The Voice Within

I stood in the middle of the studio, my heart pounding as Nana circled me like a shark. Her eyes were intense, focused, as if she could see right through me.

"Alright, kid. Let's talk technique. First things first - breath control. It's the foundation of everything we do."

She placed a hand on my diaphragm. "Breathe from here, not your chest. Feel it expand."

I tried, but my breath came out shaky and shallow.

Nana shook her head. "Again. Deeper this time."

I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation of air filling my lungs. This time, I felt my diaphragm expand against her hand.

"Better," she nodded. "Now, let's talk pitch."

For the next hour, Nana drilled me on scales and exercises. My voice cracked and wavered as I struggled to hit the notes she wanted.

"You're thinking too much," she said, tapping my forehead. "Feel the music, don't analyze it."

I took a deep breath and tried again. This time, I let the melody wash over me, guiding my voice instead of forcing it. To my surprise, the notes came out clearer, more confident.

Nana's lips curved into a small smile. "There you go. Now you're getting it."

We moved on to tone, Nana explaining how to shape my mouth and control my breath to produce different sounds. It was like learning a new language, each subtle shift in my technique creating a completely different effect.

"Try this," Nana demonstrated a particularly tricky run.

I attempted to mimic her, but my voice faltered halfway through.

"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

Nana raised an eyebrow. "You didn't think this would be easy, did you? Again."

I tried once more, and again, and again. Each attempt brought me closer, but never quite there. Sweat beaded on my forehead as frustration built in my chest.

"I can't do it right now," I growled. "My voice hasn't worked this hard for this long."

"Bullshit," Nana shot back. "You can. You're just getting in your own way. Stop thinking about what you can't do and focus on what you can."

Fuck. Fine. One more time, I told myself. Just one more try.

As I opened my mouth, something clicked. The notes flowed out, smooth and clear, exactly as Nana had demonstrated.

I blinked in surprise. "Holy shit. I did it."

Nana grinned, a fierce pride in her eyes. "Damn right you did. That's what happens when you get out of your own head and trust your instincts."

She glanced at the clock. "Time's up for today. But remember this feeling. This is just the beginning, kid."

I left Nana's studio, my mind buzzing with everything I'd learned. As I boarded the train home, I couldn't resist the urge to keep practicing. I hummed softly under my breath, focusing on my breath control like Nana had taught me.

An elderly woman next to me smiled. "That's a lovely tune, young man."

"Thanks. I'm, uh, working on it."

As the train rumbled along, I continued my vocal exercises, keeping them quiet enough not to disturb the other passengers. By the time I reached my stop, my throat was starting to feel raw again, but I couldn't wipe the grin off my face.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, still humming as I entered my own place. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since lunch. I rummaged through my cupboard, pulling out one of my remaining cups of soba. As I waited for the water to boil, I spread my textbooks across the table.

The microwave dinged, and I retrieved my steaming cup of noodles. Settling down at the table, I cracked open my English textbook. Hina's assignment stared back at me - a five-page essay on the themes of isolation in modern literature. Due tomorrow.

Hina. My mind drifted to our encounter at the train station, the warmth of her smile, the softness of her lips on my cheek. I shook my head, forcing myself back to the present. She was my professor now. I couldn't let myself get distracted.

I took another bite of my cooling noodles and pushed on, scribbling notes about Kafka's "The Metamorphosis" and its themes of alienation. As I wrote, I found myself drawing parallels to my own situation - thrust into a new life, struggling to find my place. It was oddly cathartic.

A muffled thump from next door broke my concentration. Chizuru must be home. I wondered what her life was like when she wasn't playing the perfect girlfriend. Did she struggle with assignments like this too?

I rubbed my eyes, staring at the pages I'd filled with scribbled notes about Gregor Samsa's transformation into a giant insect. Poor guy. Waking up one day to find your whole world turned upside down, your body no longer your own... I could relate, in a way. At least I still had opposable thumbs.

I stretched, cracking my neck. The essay was done, but my mind was still buzzing. I glanced at the clock - 1 AM. Too late to get good sleep, too early to start my morning routine.

Music. That's what I needed.

I pulled out my guitar, strumming a few chords absently. What song should I use for my debut? It had to be something that would showcase my range, something that would grab people's attention. But also something that felt... true.

I thought back to my lesson with Nana. Her intense gaze, the way she pushed me to dig deeper, to find the raw emotion in every note. What would impress her?

My fingers moved across the fretboard, playing snatches of melodies from my past life. Songs that didn't exist here, that no one but me would recognize. It felt weird, like I was pulling memories out of thin air and turning them into sound.

Then it hit me. "Slow Dancing in the Dark." The haunting melody, the raw vulnerability in the lyrics... it was perfect. Something Nana could appreciate, with its technical challenges and emotional depth. But also something that resonated with me, that spoke to the part of me that still felt lost, caught between two worlds.

I started to play, softly at first, then with more confidence. The words came back to me, fragments of a life that never happened here.

"I don't want a friend, I want my life in two..."

My voice cracked on the high notes, still raw from today's lesson. But it felt right. Like I was finally tapping into something real, something that was uniquely mine in this new world.

I played through the song twice more, tweaking the arrangement, making it my own. By the time I set my guitar down, the time was 2:28am. I needed to be up in 2 hours.

I flopped onto my bed, exhaustion finally catching up with me. As I drifted off, the melody of "Slow Dancing in the Dark" played in my head, a bridge between my past and my future.

The harsh beeping of my alarm jolted me awake. I groaned, fumbling for my phone in the darkness. 4:30 AM glared back at me, way too bright for my bleary eyes.

"Fuck," I muttered, swiping to silence the infernal noise.

My body felt like lead as I dragged myself out of bed. For a split second, the thought of skipping today's dojo session flashed through my mind. Just five more minutes...

I shook my head violently, banishing the idea. No. The dojo was non-negotiable. Period.

I stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. It didn't help much. My reflection looked like shit - my golden eyes looked faded, hair sticking up in every direction.

"Coffee," I grunted to myself. "Need coffee."

But as I shuffled to the kitchen, I remembered I'd used the last of Kazuya's grounds yesterday. Shit.

I glanced at the clock. 4:40 AM. Not enough time to hit up a cafe before the dojo.

Then it hit me - the 7-Eleven down the street. They had those canned energy drinks that tasted like battery acid but packed a hell of a punch.

Decision made, I threw on my workout clothes and grabbed my duffel bag. The hallway was eerily quiet as I locked up, everyone else still blissfully asleep.

The crisp morning air slapped me awake as I stepped outside. Tokyo was just starting to stir, the first trains rumbling to life in the distance.

The 7-Eleven's fluorescent lights were a beacon in the pre-dawn gloom. I beelined for the drink coolers, scanning the shelves until I found what I was looking for - a garish can promising "EXTREME ENERGY!!!" in neon letters.

As I paid, the clerk gave me a knowing nod. "Early start?"

"Something like that," I mumbled, already cracking open the can.

The first sip hit me like a punch to the gut, sickly sweet with an aftertaste of chemicals. I chugged it anyway, grimacing at the flavor but relishing the jolt of caffeine.

By the time I reached the dojo, the fog in my brain had started to lift. I could do this.

I stepped into the dojo, the familiar scent of sweat and wood polish filling my nostrils. The early morning chill still clung to my skin, but I knew it wouldn't last long.

"Yo, Kinoshita!" Kenji called out from across the room. "Ready for another ass-kicking?"

I grinned, dropping my bag by the wall. "In your dreams, old man."

It felt good, this easy banter. When I first started coming here, I was all nerves and awkward silences. Now, it felt like home.

I started my warm-up routine, my muscles moving with a fluidity that still surprised me sometimes. This body was getting stronger, more responsive every day.

"Looking sharp, Kazuya," Sensei nodded as he passed by. "Keep it up."

I bowed slightly, a warmth spreading through my chest at the simple praise.

As I finished stretching, I spotted Takashi entering the dojo. He caught my eye and headed over, a wry smile on his face.

"Well, if it isn't the rising star," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Heard you gave Sensei a run for her money yesterday."

I snorted. "More like he ran circles around me. But I'm getting there."

Takashi nodded, his expression turning serious. "No joke, man. You've improved a lot since you started. And all in a few days, it's impressive."

"Thanks," I said. "How's trade school going? Still knee-deep in engine grease?"

His face lit up. "Oh man, you wouldn't believe the beauty I got to work on yesterday. A classic '69 Mustang, cherry red. The owner's restoring it himself, but he brought it in for some engine work."

I listened as Takashi launched into a detailed description of carburetors and fuel injection systems. Most of it went over my head, but his enthusiasm was infectious.

"Sounds like you're loving it," I said when he paused for breath.

"Best decision I ever made," he grinned. "Speaking of decisions, you free Friday night? A bunch of us are hitting up that new izakaya on 6th."

I hesitated for a moment. Friday night... that was when Natsuo had invited me out for drinks.

"Actually, I've got plans with another friend, but... got you next week?"

Takashi nodded. "Sure man. I can't go through all those drinks in one night."

"Alright, next week then," I said. "But don't think this means I'm going easy on you in our next spar. I've got a reputation to maintain, you know."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Takashi shot back. "Now, you ready to put your money where your mouth is?"

We squared off on the mat, circling each other warily.

I circled Takashi, my muscles coiled and ready. His eyes locked onto mine, searching for any tell, any hint of my next move. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

Without warning, I lunged forward, aiming a quick jab at his midsection. Takashi blocked it easily, but I was already following up with a roundhouse kick. He ducked under it, grabbing my leg and using my momentum to throw me off balance.

I stumbled but managed to stay on my feet. Damn, he was fast.

"That all you got, Kinoshita?" Takashi taunted, a grin playing on his lips.

I smirked back. "Just warming up, man."

We traded blows back and forth, neither of us landing anything solid. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, my breath coming in short pants. But I wasn't about to back down.

Takashi feinted left, then came in with a right hook. I saw it coming this time, managing to block it and counter with an elbow to his ribs. He grunted, surprise flashing across his face.

"Nice one," he said, his voice tight with exertion.

I pressed my advantage, launching into a flurry of punches and kicks. Takashi blocked most of them, but I felt a few connect. The thrill of finally landing some hits surged through me.

But just as I thought I might have the upper hand, Takashi changed tactics. He dropped low, sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the mat hard, the air whooshing out of my lungs.

Before I could recover, Takashi was on me, pinning me down with a textbook armbar. I struggled, trying to find a way out, but his grip was like iron.

"Yield," he said, applying just enough pressure to make his point.

I tapped the mat twice, signaling my surrender. Takashi immediately released me, offering a hand to help me up.

"Good fight," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "You're getting better."

I nodded, still catching my breath. "Thanks. Still got a long way to go, though."

Takashi grinned. "Don't we all? Come on, let's grab some water."

As we headed to the cooler, I couldn't help but replay the fight in my mind. I'd lost, sure, but I'd also held my own better than ever before. Progress was progress, no matter how small.

I grabbed a water bottle, gulping it down greedily. My muscles ached, but it was a good kind of pain. The kind that meant I was pushing myself, getting stronger.

"You know," Takashi said, wiping his face with a towel, "you remind me of myself when I first started here."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How so?"

He chuckled. "That fire in your eyes. The way you never back down, even when you're outmatched. It's admirable."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with exertion. "I'm just trying to improve, you know?"

Takashi nodded. "That's the key. Never stop pushing yourself. But also..." He paused, his expression turning serious. "Don't forget to enjoy the journey. It's not all about the destination."

I mulled over his words as we stretched out our tired muscles. Enjoy the journey, huh? Maybe he had a point. I'd been so focused on my goals, on becoming stronger, faster, better, that I hadn't really stopped to appreciate how far I'd already come.

"Hey, Takashi," I said as we gathered our things. "Thanks for the match. And the advice."

He grinned, slapping me on the back. "Anytime, man. See you next time?"

I nodded. "You bet. And next time, I'm taking you down."

His laughter echoed through the dojo as we parted ways. I stepped out into the morning sunlight, my body tired but my spirit energized. Another day, another chance to grow stronger. To become the person I wanted to be.

As I walked home, my mind drifted to the day ahead. Classes, singing lessons with Nana, maybe some time to practice my guitar... It was a full schedule, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

I unlocked my apartment door. Time for a quick shower, then off to face whatever challenges the day might bring.