Little did over the next few days. It began with a strange break in routine. We were summoned by Takano without warning and filed into the temple reception hall in silence, our minds racing. What could it mean? With the old man, every day was filled with a certain amount of tension. But that was simply the stress of daily life in the dojo—the way you felt from seeing the disgusted expression on his hard face, the rush of panic he could induce merely by focusing in on you with those implacable eyes. It was even more terrible than the training itself, the relentless grind and crunch of bodies colliding. But all these things were part of our normal existence. To be called away from training in the middle of the day, however, was unheard of, and with Takano things unheard of were rarely pleasant. But we kept our heads down and our mouths closed. Only our eyes darted from place to place, like wary animals searching for the glimpse of some unseen danger.
