Despite the warnings, her gut feelings, and Marion's misgivings, Gilda returned to the school Tuesday evening. She came around the corner and ran straight into Yoshida. When he stepped away from her, something flickered across his face. Fear? Anger? The look disappeared as fast as it appeared.
"Miss Wright." The lines in his face seemed etched deeper than in the afternoon. His head appeared freshly shaven. Ready for battle.
"Shihan." She bowed before the senior instructor and cringed as she set her pink sports bag on the floor. "I'm not sure how many students will come. Most have cancelled."
Yoshida nodded. "The death and pending funeral of Mr. Levy. Very sad."
She tied on her green belt and paused in the dojo doorway. Coming to the workshop that night was more than a chance to learn more about Walter and his murder. She wanted to grade for her blue belt in the fall and needed the extra practice. Working out her body would give her worried mind a temporary break.
Since Razi had replaced all the missing mats, the training hall looked just like it had before Walter's murder. She lined up with the other students—ten in all, not including Mick and Yoshida—in the dojo. Mick wasted no time getting things started. The highest-ranking brown belt began the opening ceremony. After all the official bowing in was done, everyone stood and waited. Beads of sweat quivered on Gilda's upper lip, even though they hadn't warmed up yet. Silence hung in the air, as heavy and humid as storm clouds.
Yoshida nodded to Mick, who turned his attention to the other students. Three black belts, two brown belts, a blue belt, two green belts, an orange belt, and a yellow belt made up the class that evening. All adults. No kids.
"Thank you all for coming," Mick toyed with his belt, something he always scolded his students for doing, and glared at Gilda. "I know the circumstances are less than desirable. We've lost a distinguished black belt, and his loss will set us back for a while."
At the far end of the lineup, Erik snorted.
Yoshida's face twisted until he resembled a demonic Kabuki theatre mask she once saw in a shop in downtown Detroit. "Do you have an objection?"
Gilda cringed and prayed Erik would keep his mouth closed, train, and go home.
Unfortunately, Erik didn't think the same way. "Walter was far from a distinguished black belt. He left his family to marry a high school kid and was always harassing teenage girls. Mick should never have left him in charge of the kids' classes. The guy was a menace."
Her eyes widened. Opened, so to speak. She glanced down the line toward the senior belts and realized every other student in the line seemed to stare at Mick.
Mick reddened and stepped forward. "Enough. We're here to train, not to bad mouth other students."
"Whatever." Erik seemed primed for a fight. "The guy was a scumbag, and you only let him stay because he paid big bucks to be a silent third partner in the school."
Gilda's mouth dropped open. Mutiny. More secrets revealed. When her gaze met Mick's, his face hardened. and he turned away.
"Erik." The lines in Mick's neck betrayed his tension. "I think you should leave."
"Seriously?" Erik asked. "Are you kicking me out of the school?"
"Just for tonight," Mick said as sweat trickled down the side of his face. "I'd like you to calm down. You and I can straighten things out after the funeral tomorrow."
"Of course." Erik smirked. "How dare I bad-mouth your replacement? Did you bother to tell Gilda about the changes, or were you afraid she'd finally see you for what you really are?"
Gilda's eyes widened. Changes? Replacement? She snapped her mouth shut but kept her ears tuned to the mutterings around her. Razi's eyebrows twitched upward when he met her gaze. He seemed as confused as she was.
"That is enough." Yoshida lunged forward until he stood toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose with Erik. "You will wait in my office. I will deal with you later."
In a last show of defiance, Erik glared at Mick then turned his back—disrespecting not only his fellow student but teachers as well—and didn't bother to bow out of the dojo. Rather than change or go to the office to wait, he grabbed his duffel bag and left the building, making sure to slam every door behind him.
My office. Yoshida had said it, although it wasn't his office. It was Mick's. A mere slip of the tongue, or was there really something going on Gilda wasn't aware of? Changes. Her stomach clenched.
She didn't have long to fret. The instant Erik left the building, taking his gear and leaving the tension, Yoshida's face hardened. He stood, feet shoulder-distance apart, hands clasped behind his back, and nostrils flared, and barked out orders for half an hour as they ran and did the hardest, most nauseating warm-up Gilda had ever pushed through in her life. She guessed torturing his students was the way he let off steam.
She focused—breathe in through her nose, breathe out through her mouth—and fought hard not to succumb to the urge to either throw up or collapse in a heap on the mat. Furtive glances passed between all the students as they ran laps back and forth across the dojo then dropped to the floor to do ten push-ups, ten sit-ups, and ten leg raises before running again.
No one talked. No one dared. Even Mick ran past her so focused he never acknowledged her presence. When Xavier groaned, Yoshida added one last set of twenty push-ups, then told them all to line up.
"You all stink," Yoshida growled. "Stop being lazy. Show me intensity. Show me guts."
A half hour of working on katas, single-person fighting practice, was next, followed by stances. Yoshida made them hold each stance, particularly shiko dachi, or sumo stance, until Gilda's thighs burned, her arms grew too heavy to lift, and her throat burned from swallowing her own vomit. She wanted to run out of the room and throw up but was afraid of Yoshida's reaction.
When Mick clapped a hand to her shoulder, he nearly knocked her over. "Go get a drink of water."
"I'm good." Her voice was raspy.
"You're white and ready to puke. Go take a drink before you're completely dehydrated. That goes for all of you. Take a break."
Yoshida's somber face tightened. "No drinks. No breaks. They will train until I let them leave. You are a lousy teacher. They have much to learn."
"They need water and a chance to catch their breaths." Mick's voice was forceful enough to make Yoshida take a step back. "Five minutes water break—then we'll work on kumite."
Gilda gave an inward groan. Sparring was her least favorite part of class, especially with Yoshida instructing. She backed out of the dojo and hoped lemon water was the perfect antidote for her queasy stomach. Down the hall, someone retched in one of the bathrooms.
Gilda took a few deep breaths before she reached for her sparring gloves and mouth guard to return to class. Across the room, Yoshida stood near the shelves organizing gloves, blockers, and any other martial arts gear within reach into stacks of five. He was either nervous, obsessive, or both.
"You okay?" Mick paused next to her.
She flinched. "Mostly. What's he doing?"
He sighed. "Apparently, nothing meets his approval today."
"Great. One of those days," she said.
"This could turn into an interesting class."
"What do you mean, turn into?"
"Don't say I didn't warn you, Sherlock." Mick called for everyone to line up. "Take a partner. We'll spar for two minutes. When I yell switch, change partners. Keep going until you spar everyone in the room."
Gilda's stomach cramped. An even number of students included Yoshida, who put on his gloves and kept his beady-eyed gaze focused on Mick. Things were about to get ugly.
Razi paired up with her and spoke without moving his lips. "Are you okay?"
"No talking." Yoshida barked.
She nodded and pushed in her mouth guard. At least Razi took it fairly easy on her. He sparred, but not as hard as he could go. She once saw him knock Xavier back six feet onto his butt. If he were to hit her full strength, she'd probably go right through the wall.
When they changed partners, the lone yellow belt in the room grabbed Gilda. "Is he always like this? I know everyone said he was tough, but—"
"No talking." Yoshida scowled.
Gilda shook her head.
They fought one another until the only people she hadn't sparred with were Mick and Yoshida. Before Mick could get across the room, Yoshida bowed in front of her. Protocol over niceties. He jumped into his sparring stance and put on an intimidating glower. With his gaze focused on her, he called hajime—start—to begin two minutes of torture.
Gilda had watched intense gradings before. She'd even seen Yoshida "teach" Walter a lesson when he aggressively sparred the white belt who left the school in tears. The Yoshida who faced her now was neither of those. This Yoshida's face twisted back into the frightening Kabuki mask, and she expected to see smoke curl out of his nostrils.
He lunged at her without warning. Completely caught off guard, she never even blocked, and the edge of his glove caught her lower lip. The taste of blood and sweat met the tip of her tongue. This Yoshida played for keeps. When he moved in again, she reacted fast enough to block the punch but caught his kick in her upper thigh. Pain radiated up and down her leg.
The demon mask didn't crack. Her bravery, however, wouldn't hold out much longer. On his third strike, she blocked both his punches, then the kick that followed. She also managed to throw a kick to his groin, which made him flinch. Then she jumped back out of his reach. This was no time for pride.
Fury twisted Yoshida's face, and he flew at her with hands and feet a blur. She took several hits to her face before her breath stuck in her throat, clogging her airway, and she began to hyperventilate. As she fought for breath, all she could do was turtle into a heap on the floor and cover her face and ribs. The blows rained down onto her head and back. His kicks battered her legs.
"Yame." Mick yelled for him to stop and stood in front of Gilda, warding off fists, feet, and everything else Yoshida threw. No matter which way the older man moved, Mick blocked Yoshida's access to her.
As she crawled toward the wall, away from the fight, tears mingled with the sweat on her face and soaked her uniform. Her hands shook, and her chin trembled. She touched her swollen lip and came away with watery pink blood.
The other students stopped, turning to watch as Mick and Yoshida fought. Xavier lunged forward to intervene, but Yoshida punched him in the face. Holding his bloody nose, Xavier crumpled to the floor. Razi motioned for the others to move out of the away. No one spoke.
Mick bore a cut on his cheek, and Yoshida's eye grew red and puffy, but neither man backed down. Yoshida stood his ground, unable to get past Mick's defenses. When he finally stopped throwing punches, Mick stepped out of his reach and did the same.
Yoshida growled. "You disrespect me in front of my students."
"I'm protecting my students," Mick said. "No disrespect intended."
"They would not need protection if they could fight." He pointed to Gilda. "That one is weak and lazy. She will never be a black belt."
Gilda wiped her eyes and muttered beneath her breath.
Mick stood his ground. "She's a worthy student, and you have no reason to treat her this way."
Yoshida refused to back down. He glanced around the room. "Who told them to stop? They should still be sparring. Sparring stances on. Hajime, begin."
Mick's face hardened. "Put your gloves away and line up. Class is done for tonight."
"I am not finished." Yoshida's nostrils flared again. "This class is not done."
"Yes, it is. Our grief for Walter has gotten the best of all of us." Mick unstrapped his gloves and threw them against the far wall.
Yoshida stood in place in the middle of the dojo with his gloves still on while Mick ended class. Gilda, Razi, and Xavier lingered and looked to their sensei, who wiped the back of his hand across the gash on his cheek.
"Go home. All of you." Mick bowed, careful to keep one eye on Yoshida. "Shihan and I have some things to discuss."
Gilda paused in the doorway and met Mick's gaze. "Are you sure you—"
"I'm sure."
She backed out the doorway. While she didn't like leaving him alone while Yoshida was in full monster mode, she understood. He needed to settle things between them.
"Are you okay?" Xavier asked, one hand still on his nose. "You look like you took a few good hits."
"So do you. I'll be fine." She coughed, still struggling to catch her breath. "You'd better tend to your nose. It looks broken."
"It's not the first time he's busted my nose," he said. "I'll survive."
After a fast trip to the washroom to finally throw up, she found an empty changing stall and hid behind the new, heavy blue curtain to swallow the tears that threatened to dissolve her into a pile of goo. Her uniform was so wet she needed to peel the fabric off her arms and legs. Every single one of her muscles burned. Her throat ached, raw from a blend of emotion and vomit.
"Gilda? You sure you're okay?" Xavier approached her again but was interrupted as the three other women in the class stopped to give her hugs on their way out. He gave her a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Walter's funeral. Gilda's eyes filled with even more tears. "Okay."
Razi waited until everyone else left before he approached. "I apologize, Miss Wright. That was not something any student should have had to endure. None of us expected things to go that far."
"He didn't do that with anyone else, did he?" She peered into the dojo, but it was empty. Mick and Yoshida were already behind closed doors in the office, their voices loud, yet muffled.
"No," he said. "It seems he wanted to spar with you and Sensei Mick the entire time."
"Why? I've never done anything to him."
Razi shrugged. "Not that I am aware of. Perhaps he is mentally unstable. What Sensei Mick would call bat-shit crazy."
"Perhaps." She couldn't help but laugh at his choice of words as she checked her face in the mirror. At least her puffy lower lip was no longer bleeding. Her left eyebrow was tinged with purple and blue.
"Go home, Miss Wright." Razi nudged her with his elbow. "I will look out for our sensei. Xavier can walk you home."
She hoisted her duffel bag to her shoulder and blew out a breath. With Razi on guard, Yoshida wouldn't get away with doing anything against Mick.
Unless Razi killed him. In which case, aches and bruises would be the least of her concerns.