“Can We Surrender?”

September was soon to arrive in Florida, bringing with it the beginning of many small endings... The one of highest importance for this story was the conclusion of Quentin's bachelor studies. This particular period, marked by Quentin's social isolation and emotional detachment, was about to last one more year before finally becoming a more or less happy memory.

Unlike his peers, Quentin was never one to indulge in typical college experiences. He wouldn't get drunk with classmates while playing billiards, nor would he fall asleep in the back of a bus after a night of clubbing. The pursuit of romantic relationships held no interest for him either. To be honest, his mind was consumed by a single passion: his karate training.

The driving force that motivated him was the black belt that had once belonged to his paternal uncle—a great karate master who had tragically passed away when Quentin was still a child. This precious heirloom hung in a frame on the least scratched wall of his old bedroom, a constant reminder of his aspirations to follow in his uncle’s footsteps.

This room, located in his tiny hometown in the northern part of Florida, held a special place in Quentin's heart. As a child, he would often jump on his bed, not for childish fun, but to quickly reach the black belt, marveling at its significance.

In spite of that, even when his uncle took the belt off the wall to show it to him, Quentin never dared to wear it. The leather felt heavy in his hands, its significance weighing even heavier on his mind...Even now, as an adult, he felt unworthy of its legacy. Somehow, the item had transcended its physical form to become a sacred artifact in Quentin's eyes, so revered that he almost worshipped it. More than just a piece of cloth, it represented a prophecy, a map to his future. Without this tangible goal of becoming a karate master like his uncle, Quentin would have felt completely lost in the world, adrift without purpose or direction, like many of his peers.

*

Eventually, September dawned on Quentin's reality, but it didn't paint his world with any distinct color; it remained invisible, transparent. The air hung heavy with humidity, indistinguishable from August's oppressive heat. As Quentin rushed from the dorm to the opening ceremony on campus, rivulets of sweat traced paths down his nape, a constant reminder of Florida's unrelenting climate. He despised the formal clothes he was required to wear—a crisp white shirt paired with long black trousers that seemed to trap the heat against his skin. Fortunately, he could rely on the cool sanctuary of the shadowy, air-conditioned university halls and gyms to provide some respite from the sweltering temperatures outside.

His chosen path of study was physical education, a decision driven by dual ambitions: to obtain his teacher's certificate and to earn his coveted black belt, ultimately becoming a sensei. In his mind's eye, he could see a future where, if finances permitted, he would breathe new life into his uncle's dojo, honoring the legacy of the man who had inspired him so profoundly.

Quentin's respect for his uncle stemmed not merely from his impressive third dan ranking in karate, but from the natural wisdom that seemed to flow from him. Each time his uncle spoke, his words were laden with meaning, pearls of insight that Quentin diligently recorded in a notebook. These teachings were treasures he intended to pass on to his future students, ensuring that his uncle's wisdom would continue to guide and inspire.

He had a clear vision of the kind of teacher he would become. His self-imposed discipline and stern expectations would extend to his students, a philosophy he believed would ultimately benefit them. In his future dojo, bullying would be met with zero tolerance, and he was committed to being a mentor to those students who needed guidance beyond the mat. Karate had been Quentin's lifeline during his high school years, pulling him back from the brink of depression and empowering him to overcome his physical limitations. This transformative experience fueled his desire to pay it forward, to be for others what his uncle and karate had been for him.

His dedication to the art was evident in his rigorous training schedule. Most weekdays, and even some Sundays, found Quentin in the university gym, honing his skills and pushing his limits. It came as no surprise that he quickly distinguished himself as one of the top students in the karate club. However, he was pragmatic enough to recognize that this achievement, while personally significant, was somewhat tempered by the fact that most of his fellow club members were either novices or short-term participants who would soon abandon their practice. It was disappointing but that was the truth: most people didn't have the persistence to continue what they were doing, and they would drop out before things could get truly difficult.

Despite his intense focus and generally solitary nature, Quentin had managed to forge closer friendships with two individuals: Zoey and Jacob. These connections, rare as they were for him, provided a welcome counterpoint to his otherwise solitary journey through university life, adding depth to his experience beyond the dojo and the classroom.

Zoey was a well-built, tanned woman with a passion for sports, whose shiny dark brown hair was always neatly pulled back into a thick ponytail. Despite her athletic prowess, she maintained a gentle and kind personality. Her strength was evident in her fierce kicks, which could sometimes send opponents stumbling. Her combination of physical power and compassionate nature made her a unique and admirable individual. She embodied both the power and grace that karate could instill in its practitioners.

As for Jacob... Well, it was impossible to define him in just a few sentences. He had a robust figure indicating a talent for athletics, but he was a beginner in martial arts... He arrived at training wearing grey sweatpants with stripes and a black t-shirt - no belt, no karate-gi, no no skills.