Champion Kevintor Neverloss's Arc

Chapter 20 of 42

They ate rice and broth at a low table near the door. The instructor said nothing until the bowls were empty. Then he led them out a back hall into a courtyard. A wide dojo stood at its center, the eaves carved with dragons, the doors painted black. He stopped at the threshold. "The key sits inside," he said. "You will not touch it until I say. First you will show me you can lose." Kevintor stepped onto the floor. At the far wall, mounted on a round wooden plaque, a painted dragon's head held a small iron key in its open mouth. The instructor pointed at it once, then sat against the side wall. "A boy from the village will spar you," he said. "He is fourteen. He has trained two years. You will let him put you down three times. Not fall. Be put down. If I see a champion's hand, the key stays in the dragon's teeth." The boy came in barefoot, thin, shaking a little at the wrists. He bowed. Kevintor bowed back and felt his shoulders settle into the old shape. The first exchange went wrong at once. The boy reached for a sleeve. Kevintor's hip turned before he thought, and the boy hit the mat hard on his shoulder. The instructor did not speak. He only lifted one finger. One warning. Kevintor helped the boy up. His hands were already lying. They wanted the throw back. He tried to soften it. He let the boy get a grip, then stepped into the trip and went down. He knew the moment his back touched the wood that he had cheated. He had chosen the fall. The instructor stood. "Out," he said to the boy. The boy bowed and left. The instructor walked to the dragon plaque and tapped the iron key with one knuckle. "You decided when to lose. That is still winning. Go sit on the bench outside. Think about whether you came here for paper or to change." Kevintor sat on the bench past noon. He thought about the woman in the red kimono who had pressed the scroll into his hands and told him not to come back unless he meant it. He thought about a voice he had heard at every title bout, the announcer in the cheap suit calling his name over a crowd, naming him unbeaten again and again until the word stuck to his skin. He stood up. He walked back into the dojo. "Bring the boy," he said. "I will not choose anything. He chooses. I stand there." The boy came back. He threw Kevintor three times. The first throw was clumsy and slow and Kevintor felt every second of it as the boy worked out the grip. The second was better. The third put him flat. The instructor crossed the floor, lifted the key from the dragon's mouth, and dropped it into Kevintor's palm. "Now the paper," he said.