« See you on Monday, Kate san! » your friend and fellow kendo buddy Hikaru tells you while you put on your slippers.

You push the heavy wooden dojo doors and wave back. « See you, Hikaru san! »

Two steps outside and the suffocating humid heat that greets you has you reaching for your Thermos bottle. After two big gulps, there's nothing left of your delicious and refreshing barley tea. Practice was demanding tonight, and even though night falls early even in summer, it must have been a solid 33°C inside the dojo and you are ready to bet you lost your weight in water.

With a sigh, you wipe your brow with a hand towel. You are still wearing your hakama and most of your kendo armor, except for your helmet. After throwing your duffel bag and shinai on your back, you switch your flashlight on and start your twenty-minute walk home among the tea plantations and rice fields of your countryside town.

The night is hot and humid, barely more bearable than daytime. No respite. August in the southern Japanese prefecture of Kagoshima is hell on earth. Days like this, you wish the JET program had dispatched you to northern Hokkaido, ten years ago. Kids are the same everywhere, and English is the same pain to teach whatever the remote town you find yourself in. While winters are brutal, at least they've got proper insulation over there, and summers are nice and cool. But you were born and raised in North Carolina, so this feeling of drowning in your sweat isn't new.

And if this is hell, you are a sinner who loves pain and begs for more. No reasonable person would insist and keep on training during days like this. Especially not in an old wooden construction like your dojo.

As you walk along the quiet and dark road, your lips pull up into a grim, satisfied smile. Yes, it's madness, but nothing beats the feeling of releasing tension with swift deadly precise strokes on the armor of your opponent. No matter the heat. Without a thought for the rivulets of sweat stinging your eyes under your helmet and protective gear.

Kendo is your passion. This means training every other day at the dojo of the junior high school of your town, and attending all tournaments organized on Kyushu island. It gives you the focus and energy that you need, now that teaching English is behind you and that run your own coffee shop, just next to the souvenir shop downtown. The only foreigner kilometers around, people first drop by because they want to gawk, and then come again for your NY-style cheesecake and sugar brownies.

A car passes by in a blur and for a few seconds, its strong lights blind you. You shake your head at its speed. Another grandma behind the wheel. The older people get in the countryside, the less they care about stupid things like speed limits, especially on dark roads.

With no street lights and only your flashlight to warn drivers, it's not the safest way back home but certainly the quickest. The town is small but scattered around a few kilometers, with the schools and post office all in the center. Usually, you ride your bicycle, but it's at the repair shop until tomorrow. But the moon is full tonight; you can make out the tree line of the forest marking the beginning of the mountain a few hundred meters on your right.

It's hot and humid, all right, but a part of you knows you are right where you belong. The sounds of the invisible wildlife become more and more acute as your ears adapt to the silence around you, now that you are far from human activity. No disruptive music for you. Insects and sharp calls from night birds are all what you need. This is yet another reminder of why you chose to come to this country... and why you don't want to leave, despite the challenges and hardships.

You spot the bridge that will lead you to the home you rent on the other side of a small stream flowing from the forest. As you step foot on it, a sudden move in the corner of your eye makes you stop in your tracks.

Could it be...? Again...? You hold your breath, take a few steps on the bridge and look again. Yes. It's following you, all right.

You walk slowly now and let open the door of your small garden behind you. You glance back when you reach the entrance. The furtive shadow of the beautiful fox that has taken an interest in you swiftly enters your garden and goes into hiding. But you know he will show up if you give him the right treat.

Your smile turns bigger; for some reason, this odd situation makes you happy. You hope none of your neighbors in the surrounding properties notices, though. Some raise chickens in their backyard.

Dropping your duffel bag in the entrance hall, you take off your slippers, hurry up to the small kitchen and switch on the only AC unit of your small, one-floor, comfy home. You sigh with relief when the cool air brushes your face drenched with sweat.

Taking off your gear, you put away your shinai in the living room and peel off your sticky undergarments, before pouring everything in the washing machine in the bathroom. You wrinkle your nose. Your dogi could use some hot water. After hesitating a second, you decide to fill the bathtub for a late night bath. The water will be used by the washing machine in a second step.

As the tub gradually fills up, you take a quick cold shower to cool down and get rid of the sweat and grime of the day. Your glance catches your reflection in the mirror and you grimace. You tie your short and wet chestnut hair in a messy bun at the top of your head. You don't like this length and are this close to going with a real short cut, at least for the remainder for the summer. But Kanako loves running her fingers in your curly hair and burying her cute nose in it. And what Kanako loves...

This time your smile is large and full of warmth as your thoughts wander to your sweet darling while you dry yourself and put on a green ankle-length dress with spaghetti straps. She's so precious. When she joined your dojo, sparkles flew immediately between you; you just had to explore that fire that burned you from the inside. You couldn't believe your luck when it appeared your interest was mutual.

You've got a good head on her and maybe twenty kilos; your American roots and stronger bone density can't be helped. But she isn't daunted and is powerful on her own, with lean and strong muscles; her technique is brilliant and her strikes deadly accurate. She moves like a dancer and will go far in kendo. Your heart burst the first time she stepped on the mats, but you lost your mind when your lips met on that fabulous day in March, under the cherry trees, by the Inari shrine in the mountain.

Opening your fridge, you drink two glasses of ice-cold water in a row from the pitcher, before grabbing a beer bottle along with some dried cured sausages and a box of matches. Time to feed your curious friend.