Max stood eagerly at his desk, his heart racing with anticipation. His teacher, a cheerful woman with kind eyes, approached him with a curious smile. "What brand-new thing’s inside your head?" she asked. "I’ll kick and chop! I want karate — HIYA! — non-stop!" Max shouted, his enthusiasm echoing through the room.
Max's classmates, a lively bunch, gathered around him. "Karate’s boring! That’s just weird! We’re trying cigarettes instead, way cooler!" Max wrinkled his nose, the sharp scent of tobacco making him grimace. "That smells like skunk! I’ll pass on that — no stinky junk!"
Max entered the dojo, his heart pounding with excitement. At first, his movements were clumsy, his legs wobbly, and he stumbled frequently. But each fall only fueled his determination. The instructor, a patient and encouraging sensei, watched him closely. "You’re improving, Max. Keep going," the sensei said, offering words of encouragement.
Max sat on the examination table, his leg bandaged and elevated. The doctor, a gentle woman with a reassuring smile, delivered the news. "No kicks, no chops, for two whole months," she instructed. Max nodded, disappointment washing over him but determination still flickering in his eyes. "I’ll be back," he thought to himself resolutely.
After weeks of rest and recovery, Max returned to the dojo with renewed vigor. His kicks were sharper, his punches more powerful. He climbed the ranks swiftly, earning his belts with pride. "You’ve come a long way, Max," his sensei remarked, nodding approvingly.
Years had passed, and Max stood tall and strong, his trophies gleaming in the sunlight. His old classmates, once full of energy, now appeared weary and tired. The teacher, observing the contrast, chuckled softly. "Max made the smart choice — karate’s nice," she said, her words ringing true. Max smiled, knowing his journey had been worth every challenge.
