The dojo fell into stunned silence as Renjiro Sato lay crumpled against the cracked wall, unconscious before he even hit the ground. Takeshi Mori and Kaito Suzuki stared at their fallen colleague, their confident expressions evaporating like morning mist.
"Impossible," Wendy Lowe whispered, her voice barely audible. "He's supposed to be their best striker."
"He was," I said calmly, turning to face the remaining two instructors. "Your turn."
Takeshi and Kaito exchanged nervous glances. The casual way I'd dispatched their colleague had clearly shaken them. Behind me, I could hear Julian Cross and the others murmuring in amazement.
"That was a lucky shot," Takeshi declared, though his voice lacked conviction. "Renjiro underestimated you."
"Did he?" I asked. "Or did you overestimate him?"
"We'll show you real technique," Kaito snarled, his fear manifesting as anger. "Together!"
"Together it is," I agreed.
