My Mom's Unbeatable (6)
“Huff… huff. Jun-sook sis—no, Do-young’s mom. Hold on… just give me a sec to rest.”
Amid the puffs of white breath rising softly from the bed, Ban Do-che—Do-young’s father—collapsed onto the sheets, his body covered in red marks everywhere, aching all over.
“Phew… Want me to get you some water?”
“Yeah… please. My back’s got no strength left right now.”
“Just hang on, I’ll be right back.”
Do-young’s mother, Jun-sook, gazed at her utterly spent, panting husband with a faint smile. She planted a light kiss on Do-che, then slipped out of the bedroom and headed quietly to the kitchen.
“Here, drink it slow so you don’t get a stomachache.”
“Like I’d get indigestion chugging water like some kid at my age.”
Jun-sook handed the glass to her husband as he sat up in bed. Do-che gulped it down to replenish the sweat he’d poured out.
“Haa… finally catching my breath. You sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m good. My lower mouth’s stuffed full.”
“Pffft! Cough!”
“I told you to sip it slow.”
“That’s your fault!”
“Hehe, you’re so cute.”
It had been six months since their last marital “duty defense battle.” And as always, Do-che was the first to run out of steam and hit the sheets in defeat.
“Gotta hand it to you—your stamina’s like steel.”
Do-che set the glass Jun-sook had given him on the vanity, stretched his back as far as it would go, and plopped down beside her on the bed.
“I even upped my workouts all week knowing you were coming home today, but I still couldn’t keep up.”
As the dojo master, he never slacked on training even normally. This time, he’d known her return date in advance, stocked up on energy ahead of time—everything prepared. If luck was on his side today, maybe he’d finally see that fierce, seductive tigress of a wife fold first. Plus, thanks to the sparring session with their daughter Do-young, he’d worn Jun-sook down a bit beforehand. He had solid grounds for confidence.
But the memories of repeated bedroom defeats had halved his resolve the moment he spotted her at the airport. In the end, Do-che was the one who crumpled first again.
“Flying in at dawn’s exhausting enough, then sparring with Do-young for two hours this afternoon, and you’re still this fresh. Incredible.”
“Doing what you love with the people you love doesn’t tire you out one bit. Whether it’s kendo with my beloved daughter or fooling around with my hubby.”
“Fair enough… It’s been ages since you last watched Do-young do kendo. How was it? Sparring with her like that.”
Jun-sook paused at Do-che’s question, a smile playing on her lips. Maybe it was the humid heat still lingering in the room, but her eyes glistened faintly with moisture.
“…It was great. Really. I never dreamed a day like that would come again. The idea that she’d spar with me like she was having the time of her life… I couldn’t have imagined it, not even in my dreams.”
“No wonder your wallet flew open so easy. You were thrilled she wanted to spar. And it was my wallet, not yours.”
“Hey, if you’re stingy with your daughter’s allowance, you’ll never hear ‘world’s best dad.’ Besides, we settled on 100,000 won, didn’t we?”
“Who knows what would’ve happened if you’d held back even a little.”
With Jun-sook abroad so often, Do-che handled the family finances.
“I wanted to throw ten rounds or so on purpose. But seeing her get so serious… I ended up matching her for real.”
“That kid’s the same as ever—hates losing with a passion. If only she’d put half that into studying.”
“Her theory knowledge could use a refresh, yeah. Her body remembers, but she’s forgotten some rules.”
“Haha, she’ll nail it, no doubt. Look at her enthusiasm—volunteering to teach Ha-min without anyone asking.”
“…If that’s true, then it’s a huge relief.”
The couple chatted lightly on the bed, their conversation blooming into smiles around their children—the fruits of their love. Of course, the topics that brought tears were always their kids too.
“It still feels like a dream. Thinking back on what I did to Do-young.”
“What’re you talking about, Do-young’s mom?”
Do-che blinked in surprise at Jun-sook’s sudden shift, then gently rubbed her shoulder and asked.
“Truth is, I was a little worried. When you came to the airport alone, you said Do-young was fixing Ha-min’s broken glasses, right? That’s why she didn’t come.”
“Y-yeah, that’s right.”
“First time I heard that, I thought… maybe Do-young didn’t want to see me. Maybe she broke her friend’s glasses on purpose just to skip out.”
“No way, what kinda talk is that? Do-young’s pranks get wild, sure, but she wouldn’t do that. And today with you, everything was fine—why think like that?”
“You’re right. Thankfully, that wasn’t it… but I couldn’t shake this awkward feeling.”
Mom.
Do-young had greeted her long-absent mother warmly and affectionately. There was nothing awkward about a daughter calling out to her mom like that.
But that friendly “mom” felt off to Jun-sook somehow. Still, she didn’t let on that she sensed any awkwardness from Do-young. Instead, she played along with her daughter’s antics, laughing together. Voicing that strange disconnect would dismiss Do-young’s efforts to be warm and affectionate for the family’s sake.
“You… really thought that far?”
“Of course. I don’t deserve how she treats me… I’m a bad mom.”
The awkwardness stemmed from her own guilt as a parent.
Jun-sook’s family had run a dojo since her father’s generation, steeped in kendo. She’d taught her kids the same way her father had taught her.
“In kendo stance, the sword is always centered on the right hand and right foot. No exceptions.”
“Gripping with the left hand advances the left foot too, exposing your heart—the weakness—to the enemy.”
“That’s why left-handers are at a disadvantage in kendo.”
Words she’d passed to her talented kids—maybe even more talented than her. But they became chains around Do-young, who had the gift but wasn’t right-handed.
“I’ll help you out. I’ll be right there.”
“You want to be good at kendo too, right, Do-young?”
“It’s fine. Switch that hand, and you’ll outshine me and your dad for sure.”
Do-young loved her parents and the kendo they’d met over—the kendo they taught her. It took ages, but under her mom’s rigorous training, she gradually switched her dominant hand from left to right.
Countless repetitions: dojo drills to move like a right-hander, extra holds to avoid lefty slips. At home too—right-hand note-taking, right-hand meals—forcing the shift. The notebooks of handwriting practice could fill the dojo; school punishment scribbles paled in comparison. Even hating studies, her handwriting turned pretty.
Little by little, Do-young shifted from lefty to righty.
But innate traits don’t change easily with time or training. She climbed to a point through sheer desperation, but in fast-judgment spars, her limits showed. Proven in a crushing loss to her younger sister—who’d started kendo two years later.
To the sister who inherited the talent and right-handedness. Just like today’s spar between Do-young and Jun-sook.
“The day Si-young beat Do-young in a spar. When Do-young quit kendo. Because of that, the overseas kendo program meant for Do-young went to Si-young instead.”
“…”
“I pushed her so hard—‘You can do it, you’ll be the best’—but in the end, I chose the more talented Si-young over her.”
“Don’t frame it like that. Do-young said she preferred Si-young going, and they both agreed.”
“Sure, but accepting the outcome doesn’t erase the resentment.”
Jun-sook’s confident shoulders slumped, revealing her inner turmoil.
“When I saw Do-young today, I was ready for her to treat me like I didn’t deserve ‘mom.’ I’d understand—I earned it.”
Jun-sook had braced for the worst reunion. She figured she deserved it, steeling herself.
But reunited Do-young showed no hate, no grudge against the mom who’d upended her life then fled with the “better” sister. Even mid-spar, Jun-sook saw only pure competitive fire—no resentment.
She’d thought repeated bouts might draw out the truth through the sword. But across 40 rounds, Do-young never slipped into lefty habits. Fueled purely by rivalry, stabbing as a flawless right-hander—Jun-sook even froze, wondering if she was seeing things.
“Her voice was so sweet, so innocently clueless—it scared me instead. What if she’s just acting the good, affectionate daughter? Pretending I’m a good mom for family harmony?”
If she couldn’t avoid mom coming home, just give up. For family peace. Be the warm daughter. Become the right-hander mom wanted. Love the kendo mom loved.
The reunion’s awkwardness made Jun-sook fear she’d gone from resented to pitied—given up on.
“If that’s really how Do-young feels, what do I do? Is faking a good mom like today… okay?”
“Jun-sook sis.”
“Yeah…?”
Thwack!
Do-che grabbed a mini bamboo sword from the drawer and bonked her on the head.
“Should’ve aimed for the head from the start.”
“Do-che, what the hell?”
“Sleep in Do-young’s room tonight.”
“…Huh?”
“Don’t sit here nursing grudges against our sweet girl’s mom. Go see for yourself what kinda daughter she is.”
It was a first for the couple—Do-che kicking Jun-sook out of their room.
…
Jun-sook headed to Do-young’s third-floor room. How to broach it? Keep up the flawless mom act like earlier? Lost in worries, she timidly knocked.
Knock knock.
“Do-young, honey? You asleep? Can Mom talk to you for a bit?”
Jun-sook eased open the closed door—
Rumble rumble!
Rough footsteps thundered closer.
“M-Mom…? W-why at this hour?”
Do-young cracked the door just enough for her face, greeting Jun-sook. It was a chilly early spring night, but her cheeks were flushed red for some reason, beads of sweat dotting her forehead.
“W-well… I wanted to chat with you a bit, Do-young. But you…”
Jun-sook’s eyes drifted down, peering through the gap.
“Why’re you only in your top…? Where’re your panties?”
“Ah…”
The problem with the Ban house was the lousy soundproofing.