The changing room was small and functional. A crisp white training robe lay folded on the bench, a spare belt coiled neatly beside it.
Rohit changed quickly and stood before the mirror for a moment.
White belt.
He almost smiled. The last time he had worn one, it had been during his Yakuza initiation — back when the robe carried real weight and consequences. He had long since earned his black belt in that life. Wearing white again felt like putting on a costume he had already outgrown.
His predecessor had wanted this too, but never got the chance.
Now here he was — using this body to finally give it what it had always craved.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
He tied the belt with practiced precision and stepped out.
The training floor had been rearranged. The three sections were cleared, and the students now sat in a wide ring around a central open mat. Ashish stood waiting in the middle with another student beside him.
Rohit walked forward.
