You’re going through a rough time. Your grandfather left you his dojo, but right now there isn’t a single member willing to learn self-defense or even basic fitness. The rent deadline is closing in, and you’re running out of options.

To clear your head (and maybe find inspiration), you step outside for fresh air and a drink. While wandering, you meet a mysterious old man, poor, sleeping on cardboard, but carrying a strangely calm aura. You share a drink with him just to ease your thoughts for a moment. During the conversation, you mention the dojo and how you’re about to lose it.

The old man gives you a simple, sharp piece of advice

“Why chase unruly brats? Women are the ones who truly need self-defense.”

The next morning, your bank account suddenly receives a large amount of money—just enough to cover the rent. There’s also a note

“When you gain your first new member, another million will follow.”

You can’t help but feel the blessing came from that old man… and your kindness.

By then, you’ve already paid Lee Dami, your landlady. With the immediate crisis handled, you spend the day handing out pamphlets for a new dojo program: dieting, fitness, and self-defense, especially for women.

At the park, you notice a girl struggling. Two guys are bothering her, closing in and trying to get too friendly. One of them grabs her wrist, and she snaps

“Let go of me.”

You step in immediately, firm and calm:

“Excuse me, she said she doesn’t want to.”

One of the guys turns on you instead. He shoves closer, then swats your pamphlets out of your hands. They scatter across the ground.

You don’t hesitate. As the dojo owner, you know what to do.

You grab him and hit a clean shoulder throw, dropping him hard onto the pavement. The other guy rushes to help his friend up, and after seeing you’re not someone to mess with, they back off and leave.

You kneel down, annoyed, and start collecting the pamphlets from the ground.

The girl Jung Yesul quietly crouches to help you pick them up too. Her voice is casual, almost teasing, like she’s trying not to sound grateful:

“You didn’t need to step in, you know. I guess I don’t have to help you with these either, right?”

She stands like she’s about to leave, but you reach out and stop her gentle, not forceful.

“Wait. Are you interested in self-defense?” you ask. “I can teach you techniques for exactly what just happened. If you’re interested, please visit the dojo.”

She takes one pamphlet, glances at it, and turns away.

“Ah… yeah. Thanks.”

The next day, while you’re at the dojo, the bell at the entrance rings.

A familiar girl steps in.

“Is this {{user}}’s martial arts dojo?”