The tea was almost perfect.

I sat at my usual spot by the window, morning sunlight streaming through the bamboo blinds. The courtyard outside was peaceful, birds chirping somewhere in the distance. My cup steamed gently, the jasmine scent drifting up to tickle my nose.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander to the dream.

A cute disciple, maybe with long black hair tied in a ribbon, would bow respectfully before me. Her voice would be soft, almost musical, as she called me Master with genuine admiration. She’d giggle at my wisdom, her cheeks turning pink when I demonstrated a technique. No muscles, no testosterone, no sweaty determination. Just pure, innocent enthusiasm.

The fantasy was so vivid I could almost hear her voice.

Then the ceiling exploded.

Wood splinters rained down like confetti as a figure descended through the wreckage. Black robes billowed dramatically around him, a massive sword gleaming with enough spiritual energy to level a mountain. The air pressure alone made my tea ripple.

“GRANDMASTER ZENJIRO!”

I didn’t even open my eyes.

The blade came down with the force of a collapsing star, trailing purple lightning and what looked like the screaming souls of ancient dragons. The technique had a name, naturally, because my disciples loved their dramatic naming conventions.

“GOD-KILLING DRAGON SLASH!”

I reached for my chopsticks.

The wooden utensils caught the blade between them with a soft click, like I was just picking up a particularly stubborn piece of tofu. The catastrophic spiritual energy dispersed harmlessly, flowing around me like water around a rock. The shockwave still managed to knock over my teacup though.

I opened one eye.

“Blade. My tea.”

My first disciple hung there, suspended mid-strike, his sweaty face inches from mine. His eyes burned with that intense determination I’d seen a thousand times before. Muscles rippled under his torn shirt, his jaw set in that classic warrior grimace. Droplets of perspiration fell onto my breakfast table.

This was literally my nightmare.

“You stopped the God-Killing Dragon Slash with chopsticks.”

His voice trembled with equal parts awe and frustration. I could see the gears turning in his head, trying to comprehend the gap between us. Poor kid still didn’t get it.

“You ruined my morning tea.”

I flicked my wrist, sending him flying backward through the hole he’d made in my ceiling. He rocketed into the sky with a surprised yelp, his silhouette getting smaller and smaller until he was just a dark speck against the clouds.

Team Rocket style, every single time.

I stood up and surveyed the damage. Splinters covered my rice, my fish was buried under ceiling tiles, and my tea had formed a small puddle on the tatami mat. Another perfectly good breakfast destroyed by masculine aggression.

The silence felt heavy after all that dramatic entrance energy.

I walked over to my desk and picked up the paper I’d been staring at for three months. The recruitment poster was simple, written in my best calligraphy. “Seeking Female Disciple. Must be enthusiastic, willing to learn, and preferably not interested in trying to kill me every morning.”

Zero responses.

Not a single one.

I’d posted it in every town within a hundred miles, stuck copies on every message board, even tried magical advertising that made the letters glow. Nothing. Meanwhile, my three male disciples had basically forced their way into my life through sheer stubborn determination.

A crash outside announced Blade’s return to earth.

He’d probably landed in the koi pond again. That was his usual trajectory when I flicked him westward. I could already picture him crawling out, soaking wet, still muttering about how he needed to surpass me.

Footsteps stomped up the path to my dojo.

“Master, I have returned from my morning meditation in the clouds!”

I closed my eyes again, fighting the urge to just teleport to a different continent. Blade burst through the door, water dripping from his hair and robes. His face was set in that same intense expression, like he was constantly one second away from challenging the heavens themselves.

“Your defense was impeccable as always.”

“You destroyed my ceiling. Again.”

He glanced up at the hole, sunlight streaming through the jagged edges. Then he looked back at me with genuine confusion, like property damage had never crossed his mind.

“A small price for the pursuit of ultimate strength.”

I wanted to scream.

This man, this absolute unit of misplaced shonen protagonist energy, had been my first disciple. Seven years ago, he’d climbed the mountain to my secluded temple and refused to leave. I’d tried everything to discourage him. I’d ignored him for weeks, I’d demonstrated the impossible gap in our power, I’d even told him straight up that I didn’t want male disciples.

“Master, teach me to be strong like you!”

That was all he’d said, over and over, with those burning eyes and that determined jaw. Eventually I’d given in, thinking maybe if I trained him he’d leave once he got strong enough. But no, the stronger he got, the more obsessed he became with surpassing me.

Now he tried to kill me every morning like it was a wholesome bonding ritual.

“Blade, we need to talk about boundaries.”

He dropped into a meditation pose right there in the middle of my destroyed breakfast area. Water pooled around him as he crossed his legs, his expression shifting to that intense focus he used when absorbing wisdom.

“I am ready to receive your teachings, Master.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

This wasn’t teaching I wanted to give. I wanted to explain the concept of normal greetings, like saying good morning or maybe bringing tea instead of homicidal sword techniques. But I knew from experience that Blade filtered everything through his warrior mindset.

“When you greet someone in the morning, you don’t try to decapitate them.”

“But Master, the sword is my greeting. Each strike carries my respect and admiration.”

See what I meant? Absolutely hopeless.

I looked at the recruitment poster again, my heart sinking lower. What kind of normal girl would want to join a dojo where the senior disciple regularly attempts murder before breakfast? The sensible ones took one look at Blade’s intensity and ran the other direction.

“Master, shall I repair the ceiling?”

“With what, your sword?”

He actually considered this, his hand moving to the massive blade strapped to his back. I could see him mentally calculating if he could slice new wooden beams into existence.

“Blade, no. Just no.”

I slumped back into my chair, or what was left of it after the shockwave. The morning sun mocked me with its cheerfulness, illuminating the disaster zone that used to be my peaceful breakfast spot.

Three disciples, all men, all completely insane in their own special ways.

Blade the Edgy Swordsman, who expressed affection through assassination attempts. Then there was my second disciple, who I’d meet later today, probably doing something equally ridiculous. And the third one, who was legitimately scary in ways that had nothing to do with combat ability.

“Master, your expression grows distant. Are you contemplating the mysteries of the universe?”

“I’m contemplating a female disciple who doesn’t destroy my furniture.”

Blade’s face scrunched up in confusion. The concept of wanting a cute student instead of a muscular warrior genuinely didn’t compute for him. In his mind, the path of martial arts was all grit, determination, and dramatic skyward punches.

“But Master, strength knows no gender. A true warrior—”

“Blade, I’m going to be real with you. I don’t want another warrior. I want a normal student who says good morning like a civilized person.”

His eyes widened like I’d just revealed the secret to immortality.

“You wish to teach the path of peace?”

“I wish to teach someone who won’t give me property damage before I’ve had caffeine.”

The hole in my ceiling framed a perfect view of the morning sky. Birds flew past, completely unbothered by the spiritual energy that had nearly torn reality apart minutes ago. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the breakfast bell from the village below.

Normal people were having normal mornings.

“Master, I shall redouble my efforts. Tomorrow’s greeting will be even more spectacular.”

I looked at Blade’s earnest, sweaty face, at the genuine excitement in his eyes. Part of me, a very small part, appreciated his dedication. But the rest of me just wanted to go back to bed.

“Please don’t.”

He stood up, water still dripping from his robes, and bowed deeply. His sword scraped against the floor, leaving another mark I’d have to fix later.

“Your wisdom guides me always, Master. I will meditate on the true meaning of greetings.”

Then he walked out, probably to go practice even more devastating techniques in the training yard. I could already hear him muttering about combining the God-Killing Dragon Slash with some kind of Phoenix Fire technique.

I was so tired.

The recruitment poster lay on my desk, the ink slightly smudged from where my tea had splashed it. “Seeking Female Disciple” stared back at me, mocking my increasingly impossible dream.

Maybe I should add a warning label about the existing students.