# CHAPTER 5: Training Day

6 AM came way too early.

Sakura stumbled into the abandoned warehouse Tamotsu had texted her the address to (when did he get her number?), clutching an energy drink and questioning her life choices.

The warehouse was massive, empty except for some training mats in the center and what looked like a makeshift gym in the corner. Industrial lights cast harsh shadows. The kind of place where illegal things definitely happened.

Tamotsu was already there, of course, doing pull-ups on a bar like it was easy. He dropped down when she entered, barely winded.

"You're late."

Sakura checked her phone. "It's 6:02."

"Late is late."

"Who even has access to abandoned warehouses?"

"People in my line of work." He tossed her a water bottle. "You'll need that. Warm up—jog the perimeter, then stretches."

"Don't I get coffee first?"

"No."

"But—"

"Sakura. Perimeter. Now."

Fine. She jogged the warehouse perimeter, her footsteps echoing in the empty space. By the third lap, her blood was pumping and her brain was starting to wake up. By the fifth, she was actually feeling pretty good.

When she returned to the mats, Tamotsu had set up what looked like a defensive training course.

"Okay," he said. "Show me what you've got. Attack me."

"What?"

"You said you can fight. Prove it."

Sakura hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you."

The look he gave her was almost amused. "You won't."

That stung her pride a little. She dropped into a fighting stance—weight balanced, hands up, breathing steady. Her dad had drilled the basics into her until they were muscle memory.

She attacked.

Fast jab, testing his defenses. He blocked easily. She followed with a combination—jab, cross, hook—and he deflected all three without seeming to try.

Okay, faster.

She dropped low, swept for his legs. He stepped back. She popped up with a rising elbow that should have caught his guard down, but he caught her arm mid-strike and used her momentum to gently put her off-balance.

Not gently enough. She stumbled, caught herself, came back with a spinning kick—

He caught her ankle.

She froze, balanced on one leg, completely at his mercy.

"Not bad," Tamotsu said, lowering her foot back to the ground. "Your fundamentals are solid. But you telegraph your moves."

"I what?"

"Your eyes. You look where you're going to strike a split second before you do it. Easy to read." He stepped back into the center of the mat. "Again. This time, keep your eyes on my center mass, not your target."

They went again. And again. And again.

Each time, Tamotsu pointed out something—her footwork was sloppy in transition, she dropped her guard after combinations, she committed too much weight to her kicks. Things her instructors had told her but that she'd gotten lazy about.

Here, with him, there was no room for laziness.

After an hour, she was drenched in sweat and breathing hard. Tamotsu looked like he'd barely warmed up.

"Break," he said, tossing her the water.

Sakura collapsed onto the mat, gulping water. "Do you ever get tired?"

"Yes."

"Could have fooled me."