Glasses Off Won't Turn You into a Hottie (5)
I figured I'd start light—maybe smack that tire-shaped head of his a few times with the bokken and call it quits. Seeing the kendo uniform and bokken tucked away in the closet made me think the original Ban Do-young must've done kendo too.
"Die, Do Ha-min!"
Thwack!
Of course, it'd also vent some stress along the way.
"Haa... Feels like I've cracked his skull fifty times already."
But when I snapped out of it, I'd gotten hooked. I didn't let go of the bokken until my kendo uniform was soaked through with sticky sweat.
This thrill wasn't mine—it was Ban Do-young's body feeling it. Back in my original world, I was a total kendo noob.
"Sniff sniff, whoa, Ban Do-young's sweat under her boobs smells like lime."
Hate to waste the sweat I'd already worked up, so I took a whiff. Sour yet irresistibly drawing my nose closer—a lime scent.
"Anyway. She's got real kendo talent, this one."
I'd half-expected it, but it blew away the talents I'd spotted before, like her singing or handwriting. I didn't know basic stance or how to start a strike, but Ban Do-young's body moved on instinct, like muscle memory.
Just like you don't think about how many breaths per minute or where to place your tongue—her body naturally extended both arms straight with the bokken, centered her weight on her heels, and stamped her feet crisply.
"Do Ha-min's noggin!"
Thud!
"Do Ha-min's arm!"
Crack!
"Do Ha-min, smash to bits!"
Splaaat!
From head to waist, big swings to short ones, a seamless chain of clean, efficient moves.
"Men-hae!"
No status screen in this novel I'd possessed into, but for a moment, I felt like a game character pulling off skills.
"Hyaah, ka-mu-sa-ri!"
"Cut it out, you brat."
Bonk!
If Dad hadn't smacked the back of my head, I'd probably have kept at it till the evening class students showed up.
…
"Couldn't you crack a window? Anyone peeking in would think this is a sauna."
"Sorry. Didn't want noise from outside bothering me."
Dad threw open the windows, venting the dojo's thick, humid air. We'd started with them open, but no way was I bellowing "Die, Do Ha-min!" with them wide.
"Look at all this sweat. How long you been at it?"
"Uh... since school ended, so about an hour?"
"Right after my delivery run, huh."
It'd been nearly ten days since possessing Ban Do-young's body. I'd naturally picked up the dojo's basic schedule. Perfect timing—no one around.
"When'd you start?"
"What? I said an hour."
"No, I mean when'd you pick kendo back up."
"Huh...? Isn't it obvious the dojo master's daughter would do kendo?"
"…."
His eyes held a tangled mix of emotions. Dad looked weirded out seeing me in the family dojo's uniform, swinging a bokken.
"Why... can't I do kendo?"
Was I veering off the original Ban Do-young's path again? What if I'm the swordmaster talent and she had none...?
Nah, no way. I'd played stick-sword fights as a kid like any boy, but never felt talent. Those moves I just pulled? Straight from this body's owner, Ban Do-young. That much I knew for sure.
"...No, no. Just surprised 'cause it's been so long. Can't remember the last time I saw you in uniform like this."
Dad bowed his head, face distant—smile or regret, hard to tell.
So long? Original Ban Do-young must've quit for a while.
"Didn't know you could look that happy doing it. Skipped a bit, but you remember?"
"Form's temporary, class is eternal."
"That means you remember, right? Good enough."
I braced for a bokken to my head for that nonsense, but Dad just nodded, playing along like it was no big deal.
"Mom'll love hearing this tomorrow. I'm happy too, of course."
"Oh, right. Mom's coming tomorrow."
Yep, tomorrow. Mom was back from caring for my sister studying abroad. That's why I'd cleaned the basement storeroom all night—leading to dozing in class and getting called a mop-slut by the class prez.
Guess I kinda fueled the Ban Do-young mop rumor myself.
Moms, man.
"Since you're here after so long, how about pizza in the dojo tonight?"
"Ooh, if we're ordering, make it that new Papakatsu collab pizza!"
"Got it. That pizza place, right? One otaku pizza delivery to..."
"Not the gross character—gimme the cutest one!"
Glasses might remind me of Do Ha-min and make my blood boil.
While Dad ordered, I dove back into practice. Who says girls can't have muscle? After nearly an hour swinging, I still had stamina left. Mind could go all day, but body might tap out sooner. Still, I'd hold till delivery.
"Practice? Go for it. Plenty of time."
Evening class wasn't for a while, no one else coming, so Dad waved me on. No more "Die, Do Ha-min!" though.
"Can I turn on the AC while I train?"
"AC in March? And alone? Fan instead."
"Can't you see the sweat under my boobs from going hard? Just a bit?"
"Hot? Strip. You're alone."
"Tch."
Happy to see me in uniform again one sec, stingy the next. Unlike my kendo-prodigy little sis getting study abroad, second kid gets shortchanged on love, huh. Fine, pizza buys tolerance.
"Wound of the Wind!"
About ten minutes in, I'd dragged out a big fan per Dad's orders, top untied, pounding the dummy. Bra-only and sweaty looked rough, but better than heat.
Creeeak.
Dad emerged from the office at the sound of a visitor. Evening students weren't due yet.
"What? Pizza on a Friday shouldn't be this fast."
"Customer?"
"I'll check. You keep practicing, Do-young."
"Gotcha, Daddy strat!"
Back then, I didn't care who the unannounced visitor was. Too busy geeking out over Ban Do-young's motor skills nailing moves just from calling technique names.
"Welcome. What brings you?"
"…."
The dojo drowned out outside noise with stomping blue mats, whirring fan, and bokken thuds.
"Ah, here for dojo info? Have a seat."
"…."
"Sounds like a consultation."
Dad's deep, firm bass as dojo master—and giver of my shout pouch—carried in. But no-shout guests' soft voices didn't reach me.
"Building stamina? Perfect! Nothing beats kendo for fitness. Arms, legs—everything works. Boosts focus too, great for studies."
"Whoa, Dad's hustling hard."
Elementary sign-ups booming in the apartments—did he need to push this much? Felt his grind indirectly.
"Classes 5 to 6...? Hmm, that's evening prime time—no slots open. After 6 work?"
"…."
Too bad—no spot for this visitor. That awkward slot screamed night-shift or early-morning worker. Factory drone on shifts maybe.
"Night study...? Dedicated kid. Squeezing workouts into dinner breaks without cutting study time."
"…."
"...Whoa, close enough. Not spot-on, but tough grind either way. Night study's brutal like double shifts."
"Uniform says same school as my kid—tell her to do that, she'd foam at the mouth. Hahaha, she freaks at studying."
"…."
"Sorry, kid. We don't run classes then. Try another dojo or gym."
Dad'd sold hard but couldn't fit the slot, so he gently nudged the student out.
"By the way, kid, don't recognize you from around here... New in town?"
"...What?"
Clatter!
That instant, I flung my bokken and yanked open the office door where Dad and the guest were.
"Do Ha-min!"
Sure enough, the dojo intruder was none other than Do Ha-min.
"Why are you—"
"Oh, hi... Eek!"
Do Ha-min spotted me, slapped hands over his face, and whipped his head away.
"What the—! Why cover your head like a pheasant? Think that hides who you are? Name's on your uniform tag!"
"N-no, it's not that...!"
"You come into the office looking like that...!"
"...Ah."
Forgot. Practicing topless 'cause hot.
Thud.
Do Ha-min nosebled out, collapsing on the office floor.
"Hey, Do Ha-min! This guy's down again from nosebleed. Hey, it's a skin-tone bra, not no-bra!"
"Kid, kid! You okay?!"
"Dad, tissues? By the laptop?"
"I'll handle it—out, Ban Do-young!"
I got booted from the office.