Chapter 2: Expanding Skills

Daniel Cross introduced Ethan to Aikido first with a simple lesson: “Power is meaningless without control. Strength alone won’t always win you a fight. You need to know how to redirect an opponent’s force and use it against them. The stronger they are, the harder they fall.” Ethan was immediately intrigued. He had spent the last two years focused on powerful strikes and explosive movements, but this was different. Aikido wasn’t about overpowering an enemy—it was about outmaneuvering them. The principle fascinated him. Unlike the aggressive strikes and disciplined katas of Karate, Aikido was about redirection and control. The word itself meant “The Way of Harmony with Energy,” and Ethan soon learned that this martial art was more about using an opponent’s momentum against them rather than meeting force with force. His training in Aikido began under the watchful eyes of his father and a seasoned instructor named Sensei Matsuda, a former military hand-to-hand combat instructor. “Balance and movement,” Matsuda emphasized. “You do not fight force with force. Instead, you accept the opponent’s energy, redirect it, and make them defeat themselves.” At first, Ethan struggled. The techniques were completely different from what he had learned in Karate. Instead of meeting force with counterforce, he had to learn to blend with the attack, almost inviting it before turning it back on the aggressor. His natural instinct had always been to block or strike back, but now he had to learn to flow. “Try again,” Matsuda instructed, positioning Ethan in a defensive stance. Daniel lunged forward, throwing a slow, controlled punch. Ethan stepped to the side, attempting to grab and redirect the momentum, but his movements were too stiff. His father easily countered, sending Ethan stumbling backward. “Too rigid,” Matsuda said. “Aikido is like water. You must flow with the attack, not resist it.” Ethan took a deep breath, resetting himself. This time, when his father attacked, he softened his body, pivoted smoothly, and guided the incoming force away. With a quick twist, he unbalanced his father just enough to shift control of the engagement. A satisfied nod from Matsuda signaled progress.

For weeks, Ethan practiced relentlessly. He learned how to use joint locks, how to guide an attacker’s energy, and how to maintain his own balance while disrupting his opponent’s. He trained in the art of ukemi—falling correctly to absorb impact and recover instantly. His father would often grab him out of nowhere, testing his ability to react and roll out of danger. Matsuda introduced him to randori—freeform sparring where multiple attackers would come at him. At first, he was overwhelmed. No matter how much he tried to redirect one attack, another would follow before he could reset. “You hesitate too much,” Matsuda pointed out. “There is no perfect response, Ethan. Act. Adapt. Flow.” Ethan took the lesson to heart. Over time, he stopped overthinking and simply moved. His body adjusted naturally, blending instinct with technique. When someone grabbed his wrist, he no longer resisted—he rotated his arm, stepped in, and sent them tumbling. When an attacker rushed him, he pivoted, guiding their force past him before using their momentum to send them crashing to the mat. He was learning to be untouchable.

Ethan spent weeks learning how to fall properly. His father and Sensei Matsuda made it clear: if he didn’t learn to fall correctly, he wouldn’t last long in real combat. At first, it was frustrating. Ethan was used to winning, to executing perfect backflips and landing with flawless form. But in Aikido, the goal wasn’t to resist the fall—it was to embrace it. Daniel and Sensei Matsuda had Ethan practice rolling falls, backward breakfalls, and side breakfalls until they became second nature. “You’ll get thrown a lot,” Sensei Matsuda told him one evening. “Your ability to land safely will determine how fast you can recover and get back into the fight.” The real test came one night when Ethan was least expecting it. As he was walking down the hallway to the kitchen for a glass of water, his father suddenly lunged at him from a darkened doorway. Without thinking, Ethan reacted—his training kicking in. He twisted his body in midair, rolled with the momentum, and landed in a controlled crouch on the floor. His heart pounded as he looked up at his father, who smiled approvingly. “Good. From now on, I will attack you at random times. You must always be ready.”

The Ambush Training Ethan quickly realized his life had changed overnight. His father, and sometimes even Sensei Matsuda, would attack him without warning. Whether he was eating breakfast, coming out of the bathroom, or playing outside, they would test his awareness and reflexes. One morning, as he reached for his backpack to head to school, Daniel swept his legs from under him. Ethan barely managed to tuck and roll before hitting the floor. Another time, while he was brushing his teeth, Miguel snuck up behind him, forcing Ethan to pivot and deflect an attempted grab. At first, Ethan found it exhausting. There was no peace, no safety. He had to be alert at all times. But soon, something remarkable happened—he stopped relying on his eyes alone. He started sensing movements before they happened. He learned to listen for subtle shifts in the air, to notice the sound of feet on the carpet, and to predict angles of attack based on positioning. One afternoon, as Sensei Matsuda walked into the training room, Ethan noticed the slight tightening of Sensei Matsuda’s muscles a split second before he moved. Instinctively, Ethan shifted his weight and sidestepped just as Sensei Matsuda lunged. Instead of being caught, Ethan turned the attack back on him, using an Aikido technique to redirect Sensei Matsuda’s energy and send him sprawling onto the mat. For the first time, Sensei Matsuda laughed from the ground. “He’s learning.” Daniel crossed his arms, nodding. “Good. But don’t get comfortable, Ethan. The world won’t go easy on you.”