Chapter 6: Outside The Dojo Doors
The evening class ended with the usual scraping of gi fabric and the heavy thud of heavy bags swinging against the back wall. Coach dismissed us, and the adults drifted toward the changing rooms, shedding sweat-soaked rash guards and peeling off damp belts. I unknotted my white belt, wrapped it neatly around my hand, and walked out through the heavy double doors into the cool night air.
A steady rain had started while we were on the mats, turning the asphalt of the parking lot slick and dark. The streetlights overhead flickered, casting long, wavering reflections across the puddles near the curb. I pulled my dark canvas jacket tight around my shoulders, tucking my gear bag higher up on my arm, and stepped out toward the sidewalk to check the bus schedule on my phone.
"Bus won't be here for another twenty minutes," a voice said from the shadows near the brick wall.
I turned sharply. Marcus was leaning against the fender of a silver sedan parked by the entrance. He wasn't wearing his blue gi anymore; instead, he wore a worn gray hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms and a pair of dark jeans. His short dark hair was still damp from a post-practice shower, curling slightly around his forehead. He looked younger out of uniform, stripped of the imposing black belt and the sharp authority he carried on the green puzzle mats.
"I can wait," I said, my voice neutral as I kept a couple of paces of distance between us.
Marcus gave a short, dry laugh and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. "Suit yourself. My ride's stalled out somewhere on the interstate. My brother's car broke down again, and he's texting me every two minutes acting like it's a federal emergency."
I lowered my phone, the screen casting a pale blue glow over my fingers. "Older brother?"
"Derek," Marcus said, rolling his shoulders back with a slight wince. "Two years older. He ran this dojo's competition team before he blew out his knee in college. Now he treats every local tournament like it's the Olympic trials. Every time I step on the mat, I'm basically just standing in his shadow. If I don't submit my partner in under a minute, I hear about it all the way home."
The casual confession hung in the damp air between us, quiet and unexpected. I looked at him, remembering the way he'd squared his shoulders during our first confrontation inside the bright gym, the arrogant grin he'd flashed when he told me I wouldn't last ten seconds. Underneath the swagger, the weight of family expectation was a heavy gi to carry.
"That's a lot of pressure for a Tuesday night," I said quietly, watching a set of car headlights sweep past on the wet road.
"It beats doing homework," Marcus muttered, though the edge was gone from his voice. He shifted his weight, looking down at his sneakers before glancing back up at me. "Look about last week—in the dojo. When I came at you too fast. I didn't mean to crowd you like that. Derek has this thing about dominance drills. I guess I just default to it when I'm stressed."
"You were too close," I replied, throwing his own words back at him with a faint, ironic curve to my lips.
A genuine, self-deprecating smile broke across his face, softening the sharp angles of his jaw. "Yeah. Point taken."
A gust of wind whipped rain across the pavement, making me shiver despite the jacket. Marcus noticed and immediately unzipped the outer pocket of his bag, pulling out a clean, dry grey cotton hand towel. He held it out toward me, hesitating for a fraction of a second before lowering his hand halfway.
"Here. You're going to catch a chill waiting for that bus. Take this."
I looked at the towel, then up at his face. The aggressive, posturing teenage competitor had vanished entirely, replaced by someone trying awkwardly to bridge a very wide gap.
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"I'm fine," I said, though my voice softened. I shook my head and pulled my bag tighter. "My ride's pulling up now anyway."
As a dark sedan slowed to a stop near the curb with its hazard lights blinking, I turned back toward Marcus one last time. He gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment, standing alone by his car in the rain, no longer the untouchable black belt, just another fighter trying to figure out the next hold.
