Lord-Campione
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Chapter 011: A Helping ‘Hand’
🕑 Added 2024-10-01 00:10:22 +0000 UTC…
Ethan Cain stood in front of the Chikara Dojo, the cool autumn air biting at his cheeks as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
His eyes scanned the modest building, its peeling sign blending into the muted browns and grays of the surrounding neighborhood. It was nothing like the glitzy martial arts studios that advertised flashy kicks and belts that were more ornamental than functional. This place had some sort of grit. The kind of place that didn’t care if you were wearing the latest gear—just that you had the discipline to put in the work.
That, or it was just cheap, but some foreknowledge told him that it wasn’t the case.
This was the real deal.
Ethan’s fingers twitched slightly in his pockets. The last few weeks had been... different. The money he’d taken from the thugs was stashed safely at home. So, when he heard some of the older kids at school talking about a dojo that trained with "no frills" and "real technique," he’d done some digging.
Colleen Wing. That name had popped up again and again in his search. Ethan wasn’t exactly starstruck—he knew she was a big deal in those Iron Fist stories where she had some ties with the hand—but more importantly, she had a reputation for running a tight, no-nonsense dojo.
No fake glamour. Just hard training. That was what he needed.
Taking a deep breath, Ethan pushed open the door. A small bell above him jingled, announcing his presence to a room that, despite its simplicity, felt heavy with purpose. The faint smell of sweat, wood polish, and something metallic hit his nose. This is real. His nerves buzzed, but he felt a sense of rightness. He needed this. Not just for himself, but to become someone who could handle the challenges looming over his life.
Telekinesis was all nice and good, but he’d be a right fool to ignore other skills.
The dojo wasn’t crowded—just a handful of students going through drills. They were older, some teenagers, some adults. Ethan suddenly felt very small. He wasn’t here to show off, though. He had something to learn.
“Hey, you lost or something?” A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. A girl, probably in her late teens, stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She had a black belt tied around her waist, and her sharp eyes took him in, sizing him up in seconds.
She might look hot, but he was a kid and thus felt nothing but a slight urge to avoid the cooties and whatnot.
The mind was willing but the body just wasn’t ready.
One day however, something in him would rise to the occasion, and that wasn’t the shield hero.
Ethan straightened up, his nerves betraying nothing. “No, I’m here to train.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything further. Instead, her gaze flicked to the front of the room. That’s when Ethan spotted her—Colleen Wing. She moved with an almost mesmerizing fluidity. Every punch, every step, every movement was efficient, purposeful. There was no wasted energy, no hesitation.
‘This is what I need to become.’ Ethan’s heart raced.
When the class wrapped up, Colleen finally noticed him standing by the entrance. She walked over, her eyes scanning him much like the other students had. She wasn’t unkind, but there was a no-nonsense edge to her that made Ethan immediately respect her.
“You must be new,” she said, her tone even.
“Ethan Cain,” he introduced himself, offering a hand. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”
Colleen’s eyes flickered to his outstretched hand, then back to his face. She shook his hand, but not before her eyes narrowed just slightly, as if she could sense there was more to his request. “You look a little young to be in a place like this. Why here?”
‘Because you might be my ticket to learning Bullshitsu and breaking boulders with my bare hands?’ He thought, but that probably wouldn’t work.
Ethan didn’t flinch. “I don’t need fancy kicks or black belts just for show. I need to learn how to fight, for real.”
She studied him for a moment longer, then smiled. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Ethan saw it. “Alright then, Ethan. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
. . .
The first class was... brutal. Ethan had thought his swimming, wrestling, and ‘karate’ training would give him an edge.
He was wrong. Colleen’s methods were nothing like what he had experienced before. Every sparring session left him winded, his body aching from the impact of larger opponents. He’d be knocked down, only to be told to get back up. Each time, the pain was a reminder of just how far he had to go.
“You’re getting knocked around pretty bad, huh?” one of the older students, a tall guy named Ryan, grinned after a particularly rough session. Ethan was on the mat, chest heaving from a bout with a larger opponent.
Something rather frequent, since he was the smallest guy around here.
Ethan grimaced as he sat up. “Just getting warmed up,” he replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
“That’s the spirit, kid. Stick with it, and you might just survive.” Ryan chuckled.
Colleen, who had been observing, called out to Ethan. “Don’t focus so much on power. You’re smaller than most of your opponents, so use that. Speed, precision, and technique are your best friends.”
Ethan nodded, her words sinking in.
‘She’s right. I’m not the biggest or the strongest, but I can be faster. Smarter.’ He threw himself back into training with renewed vigor, focusing on his footwork, weaving in and out of range, striking quickly and retreating.
Day after day.
Week after week.
Month after month.
It wasn’t long before he began to see results.
. . .
Time passed, and Ethan started spending more and more time at the dojo. His persistence hadn’t gone unnoticed by Colleen, who had begun tailoring some of his drills to his size and skill level. After class one evening, she pulled him aside.
“You’re improving,” she said, tossing him a towel. “But remember, this isn’t just about fighting. It’s about discipline. Self-control.”
Ethan wiped the sweat from his face, nodding. “I get it. I’m here to learn how to defend myself and my family.”
From genocidal necrophile, purple alien warlords, bi-horned pricks with daddy-issues, and all sorts of nutjobs with way too much power.
“That sounds like more than just self-defense. What’s going on, Ethan?” Colleen raised an eyebrow at that.
Ethan didn’t hesitate, there was no way in hell he’d say anything he shouldn’t say, no matter how scarousing she looked right now.
“I just need to be able to protect the people I care about,” he said calmly, “That’s all.”
Colleen didn’t press him further, but there was something in her expression that made Ethan think she understood more than she let on.
Understood wrong, most likely, but that worked for him.
“Alright. But remember—strength without control is dangerous. You can be strong, but if you lose sight of your purpose, that strength will consume you.” She nodded, leaving without turning back.
Ethan nodded, her words echoing in his mind long after he left the dojo that night.
. . .
The camaraderie at the dojo grew on him. He had always been a loner, keeping to himself to avoid unnecessary entanglements. But here, among these fighters, he felt something different. He wasn’t a genius prodigy. He wasn’t the weird kid with powers. He was just another student, learning alongside them.
Everyone being much closer to his old body in terms of age was also a massive help.
Even Ryan, the older student who had teased him at first, had become something of a mentor. “Keep your hands up,” Ryan would bark during sparring sessions, even as he grinned through a busted lip. “You’ve got quick feet, but they won’t help if you let your guard down.”
Ethan found himself laughing more than he had in a long time. There was something about the struggle, the shared effort, that bonded them all together. He wasn’t just training to be stronger—he was becoming part of a group.
One evening, after class, a group of the students gathered around the small kitchen at the back of the dojo, snacking on protein bars and hydrating. Ethan had found himself seated at the edge of the table, listening to the older students’ banter.
“So, you guys ever hear the one about the black belt who couldn’t open a pickle jar?” Ryan quipped, tossing a protein bar to one of the girls.
She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess—he spent years mastering the martial arts but couldn’t twist the lid off?”
Ryan grinned. “Close. But no, his grandma ended up opening it for him.”
The group erupted into laughter, some out of pity, others because the joke was so bad, and Ethan couldn’t help but crack a smile. It was dumb, but in a way, it felt good to be part of their easy camaraderie.
Colleen walked in, raising an eyebrow at the group. “Alright, alright. Everyone out. Class is over. I’m not running a daycare.”
The students dispersed, still chuckling, but Colleen caught Ethan before he could leave.
“You’ve been putting in extra hours,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “I appreciate the dedication, but don’t burn yourself out.”
Ethan shrugged, though the compliment made his chest swell. “I just want to get better.”
“You are,” Colleen said, her voice soft but firm. “But remember, balance is important. You’re young—don’t forget to live a little outside the dojo.”
For a moment, Ethan wasn’t sure how to respond. Live a little? He wasn’t here for fun. He was here to become someone who could handle the dangers of the world. But still, her words stuck with him as he made his way home.
