Chapter 10: Fighting Echoes

James

He hadn’t expected much from the Sydney dojo. Most places struggled to match the discipline Mario had instilled back on the Gold Coast. Partnering dojos often relied on legacy more than skill.

But the second James stepped onto the mats, the air changed.

It was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that came from inactivity, but the kind that came before lighting strikes—controlled, contained, crackling with anticipation.

His eyes found her almost immediately—Kai. She was standing rigidly upright just off the front of the mats, dressed in a black Gi jacket, her belt tied over her hips like a queen holding court. The bandage had disappeared beneath her jacket, but he hadn’t imagined it. Thick, white gauze wrapped tightly around her side—an injury she shouldn’t have walked away from, let alone taught with.

Her eyes tracked every student, sharp and calculating. No movement escaped her attention.

Until she spoke.

“Seiretsu!”

The students scrambled into formation, straightening like their spines had been replaced with steel. James slipped into position at the front among the black belts. The nervous energy around him was palpable. They were sizing him up, and he could feel their judgment—a newcomer, clearly experienced.

She stood. A brief wince crossed her face as she shifted, but she quickly masked it. Her voice was commanding. “Rei!”

The room knelt, the ritual practiced, yet somehow different in her presence. James bowed 3 times with them, his focus never leaving her, and as he rose from the final bow, their eyes locked for a heartbeat. A pang of something familiar tightened in his gut.

I’ve seen you before.

But where?

The class began with the usual drills, a blur of kihon and kata. The students, from white belt to black belt, moved with precision and fluidity. Class had barely begun and already he was impressed. But it was how they responded to her commands that stood out—swift, seamless, as if they knew instinctively what to do.

“Mae geri!” Kai’s voice sliced through the air like a blade.

A sea of front kicks shot forward, synchronized. “Yame!”

The class froze.

“Zenkutsu dachi! Gedan barai!” Her tone was sharp, pushing them into lower stances, full-body strikes. She wasn’t easing them into it—she was pushing them hard, and early.

James glanced at Marty and Scotty, pacing the lines, correcting stances with swift strikes. But the real surprise was how little correction they needed.

These kids weren’t just practicing. They were hardened. When sparring began, James was pulled aside with the other black belts.

“We have a guest with us tonight,” Kai said, her voice low but carrying around the small group gathered at the front of the class. “He’s from the Gold Coast. Mario’s student. Let’s give him a warm welcome shall we?”

A ripple of anticipation passed through the first and second dans. James shrugged off his jacket and stepped onto the mats, moving into the middle of a square that the rest of the black belts made around him.

His first opponent came at him fast, but predictable. James deflected, redirected, and dropped the boy with ease. The second came harder, faster; with more inventive combinations. But again, James blocked, returned, and ended it.

By the time the third black belt squared up with him, James was sweating—not just from the effort, but from feeling as though he were under tight scrutiny.

These people fought like they’d survived something.

Kai watched, her gaze never wavering. He noticed the subtle shift in her posture, her hand resting lightly against her side as if the injury still throbbed.

But that wasn’t what unsettled him. It was the fight in the students. The way they reacted to her presence. They didn’t flinch under pressure, they thrived in it.

The fourth fighter came at him with a speed and precision that shocked him. A wiry girl with braids, sneaky hook kick, low stance. Before he could react, he caught her eyes. Kai’s. That pull. Primal. Electric. Familiar. She was absently tracing a tattoo under the sleeve of her Gi and It hit him like a wave, knocking the air from his lungs. The last time he’d seen that tattoo was—no, it couldn’t be.

But then it hit him. That look. Her eyes.

The memory crashed over him. The hallway. The chaos. Her tears. Bare feet on a cold floor. Her voice when he’d had her in his car, trembling, whispering into a phone, “Sara.. please.”

The memory was suffocating.

James snapped back into the sparring session as the final opponent—a massive guy, easily 6'3", built like a tank—launched into a spinning roundhouse. James ducked, swept the man’s leg, and pinned him in one fluid motion.

The students applauded lightly, their energy focused on the ritual of the dojo. But James’s eyes were on Kai. And hers were still locked on him. A subtle tilt of her head—like she was testing him, gauging him. Not surprised. Like she was trying to size him up for herself, except that he was no one’s prey.

The class ended, and the students began to filter out, chatting and loosening up, their energy slowing as the tension bled out of them. James wiped the sweat from his brow, still processing everything.

He’d made quick work of the black belts, but it wasn’t just about technique. The way Kai had controlled the class, commanding from the sidelines without ever stepping into the fight, confused him. Her focus never wavered. Even with the injury, she was in complete control.

And then he saw Sara. His pulse quickened. Sara.

It hit him like a freight train. The woman from that night. The one who he had taken Kai to, he had left her at Sara’s apartment that night.

The memory of that night flashed before his eyes—the night he saved Kai from Beast. The moment she’d clung to his sleeves while trying not to panic after running from her Dom who would clearly have beaten her far worse if he ever found her.

James’s chest tightened. He had seen her—Kai—as Angel for months. But now, it all clicked into place.

Sara helped her out of the dojo, guiding her with a protective arm around her shoulders. They walked toward a sleek black car, Sara whispering something to Kai that made her lips twitch in a ghost of a smile, but there was no joy in her eyes.

James’s breath hitched as he watched. His mind was spinning, fury building in his chest. She was alive. She wasn’t just anyone she was Angel, the woman he’d saved. The woman who had vanished without a trace, only to show up years later as Preston’s sub. His instincts screamed at him to run to her, to confront her, to make sure she was safe. But something held him back.

He couldn’t just rush in—not after all this time. Not when she’d already been through enough. But his feet moved before he could stop himself. He slipped out behind the last few students, his every present bodyguards shadowing him, staying a few feet behind the rest of the students leaving as he followed them.

Sara opened the passenger door for Kai, and James froze in the doorway of the dojo, still watching. He couldn’t let her slip away again. He’d wait. He wouldn’t rush this. But he would make the first move. Eventually. Maybe he could make her make the first move. And when she did, he would be ready.