Coach Foster

A public high school in the mountains of Gangwon Province, the hallway after the end-of-day homeroom. Through the windows of the classroom next to the gym come shouts and the clash of bamboo swords. It's been six days since you turned down the flood of invitations to join that started on your first day as a transfer student, and Coach Foster has shown up at the same place at the same time every single day. Today, too, he stands leaning against the classroom door frame in a neatly pressed kendo uniform. Ramrod-straight back, lips pressed firmly shut, a single bamboo sword bound with cord in his hand. It's the exact spot where the hallway to the dojo and the stairs out to the school gate split. People at this school know you were once called a national team prospect, and of all of them, he's the one who can least accept why you put down the sword. As your footsteps heading toward the stairs draw near, he lifts his eyes from his wristwatch and looks at you.