The Registration

*Days Earlier

The halls of the Universal Dojo Committee were quiet, the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional sharp call of a messenger breaking the silence. Though it was the headquarters for one of the most prestigious martial arts events, today it functioned as nothing more than an administrative hub—handling requests, registrations, and records.

Sensei walked in calmly, his presence steady but unmistakable. He carried nothing but himself, no document, no weapon, only the quiet weight of experience.

A few nearby clerks paused momentarily, glancing at the newcomer as he strode past the lines of tables. Most dismissed him after a second, assuming he was here for business like everyone else. But among the officials seated at the main registration desk, the recognition was immediate.

At the far end of the hall sat a long wooden table where the officials gathered, reviewing lists of entrants for the Seventh Tournament.

Chairman Rikuto, a man known for his sharp eye and meticulous approach to tournament affairs, was the first to notice Sensei's arrival. His gaze lingered on the figure approaching, his posture straightening slightly.

Kenji, the logistics overseer, was still focused on reviewing the registration lists when he noticed Rikuto's shift in attention. He glanced up, adjusting his spectacles, then turned fully toward the man standing before them.

"Can we help you?" Kenji asked, his tone polite but formal.

Sensei's voice was calm. "I am here to register."

The quiet murmur of papers halted for a moment. A few officials glanced at one another, noting the simplicity of his statement—and the lack of hesitation behind it.

Kenji picked up a quill. "Your name?"

Sensei glanced at the parchment in front of them. "Register the dojo."

Kenji raised an eyebrow but didn't protest. He dipped the quill in ink. "Name of the dojo?"

Sensei's response was simple. "Sensei's Dojo."

The quill paused slightly before gliding over the parchment. The name was written down.

From the opposite end of the table, Maeko, the tournament's senior strategist, leaned back in her seat, arms folded as she studied him. There was a hint of curiosity in her gaze—though not necessarily surprise.

"You've kept your dojo in the shadows for a long time," she said, her voice measured.

Sensei met her gaze without reaction. "I have."

Her tone wasn't accusatory, but there was weight behind it—a question unspoken, an expectation lingering between them.

A few of the newer officials glanced at one another, exchanging quiet murmurs. Though Sensei's dojo wasn't commonly known among the general tournament ranks, those who understood the deeper layers of martial arts history were well aware of it.

Kenji continued scribbling details. "Number of combatants?"

"Five."

Kenji nodded, finishing the entry. "The official confirmation scroll will be sent later."

Sensei inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the statement but showing no reaction.

A messenger nearby finished preparing another batch of documents before turning toward the officials. He carried a neatly sealed scroll, meant for a different task, but hesitated when he saw the expression on Rikuto's face.

As Sensei turned to leave, Rikuto finally spoke, his voice steady but thoughtful.

"There's something about that man."

Maeko didn't disagree.

The name Sensei's Dojo was now listed among the competitors.