under a legendary master, earning a fifth-degree black belt in Shotokan Karate. It was a mastery
forged in blood, broken ribs, and relentless jungle heat.
Jerome had abandoned his martial arts journey after a tragic incident during his last deployment.
To protect a fellow soldier from brutal hazing, Jerome had intervened. His lethal training took over,
and the attackers ended up severely hospitalized. The military sealed the records, but Jerome was
haunted by the memory of his own destructive capability. He swore never to fight again.
Yet, the muscle memory remained. Every night, after the lights went out and the doors were
locked, Jerome would stand alone in the dark hall. He would perform katas—fluid, precise, and
devastatingly fast. One late evening, Brenda Sullivan, the dojo manager, forgot her keys and walked
in on him. She saw the sweat on his brow and the breathless intensity in his eyes, but she stayed
quiet, keeping his secret hidden.
The harassment began on a mundane Tuesday. Derek was leading the advanced sparring class
while Jerome was restocking paper towels in the hallway. Seeking amusement, Derek paused the
drills and called out to the janitor.
"Hey man, come here," Derek demanded. He shoved a sparring helmet toward Jerome's chest. "Put
it on. We need a body for drills."
Jerome calmly replied that he was working. Derek scoffed, reminding Jerome that his father paid
his wages. The room fell silent as Derek tried to force the issue, stepping dangerously close.
Unfazed, Jerome simply turned his back and resumed his duties. Infuriated by the dismissal, Derek
hurled a kicking pad down the hall, striking Jerome's mop bucket with a loud crack. Jerome calmly
picked it up and continued cleaning, leaving Derek fuming.
Derek’s wounded pride demanded an audience. He began filming Jerome during his shifts,
mockingly narrating the janitor’s duties as if evaluating a martial arts technique.
"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the dojo mascot," Derek laughed to his phone camera as Jerome
scrubbed the floor. "Look at that elite technique. Someone get this man a mop belt!"
He posted the videos online, gathering hundreds of likes from sycophantic peers. Jerome saw the
videos while eating dinner in his small, lonely apartment. He stared at the screen, a flicker of
ancient discipline keeping his emotions in check, before calmly setting the phone aside. He would
not be broken by the mockery of a boy.