Face Value ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "Hmm. With Grandpa away... this place seems quieter than usual." Another cool autumn wind came blowing in from the west. Ones that started rustling the golden brown leaves of season's wilt, something that would have to be dealt with again. But it at least the rustling of the leaves gave somewhat a soothing sound to fill the silence that was now infesting the Rindoukan Dojo. Being alone in such a place allowed for that silence to take on a deeper significance. Not that certain people wanted to, even in the least. In the courtyard of the Rindoukan Dojo stood a girl. To look at her would be to stare into the face of simplicity. A karateka dressed in only a pale white fighting Gi. Around her waist was a jet black belt, mixing in well with the white of the Gi. And around the neckline of the Gi was a lengthy article. A sort of mix between a scarf and another belt. Beaming the colour of a muddy yellow. A fairly basic look for a prudently conservative kind of girl. And her name was Makoto. The child swept at the floor of the Rindoukan Dojo's courtyard with a makeshift broom, her bare feet slapping against cool stone with each little stride. It didn't look like much of an interesting activity but it suited her just fine. Not much else was going on her own life now anyway. Which wasn't surprising, considering that fighting made up a huge chunk of who she was. And that front had been bone-dry recently. The pearly black eyes of the Japanese teen rolled away from the unsettled leaves littering the courtyard of the Dojo and looked upwards. She shielded her eyes from the sun by bringing one of her powerful hands up above her eyebrows. It was a nice day out. But she couldn't really enjoy it. Sunny as it was, all she could do was sigh. And then take another look at the empty training facility around her. In times long past, the Rindoukan Dojo was a great hub of fighting and martial arts. It attracted dozens, maybe even hundreds of dedicated and somewhat capable fighters to its humble halls. Those were the golden days. The days when Makoto's father had been the head of the school and their style. But he was gone now. And the world had changed along with his passing. The arts of the Rindoukan Dojo were quickly being seen as the past. The foundation of fighting; but not the end all. Which was, in the odd opinion, unsurprising. Makoto's style of Karate was traditional in nature. Focusing on mastering the many basics and fundamentals until they were honed to a razor's edge. That was how the Rindoukan Dojo had been operating for generations. And yet... there was a common sense amongst potential challengers that because of this conservative, sleepy nature, the Rindoukan Dojo was stuck in the past. A footnote, a prelude. But not a main course. In this world, fighting was becoming more and more about attitude and posing. But not only that. So many new fighting arts were appearing in the modern world. Capoeira, Wrestling (if you can regard it as such), Boxing, Modified Kickboxing. And older styles were constantly reinforced with newer outlooks and sub-styles. When Wu Shu had the prodigious Interpol agent Chun-Li and Muay Thai had icons like Sagat, who could blame people for not being attracted to the less flashy fighting styles? A new age had just dawned on the world. Fighting was far more casual and far less technical. Thus simplistic styles like those taught at the Rindoukan Dojo had lost much favour in the eye of this new age. Which wasn't great news for a person like Makoto. One who had an intrinsic gift for an art that was fast being seen as 'outdated'. Hence the current sleepiness of her family's dojo. It was damaging on more than one level. The lack of business for the Rindoukan Dojo was crippling enough. But Makoto's fiery fighting spirit was being wounded by it too. And there was so little that could be done to help that issue. ...However, the prospect of a challenge wasn't as far away as Makoto would have believed. As the tomboyish fighter swept up the autumn leaves dotted all over her courtyard floor, the gutter of the Dojo roof shook a little. Makoto turned to look at it, just picking up on the slight noise, and saw nothing but brown wind-tossed leaves. She returned to her steady sweeping mode in ignorance. But a shadow was moving up above. And the second that Makoto gave another exhaling breath... a blurry object came flying straight at her from above. A sudden rush of adrenalin filled the teen. Her eyes flashed open and a powerful battle cry rang out from her throat in motion. Makoto's trained torso skidded to one side of the attack, dodging it. The object was thrust into the ground, still shuddering from the power of the throw. Then Makoto looked back up at the crown of her dojo. To see a ninja sitting perched on the straw roofing. Clearly of female build, she was (to some extent) mysterious, clad in beige baggy shinobi clothing and the lower half of her face obscured from sight by the facial wrappings that surrounded it. Her name was Ibuki. Although Makoto would have had no way of knowing that. Makoto then assumed a fighting stance and scowled at her. "And just who are you?!" "Not bad," The kunoichi offered, "I don't meet too many people who can dodge a kunai that fast... you might be one of the few people who could actually survive at my village." "Answer me!" The tomboy yelled. Ibuki soon stood up from the crouched position she was in. "You needn't worry about any of that. I'm a kunoichi and I'm only here for one thing. To challenge you right here, right now- aaah!" Then a surprised glimpse came off Makoto's eyes as she watched Ibuki slip off the roof of her dojo. The ninja girl's foot skidded off one of the many lines of straw and caused her to fall down into the courtyard with a thump, one that made Makoto wince. Ibuki pouted unhappily and rubbed the sore cheeks of her butt, the cute but unfortunate body part she had landed on. "Dammit," Ibuki cursed, "Scratch ten points for dramatic tension..." Makoto sweatdropped. Suddenly this kunoichi seemed far less intimidating than she might have wanted to appear to be. "Look, do you have a real reason for being here, other than making a complete fool of yourse-" For that brief moment, mid-sentence, Makoto was stuck for words. While Ibuki rubbed on her behind in a soothing manner, the facial wrappings that were bound to her face slid down. Just enough for them to fall around the nape of her neck. Which revealed Ibuki's face in all its teen Japanese glory. The girl was... beautiful. Far more so now that the threatening side of her was relinquished for the time being. Makoto blushed vividly at the sight, but said or did nothing to address it. Before she even could, Ibuki stood back up and re-tightened her face wrappings behind her head. Fixing them back into place over her mouth. "...I told you what I came here for. A challenge. And I won't leave until I get one!" Well this was a little surprising. Who was this girl and why she so desperate to get involved in a fight with Makoto? The Kareteka couldn't quite place her finger on what was going on here, but for a fighter with deep sense of resignation about her lack of challenges, this was a briliant opportunity to express herself. And the true depth of her fighting style.
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