"Karate, huh?" Ethan muttered to himself, eyeing the flier. "Maybe."
It wasn't his first choice, but something about the simplicity of the discipline appealed to him. Plus, karate was one of those martial arts that everyone seemed to respect, at least in theory.
He'd seen enough martial arts movies to know that it looked flashy, and it seemed like a good blend of striking and control—two things that might complement his telekinetic abilities.
With a shrug, he tore off one of the tabs at the bottom of the flier and stuffed it into his pocket. Let's give this a shot, he thought, already imagining himself delivering a perfectly executed roundhouse kick.
Maybe he'd even get a cool black belt in a few years. He could picture it now—looking cool, sharp in a gi, perfectly in control of his body and powers.
Yeah, karate could be the thing.
. . .
The following Tuesday, Ethan found himself standing in front of the dojo that the flier had directed him to. The place was wedged between a laundromat and a fast-food joint, the smell of fried chicken wafting through the air as he approached.
'Not the most promising start.' He winced.
The sign above the door read "Master Kim's Karate," but the faded paint and peeling letters suggested it had seen better days. Ethan frowned as he opened the door and stepped inside. The faint mustiness hit him first, along with the sound of sneakers squeaking against mats.
The dojo itself was small and dimly lit. A few kids were warming up, stretching in awkward positions, while a teenage assistant tried to demonstrate how to throw a basic punch.
Master Kim, if that's who the older man in the corner was, sat slumped in a plastic chair, reading what looked like a….a clothes magazine, displaying all sorts of scantily clad women.
Ethan's heart sank a little. This wasn't exactly what he had imagined. Where were the sharp movements, the focused discipline, the wise instructor doling out philosophical nuggets of wisdom? He had expected something more… professional.
He walked up to the desk where a tired-looking receptionist handed him a waiver form. After a quick signature from his parents the night before, Ethan was ready. He was here now—he might as well see it through.
"First time, kid?" a teenage instructor with acne and a badly tied black belt asked, eyeing Ethan up and down. The kid couldn't have been more than sixteen, but he acted like he was a grizzled sensei.
"Yeah," Ethan replied, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice.
"Cool, cool. We'll just start you with the basics. Get on the mat and start stretching." He said in that nasally voice of his.
Ethan nodded, heading toward the group of beginners. His initial excitement was beginning to fade, but he wasn't one to back down easily. Maybe it would get better once the real training started.
'They can't all be teenage instructors, right? Master Kim's just waiting to spring into action and show us how it's done.' He thought.
After about ten minutes of stretching, the assistant instructor clapped his hands. "Alright, guys, let's go over the basics. Front punch, stance, and kick drills."
Ethan lined up with the other kids, trying to ignore the awkward fumbling of the boy next to him, who seemed to have trouble keeping his feet planted. He watched as the assistant instructor demonstrated a punch…sort of. It was stiff, slow, and didn't seem like it would do any damage.
"Okay, now you try it," the instructor said, motioning to the class.
Ethan followed along, trying his best to execute the move. He didn't need to be some genius, super deadly martial artist like the glorious Steven Seagal to know this wasn't right. The form was off, and there was no real instruction about power or control. Just a weak motion of the arm, like a bad imitation of what karate was supposed to be.
"Great job, guys!" the assistant instructor said, flashing a thumbs up to the group. "Let's do some front kicks now."
Ethan sighed. He was trying to give it a chance, but so far, the training seemed like a joke. When it came time for the front kicks, Ethan's hopes fell even lower. There was no real guidance. The kicks were sloppy, no one corrected posture or technique, and the class was just a mess of uncoordinated limbs flying around.
He wasn't expecting some back flips and acrobatics, but getting the kids used to bad form couldn't be good.
As the session dragged on, Ethan couldn't help but feel a growing sense of disappointment. He was learning nothing, wasting his time with just mindless, repetitive motions. The "black belts" seemed like they had barely earned them, and the so-called Master Kim never even got out of his chair.
Ethan kept glancing over at him, waiting for the moment when the grizzled old karate master would put down his soft-core porno, leap up and dish out some proper training, But all Master Kim did was occasionally glance up to give some grunts of vague approval.
'Is this really it?' Ethan thought as he tried to throw another lackluster punch. 'This is supposed to help me master my body? Get some fighting skills?'
By the time the hour-long class ended, Ethan was ready to bolt. His legs itched to run, and he was beginning to wonder if he had just wasted a perfectly good evening. The other kids, though, seemed oblivious. They were chattering excitedly, laughing, and barely paying attention as they filed out of the dojo. A few of them waved goodbye to the assistant instructor as if he had just imparted some great teachings.
Ethan, on the other hand, couldn't get out of there fast enough.
As he stepped outside into the cool evening air, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. "That was a waste of time," he muttered to himself.
His mind raced, already looking for a new solution. I've got to find something better than that. Karate was supposed to be about discipline and precision. That was a joke.
. . .
Ethan stepped into his house, the familiar creak of the front door followed by the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen. His mom's voice echoed from the kitchen, "Ethan, is that you? Dinner's almost ready."
"Yeah, it's me," he called back, slipping off his shoes and making his way to the living room.
As he wandered through the house, his mind kept drifting back to that disappointing karate class. What a waste of time. But that wasn't the only thing gnawing at him.
Lately, he'd started noticing things around the house.
His parents were cutting corners. They'd canceled the cable, were using the air conditioning less, and there were fewer groceries in the fridge. His mom made off-hand comments about "tightening the budget," and his dad had been working late more often, trying to pick up extra hours.
Keeping up with his ever-growing needs for extra-curriculars, books, sports in addition to the not so cheap cost of raising a child was taking its toll on the middle class couple.
Life was hard for everyone, with the cost of living increasing every year.
And now, there was this karate class.
Sitting on the couch, Ethan mulled over the situation. Karate wasn't even worth it. But worse than that, it was clear the money for all these activities wasn't coming easily.
He couldn't pretend not to notice anymore.
A knot of guilt tightened in his stomach as he thought about his swim classes, the wrestling team, and now karate. These extracurriculars, combined with his regular needs—books, supplies, and everything else—were probably putting an extra strain on his parents, and here he was, wasting money on a useless class.
His thoughts were interrupted as his dad walked in. He looked tired. Exhausted, actually.
"Hey, champ," his dad said, forcing a smile. "How was karate?"
Ethan hesitated. "It was... okay."
His dad gave him a curious look, clearly expecting a more enthusiastic response, but he just nodded and headed for the kitchen to wash up.
For a grown young man, even one put into a child's body, that feeling of worthlessness that comes with being a net financial burden was far from a pleasant feeling or something he could just ignore.
Dinner was quiet, with the usual small talk between bites of pasta. Ethan could feel the weight of his parents' fatigue.
After they finished eating, Ethan excused himself and headed upstairs to his room. Closing the door behind him, he flopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
He lay there for a while, thinking. Dropping out of the karate class was a no-brainer—it wasn't worth the money, not even close.
But it wasn't just karate. All his activities added up, and he knew his parents wouldn't say anything because they loved him and wanted to support him. That made it even worse.
'I've got to find a way to make my own money.'
Ethan sat up, his brain spinning. He didn't have a lot of options, but then a thought struck him.
'I've got a pretty good idea of how to make money fast.' He thought, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
The next day after school, Ethan went back to the karate dojo. Not to attend a class, but to quit. The tired-looking receptionist barely batted an eye as she took his cancellation form. "You sure, kid? You're only a couple weeks in."
"Yeah, I'm sure," Ethan replied. "Thanks, though."
He walked out, feeling lighter. One burden was gone, but now came the next step: making money.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at P@treon.com/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.