My Mom's Insanely Strong (5)
“Best of three, but I'll make a special exception for you, Do-young. You can keep challenging me until you score a point or say you're forfeiting.”
The conditions were outrageously generous. Just one point. If I could land even a single score in this sparring match, it'd count as my victory right then and there, and I'd get double the original allowance on top.
Of course, hearing about her illustrious past as a national youth representative had me a bit intimidated, I'll admit. Who wouldn't be? People naturally flinch at the sight of someone wielding a weapon. But if that armed person is a master who's spent a lifetime honing their martial art, how many could boldly step up to challenge them?
Dad wasn't exaggerating about Mom's credentials—I could tell just from the way she gripped her bamboo sword. Even a total kendo newbie like me could see it. Through the slits of the hogu mask that fully covered her face, her eyes seemed to blaze with a fierce red glow, like a predator stalking prey in the dark.
It was terrifying enough to have a tiger right in front of you, but this one was standing on two legs, sword in hand. If I had a pet dog nearby, I'd tell it to fetch a kitchen knife for a quick suicide.
“Hoo...”
My hands trembled around the bamboo sword. This body, which had already experienced Mom's strength as the original Ban Do-young, was reacting faster than my mind, which hadn't yet. Probably, every word from Mom had this body flinching first, thanks to seventeen years of discipline I knew nothing about.
“No more chit-chat. Every point you score deducts ten thousand won—no ifs or buts.”
“Why would I add conditions like that? I just want to give my daughter some pocket money out of love. If we do it your way, you'll end up paying me instead.”
She was saying she could rack up at least twenty points no problem. Proof of her absolute confidence that she'd never lose a proper best-of-three.
“You won't just hand it over without a fight, right? With Do Ha-min wrapped around me like full armor, I can swing away without worry—even at you.”
“It's not Do Ha-min, it's hogu—protective gear.”
“Same difference.”
It wasn't impossible. The original Ban Do-young's kendo talent must have come from this sword-wielding tiger in front of me and the gutsy guy who married her. If I stayed calm, cleared my mind of complications, and let the body's instincts take over, an opening would come.
Just one point. One solid hit, and I win. The opponent's my mom. I could keep respawning infinitely as long as my stamina held out. Theoretically, an unwinnable game—for her.
“Kiap!”
Confidence in victory fueled my battlefield morale. With a hearty shout, I charged at the tiger with her sword, bamboo sword raised.
“Good. You still remember your form.”
Tap.
Mom's steady bamboo sword twisted just enough to deflect mine aside. No big motion—just the slightest deflection. In that tiny shift, her sword aligned perfectly with my crown, unhindered.
“Hap!”
Thwack!
By the time my eyes met her sword, a cannonball-like impact was already exploding against my scalp.
“One point!”
“So, 1-0 for now?”
Two seconds into the match, and I'd already gotten my crown crunched by Mom.
...
Whether parents are good or not shows in how they treat their kids—and their kids' friends. My father, Ban Do-che, and mother, Cheok Jun-sook, were both mature adults who respected and cared for their child Ban Do-young and her friend Do Ha-min.
I couldn't judge them definitively after barely half a day, but from what I'd seen so far, that was the case. Neither was the type to lash out with mindless violence at their kids. They might discipline for real misdeeds, but never out of personal grudges or petty reasons.
So why did Ban Do-young fear her mom? Only one answer came to mind.
Mom wasn't a bad parent. She was a strong one.
“One point!”
“Haa... haa... Do-young's dad, what's the score now?”
“...39-0.”
Insanely strong.
“Haa... I thought I'd get one before twenty.”
Crown: 6. Left head: 4. Right head: 8. Left wrist: 2. Right wrist: 6. Left waist: 4. Right waist: 7. Throat thrusts: 2.
A brutal tally. My abilities weren't just wrecked—they were shattered to bits. A few more crown hits, and I might start echolocating like a dolphin.
“Do-young's mom, that's enough. She's gonna collapse.”
“Sigh... doesn't look like it. She's not forfeiting.”
Mom caught her breath and turned back to me.
“Do-young, you still up for it? It's been over two hours since we started.”
“Haa... haa. Obviously. Two hours of hardcore rolling for two hundred thousand won? Total steal.”
“The original ten thousand? I could just hand it over now and call it quits.”
“Nope.”
I shot down Mom's offer flat. Before the match, I might've taken it—easy money, no hassle. But after diving in and eating ten headshots, my pride kicked in.
“Fine, then—from now on, every point I score deducts ten thousand from your allowance.”
“...Do what you want.”
“I thought that'd make you quit.”
Allowance? Forgotten. I just wanted one hit on this tiger. Deep down, maybe this trembling body felt the same.
“Kiap!”
“Hap!”
Our shouts and stomps clashed as bamboo swords met. I poured arm strength into holding firm, preventing Mom from swatting mine away for a counter.
Nearly forty exchanges in, Mom's attacks were finally flowing my way sometimes. The body had the talent, but my mind needed warmup time to read and adapt—about thirty-nine pulverizing rounds' worth.
“Nngh...!”
“Not getting pushed back this time...!”
All her points came from parrying or deflecting my strikes then countering. So I had to keep her from shoving my sword aside. Pure strength? I wouldn't lose to Mom. Convinced, I pushed back hard, flinging her sword up.
“Kiap!”
As planned, I won the power struggle—our sword hands flew upward. Faster than Mom's eyes could spot my opening, I thrust at her left chest protector, heart zone.
“...!”
Mom hesitated, like something caught her mid-retreat. She hadn't expected me this quick after losing the clash.
I wouldn't miss.
Thwack!
“Hit!”
“...Hup!”
For the first time, my bamboo sword touched Mom's chest guard.
“Haa... haa...”
“Hoo...”
With my sword still pressed to her chest, we froze like time had stopped.
“It touched! I hit you...! That's a win, right?”
Whistle!
Dad, refereeing, blew the whistle around his neck. Foul signal.
“Ban Do-young, chest thrusts don't count for safety reasons.”
“What? Crown smacks and throat jabs are fine, but chest isn't? That's bullshit!”
“Should've aimed for the head from the start.”
Thwack!
Mom claimed the final crown hit, ending the match at 40-0.
...
“Ugh, kendo's a total shit game.”
I clicked my tongue like it'd ruined my streak and yanked off the steaming hogu mask. Two hours trapped inside meant sweat-soaked leather reeking of sour, musty funk. Perfect to foist on Do Ha-min someday.
“Good work, sweetie.”
Mom sat beside me, peeling off her sweaty mask.
“Almost had it at the end. Could've won with better execution. Drink?”
“Ooh, thoughtful. Thanks.”
Whish.
I snagged the bottle Mom tossed with my right hand. No idea why she threw it instead of handing it over—we weren't that far—but caught it anyway.
“...My girl's skills haven't dulled.”
“Dunno about that.”
If 40-0 left me unsatisfied, who knew if I had skill or not.
“To me, you're way better. Bolder, sharper movements. Technique's a bit rusty, sure.”
Mom brushed back her damp hair from under the hood.
“Right hand feel okay? Not awkward?”
“Huh? Nah, it's my usual hand.”
“...Right.”
“What's up, Mom?”
“Nothing. Do-young's dad—mind cleaning up the dojo?”
“Uh, sure. What about you...?”
Mom stood, shedding her uniform.
“Gonna shower.”
“...Yeah.”
Dad watched her head upstairs, unzipping his jacket in defeat. Better steer clear of the master bedroom till morning.