She placed a small piece of black belt fabric at the base of the stone. "They found me, James," she said softly. "Just like you always said they would."
She traced the letters of his name with her fingertips. "You died protecting me from Kojiro's men. I won't let your sacrifice be in vain."
A light footstep behind her made Thelma turn. Rick stood a respectful distance away, hands in his pockets.
"I'm sorry to intrude," he said. "Kenji told me I might find you here."
Thelma rose slowly, her knees protesting. "My husband," she explained, gesturing to the grave. "He was a Marine, but also a martial artist. We met at a tournament in California after I left Japan."
Rick stepped closer. "The dojo was vandalized last night."
"I heard," Thelma said. "I'm sorry to have brought this trouble to your door."
"That's actually why I'm here," Rick admitted. "I wanted to apologize for how I treated you, for not seeing you for who you are." He hesitated, then added, "And for not standing up when the students disrespected you."
Thelma studied him thoughtfully. "Apology accepted. But I sense there's more."
Rick nodded. "I want to learn from you. Not just techniques, but philosophy, approach. I've been teaching for fifteen years, but last night I realized how little I actually know."
From her bag, Thelma withdrew a small leather-bound book. "My father-in-law's teachings," she said, offering it to Rick. "Perhaps this is a place to start."
Rick accepted the book with reverence, bowing slightly. "Thank you, Sensei."
The next morning during open sparring at the dojo, a stranger entered. He was Japanese, perhaps thirty, with close-cropped hair and intense eyes. He wore a plain black gi with no school insignia, and his white belt was clearly new, never washed.
"I wish to challenge your highest ranking fighter," he announced, his English precise but accented.
Rick approached, extending his hand. "I'm Sensei Rick Walker. We don't typically allow drop-in challenges, but—"
"Not you," the man interrupted. His gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Thelma, who had just emerged from the locker room. Her gi was neatly pressed, her white belt tied with precision.
"Her."
A hush fell over the dojo as the stranger walked directly to Thelma and bowed deeply but stiffly.
"Thelma Inu Gardner," he said. "I have waited a long time for this honor."
Thelma studied him, her expression giving away nothing. But those closest to her noticed a subtle shift in her posture, a tensing of her shoulders.
"What is your name?" she asked, though something in her eyes suggested she already knew.
"Hiroshi," he replied. "Hiroshi Kojima."
Thelma's whisper was barely audible. "Kojiro's son."