Seline had been standing in front of the training hall door for several minutes. The sun behind her was setting, about to disappear completely behind the tall buildings.

  “Why are you even doing this?” she thought to herself, staring at the wooden door, cracked from time and moisture.

  She tightened her grip on the backpack strap.

  Her heart was beating irregularly, like before an exam.

  The doubt was physical: a slight lump in her throat, trembling fingers, a dry mouth.

  From behind the door came muffled thuds — the metallic ring of steel, short shouts, the creak of a wooden floor.

  Every sound resonated somewhere deep inside.

  “Why did I even come here?..”, she wondered.

  “I’m not cut out for this. I don’t even know how to hold a sword properly. Everyone will be staring...”

  She closed her eyes.

  She remembered herself that morning — in the silence of her room, phone in hand, pressing “Sign Up.”

  She had been scared then, but there was something new in that fear.

  Not pain, but a desire — to live.

  Seline took a deep breath.

  Her hand touched the cold metal handle.

  A moment — and she pushed the door open.

  The smell of polish and iron hit her nostrils.

  Inside, it was unexpectedly quiet. Only the muffled steps on the wooden floor and the occasional sharp clang of metal on metal.

  A large, bright hall, contrary to the grey, nondescript building that housed it. High ceilings, rows of weapon racks, white masks on the walls.

  And a few people — in uniform, focused, intently silent.

  Every movement was precise — not a fight, but a dance.

  Seline froze in the doorway.

  Her heart was pounding wildly.

  “It’s not too late to just... leave. No one will even notice...”, flashed through her mind.

  “You must be new?” A calm male voice came from behind the girl.

  She turned around.

  A man in a white keikogi stood before her — tall, with a gentle yet attentive gaze.

  “My name is Jin. I am the master of this dojo,” he said calmly, his eyes not leaving the girl’s flustered face.

  “Doj...”, Seline tried to repeat the unfamiliar word.

  “Dojo,” Jin smiled, “That’s what a place for learning Eastern martial arts is called. But literally translated, it means ‘a place where one seeks the way.’”

  The girl nodded. The fear loosened its grip a little.

  “You can call me sensei.”

  Seline nodded again.

  “My name is Seline,” the girl said quietly.

  “Well then, Seline, go get changed,” the sensei smiled and gestured toward the changing room.

  She froze for a moment, as if still doubting. She clenched the backpack straps tightly, closed her eyes, exhaled, and headed for the changing room.

  “An interesting girl...” Jin thought to himself, watching her go, “She has the makings of a fine swordswoman.”

  He turned to the students, who had been intently watching the master meet the newcomer.

  “Have you forgotten what it was like when you first came here?” the master asked sternly, letting his gaze sweep over each student standing in the center of the hall, “Ten laps!”

  “Huh?!” the young swordsmen wailed in unison.

  Seline had already changed but was still sitting on the bench in the changing room. She couldn’t believe she was here. Yet, the doubts in her head were growing quieter.

  The girl stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her uniform. The white keikogi felt unfamiliar; the fabric seemed stiff and cool.

  She looked at herself — and barely recognized the reflection.

  “Well, not bad at all,” Seline said with satisfaction, turning in front of the mirror.

  The bewildered girl left the changing room and hesitantly stopped at the edge of the tatami.

  The white uniform felt strange, the fabric rustling slightly with every movement.

  She felt like an outsider — as if she hadn’t come for a training session, but had stepped into another world.

  Jin stood in the center of the hall, holding a wooden sword. Seeing her, he gave a short nod.

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  “Come here.”

  Seline moved closer.

  He handed her a bokken — heavy, though made entirely of wood.

  The girl took the wooden katana with both hands, and her slender shoulders tensed instantly.

  The sensei watched the girl’s demeanor closely. He immediately noticed the tension, the uncertainty in Seline’s stance and grip.

  “Have you ever held anything like this before? A bat or a stick, perhaps?” Jin asked.

  “Just a frying pan...” Seline smiled.

  “Then we start from scratch,” the master smiled.

  Seline nodded timidly.

  “Remember one thing,” Jin said, “The katana is a mirror. If you tremble, the blade trembles too, and it becomes useless. If you are calm and confident — it will cut the air. Breathing is the most important part of the swordsman’s path. If it is steady, your movements will be precise and light. But if it falters for even a second, you lose control, and every swing will feel heavy, like dragging a stone up a mountain.”

  Seline listened carefully, trying to grasp the meaning. She understood what the sensei was saying but doubted she could put any of it into practice.

  “Now, relax,” the trainer smiled and stepped closer.

  “Right hand closer to the guard, left — at the end of the hilt. Don’t clench your fingers. Heels slightly apart, knees soft. Shoulders relaxed,” Jin instructed, correcting her stance.

  Seline obediently did everything the sensei said. And now she was standing straight, more or less confidently, and surprisingly relaxed.

  “This is chūdan-no-kamae,” he explained, “The middle stance. The sword points at the opponent’s heart.”

  She nodded.

  The sensei stood beside her in the same stance.

  “Now — inhale,” Jin slowly raised his katana overhead, “and exhale.”

  A sharp downward cut.

  Even though the katana was wooden, the cut passed with a sharp whistle, as if cleaving the air.

  Seline repeated it.

  Her strike was uneven; the blade veered sideways.

  “Not with force,” he corrected. “With your breath. First the inhale — then the movement.”

  She tried again.

  This time, the sword seemed lighter, her arm moved more smoothly.

  Jin nodded, squinting slightly.

  “There. Better already.”

  Seline felt something respond in her chest.

  Not pride — calmness.

  As if something inside had evened out.

  The other students continued their practice sequences. Their strikes fell evenly and rhythmically, merging into a single cadence.

  Jin turned to the others and commanded.

  “Chūdan-no-kamae. One hundred suburi.”

  All the students lined up and assumed the stance.

  Seline stood at the end and only understood the first part of the command. The girl next to her was already preparing to start the drill, but Seline interrupted her.

  “Ex... excuse me...” Seline said timidly, “What does ‘one hundred suburi’ mean?”

  “Suburi,” the swordswoman corrected her, “One hundred suburi is one hundred swings of the katana through the air. It’s to perfect the movement.”

  “Th... thank you,” Seline whispered and took her stance.

  “A hundred times... my shoulders are going to fall off...” she muttered under her breath but made the first swing nonetheless.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Her arms began to tremble, but she continued, trying to focus all her attention on her breathing.

  With each swing, her movements grew more confident.

  And somewhere between the thirtieth and fortieth — she no longer felt her shoulders.

  Jin watched the new student carefully. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

  “She learns quickly,” he noted, watching each swing of her bokken become sharper, “Her physical condition is mediocre, of course... but her spirit is strong. What drives her...?”

  All the other students had already finished their hundred strikes, and only Seline was trying to raise her arm for the forty-sixth.

  “But spirit alone won’t get you far...” Jin smiled, seeing the newcomer barely holding her bokken.

  “Finish up,” the sensei commanded. “Now pair up. Seline, come to me.”

  While the students looked for partners, Seline shuffled over to the trainer, barely moving her feet.

  “You did well. Very good for a first time,” Jin said, placing a hand on her shoulder. He felt her body trembling under his palm.

  “Th... thanks,” the girl mumbled breathlessly. “But I want to finish the suburi.... I only did forty-six.”

  “Suburi,” the sensei corrected her. “It’s not the quantity, but the quality that defines mastery. Your limit for today is forty-six. Forty-six conscious swings. If you continue, you’ll lose the meaning, just chasing a number.”

  Seline raised her head. Her eyes showed fatigue — and a strange calm.

  “That’s enough for today. Next training is the day after tomorrow.”

  “Okay, sensei,” Seline said briskly, not understanding where the energy came from.

  Jin smiled.

  Seline slowly placed the bokken back on the rack and went to the changing room.

  Her legs were shaking, her shoulders buzzing, her palms sore, but she had liked it.

  After changing and carefully folding the keikogi into her backpack, she sat on the wooden bench in the changing room for a while longer, convincing herself that coming here had been the right decision.

  “This is unbearably hard...” Seline drawled, throwing her head back, “But I liked it...”

  She picked up her backpack and headed for the exit.

  “Still alive?” Jin asked, standing by the exit.

  “Mhm,” Seline smiled, “All good.”

  “Excellent. I’ll expect you at the next training,” the Sensei said.

  “Goodbye!” Seline called out cheerfully and reached for the door handle.

  “You’ve forgotten something,” the Sensei said.

  “Huh?” Seline asked, trying to figure out what she could have forgotten.

  “Rei,” Jin smiled.

  “Rei?” the girl asked, puzzled.

  “Rei is a bow, an element of dojo etiquette. The beginning and end of any practice.”

  Seline froze, then, embarrassed, set her backpack down at her feet and awkwardly bowed forward.

  “Like this?”

  Jin nodded.

  Seline straightened up, turned to the door, and pulled the iron handle. She left the dojo.

  Outside, it was already dark.

  The air was cool, fresh — with a slight scent of wet asphalt and pine from a nearby park.

  The streetlights barely illuminated the road, their light fracturing in puddles into soft golden highlights.

  Cars sped by, leaving trails of light in their wake.

  Seline stopped at the curb and took a deep breath.

  Her shoulders still ached, her fingers were sore from the bokken, but there was calm in her chest.

  Her body was tired, but her soul — for the first time in a long while — felt light.

  She looked up at the sky.

  Between the rooftops, faint, barely discernible stars flickered, timidly breaking through the city lights.

  “Thank you, sensei...”, Seline whispered.

  She smiled almost imperceptibly.

  Then she slung both backpack straps over her aching shoulders and walked home.