We became successful hunters without developing the composure of predators. Our nervous system remains oriented toward safety. And yet we have attained a position that otherwise belongs only to predators.

*

“According to the handicap principle, males with the most conspicuous colourations already have good chances with females simply because they are still alive. The female’s preference for certain colours ensures the selection of male genes that need not provide any further advantages beyond this.” Axel Buether

*

“Ecstasy and existence have the same root.” Michel Serres

At the beginning there was the wave, not the step - Early forms of movement already combined several functional elements: a rhythmic motion of the spine, rotational components of the torso, and a mechanical coupling between the trunk, shoulder girdle, and extremities. Aslan calls this transmission of force the Spinal Wave. The term vividly describes actual biomechanical phenomena such as segmental rotation, elastic recoil forces of connective tissue, and diagonal myofascial chains.

With the evolution of terrestrial vertebrates and, later, of the upright-walking human being, the orientation of the body changed fundamentally. Yet verticalisation did not constitute a complete break with older movement patterns. Instead, horizontal principles of locomotion — lateral trunk movement, rotation, and elastic storage of energy — were integrated into a vertical organisation. They remain visible today in human gait, in compensatory spinal movements, in pelvic rotation, and in the oblique fascial pathways connecting the shoulder and pelvic girdles.

Aslan speaks of functional continuity. The human musculoskeletal system still employs wave-like, rotational, and elastic mechanisms, though now under the conditions of gravity and bipedal stance. In martial arts and other movement disciplines, these principles are cultivated and refined.

Aslan Coogan and his student Takemori Aiko have for some time been moving along the boundary between Eastern movement traditions and Western movement science. Concepts such as Qi do not designate a measurable object in Asian contexts, but rather an experiential and explanatory model for coordinated movement, breathing, regulation of tension, and directed expression of force. From a Western perspective, Qi can therefore be understood as an emergent phenomenon: a result of the interaction between posture, respiration, neuromuscular coordination, rotation, and fascial force transmission. This translation is an approximation, not an equation.

I approach the subject through an expansive teaching tale. You see Aiko, the lost daughter of the samurai.

Geological Architecture and Spiritual Guilt

Edinburgh Castle is Scotland’s most famous fortress and rests upon a volcanic massif. Castle Rock rises nearly one hundred metres above its surroundings and has offered an ideal defensive position since prehistoric times. Sheer cliffs on three sides made the rock almost impregnable. Only from the east was access possible. Consequently, the medieval city developed along the ridge descending eastward from the castle — today’s Old Town of Edinburgh. The castle played a significant role in the Scottish Wars of Independence during the 13th and 14th centuries and changed hands repeatedly between Scottish and English control.

The View Eastward — Arthur’s Seat

Before the eastern windows of the castle looms Arthur's Seat, another mass of volcanic origin, though part of a considerably larger and older geological formation. Its summit forms the highest point of Holyrood Park.

Between the castle and Arthur’s Seat lies Edinburgh’s historical axis and Scotland’s historic centre of power — the Royal Mile. At its eastern end stands the Scottish residence of the British monarch — Palace of Holyroodhouse.

Aslan and Aiko orient themselves inside an armoury of rough stone walls. They examine swords, muskets, halberds, and armour. Aslan regarded the instruments of death with sober fascination. His gaze inspected every blade. Aiko felt judged by his icy passion. There was an interest within him that could not be restrained. This fire was what should have burned within her. At the very least, she must not feel less drawn to these anachronistic testimonies of the art of war.

She descended from a samurai lineage. With refined defiance, she had never openly opposed an upbringing shaped by the spirit of a secularised code, yet she had inwardly barricaded herself against it. As a teenager, she had displayed restrained indifference toward family expectations, though without ever stepping outside the role of the obedient daughter. Her own skill had begun to seem dull to her. Aslan had opened her eyes.

She held a silent devotion for her grandfather, who had regarded the ancient Bushi techniques with religious reverence. In her thoughts, she bowed and asked forgiveness. Aiko was not merely following the customs of Shintō ancestor worship. She desperately wished to lift the condemnation she felt imposed upon herself — to return at last to the noble ancestral line and once again become a pearl on the family string. She longed for purification and penance with existential intensity.

In a recurring daydream, Aiko imagined herself standing as an outcast — rejected and despised — before an ancestral tribunal of her clan. The ancestors resembled grotesque, gruff, knightly nutcrackers as if they had emerged from the Kabuki theatre. They recalled protagonists from the early works of Akira Kurosawa with their expressionistic aesthetic. Aiko sensed an echo of the Bunraku tradition, in which every gesture carried meaning. The phantasmagoria was an emanation of the curse that weighed upon her.

Her judges allowed Aiko no words in her defence. But what could she have said? The accused felt a burden threatening to crush her. Perhaps it was the weight of all those years during which she had been indifferent and arrogant.

Aslan was far more than a trainer to Aiko — he was her spiritual guide. His personality reflected the spirit she had once rejected. Aslan embodied the Bushi spirit. He taught Aiko what she herself should have mastered long ago, even to the point of teaching others.

Dr Fiona MacLeod knew nothing of Aiko’s inner abysses. The historian noticed only a carefully curated wardrobe situated at the intersection of traditional Japanese aesthetics and modern design. Aiko wore a kimono-inspired indigo top and a sand-coloured circular skirt. The combination gave her the classical Japanese silhouette with a sophisticated twist toward the elegantly eccentric.

A mischievous glint in our heroine’s eye revealed her inclination toward the unexpected.

The simple obsidian bead bracelet around her wrist was not jewellery in the Western sense, not ornamentation, but a juzu. The Buddhist prayer beads traced their origin to the last true onna-bugeisha of the Takemori clan, a woman mentioned in historical records and oral traditions as a master of the Kenjutsu arts.

Aiko knew that she had interrupted the lineage through her indifference and defiance. For this transgression she had to atone — and she had to do so in a desert of Western incomprehension. Only after a complete demonstration of her worthiness would she be allowed to return.

Fiona would have denied any customer attention to such an inner drama. To her, every form of spiritual turmoil was a ridiculous exaggeration. Yet Aiko knew how dangerous invisible guilt could become even for those who denied it. Every day was a potentially lethal trial. Those hostile ideas that seemed almost to inhabit Aiko possessed material force. They exerted pressure and pulled at her. One wrong step — or perhaps merely one hesitant step — and Aiko might find herself compelled toward actions that outsiders could never understand.

Fiona turned toward Aslan. He was a Turko-Texan, wealthy by birth, tall, and massively muscular. Aslan was a lecturer at the Ederthal Landgrave Philipp University, a man of books and at the same time an Olympic freestyle wrestling champion; furthermore, he was accomplished in Gōjū-ryū and Kyokushin Karate, Wing Chun of the Yip Man lineage, and Chen Taijiquan.

The style of Gōjū-ryū — the way of hardness and softness — emerged from historical Naha-te, one of the three principal streams of Okinawan martial art. Its development is closely connected with two outstanding masters:

Kanryō Higaonna (1853–1916)

Higaonna is regarded as the founder of Naha-te. He spent several years in Fuzhou, China, where he trained under the master Rū Rū Kō (Chinese: Liu Liu He) in White Crane, a southern Chinese martial art form. After returning to Okinawa, he began combining Chinese techniques with traditional local martial arts, thereby laying the foundation for Naha-te. Higaonna was strict, disciplined, and deeply spiritual. He placed great emphasis on breathing techniques, stability of stance, and Qi.

Chōjun Miyagi (1888–1953)

Miyagi was a student of Higaonna. He formalised the Naha-te system and gave it the name Gōjū-ryū. In 1933 he registered Gōjū-ryū with the Dai Nippon Butokukai, Japan’s central martial arts organisation. He created forms (kata) such as Sanchin — a stable stance, breathing method, and controlled tension — and Tenshō, with its soft, circular movements.

Naha-te and Okinawa-te

Okinawa, formerly the Ryūkyū Kingdom, was a centre of cultural exchange between China and Japan. Martial arts systems developed in different regions of the island. Shuri-te emerged in the city of Shuri and laid the foundation for Shōrin-ryū. Tomari-te developed in Tomari and also influenced Shōrin-ryū. Naha-te developed in Naha and became the foundation of Gōjū-ryū. These three systems — Shuri-te, Tomari-te, and Naha-te — were later collectively referred to as Okinawa-te and formed the basis of modern Karate.

Kyokushin Karate

traces back to Masutatsu Oyama (1923–1994). Born in Korea, Oyama studied Judo, Shotokan Karate, and Chinese Kempo. He temporarily isolated himself in the Japanese mountains and developed his style according to the principle of “ultimate truth” (Kyokushin). He combined traditional techniques with full-contact sparring, challenges such as the 100-man Kumite, and emphasised mental strength, endurance, and physical toughness. In 1964, he founded the International Karate Organisation (IKO).

Chen Taijiquan

In Chenjiagou, the birthplace of the Chen style, Aslan learned the classical forms of Chen Taijiquan, including empty-hand forms, Push Hands (Tuishou), sword (Jian), sabre (Dao), staff (Gun), and double sword (Shuang Jian).

•  

Fiona was impressed — even dazzled — by Aslan’s monumental appearance. For a brief moment she lost herself in an erotic fantasy. She liked to present herself as reserved. She carefully concealed the volcanic side of her freckled nature.

Fiona felt the tug of desire in her loins and involuntarily sighed. She wanted a career and certainly did not intend to obstruct herself. Escapades were out of the question, but she allowed herself carefully veiled accents — stockings without garters, a brassiere that allowed her lace to reveal itself subtly beneath the fabric.

Yes, Aslan’s presence pushed her to her limits.

At that moment he was concentrating on the Claymore collection.

The term Claymore derives from Scottish Gaelic: claidheamh mòr — “great sword.” It refers to a two-handed sword used primarily in Scotland from the 15th to the 17th century. Typical features include a long straight blade, approximately 100–140 cm in length, and a cross-shaped handguard with pronounced quillons. It was the favourite weapon of the Highlanders and a significant status symbol within Scottish warrior culture.

Every blade and every engraving connected itself with the dynastic history of the country.

“Most visitors,” Fiona explained, “discover only photographic opportunities in these rooms. A selfie in front of a Claymore.”

With a small smile, she triumphed over the ignorance of the masses. At the same time, the slight curl of her lips signalled recognition of an equal.

Fiona bestowed upon Aslan the second, modern version of a knighthood. She was in a committed relationship. Her loyalty had endured every test. Her roots lay in Edinburgh-Marchmont, among sandstone houses and parks. Her parents, both teachers, had given her a happy childhood. Rugby with the Edinburgh Harlequins had taught her the meaning of teamwork, camaraderie, and perseverance. Fiona no longer played herself, but she supported the girls’ team and actively passed on the values that had shaped her.

She pointed toward a Highland Claymore, approximately 1.40 metres long and weighing around two and a half kilograms.

“But you… I can see that you are looking for more than a photograph. Lift it from the mount. First with one hand. Feel the weight.”

Only when Aslan placed his second hand on the grip did the Claymore become controllable.