CHAPTER 187: THE FIGHT AHEAD

Nina was quiet for a moment, organizing her thoughts. "Being there, seeing the program up close, I kept thinking about why I wanted to be a journalist in the first place. It wasn’t because I wanted to work for prestigious publications or win awards. It was because I wanted to tell stories that mattered, expose problems that needed fixing."

"You can do that at major newspapers."

"Maybe. But I could also do it other places. Maybe better, in some ways."

"Like where?"

"I don’t know yet. That’s the thing - I’ve been so focused on following the traditional path to journalism success that I haven’t really considered alternatives."

Kofi studied her face, trying to read what she was really thinking. "Are you saying you don’t want the fellowship?"

"I’m saying I want time to think about it without pressure. They gave me two weeks to decide."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, we keep doing what we’re doing. School, work, figuring out what comes next. Together."

Relief flooded through Kofi, followed immediately by guilt about feeling relieved.

"You shouldn’t turn down opportunities because of me," he said.

"I’m not. I’m taking time to make sure any decision I make is for the right reasons, not just because it seems like what I’m supposed to do."

That night, lying in bed, Kofi found himself thinking about paths and choices. How sometimes the most important decisions weren’t between good and bad options, but between different versions of good.

"I love you," he said into the darkness.

"I love you too."

"Whatever you decide about the fellowship."

"I know."

Outside their window, the university campus was quiet except for the occasional car passing by. Students were settling into their own uncertainties, their own choices about futures that remained unwritten.

Kofi fell asleep thinking about tomorrow’s kendo practice and the adaptation exercises he’d been developing. About teaching people to respond creatively to unexpected situations. About the possibility that life itself was just one long adaptation exercise, requiring constant adjustment to changing circumstances.

---

morning, Kofi woke to find Nina already up, sitting at their small kitchen table with coffee and her laptop. She was staring at the screen with the focused intensity she usually reserved for difficult articles.

"What are you working on?" he asked, pouring himself coffee.

"Research. I’m looking into alternative journalism programs and career paths. If I’m going to make a decision about New York, I want to know what other options exist."

"Find anything interesting?"

"A few things. There’s this investigative journalism nonprofit that focuses on local government corruption. And several magazines that specialize in long-form feature writing. None of them have the prestige of the New York fellowship, but the work looks more aligned with what I actually want to do."

Kofi sat down across from her. "What do you actually want to do?"

"Tell stories that change things. Expose problems that affect real people. Not just chase breaking news or write trend pieces."

"Sounds like you’re clarifying your priorities."

"I’m trying to. It’s harder than I expected to separate what I want from what I think I should want."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Jake stood in the hallway, holding a stack of papers and looking unusually agitated.

"We have a problem," he announced, pushing past them into the apartment.

"Good morning to you too," Nina said.

"Sorry. Good morning. But seriously, we have a situation." Jake spread his papers across their kitchen table. "I’ve been analyzing university budget allocations for my economics class, and I found something disturbing."

"More disturbing than your usual budget analysis obsession?" Kofi asked.

"They’re planning to cut the kendo program."

The words hit Kofi like a physical blow. "What? Where did you hear that?"

"It’s not official yet, but the preliminary budget for next year shows zero allocation for non-revenue generating sports programs. Kendo, fencing, several others."

"That’s insane. These programs have been here for decades."

"Budget shortfalls require difficult choices, apparently." Jake shuffled through his papers. "But here’s the thing - the cuts aren’t necessary. The money is being redirected to facilities improvements for revenue sports. New locker rooms for football, expanded parking for basketball games."

Nina leaned forward, her investigative instincts activated. "So this isn’t about financial necessity. It’s about priorities."

"Exactly. And the decision is being made by people who don’t understand the value of these programs."

Kofi felt anger building in his chest. The kendo program had been his anchor during the transition to university life. More than that, it represented a connection to discipline, growth, and community that couldn’t be measured in revenue numbers.

"What can we do about it?" he asked.

"Fight it. But we’d need to move fast. The budget gets finalized next month."

Nina was already reaching for her laptop. "I can write about it for the campus paper. Expose the decision-making process and the impact on students."

"That’s a start. But we’ll need more than media coverage. We need to demonstrate value that the administration will understand."

They spent the next hour strategizing. Jake would continue researching the budget details and decision timeline. Nina would investigate the story from multiple angles - financial, educational, and human interest. Kofi would rally the kendo team and other affected programs to organize student response.

"This feels familiar," Nina said as Jake left to continue his research.

"What do you mean?"

"Fighting to save something we care about from administrative shortsightedness. We’ve done this before."

"This time it’s personal though. The magazine was about creative expression. The kendo program is about who I am now."

Nina studied his face. "You really love it, don’t you? The teaching, the leadership, all of it."

"Yeah. I do. More than I realized until it was threatened."

"Then we’ll save it. Whatever it takes."

That afternoon, Kofi called an emergency team meeting. The dojo felt different knowing it might not exist much longer. Team members arrived gradually, their faces reflecting confusion and concern.

"I’ll get straight to the point," Kofi began. "The university is considering eliminating our program as part of budget cuts."

The reaction was immediate and vocal. Protests, questions, disbelief. David, the sophomore who’d initially struggled with adaptation exercises, looked particularly devastated.

"What does that mean for us?" he asked. "Do we just lose everything we’ve worked for?"

"Not if we fight back. But we need to be smart about it. We need to show the administration that this program has value beyond what shows up in budget spreadsheets."

"How do we do that?"

Kofi had been thinking about this since Jake’s revelation. "We demonstrate impact. Not just on us as individual students, but on the university community as a whole."

"What kind of impact?"

"Leadership development, discipline, cultural exchange, community building. All the things kendo teaches that you can’t measure in dollars."

"And how do we demonstrate that?"

"By organizing something that showcases those benefits. A tournament, maybe. Or a demonstration that includes other martial arts programs."

The team’s energy shifted from despair to determination. They began planning immediately, their voices overlapping with ideas and suggestions.

"We could invite high school students," suggested Maria, a senior who’d been with the program since freshman year. "Show them what university martial arts looks like."

"And we could include cultural education components," added David. "History, philosophy, not just technique."

As the meeting progressed, Kofi felt pride mixing with his anger about the budget cuts. This team had developed into something special under his leadership. They weren’t just learning martial arts; they were building character and community.

After practice, he found Yuna in the smaller training room, working through forms with her usual intensity. Her departure for Japan was only three weeks away.

"I heard about the budget situation," she said without stopping her practice.

"Jake couldn’t keep quiet about it, apparently."

"He’s right to spread the word. This kind of decision shouldn’t be made in isolation."

Yuna finished her sequence and turned to face him. "I want to help with whatever you’re planning."

"You don’t have to. You’ll be leaving soon anyway."

"That’s exactly why I want to help. This program gave me something I didn’t know I needed. I can’t repay that debt, but I can help protect it for future students."

Her offer touched him more than he’d expected. Despite her sometimes prickly exterior, Yuna had developed genuine loyalty to the community they’d built.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Ren has connections in the traditional martial arts world. Other senseis, advanced practitioners. If we’re organizing a demonstration, we could bring in guests who represent the highest levels of the art."

"That would be incredible. But wouldn’t that be expensive?"

"Let me worry about that. Some things are more important than money."

Walking home that evening, Kofi felt the familiar weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. Another crisis to manage, another battle to fight. But this time was different. This time he wasn’t fighting to save something from external threats, but to preserve something he’d helped build.

Nina was waiting with dinner and a notebook full of research.

"I talked to the campus paper editor," she said as they ate. "She’s interested in the story, but she wants multiple angles. Human interest, financial analysis, administrative response."

"That sounds comprehensive."

"It also sounds like a lot of work. But I think it’s worth doing right."

They talked through her article plans while cleaning up dinner. Nina’s approach was thorough and strategic, designed to present the issue from every perspective that might resonate with different audiences.

"There’s something else," she said as they settled on the couch. "Writing about this, thinking about institutional decisions and their human impact, it’s reminding me why I wanted to be a journalist in the first place."

"In a good way?"

"In a clarifying way. This is the kind of story I want to tell. Local, immediate, affecting real people I actually know."

"As opposed to national political coverage?"

"As opposed to any coverage that treats people as abstract concepts rather than individuals with specific stakes in specific outcomes."

Kofi sensed there was more to this realization than just the kendo story. "Are you thinking about the fellowship again?"

"I’m thinking about what kind of journalist I want to be. And whether the most prestigious path is necessarily the right path for me."

"What conclusion are you reaching?"

"I don’t know yet. But I’m starting to think that having the question is more important than having the answer right away."

They spent the evening working on their respective responsibilities - Kofi planning the demonstration event, Nina drafting her article. But underneath their focused activity was a shared sense of purpose that felt both familiar and new.