A week passed faster than Lena expected.
Tokyo stopped feeling overwhelming and started feeling… more comfortable.
She built routines. Morning runs through narrow streets where vending machines hummed quietly on corners, the air already warm even before the sun fully rose. The rhythm of her steps matched the beat of her music pounding into her head.
People noticed her.
Of course they did.
She stood out. Foreign. Taller than most girls around her. Built differently—lean muscle, sharp posture, the kind of presence that didn't blend in even if she tried.
Sometimes it was harmless. Curious looks. Quick glances. Whispers.
Other times—
"Hey!" A guy jogging past once slowed down beside her, smiling too easily. "You're not from here, right?"
Lena didn't break her stride.
"No."
"You wanna—"
"No."
Simple.
Clean.
Done.
Another time, two guys outside a convenience store had tried—laughing, stepping into her path like it was a joke.
She didn't even stop.
Didn't acknowledge.
They moved. People usually did.
She wasn't here for that.
Not distractions.
Not dating.
Not anything that pulled her away from what she came for.
Worlds.
That was it. Everything else—
Background noise.
—
By the time she walked into the gym that evening, her body already felt warm from the day.
The familiar rush of cool air hit her again as she stepped inside, the scent of sweat and rubber grounding her instantly. She didn't go to the weights. Didn't go to the bags.
Not this time.
Something else caught her attention.
In the back corner—
Mats.
Not the full judo tatami she was used to, but close enough. Thick, dark, slightly worn, laid out in a square large enough to move.
Her steps slowed. Her eyes scanned it. Her chest lifted slightly.
Finally.
She'd been improvising all week—shadow drills, grip work with resistance bands, even lightly practicing throws with her mom back at the Airbnb.
Carefully.
Very carefully.
Her mom was not built for being thrown.
This—
This was better it had real space, a larger area for real movement aswell.
She started toward it—
Then stopped.
Someone was already there.
Him. The guy from before.
He was on the mat, mid-motion, locked with another guy—bigger, heavier, trying to overpower him with brute strength. But it didn't work.
Lena watched without meaning to.
He moved differently. Lower stance. More grounded. His weight shifted smoothly, controlled, never wasted. When the other guy pushed forward, he didn't resist directly—he angled off, stepping to the side and pulling at the same time.
A quick snap down and the other guy's posture broke instantly, forced forward.
Then—
A clean single-leg entry. He dropped levels, one arm wrapping around the opponent's leg, the other controlling at the hip. In one smooth motion, he drove forward, lifting slightly while turning—
The guy hit the mat. Hard. But it didn't end there.
He transitioned immediately, sliding around, locking control across the upper body—pinning, stabilizing, keeping pressure constant.
Fast.
No hesitation.
Lena's eyes narrowed slightly.
He's good. Not just strong. He looks quite experienced.
He wore loose black athletic shorts and a fitted dark grey compression shirt, sleeves cut short enough to leave his arms free.
Sweat darkened the fabric across his chest and back, clinging just slightly as he moved.
His breathing was steady.
Controlled.
Even after the takedown.
The guy under him tapped lightly against the mat.
"Alright, alright," he laughed, slightly out of breath. He released him immediately, standing up and offering a hand to pull him up.
Lena looked away.
Fast.
Too fast.
Her gaze shifted to literally anything else—the edge of the mat, the wall, the floor—
Why am I just standing here?
She folded her arms loosely, shifting her weight awkwardly, suddenly very aware of herself.
Of him.
Of the fact that she had been watching like a soccor mom at her son's game.
She stared straight ahead. At nothing. At everything. At the atoms in the air.
Then—
She felt that awareness. Like someone looking directly at you.
Her shoulders stiffened slightly.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
A few seconds later, footsteps approached.
She didn't look up right away.
Didn't want to and she had no idea why she felt looking him would make her fall to the core of the earth.
"Hi."
His voice was so close it was like it had personally attached itself to her skin.
Lena lifted her head. "Hello."
Her tone was neutral.
Calm.
Like she hadn't just been watching him wrestle. Like she hadn't completely frozen for a second.
He tilted his head slightly, a faint hint of something—amusement, maybe—touching his expression.
"You planning on using the mat?"
Lena glanced past him briefly, then back.
"Yeah." A small pause. "What time are you gonna be done?"
He looked over his shoulder at the guy he had been sparring with, who was now stretching near the edge.
"Just finishing up," he said. "Couple minutes."
Lena nodded once. "Okay."
She stepped back slightly, giving space, crossing her arms again as she waited.
He didn't go back to wrestling. Instead, he stepped off the mat and moved toward the striking area. Lena watched without meaning to.
Again.
He wrapped his hands quickly, movements practiced, then slipped on gloves and stepped in front of a heavy bag.
His stance was different from before.
More upright.
More fluid.
He started slow. Light jabs. Testing distance.
Then faster. Jab. Cross. Hook.
Sharp.
Clean.
Perfect.
Each punch landed with precision, the bag snapping back with controlled force. His footwork adjusted constantly—small steps, pivots, maintaining balance no matter how the bag swung.
No wasted movement. No hesitation.
His breathing stayed steady even as he sped up.
Even as power increased.
Lena's eyes tracked everything.
Stance.
Foot placement.
Weight distribution.
Endurance.
Balance.
Stamina.
So annoyingly perfect.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
Of course he boxes too.
He finished with a sharp combination—fast, precise—then stepped back, lowering his hands as the bag swung.
No heavy breathing.
No sloppiness.
Just control.
He pulled off the gloves and walked back toward her.
Sweat clung lightly to his skin, hair slightly damp again, but his expression stayed the same.
Calm.
Focused.
Like nothing he just did required effort.
He stopped in front of her. Close enough that she could still feel that same presence from before.
"So," he said, wiping his hands with a towel. "Mat's free."
Lena nodded. "Good."
A beat.
Then—
"You wanna spar?"
The question landed so simply. So Direct.
No hesitation at all.
Lena held his gaze for a second.
"Sure." Her voice didn't waver. She wouldn't allow that to happen.