Spring and the Sword

The next day—

I opened my eyes, climbed out of bed, and made my way to the kitchen.

"Good morning!"

"Mom! Dad!"

In that instant—

I noticed a strange redness in both their eyes. Traces that looked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like they hadn't slept well, or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like they had been crying.

Mom stroked my hair gently, as if nothing were wrong.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Our son."

Dad was helping Mom with the cooking, and chimed in with his usual bright voice.

"Our boy looks full of energy again today, doesn't he?"

"I bet you could run ten more laps than yesterday."

My body went rigid the moment I heard that. Yesterday's fatigue was still sitting heavy in my legs.

"...Dad."

I muttered under my breath, a little hurt.

"You're really... scary."

Dad burst out laughing heartily.

"Hahaha!"

"Our son is even cuter when he's so fun to tease."

"Honey, even so, ten more laps is a bit much."

"Mom..."

As expected, Mom's the only one on my side.

"If you're going to do it, make it twenty more laps instead of ten."

"......"

"Mom, that's mean!"

And so the day began, full of laughter from the very morning.

Mom set dishes on the table one by one as she spoke.

"Alright, if you're going to train hard at swordsmanship today, you'd better eat a solid meal first, right?"

"Yes!"

From that day on, our days followed a similar pattern. Climbing the hill, gradually increasing the intensity of physical training. After training through the winter like that—time flew by. I turned eight.

"Looks like it's about time for the flowers to bloom."

"Flowers?"

"Yeah."

"You'll understand once we go up the hill."

When we climbed the hill, pink blossoms had bloomed on the trees that had been bare all winter.

"Wow!"

"They're so pretty!"

"Right?"

"Then let's start sword training."

"Finally!"

"Mom said even during winter that swordsmanship wasn't ready yet."

"Is it okay now?"

"Yeah, it seems your body is ready now."

"Then why don't you try picking up the wooden sword?"

The wooden sword that had felt heavy in winter... now felt light.

"The wooden sword is light..."

"That's proof you've grown."

"You snuck a touch of the wooden sword behind Dad's back during winter, didn't you?"

"How did you know?"

"I heard every sound."

"How did it feel when you picked it up then?"

"Heavier than I expected, and awkward to move with."

"And now?"

"The complete opposite."

"It's light, and there's no awkwardness moving with it."

"Good."

"Why don't you try taking a stance?"

I raised the wooden sword in a clumsy stance.

"Like this?"

"Hold it just like that for a moment."

Dad came over and adjusted my stance bit by bit.

"Legs a little narrower than shoulder-width."

"Arms in closer."

"Hold that stance for five minutes."

"Five whole minutes?"

"Yeah."

"You can do it, right?"

"I'll try..."

I held the sword still and lasted five minutes.

"Staying still is harder than I thought..."

I collapsed limply onto the grass.

"This is just the beginning. Get up."

"Yes."

"Now attack Dad as much as you want."

"Is that really okay?"

"It's fine."

"Or would you rather keep holding that stance?"

I gripped the wooden sword tight in an instant.

"No take-backs later."

Dad said with a smile.

"Save that talk for after you land a hit."

"Got it."

I charged at Dad with the wooden sword. Whoosh. Dad kicked up grass from the ground. I couldn't see a thing.

"That's dirty!"

"Dirty, is it?"

"Are you going to call it dirty in a real fight too?"

With that, Dad struck my stomach with the sword. Thud!

The moment Dad's attack hit my body—my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠vision swam. I tried to draw a breath, but nothing came in. It felt like my chest had stopped.

"Don't think you can just charge straight at someone."

"On a battlefield, you never know where or how a fight will unfold."

I gripped the sword and forced myself up.

"Can you keep going?"

"I have to land at least one hit."

"Good eyes."

Dad smiled faintly. With those eyes, he wouldn't give up easily.

"That kind of will—Dad doesn't mind it one bit."

Dad's attacks were so fast my eyes could barely follow. I managed to block one or two, but most of them landed on me one-sidedly. My breathing grew more labored, and strength began draining from my legs.

"How about we stop here for today?"

"No..."

"I can still keep going."

"Good attitude."

"But we have to look at your body's condition too."

"Your hands are shaking."

"I can still..."

"I can—"

Thud.

"Son?"

I apparently fainted that day.

Dad got thoroughly scolded by Mom, and by Aunt Serina too, apparently.

"Son..."

"I pushed you too hard."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Dad apologized to me as I lay there. And so the first sword training session came to a close.

A few days later—

I continued receiving sword training from Dad. Around the time the spring flowers began blooming one by one, I finally became able to block a few of Dad's attacks.

"Good, you're doing well."

"Then how about another spar with Dad?"

"A spar?"

"Yeah."

"Dad will have to leave soon too,"

"to take on commissions again."

Dad raised his wooden sword and pointed it at me.

"Let's have one last spar before that."

"Are you going far away again this time?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm... it might take a little longer this time."

"So, ready?"

I raised my sword and took my stance.

"Of course."

The moment I raised my sword—the air around us seemed to change. I felt overwhelmed by Dad's presence.

"What are you waiting for? Attack."

"Dad, then make me one promise."

"Alright."

"What kind of promise?"

"If I land even one successful attack,"

"you'll take me monster hunting?"

"Alright."

"If you succeed even once, that is."

"Come at me."

"Hoo..."

I charged at Dad quickly. I launched attacks at him, but every single one was blocked.

"Hah—!"

I brought the sword down hard. But Dad casually stepped aside and dodged it.

"I told you your movements are too big."

"I know!"

Thud. Dad's foot kicked my side with perfect accuracy. My body began to stagger. I barely regained my balance and stepped back. Dad started approaching slowly. His gait was leisurely, but there wasn't a single opening.

"Son."

"Even if it's a spar,"

"you have to approach it ready to stake your life."

Dad lowered his stance right there.

"Then Dad will now—"

"face you for real."

"Dad...?"

"Go a little easy on me."

I gritted my teeth and charged at Dad again.

"Hup—!"

The moment I tried to strike downward—

"That's why your attack patterns are always the same!"

As Dad's sword came down, I twisted my body reflexively to dodge, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠went for his back. Clang—! Our swords clashed.

"Hmm..."

"So the downward strike was a feint."

Dad just nodded without a word.

"The feint was good."

"But you needed to be a little faster."

"Son."

That smile of his was so annoying today I almost hated it.

Clang— The sword bounced away again.

"Ohh."

"Creating distance and changing your attack style."

"Impressive."

Dad spoke as if genuinely impressed.

"Even when I deliberately provoke you,"

"you don't fall for it so easily anymore."

"I don't fall for those provocations anymore."

"Is that so?"

"Are you done attacking?"

My breath came in ragged gasps. It felt like something was burning hot inside my chest. Still, I lifted my head.

"Hoo... hoo..."

"It's not over yet."

"Is that so?"

"Judging by that momentum, this will be your last."

In that instant, my mind sensed the danger before my body did.

This time, it's really dangerous.

For the first time, fear took hold.

"Alright then—block this."

My body froze. I knew I had to dodge. But I couldn't move so much as a fingertip.

That was when it happened.

"Honey!"

A familiar voice called from the bottom of the hill. It was Mom, coming up with food. Dad's gaze wavered for just a brief moment. A true split second. But I didn't miss that opening.

"Now!"

I gathered every last bit of strength I had left. Planted my feet and lunged forward.

"Uwaaah!!"

There had clearly been distance—yet somehow I reached Dad almost instantly. I gripped the sword with both hands. And thrust.

In that moment—Dad's eyes wavered for a brief second.

"......!"

Dad reacted immediately. He raised his sword vertically and deflected my attack. BOOM!! A powerful impact slammed into my body.

"Ugh—!"

I was sent flying and tumbled across the grass. When my back hit the ground, a strange taste filled my mouth.

"Cough...!"

Dad had already lowered his sword. Not a single breath out of place on his face. Mom was watching the whole scene.

"Son!!"

Mom shouted as she climbed the hill. Worry and anger were written across her face.

"You really..."

"Don't you know what 'moderation' means?!"

Dad finally came to his senses.

"Armel, this is..."

"This is what?"

"That's what you say after sending a child flying?"

"I'm sorry."

When my eyes began to flutter open faintly, Mom was right beside me.

"Are you okay?"

"Does anything hurt badly?"

"Hoo... it hurts a little."

I didn't want to worry Mom any more than I already had, but I had no choice but to be honest.

"That was way too much for a spar!"

"Well..."

Dad looked only at me for a moment, saying nothing. In that instant, Mom's expression twisted.

"Fer!"

"Why don't you know when enough is enough?!"

Mom's anger didn't settle easily.

"Armel, I'm sorry."

"I felt a threat for a moment and reacted on reflex."

I took Mom's hand as I spoke.

"Mom, I'm not hurt that badly."

"Things like that happen during spars."

Mom's hand was trembling noticeably. Her expression softened little by little, but tears fell from her eyes.

"Son."

"That last strike was incredible."

"It was a good attack."

At those words, I silently raised a thumbs-up. Seeing that, my parents both relaxed and smiled.

"Fer."

"There's something you should do before giving praise, isn't there?"

"Well... Dad went a bit too far today."

"I'm sorry."

"Ha... let's call it here for today."

"We need to treat those injuries and get some rest."

"Yeah."

"Get treated and rest."

"Yes..."

"Son."

"Don't forget today's final attack."

Dad smiled faintly and turned his head.

"Ha..."

"Son."

"Yes."

Mom's face was sad, but she forced a smile.

"I know you"

"love the sword."

"Yes..."

"But."

"Sword training is banned for a while."

"Fer, you don't train him for a while either."

Dad looked at Mom with a slightly frightened expression.

"Und...erstood."

"But Mom."

"I'm barely hurt!"

I threw a tantrum at the idea of not being able to practice swordsmanship.

"Son, even if you're not hurt badly,"

"just the fact that you got hurt makes my heart ache and sad."

"So please rest until you're better."

At Mom's words, I couldn't throw any more tantrums.

"Yes..."

"Thank you, son."

"Shall we go eat, then?"

"Yes."

"You both worked hard today."

"Let's eat something delicious and rest well today."

On the way home, Mom never let go of my hand.