the belt.
"Uh… no. Sorry. I, uh, got distracted."
"I'm wearing a cup, so I know it's not that."
Way to tell me that you're… oh. Because of power use, or something else?
"This is the second time in a day I've been this close to someone, when I don't normally have people touching me ever since my parents died."
"Oh," his voice is quiet. "Uh, sorry."
"It's fine," I say. "I do, uh, need another demonstration. You can, uh, stay like this."
"Okay," he says.
This time, I do my best to pay attention to how he moves his hands to tie the belt, then he steps away and has me try it. I manage to succeed in fixing the belt properly with this attempt.
"Thanks," I tell him.
"No problem," he says.
"So, uh, what's with the stripes on the belt?" I ask. "I noticed a couple of the others had one or two."
"They denote the dan, or degree," he tells me. "Our dojo here uses a ten-dan system for black belts. To advance to the next, you need to both improve your skill and have been at the dan you're at for at least as many years as the dan number. So while you can hit first-dan within six months if you're good enough, it takes one year, minimum, to reach second-dan. Two years of being second-dan to reach third, three to reach fourth, and so on."
"You have five," I say. "So you earned your black belt ten years ago?"
"Twelve," he answers. "The youngest we'll test someone for black belt is when they're eight, and I tested right on my eighth birthday out of impatience. Some places require certain attitudes and mindsets, but ours is mostly skill. If you have the skill to advance, then you've shown the discipline needed."
Sexy and talented in multiple areas. He really does know his stuff, I guess.
"I didn't see anyone under ten," I say, and he snorts. "What?"
"We have a set of six-year-old twins on the alternate days," he tells me. "Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, in that session. There's a six-year-old girl as well, two seven-year-olds, and four eight-year-olds. There are adults and other teens, of course, but that session is the one with most of the younger kids. It wasn't intentionally set up that way, but it does make it easier to pair them against others."
"Ah."
"Let's step onto the mats," he suggests, so we do, and I make sure to bow the same way I saw everyone else bowing before stepping on. "Good, you noticed that and listened to Thomas."
"It seems important."
"It's a sign of respect to the dojo as a whole and the training space itself," he tells me. "I'm not sure what actually started the tradition, it dates to the Old Society."
"Ah."
"Yeah," he says. "We teach a mix of things here. Some sparring, some ground grappling, some throws. I'll teach you basic moves for both. To start with, we'll do a couple of basic grappling moves. We teach them to everyone first thing, because they're useful if you get attacked and are pinned down. However, we'll warm ourselves up first."
The warmup includes a dozen different stretches, pushups, situps, planking, squats, and a few other things. He spend fifteen minutes on the warmup, and by the end of it, I've learned that I'm not able to do very much at all. My body is also burning at this point, and I know I'm going to be feeling this the next few days.
Once we finish the warmup, Lucas lies on the ground and has me kneel over him with a knee to either side of his stomach, grabbing the front of his gi. In a flash, he has me flipped over and pinned down. He demonstrates this to me twice more, performing it slower each time. With a fourth demonstration, he explains the movements used for this.
"Your turn," he says. "Lie down."
I obey, and he kneels over me, then walks me through the movements. Cup my hands behind his wrist, shift my weight with my hips, and flip. It seems easy like that, but takes me a few attempts to manage it properly. He's got to have at least forty pounds on me, and I know I'm rather weak, yet I still manage to do this.
"You look shocked," he grins once I succeed. "Weight and muscle isn't everything. It can help, but with leverage – which is what you use for this technique – you can move something beyond your weight class. Some of the techniques I'll be teaching you will include moves to use an opponent's weight or momentum against them, or things like this that simply use leverage. You're a smaller guy, so we'll focus more on those than things that are better for someone with less strength. Let's try this again."
Lucas has me perform this move four more times, then teaches me there different choke-holds, which involves full-body contact between us and him teaching me how to tap-out so he knows when to stop. I also have to stop if he taps out. Otherwise, we risk the other person passing out.
The more basic choke, he shows me I can practice on my leg by bringing my knee up to my chest.
"Practice this one three times a day," he tells me. "Do it with each arm. By the time you find out if you get the security job or not, you'll probably be pretty decent at it with an actual target."
"Okay," I say.
"Let's move on to the next set of moves," he tells me.
Lucas teaches me several basic strikes and kicks, as well as a few basic blocks. Each one, he has me practice five times after he's corrected it to the proper form. After those, I'm taught a few throws, then two more grappling moves. Then he runs me through a review to see how much of it I remember, correcting me on my mistakes. There's so much physical contact between us that I quickly learn to not be distracted by it.
Well, mostly. He's noticed that something's on my mind, but doesn't pry when I tell him it's nothing to worry about.
"Alright," Lucas says after we do a few cool-down exercises. "You're going to be sore as heck for a few days, Kieran, so don't be surprised. It'll get worse before it starts to get better. The best thing to do is to just keep coming here and practicing. You can do some of these things on your own, and I'll correct you if you start developing bad forms. As long as you come here for all of the sessions, train hard and focus well, you should at least have basic competence by the start of the job."
"Thanks," I tell him, bowing to the mats as I step off, then I undo the belt and pull it and the gi top off. "The walk home is going to be fun with how sore I am."
"Worried about getting attacked?" He asks. "I can escort you if you want, my shift ends at eight every day."
I'm about to point out that he'd have to walk back before I remember that he can just light-walk back.
"No, thank you," I tell him as I pull off the pants, then pull mine back on. "I'll be fine. It's only after nine-thirty that I should really worry about anything. Uh, I just realized, but what do I do with the gi? Do I have to keep it in a locker here, or-"
"You can take it home," he tells me.
"I, uh, forgot to bring a bag."
"No worries," he says, then slips back into the room he'd entered earlier, emerging from it with a black duffel bag with the center's golden logo on the side of it in his hands. "Comes with the gold membership, too. At bronze and silver, you have to buy it for fifty dollars. I put the binder with the recipes and directions in there. It's pretty thorough on everything you need to know to make the stuff, just follow the directions."
"Thanks," I accept the bag, sticking the gi inside before I finish dressing. "So I'll see you tomorrow, in the room we were in yesterday?"
"Yep," he says. "Sure you don't want an escort home?"
I know he's just trying to be nice because I was concerned about him and he knows I'm sore and exhausted, and it makes me want to accept. But I don't think I can handle him anymore tonight, not with me definitely starting to find myself attracted to him.
"It'd be nice," I say. "But your family might get the wrong idea. They were suspicious of the real reason you stayed the night last night."
"Alright," he says. "Well, you have a good night."
"Thanks," I say. "You, too, Lucas. See you tomorrow."
I sling the bag over a shoulder, then begin the walk home. When I reach my apartment, I find it smelling of the orange chicken he wrote up the recipe for, and it smells pretty delicious. I drop the bag down and slip out of my sneakers, then walk over to the slow-cooker and switch it to WARM before getting the rice started.
The wait for the rice to finish is agonizing because the chicken smells delicious, which I didn't expect when the recipe had me add orange juice and zest to it, and I kind of want to try it now.
Once the rice finishes, I fluff it and let it sit for a minute, just as the instructions said, then I serve some on a plate and scoop some of the chicken beside it, before filling a glass with water and taking a seat on the couch.
When I take the first bite of the chicken, I find myself pretty impressed. I actually cooked something, and I didn't screw it up. It actually tastes half-decent, too. Are all of the recipes in that binder this simple to make and good to the taste?