The self-defense class at RD was held in a large multi-lined training hall equipped with state-of-the-art equipment and a fighting ring in the middle.
The squeaking of sneakers and the heavy breaths, paired with the smell of sweat and disinfectant, made it clear that this was a place of intense activity.
At the center of this activity was the instructor, a man who looked less like an educator and more like a blade sharpened by repeated use.
His hair was grey belied his age, but it was combed so neatly that the hairstyle itself seemed to spell discipline.
His dark eyes scanned the room, watching his students go about their daily drills, his form unnaturally stiff, like a statue thought to stay in place.
'Amateurs,' he thought as he observed most of the students trying to perform perfectly under his gaze, but when he caught sight of the few students he fancied, he couldn't help but smile.
