“He’s disappointed in your need to fight past the point where you injure yourself. In all the years you trained with him, did you ever wonder why he never asked you how you’d earned the money to start your own dojo in America?”
“Because ignorance is easier.”
Yasuji smiled. “Yes. You fought unknown opponents for money and other reasons he couldn’t condone if he asked you outright.”
“Well, it was a dirty little secret for me too.”
“You don’t miss it? The fighting?”
Ronin fidgeted.
“Be truthful in all things—but above all be honest with yourself,” Yasuji advised.
Sometimes these proverbs Masters Daichi and Yasuji spouted off were fucking annoying. And unhelpful. Like he was supposed to be honest now and confess that he still dreamt of getting in the ring and beating the fuck out of someone? Right.
The only person he talked to about his need to prove his superiority in the ring was Deacon—because he was the only person who understood. “I’ll admit I miss the physical challenge. Or thought I did until I got here and Sensei reinforced the idea that training should always be more rigorous and consistent than the random outcome of three, three-minute rounds.”
“Agreed.”
Ronin pushed off the wall. “Thank you, as always, for your insight. Now that I’ve had my break, I’d better get back to it.”
Yasuji shook his head. “You’re done.”
He bristled. “No offense, Master Yasuji, but Sensei says when I’m done. Not you.”
“Ronin-san. Master Daichi walked away from you. Has he ever done that before?”
“No.”
“That’s because disarming your teacher is the sign you’ve completed your last level of training.”
“You mean when I stopped his belt from making contact?” Ronin frowned. “But that was a reflex.”
“You’ve never done more than block him. You’ve certainly never bested him. The fact you did it when you were too exhausted to remain on your feet proves you’ve learned all you can from him.”
“But . . .” Dumbfounded, Ronin could only stare at the man. “How do I know that’s what he wants? He didn’t say a damn word.”
Yasuji draped Daichi’s belt over Ronin’s shoulder. “He didn’t have to. He left this for you because it belongs to you now.” He gave Ronin a deep bow. “Wear it with pride, Hachidan. You’ve earned it.”
Although Ronin was stunned by this turn of events, he bowed back, remaining in the position until he schooled his features and got a better grip on his emotions. Then he tied the belt around his waist. “So I’m just supposed to grab my bag and leave?” Without saying good-bye to him? Without knowing if I’ll ever see him again? Without knowing what—or who—lies ahead in my future training?
“My brother is not one for emotional good-byes.”
“I realize that.” Ronin also realized further arguing was pointless. He took his time packing his gear in his bag. Maybe for the first time he understood why Master Daichi only used the most basic equipment; it was easier for his students to make a quick exit.
As Ronin rolled up his hand protection, he knew Yasuji had something on his mind. “This may be your last chance to ask the question since you’re kicking me out.”
“Your intuitiveness is your greatest strength, Ronin-san. It will serve you well.”
He made the on with it gesture.
“Does it bother you that Amery presented me with a print of her bound by your rope work?”
He smiled. “Not at all. I’m glad you have proof that your years of instruction have formed me as much as Master Daichi’s. I was surprised she’d given it to you, knowing you’d likely display it in a place for all to enjoy it. My wife is modest in public.”
“So was mine.”
His head snapped up to meet Yasuji’s gaze. “But Rikya . . .” Was naked or half-naked in most of the demonstrations Yasuji had given, as well as in the dozen photo albums showcasing Master Yasuji’s rope designs.
“She grew into her place as my rope model,” he said with a smile. “It took several years before she’d wear anything less than a robe during a demonstration. I pushed her to bare all before she was ready. But it was out of male pride; she was beautiful naked, bound in my ropes, and I wanted to show her off. I’ll also admit that some of the most memorable rope designs I created on her weren’t when she was naked in body. So trust in Amery to know her own mind. She will be what you need.”
“She already is.” Ronin zipped up his duffel. “Thank you, Master Yasuji.”
“We will see each other again.”
As Ronin walked through the training center, he glanced around, trying to memorize everything, even when he knew he’d never forget the torturous devices that’d tested his physical and mental resolve. When he reached the door he turned back one last time.
Master Daichi stood on the edge of the practice mat. In the same place he’d always stood these last twenty years.
Ronin faced him, dropped his bag, and waited.
Then his sensei did the oddest thing. He smiled. A genuine smile—not the evil I’m-thinking-of-better-ways-to-torture-you grin that set Ronin’s senses on high alert. Then Daichi offered a deep, formal bow.
Which Ronin returned. When he was upright again, his former Master was already gone.