Ogitchida Kwe's Book Blog : The Legendary Mo Seto Book Blitz

I am so excited that the paperback of THE LEGENDARY MO SETO by A.Y. Chan is available now and that I get to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.

This blitz also includes a giveaway for a finished copy of the book courtesy of A.Y. & Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.

About The Book:

Title: THE LEGENDARY MO SETO

Author: A.Y. Chan

Pub. Date: June 4, 2024

Publisher: Aladdin

Formats: Hardcover, eBook

Pages: 320

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/THE-LEGENDARY-MO-SETO

A fast-paced, high-kicking debut that’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon meets Stand Up, Yumi Chung as a young taekwondo artist uses an ancient book to help save her dreams—and her father.

Twelve-year-old Modesty “Mo” Seto dreams of being a taekwondo champion. Even though her mom disapproves, Mo can always count on her dad, who is her number one fan and biggest supporter. Lately, Mo has been on a losing streak, and it doesn’t help that she keeps losing to her archnemesis, Dax, who’s much bigger than her. If only she were faster, stronger, not so petite. Mo can’t even lean on her dad like usual with how distracted he’s been lately.

When Mo learns about the chance to audition to star alongside her idol and legendary martial artist and movie star Cody Kwok, she knows this her chance to prove to her dad, to the world, and to herself that she can compete with anyone, no matter her size. Unfortunately, Dax is auditioning, too. As Mo and her nemesis progress to callbacks, someone attempts to sabotage the movie set and Mo’s dad disappears—and both events seem linked to a mysterious book, the Book of Joy.

The book contains information on Xiaoxi Fu, a secret dance-like martial art developed by Mo’s ancestral grandmother. Armed with these secret moves and an unexpected ally, Mo embarks on a high-octane adventure to rescue her father, save the movie, and discover an unexpected joy in being small.

Reviews:

"Action-packed prose mimics the cinematic high-intensity atmosphere of a classic martial arts film, while Mo’s desire to connect with her father acts as a driving force in this adrenaline pumping series opener." ― Publishers Weekly

"Chan has created a brave, athletic girl whose realistic struggles with her identity and what she’s capable of will resonate. Readers will find themselves rooting for Mo’s success and enthralled with the relatable characterization that fills the pages. An exciting mystery-adventure story that packs a punch." ― Kirkus Reviews

Excerpt:

Book excerpt:

Chapter 1

I Am Fierce

I may be small, but I am fierce. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Over and over again. Fierce.

“Charyeot,” the taekwondo tournament referee says in Korean. Attention.

I snap my arms to my sides.

“Kyeong-nae,” the ref says. Bow.

I turn to face my opponent, Dax Washington. His dark skin glistens with sweat. We dip our heads.

I look up to see Dax towering over me, his eyes stormy.

It suddenly occurs to me how much “fierce” sounds like “fears.” Not that I’m scared or anything. I’m not.

“Sijak!” The ref throws up his hand. Begin! Immediately Dax’s large fists hammer down like a hailstorm.

Well, maybe I’m a little worried.

Dax lunges. I block his front kick with my forearm. I flinch and reel back. The ref blows his whistle, but Dax doesn’t stop. I barely have time to move before—oof—another kick nails me in the elbow.

Okay, fine. I’m totally panicking.

What would Cody Kwok do? My martial arts hero would never show any sign of weakness. And neither will I.

I quickly rearrange my face to neutral.

I kick and punch, and strike and shift. We volley back and forth, each landing some blows, blocking others. Dax’s heel smashes into my elbow, and I let out an involuntary shriek.

The whistle blows, twice this time. Finally Dax falls back. If I were refereeing, I’d give him a penalty. But all this ref says is, “Excessive force warning, Mr. Washington. Remember to use control.”

At least he gives Dax a You should know better look.

And Dax should know better. He’s been in my tae kwon do class twice a week, every week, since we were five. And now that we’re twelve and junior black belts, he really has no excuse.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Dax smiles at the ref and bows his apology. He sounds sincere, but I know his phony voice.

And when the ref looks down to reset his scoring box, Dax pulls a Jekyll-and-Hyde, his smile turning into a sneer.

“You’re so gonna lose,” he says, low enough that only I can hear. “’Cause . . .”

He bends his knees so he’s several inches shorter—though even in this position, he towers over me.

I feel a tiny rip in my chest, like when a balloon is pinched but doesn’t pop, that slow leak of air—hisss.

Dax knows how to hit where it hurts. Junior-level sparring is based on age and belt level, not on size. Even after vitamins, and broccoli, and jumping jacks for a year, I’m still only four-foot-six-and-a-half. Mom says the women in her family are late bloomers, but she’s barely four-foot-nine, so I’m not holding my breath.

Why do I have to be so small? The familiar thought bursts through like a weed after a rainstorm. I used to destroy Dax all the time, but ever since his growth spurt at the end of last summer, he’s beat me in the fall, winter, and spring tournaments.

That’s three. Three tourneys.

Silver is great too. Variety is the spice of life, Dad would say, as if losing gold isn’t a big deal. But in the days and weeks after, he’d be more subdued and make me train twice as long every day. Kick harder, Mouse. You must beat him next time, Mouse. Because being the best really does matter to him. A lot.

It matters to me, too. Today’s tourney, the Dost Valley Cali-wide Mid-Year Taekwondo Championship, takes place right at the start of summer, and it is the biggest one of the year. I’ll show Dax.

And—I glance at the bleachers—I’ll show Dad.

“Get him, Mouse.” Dad’s ringing voice reaches my ears. There he is in the front row, as usual, standing out in his bright red polo shirt, dancing his embarrassing dad-dance shuffle thing, hollering his nickname for me. Mouse. Short for “Mousey,” which is what I called myself back when pronouncing my name, Modesty, was impossible for a toddler. He’s been traveling a lot for work the past few months, but he promised he’d be here for my big tournament, and he is.

“Bop,” Dad yells. “Pow.” He throws what looks like an awkward boxer’s jab and nearly topples over onto my mom, sitting, prim and proper, in her flowery dress, clutching my squirming two-year-old brother, Justis. I wince, but I also can’t help smiling.

Dad’s a jokester. With his thick hair and round, clean-shaven face, he looks much younger than thirty-nine. He’s not a tall guy, but he’s broad shouldered with a bit of a belly, and he has a boomingly loud voice, so he tends to stand out.

He’s also my greatest fan.

The ref calls us to attention. “Score is tied. Next point wins. Clean strikes.” He looks pointedly at Dax. Dax scowls, but nods.

The spectators, the sounds, everything around me fades away. It’s just me and my opponent. I pound my gloves softly together like I’m giving them fist bumps. The leather is torn and indented from years of heavy use, but I would never dream of replacing them. Don’t let me down, old friends.

I need to attack first, attack fast, attack with everything I’ve got.

I’m fierce.

The ref drops his hand. Dax lunges at me straightaway, an eclipse blotting out the sun.

I leap to the side, avoiding a flurry of fists. My heart pounds into my rib cage. I launch a roundhouse combination kick, but Dax brushes it away. No points.

Dax advances slowly and steadily, a snake stalking its prey. I stare into his eyes. A flicker to the left could give away a left axe kick a moment before it’s launched. Or a bead of sweat falling into his eye might divert attention long enough for me to attack.

And there it is! Dax glances at something to his side.

I’m just about to spring, when I hear it.

Frenzied music punctuated by a series of doggy yelps. I recognize it instantly. The theme song to my favorite Cody Kwok movie, Shih Tzu Ninjutsu. (What happens when the most feared ninja assassins in the world are actually a group of shih tzu puppies, and the only warrior skilled enough to outsmart them is severely allergic to dogs?)

Dad’s ringtone.

My foot freezes, and it all rushes back to me. The hundreds of people packed into the bleachers. The kiyahs from fighters in other matches. The sharp scent of sweat.

I turn slightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dad, phone against his ear. He says something to Mom before striding quickly to the nearest exit.

“Yaaaaaah,” Dax hollers, leaping into a push kick. The force sends me stumbling. I try to step around him, but he’s too big, too wide. He corners me, forcing me to the very edge of the ring. I have nowhere to go.

Fears.

My eyes flicker to Dad just as he walks through the gym door. He doesn’t look back.

What was that old Chinese proverb he used to say whenever I felt scared?

When backed against a wall, a tiger learns to fly.

Is Dad backed against a wall like I am now? Is that why he’s leaving? He promised he’d watch my fight. . . . Under my toes I feel the plastic tape outlining the ring.

Fly, Mo!

But my feet remain rooted to the ground.

The next thing I see is Dax’s fist tearing toward my face.

About A.Y. Chan:

A. Y. Chan grew up in Canada’s Greater Toronto Area reading all the middle grade and young adult books she could get her hands on. To this day, those remain her favorite genres. After achieving her black belt in Taekwondo, she explored other martial arts, such as Wing Chun, Hapkido, and Muay Thai. These days, she continues her martial arts training some mornings, writes in the afternoons, takes long walks to muddle out plot points, and falls asleep reading.

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