Episode 2: Meeting Tristan
1010 Words
The next afternoon, Aria trudged back from school with her bag slung lazily over her shoulder.
When she entered the orphanage, the helper had already placed a neatly folded white karate gi on her bed. Aria stood by the bed and sighed. She stared at it for a whole minute, her thoughts running wild.
She reached out and touched the fabric lightly, her fingers brushing against the rough cotton.
With another sigh, she turned toward the mirror in her small room. She tied her beautiful golden blonde hair into a ponytail. Her hair was the shade of honey in summer.
Her body was slim yet toned, at five-foot-three, her weight just around fifty kilograms suited her petite but athletic frame.
Instead of wearing the gi immediately, she slipped into her favorite black tracksuit. The fitted material hugged her lightly, making her golden complexion and natural beauty pop even more. She checked herself in the mirror one last time, drew in a deep breath, and grabbed her small bag before leaving the room.
The dojo was only a short walk away from the orphanage. Its surface polished and decorated with Japanese calligraphy she couldn’t read.
The sound of rhythmic thuds and kiais—sharp shouts—echoed from inside. When the door slid open, her breath caught in her throat.
There he was.
Sensei Tristan.
He was dressed in a white gi that contrasted perfectly with his tanned, muscular frame. His chest and arms flexed effortlessly as he demonstrated moves to his students. His hair caught her eye it was a rich brunette shade, thick and slightly tousled.
His jawline was sharp, his face clean-shaven, and when he moved, the fabric of his gi shifted just enough to show the definition of his shoulders and chest.
Aria froze, momentarily lost.
He could be my father’s age, she thought suddenly, guilt prickling her chest. The thought of her father still stung. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. Did he even think about her? Would he ever come back? The ache was still raw.
“Come in,” Tristan’s deep voice broke through her thoughts.
The dojo fell into silence. Every student in the room stopped training and turned their attention toward her. Their curious eyes made Aria’s cheeks burn. She wished the floor would open and swallow her whole.
Tristan stepped forward and extended his hand with a gentle smile.
“You must be Aria,” he said.
Aria nodded “Y-yes,” her hazel eyes darted nervously around at the watching students.
“I’m Sensei Tristan,” he introduced himself formally, then bowed slightly.
“Feel free, you are welcome to our dojo. Here we practice Hayashi-ha, a traditional style of karate. But before we begin,” his eyes flicked to her tracksuit, “you’ll need to change into your gi. There’s a room just over there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Aria replied softly. Her heart hammered against her chest as she walked quickly toward the changing room, clutching her bag tightly against her chest.
A few minutes later, she returned, dressed in the crisp gi. But the moment she stepped onto the mat, a ripple of laughter spread across the room.
Confusion flashed across her face. She looked down and noticed her belt tied in a crooked mess. Her cheeks heated as embarrassment swallowed her whole.
“Quiet!”
The room instantly fell silent. Every student obeyed without question.
Tristan walked over, his expression softening as he reached her. His presence so close was overwhelming. He crouched slightly and gently tugged at her belt.
“In karate, even the uniform is treated with respect,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “There is a proper way to tie your obi (the belt). May I show you?”
With patience, he guided her through the process. His fingers moved with skill, showing her step by step how to fold the belt evenly, cross it around her waist, and secure it with a clean knot.
“Try again,” he encouraged.
She fumbled the first time, then again the second, but Tristan never lost his patience. His eyes were steady, his voice reassuring. Finally, after several attempts, she managed to tie it correctly.
“There,” he said with a proud smile. “Perfect.”
Aria couldn’t help but smile back. The warmth of his encouragement spread through her chest.
As the others returned to their drills, Tristan guided her to sit with him on the mat. Both crossed their legs, the traditional posture for beginners.
“This is where we begin,” he said. “Before we fight, before we strike, we must understand what karate truly is.”
Aria listened intently as he explained the origins of Hayashi-ha, its focus on both body and spirit, and the discipline it instilled. He spoke of respect, humility, and self control and values that shaped every student in the room.
She found herself captivated, not only by the knowledge but also by the way he carried himself. He wasn’t just teaching techniques; he was sharing a way of life.
“Karate isn’t about defeating others,” Tristan continued, his voice calm and deep. “It’s about defeating your fears, your doubts, your weaknesses. Every punch, every kick, every stance is a reflection of that journey.”
Aria’s eyes softened. For the first time in a long time, she felt hope stir in her heart. Maybe this was what she needed a path to rebuild herself, to find strength she thought she had lost.
By the end of the session, her nervousness had shifted into excitement. As she bowed to Tristan and the students before leaving, she couldn’t help but think about tomorrow. She was already looking forward to it.
That night, back at the orphanage, Aria lay awake staring at the ceiling. Her body was tired, but her mind buzzed with energy. She remembered the warmth of Tristan’s hand as he guided her belt, the calm power in his voice, and the discipline in his eyes.
- Writer
