“Save the world? Mmm, yes. How can I help?” The old Japanese man didn’t even flinch at my words. Having spent so much time alongside him, I knew exactly what was going on in his mind.

He had a kind smile on his face, but his English skills should have been enough to have me categorized as a basket case.

Hiro Takehiko was rather tall for a Japanese person, standing at 5’11. He had been 52 years old when the apocalypse had struck. Transplanted from his homeland to reconnect with his daughter, he made his living teaching Kendo and special classes—and cooking classes, too. The man loved cooking.

Anyway, with his greying air and rather slim build, he projected an unassuming air. My sensei had never stood out, not even when he became…

“Mister,” he pronounced with a heavy accent, “how can I help?”

“Sensei,” I stressed a smile, “how about I show you? You have time before your classes, don’t you?”

That’s when his gaze changed slightly from behind his small, circled glasses. His kind eyes sharpened as a slim grin opened on his face.

…

“Takehiko-sensei,” I bowed my head as I took the bamboo sword from him.

The man nodded at me. He hadn’t even asked my name before handing me the training gear, curious as per what I was trying to prove him. The only reason he accepted - and the only reason I asked to exchange pointers before even having a conversation - was that this man in front of me fully believed he could discern the character of a man from how they wielded their sword.

“First, this,” Takehiko-sensei spoke, motioning to approach the center of the dojo. I saw him about to explain what we were about to do, knowing he was trying to out-weird me, but I had known this man for almost my entire past life. Therefore, I surprised him by getting to the center, lowering myself on the tatami after leaving the sword and the helmet behind me, and sitting on my heels. I joined my hands together on my lap and closed my eyes.

“Ha.”

The man laughed and followed suit.

Meditation before battle, Shane-San. Visualize your enemy. Fight him a thousand times before he fights you and you will never lose.

His actual words had more ‘hums,’ and broken-up pieces, which made them sound actually much cooler than that, but that’s how I patched them up in my head. It was a long-standing dream of mind to get as cool as this man—even if that meant swapping my Brooklyn accent with a faux-Japanese one.

Five minutes passed as I ran my previous sparring sessions with the man in my head. Then, I rose up, soon followed by him. We turned almost in unison, bowing to the big scroll standing at the other end of the dojo—I had completely forgotten the name of it, but I knew how much Takehiko-sensei cared about the etiquette.

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Then, we wore the helmets and wielded the bamboo swords at each other. It was finally time for action.

“Begin,” he commanded, as we assumed our stances.

I lunged forward with a strike at his helmet, but he quickly sidestepped, countering with a side cut, which I narrowly blocked.

Thirty-years of experience and this man is still better than me, I smiled. He doesn’t know that I know all his moves, though.

And so, I let our swords clash several times, letting him size me up, before tangling them close to each other. We locked eyes from behind our helmets. In that brief moment, there was an explanation of sorts, a much better case that I could have made with only words.

We broke free of each other, the man aiming for a ruthless forearm strike, but he exposed his own chest to the briefest opening. It was, however, enough for me to move my whole body into the counterattack and smash the sword right into his ribcage.

The strike wasn’t as strong as I could have made it, but he still stumbled back, his body-language transmitting the highest of shocks.

He removed his helmet, eyes wide at me.

“I taught you,” he realized, muttering the words with a perturbed expression. “I never met you before.”

“Yes, Sensei, you have” I said, lowering my bamboo sword and taking off my helmet.

“You… child student?”

“Well, this is going to sound actually outrageous… for half an hour, at least,” I smiled, “but no. Not as a child. You’ve taught me for twenty years.”

The man frowned and shook his head, “when?”

“In the future, sensei.”

…

We sat in the break room, tea resting in our cups.

“Shane-san,” the man chewed my name, “you… future?”

“Sensei, you don’t have to believe,” I explained. “In half an hour, everything’s going to change. There’s going to be an… apocalypse.”

He looked confused because of the language barrier.

“Shumatsu,” I said, enunciating each syllable. "At least, that's how you used to call it it."

His eyes narrowed, searching mine for any hint of deceit. "Shumatsu," he repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth.

“You from the future,” he said slowly. “Where… what happens?”

“Undead,” I said, trying to remember the japanese word for it. “Zonbi?”

“Zonbi?” Now he looked perplexed. “Movies?”

“You’ll see,” I sighed. “They… are devious. The news are going to say stuff. Don’t trust the news. They will lie for years.”

From there, I just asked the man to wait, knowing that there was no best explanation of what was about to happen than to just witness it with his own two eyes.

I’ve never been a hero, I thought to myself. But this man in front of me will be one. I can make sure this time he knows all he needs to do. With his talent and my knowledge, we could take down the entire Undead Empire in a matter of a few years.

I wondered, though, what I was going to do about my father. I had briefly met the man when I had come back, then I jumped on my rusty bike to come and meet Hiro. Now that I had a chance to help, what could I do for my old man?

I can’t beat the alcoholism out of him… even when he went the first time, he still did that while drunk. Maybe… I can help Olivia? Maybe I can put them both in a shelter or something?

I had never thought about this. I had never for one moment even imagined coming back and re-doing everything would be possible. One of the reasons I hadn’t thought about it was that I immediately realized how little talent I had had for fighting. Should I have thought about it more?

I’ll ask sensei. The man is sharper than he lets on. Shoot, the one thing I should have done is learning some Japanese. Wait… should I ask him about Aoi?

My thoughts kept churning when something finally pulled at my chest.

It’s time.