Chapter 43: The Hybrid Style

Monday, 6 AM. I am at the dojo. My body is a roadmap of old and new bruises, but my mind is clear. The terror from the Kaichou's compound has settled. The shock of the "Oasis" has focused. And the incident on the rooftop has been filed away under "Problematic Anomaly - Do Not Touch." I am no longer just a brawler. I am an asset. I am an anomaly. And I am, apparently, at war.

I slide the door open, 5:50 AM, early. She is already there, not in her black training gear, but in a simple white gi, the kind used for Aikido or Jujutsu. Her hair is in its high, severe ponytail. She is the sensei.

"You are on time," she says, her voice flat. "Your mind is less chaotic. Marginally acceptable."

"Good morning to you, too, sensei," I grunt, dropping my bag.

"The 'new update' begins today," she says, ignoring my sarcasm. "Your previous training was for foundation. It is now obsolete."

"Obsolete? I just learned how to punch!"

"You learned to throw one punch, efficiently," she corrects me, her voice like ice. "But the Region Leader at the port, he knew my style. He anticipated me. The Hitsune-kai are not brawlers. They are students of our system. My father's system. They know our corrections. They know our kata."

She turns, her dark eyes pinning me. "My perfection is a liability. My tradition is a weakness they can exploit. This is why I lost."

It is the first time I have heard her, or any Katsumi, admit to a true failure.

"So," she says, "we are no longer practicing kata. We are war-gaming."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," she says, and she drops into a low, fluid stance, "we are creating a new style."

She motions to me. "Attack me."

"Again? Ayako, we know how this ends. I charge, you hit me with a stick, I cry, you call me pathetic."

"Do not be inefficient. Attack me. For real. Use the tsuki."

I sigh. "Fine."

I take a breath. I empty my mind. I am the asset. I sink into Kiba Dachi. I feel the connection, from my heel, through my hip, and I snap. My fist shoots out, a perfect, straight line.

And she moves. She does not block it. She does not catch it. She flows. She uses an Aikido-like motion, a tenkan, pivoting on her foot. My punch, all my power, just glances off her. She is inside my guard. Her hand is a blade, aimed at my throat.

I am dead.

But I am not the old Shoujo. I am not a rock. I am a river. I am already over-extended, my punch having missed. I am falling forward. I do not fight it. I use it. I do not try to pull back. I flow with my own failure. I let my body collapse, twisting as I fall, and I sweep my leg out, not at her, but at the ankle she pivoted on.

THWACK.

My foot connects. It is not a hard hit. It is not a correction. It is just messy. But it is there.

Ayako, the goddess, the predator, the successor... stumbles. Her eyes go wide. She is shocked. Her kata did not account for a "messy variable" who attacks while falling.

I land on the mat. She lands on one knee.

We just stare at each other. The dojo is silent. My heart is hammering. I hit her. I, Shoujo Minatawa, just knocked Ayako Katsumi off her perfect, balanced pedestal.

"I... I..."

A slow, terrifying, fascinating smile spreads across her face. It is not the rooftop smirk. It is not the winning smile. It is the look of a scientist who has just discovered a new element.

"That," she whispers, her voice shaking with amusement, "was the messiest correction I have ever seen."

She gets to her feet, and I scramble up, my whole body tingling.

"It was inefficient," she says, her eyes sparkling. "It was pathetic. You left your entire body exposed. I could have corrected you ten times while you were falling."

"But...?" I ask, my voice shaky.

"But," she says, her smile vanishing, her eyes turning to ice. "I did not calculate it."

She walks to the center of the mat. "This is it," she whispers, her voice electric. "This is the 'new update'. Not my style. Not your style."

"It is the Hybrid Style. My perfection... and your chaos."

She looks at me, and she is not a goddess. She is not a demon. She is my partner.

"Again," she commands, her voice full of fire. "And this time... be messy."