Beer Money
Episode 0.25
The stale odor of sweat permeated through the air, the uproarious chorus of kiai's in sync to the melody of a single man, their valiant conductor who brought order to the intemperate nature of their motivity. This was the class of master Toru Hachibana, the only true successor of the Chōwa No Toreta Tenohira(Harmonious Palm) taijutsu style. Toru was something of a cult hero in Fuzenkagure as he did not charge children for lessons in taijutsu, the opportunity to be a mentor who could provide structure and safe shelter to the children was enough of a payment for him. In a place like the Village Hidden by Sin it would be proper to be skeptical of someone who seemed as angelic as Toru but there were no dark secrets of skeletons in his closet he was a philanthropist who wished to spread the teachings of his deceased master. There were small moments where Toru would think of his master and it would almost bring a tear to his eye as he yearned for his master to see all that had been built in his name, to see how his star pupil was doing all he could to help the people of Fuzen.
The dojo was very traditional, being rather modest in size with the majority of the space being clad in padded surfaces with polished wooden finishing. There was no door and only a curtain in the entranceway, the reason being two-fold. Firstly Toru did not want this space to be closed, he wanted it to be open and inclusive to all, this was part of his effort to reach the hearts and minds of the youth. He wanted to show that if the children and their families trusted him then he would trust them completely in return. Secondly while this was a place to teach the fact was that this was a place where self-defense was taught and if Toru could not defend this place from threat or harm then to call himself it’s master would be indecorous.
"Yo! Where is the bosu of this place?"
The emanator of this most informal intrusion was a young man of tall stature with silvery lilac hair, a red scarf around his neck, and who was otherwise adorned in bad attitude. Respect was a foreign concept to him and it showed as he walked onto the mat with his shoes on, a most disrespectful thing to do in any dojo, ignoring the gasps and whispers of the students.
“There is no “bosu” but I am the head instructor of this school. All are welcome in this place, but I would very much appreciate it if you took your shoes off. Cleaning filth from these mats is quite a chore.” Toru was very polite in his speech but the air was much different, much more tense as he put emphasis on the word “filth” as he spoke to the obtruder. Toru did not care about disrespect toward him, he was far too humble for that, but to disrespect the chapel of the Harmonious Palm was an entirely different matter to him.
“I don’t see a mat, short stack, this is just a stage to me.” He began to hop up and down before breaking into some light stretching and bending. “Now I usually don’t pick on tiny old men but considering you’re the bosu of this joint I’ll make an exception for ya.”
“I don’t see a mat, short stack, this is just a stage to me.” He began to hop up and down before breaking into some light stretching and bending. “Now I usually don’t pick on tiny old men but considering you’re the bosu of this joint I’ll make an exception for ya.”
Martial arts are a distinct branch of taijutsu in that they are a specialized form of combat meant for sport and can be taught to people who can not use their chakra. One of the oldest traditions of martial arts was for practitioners to challenge the head of a dojo in what was known as dojoyaburi, or dojo storming. Usually dojo storming was done by a rival instructor in a bid to assimilate one another’s students, but there were rare cases where a challenger would ask for something else instead.
“I don’t think youth is wasted on the young but there are exceptions to every rule.” The old man still spoke with a polite tone but there was now a fire in his eye. He wanted to teach the imbecile before him the meaning of respect. “As you are the challenger I will leave it to you to decide the reward you will not receive.”
The pluckiness of the old man and the fire in his eye brought a sheepish grin to the pallid haired obtruder and returned the fierce gaze in kind.
“I need some beer money.”