Chapter 9: The Principle of the Empty Cup

I show up at 5:48 AM. "Early," I grunt, and she just nods.

This time, she doesn't have a staff.

"Attack me," she says.

"You serious?" I say, my body already protesting. "No weapons this time? Think I'll actually land a hit?"

"No," she says.

And I don't.

It's worse. It's so, so much worse.

Her empty hands are faster than the staff. She doesn't just block me; she... redirects me.

I throw a punch, and suddenly I'm spinning off-balance. I try to kick, and she uses my own momentum to throw me face-first into the mat.

She's using Aikido. Or Jujutsu. Or... something. I don't even know. All I know is that my own strength is completely useless. The harder I attack, the harder I hit the floor.

It's humiliating.

After an hour, I'm a puddle of sweat and failure again.

"You're full," she says, standing over me.

"I'm... what?" I gasp, trying to get air into my lungs. My ribs feel like they're on fire.

"You're a full cup. Your anger, your pride, your 'street' techniques... your cup is full of dirty water. There is no room for anything new."

She's talking in riddles again.

"What... are you... talking about...?"

"You cannot learn," she says, walking to the side of the dojo. "Because you already think you know."

She comes back with two wooden bokken—training swords. She throws one, and it clatters onto the mat next to my head.

"Get up. Pick it up."

I groan, but I do it. I grab the wooden sword. It feels heavy and awkward in my hand. I get to my feet, my legs shaking.

"I've never... used one of these..."

"I know," she says, taking a stance, the sword held in a perfect, two-handed grip. "Show me what you think you know."

I raise the sword, holding it like a baseball bat. "This is stupid."

"Your stance is pathetic. Your feet are wrong. Your grip is suicidal. You are holding it like a club. It is an extension of your body, not a hammer."

"Just shut up!"

I charge her, swinging the bokken with all my strength.

CLACK!

Her sword meets mine. The sound is sharp, echoing through the dojo. But it's not a block.

She deflects my blow, the swords sliding. In the same motion, her bokken taps me. Hard.

On the wrist.

I scream and drop the sword. My entire arm goes numb, white-hot agony shooting up to my shoulder.

"You lead with anger," she says, her voice flat. "You swing from your shoulders. All your power is in one, predictable, telegraphed motion."

I'm on my knees, cradling my wrist. "You... you broke it..."

"If I had wanted to break it, it would be in three pieces." She pokes my dropped bokken with her own. "Pick it up. Left hand."

"I... I'm right-handed!"

"And now you are not. Pick. It. Up."

This is torture. Pure, calculated torture.

I pick it up with my left hand. It feels even more useless.

"Again," she commands.

We spar. Or rather, she lectures me using a wooden sword.

CLACK! "Your footwork is atrocious. You are flat-footed." THWACK! (My elbow) "You are over-extending." CLACK! "You are watching my sword. Watch my eyes. Watch my center." THWACK! (My knee) "Pathetic."

By the time 8 AM rolls around, I am covered in new, agonizing bruises. I am sitting on the floor, my head in my hands, utterly destroyed.

"I don't get it," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

She's quiet for a long time. I look up.

Ayako is standing by the window, staring out at the rising sun. Her ponytail is still perfect.

"Because... that night at the hospital," she says, her voice surprisingly soft. "The two students, Miki and Kenji. You saved them."

I blink. "Yeah... so?"

"It was inefficient. It was reckless. It was idiotic. You almost died."

She turns to look at me, her dark eyes pinning me to the floor.

"But you did save them."

"And if you are going to be so stupid as to keep doing it... you might as well learn to survive. Your constant, heroic failures are... problematic."

She's... this is her way of... helping?

She walks over and stands above me.

"Empty your cup, Shoujo Minatawa."

It's the first time she's ever used my first name. It hits me harder than the bo staff.

"Forget your brawling. Forget your anger. Forget everything you think you know."

"Come back tomorrow. Empty."

She leaves.

I sit there, alone in the dojo, for a long time. My body is a wreck.

But my mind...

My cup is starting to feel a little bit empty.