Then his brother's voice came through the darkness, carrying a resolve that matched Marcus' own burning determination. "Then we get better, strong enough that they can't hurt us anymore." "How? They're black belts. We just got our yellow belts."
"I don't know yet," Michael admitted, "but there has to be a way." Outside their window, the suburban street lay peaceful under street lights. A picture of the American dream their parents had worked so hard to achieve. Inside the room, two 14-year-old boys planned their survival in a war their father couldn't see, and their instructors refused to acknowledge. The eighth week of classes began like all the others, with Marcus and Michael gathering their gear while their father finished his coffee in the kitchen.
David had been working overtime on a commercial project, his exhaustion evident in the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You boys need a ride home tonight?" he asked, checking his watch. "I might be able to swing by after my meeting with the electrical contractor." "We can walk," Marcus said quickly. The last thing they needed was their father witnessing another session of disguised abuse.
"It's getting dark earlier now," David pointed out. I don't mind picking you up. "Really, Dad? We're fine," Michael added. "The fresh air helps us cool down after training."
David studied them for a moment, then nodded. "All right, but call if you change your minds." At the dojo, the evening began with basic forms practice. The twins had been working on their techniques at home, using online videos to supplement their limited instruction, and their improvement was noticeable. "Time for partner drills," Sensei Mitchell announced, "Today, we're working on defensive techniques against multiple attackers."
The exercise was designed for advanced students, but somehow the twins found themselves selected as demonstration partners. Jake and Connor volunteered to show proper technique, their eagerness raising red flags that went unnoticed by their instructor. "The key is staying mobile," Jake explained to the watching class as he and Connor circled the twins. "When outnumbered, you can't plant your feet and trade punches." What followed was a masterclass in sanctioned violence.
Under the guise of demonstrating defensive principles, Jake and Connor subjected the twins to a sustained assault that left them both bloodied and disoriented. "See how they're trying to back up?" Connor called out as he swept Michael's legs, sending him crashing to the mat. "That's exactly what not to do. Natural instincts don't work in real martial arts."
Marcus tried to help his brother up, but Jake intercepted him with a knee strike that doubled him over. "Focus on your own survival first," Jake instructed the class while grinding Marcus's face into the mat. "Can't help your partner if you're on the ground where you belong." The demonstration continued for 15 brutal minutes. Every time one twin tried to recover, the other was targeted, keeping both off-balance and unable to mount any effective defense.
"Some people just aren't cut out for this level of training," Jake added, helping Michael up with a grip that left finger-shaped bruises on his arm. As class ended, the twins gathered their gear with practiced stoicism. Their bodies ached, their pride was shattered, but they'd survived another session. Outside the dojo, they were surprised to see their father's pickup truck pulling into the parking lot. David's contractor meeting had ended early, and he'd decided to surprise them with a ride home.