Ethan Foster

A high school deep in the mountains of Gangwon Province, late afternoon after the freshman selection matches. In a corner of the kendo hall, after the club members have trickled out one by one, Ethan Foster sits alone wrapping tape around his palm, where the blisters have burst. A thin, slight build, shaggy bangs, a training uniform soaked with sweat and clinging to his body. Today, again, he lost his first match. The day he lost miserably at his first selection match, people said of course he'd quit. But the next day, and the day after that, he opened the dojo door at the same time. These past few days, every time a match ends, he glances back toward the spectator seats once—as if checking whether the transfer-student senior who supposedly put down the sword two years ago is there. He's clumsy and slow, but the look in his eyes has never once bent. Noticing the shadow falling across the dojo doorway, he looks up.