Rising Tide 1A: Demon at the Dojo

From the beginning, Tanya acted like one who failed completely to understand Kena Arisato.

Tanya was small, like the dojo's mistress. Actually, Tanya was smaller. She only rose to 4 feet and eight inches, compared to Kena's 5'. Maybe, she'd thought, that commonality would help the Arisato mistress to understand her--and perhaps, she hoped, from understanding would come a desire to help.

Although every bit as Austrian as her blonde hair and blue eyes suggested, Tanya had wrapped herself in a floral kimono. The gaijin had even styled her hair in a vaguely Japanese way, her long locks tucked into a bun as humble as the bare and empty dojo around them. And while Arisato-san poured tea for the guest, Miss Degurrechaff sat in appropriate, demure silence. Cultural respect, Tanya had long ago learned, was essential to business dealings with the more traditionally minded Japanese.

(Would such extravagant accommodations really be necessary, though? When she had arrived, the dojo was empty; it was probably the only empty dojo in Tokyo on a Friday afternoon in summer--and the dojo's facilities were more than "bare." The spare walls and clear floor made a philosophical statement; the weeds in the flower beds outside did not.)

Tanya took a deep breath. Regardless, it was time to make her case. Her English broke the dojo's silence:

"As you know, Arisato-san, I have never...won a single match at the AFW. Not one. And I've been in ten.  They say it's because I'm so small, that someone like me can't learn to fight. Not with my 'build,' as they call it..."

Tanya stopped and waited to see how the dojo's heiress would respond.

Tanya never quite learned how she was supposed to take her tea. Would she be considered rude if she gulped it down? It wouldn't surprise her; this was the only country on Earth that had developed an entire quasi-religious ritual around taking off-brand coffee. Of course, this was no chonoyu ritual, but still...

She sipped in quiet.

Then, after a pause: "...I'm always the dwarf. The--you know. The gnome. The child. They throw me in as a joke in someone else's story. The type of match doesn't matter. Standard, iron woman, hardcore--especially hardcore. Haha! Look at the little girl with the Singapore Cane! Isn't she kawaii? I'm short, so I must be a loser, that's how management thinks. I'm sure you know what that's like. As a result, I'm..."

She had been going to say broke, but it occurred to her that Kena might end their audience if she knew Tanya was no more capable of paying for training than paying her rent. She shrugged and trailed off into her tea before continuing.

Sip.

"...What I'm trying to say is that we're both worse off than we deserve because fate decided to play dice with our height. Sooo...we should help each other."

--

Unknown to either of the dojo's occupants, a third visitor was about to arrive. He came in a horse-drawn palanquin--one with two glittering black wheels and a red, feathered canopy. He sat behind veils and looked ahead to Kena's dojo. The Arisato residence.

There had been a time when that name--Arisato--would have made martial artists of every school bow their heads in reverence.  Much like there had been a time when Great Japan, the Dai Nippon Teikoku, made all of East Asia bend its knee. This was Takayuki's job: To ensure that time came again.

The carriage came to a stop in the courtyard.