Just One Tip
"…Hey."
Seorin froze, wooden sword raised in midair. She was holding it in her left hand, while her right arm remained pinned uselessly against her torso.
"…Ah. Hello."
"I told you to take two weeks off."
"I am resting."
"You're holding a sword."
"With my left hand, though."
"…"
Yuhan pressed a thumb hard against his temple. "Swing with your left, and you'll blow out that shoulder, too."
"Then I'll just keep using my left until the right one heals up, and once the left gives out, I'll switch back to the right—"
"Do that and you'll ruin both of them until you can't even hold a pair of chopsticks."
"…Should I use my feet, then?"
"You've got to be kidding me."
Yuhan slumped down onto the bench with a heavy sigh. There was no getting through to this girl. Or rather, she understood plain speech just fine; she simply refused to listen. …I feel like I've seen this exact stubbornness somewhere before.
Seorin crept closer, taking small, cautious steps toward him. "Um, mister."
"I'm not teaching you."
"I didn't ask you to."
"You were about to."
"…"
"…"
"…Fine, yes."
Yuhan let out a long breath, watching as she turned away and raised the practice sword in her left hand once more.
Whoosh.
…Ah.
Whoosh.
That's just completely wrong.
Whoosh.
Her left grip was ruined from the very start—
Whoosh.
…Wait, she isn't even gripping it. She's practically clinging to it for dear life.
"Let go of that."
"…What?"
"The sword. Ease up on the grip at the end."
Seorin stopped mid-swing. "…If I let go, it'll go flying."
"It won't."
"It will."
"I'm telling you, it won't."
Yuhan pushed himself up from the bench, walked over to her side, and held out an open hand. "Give it here."
Taking the wooden sword from her, he held it up for her to see. "Look. Right now, this is how you're holding it." He squeezed all five fingers tightly around the hilt in a white-knuckled fist. "Gripping like this kills your wrist. Once your wrist dies, you start swinging with your arm. And when you swing with your whole arm, your shoulder blows out."
"…Then how am I supposed to—"
"Like this." Leaving only his pinky and ring finger hooked snugly around the hilt, Yuhan relaxed and opened the other three fingers slightly. "Hook just two."
"…You only hold it with that much?"
"Yeah."
"Then I'll drop it."
"You won't."
"Why not?"
Without answering, Yuhan gave the wooden sword a single, casual flick.
Ssshhk—
The sound of parting air was fundamentally different. It wasn't the blunt, heavy whoosh produced by Seorin's swings; it was a razor-thin hiss, like the air itself had been sliced clean in two.
"You throw a sword," Yuhan said, flipping the wooden blade around and handing it back. "You don't strangle it. You throw it forward, and you only catch it at the very last split second."
"…I have no idea what that means."
"It's normal not to." He turned and ambled back toward the bench. "Go on, try it. Swing it about a hundred times and you'll figure it out."
Seorin took the sword back. She hooked only two fingers around the hilt, just as he had shown her. It felt completely unnatural, the weapon rattling unsteadily in her open palm. "…Is this really right?"
"Beats me. I'm just an unemployed bum."
"…"
Whoosh.
It felt bizarre.
Whoosh.
It felt as though the hilt would slip from her fingers at any moment.
Whoosh.
It was downright terrifying.
Whoosh.
And yet—
Whoosh.
Her shoulder didn't hurt.
Seorin stopped dead in her tracks. Panting softly, she reached up with trembling fingers and touched her left shoulder. She had swung twenty times, yet the joint that normally began throbbing after just ten felt completely fine.
"…Huh?" She whipped around in disbelief. "Mister! This is—"
"Yeah. That's how it is." Yuhan was lying stretched out across the wooden bench, his forearm resting lazily over his eyes. "Your shoulder was giving out because you were trying to hit things with your shoulder. Snap through the wrist, and it won't break down."
Seorin stared down at the wooden blade in her hand. Three years. For three long years, she had endured agonizing pain every single day. She had assumed hurting was natural. She had believed that pain was the only proof of improvement.
It wasn't. She had simply been doing it wrong all along.
"…Mister."
"Yeah."
"Three years."
"…"
"It hurt every day for three whole years." Her hand trembled around the hilt. "And yet, with just one tip from you, it doesn't hurt at all."
Yuhan didn't lift his arm from his face. "…Fancy that."
"Was I just stupid?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"Because nobody ever bothered to tell you."
The training ground fell dead silent. Yuhan slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked at her. "That wasn't your fault."
"…"
"A kid swings a sword a thousand times a day all on her own for three years, and not a single person ever thought to tell her to hook just two fingers." Yuhan turned his gaze toward the crumbling wall at the back of the lot. "That's what's messed up. Not you."
Seorin couldn't find her voice. Her grip instinctively tightened around the wood, but the moment she realized she was clamping down, she relaxed her hand again. Just two fingers.
"Right, then." Yuhan clapped his hands together with a brisk, definitive smack. "We're done for today."
"…What?"
"I gave you your advice."
"…"
"I told you, I only give backseat advice. And backseat advice has a strict limit of one tip per day."
Seorin's eyes went wide. "…One tip a day?"
"Yep."
"Then will you give me one tomorrow, too?"
"Nope."
"You literally just said one tip a day!"
"That just means today's quota is officially spent."
"What about tomorrow's?!"
"We'll talk about tomorrow when tomorrow comes."
Yuhan strolled over to the rusted vending machine by the entrance. He slotted in a few coins and pressed a button. A loud mechanical clatter echoed through the hall, and two cans of coffee dropped into the tray below.
…Two again.
He pulled them out and underhand-tossed one toward her. Seorin caught it cleanly with both hands.
"Thank you."
"Yeah."
"Mister."
"…What now?"
Seorin cupped the warm metal can in her palms. "What time are you coming tomorrow?"
"I told you, I'm not coming."
"…"
"…"
Yuhan cracked open his can and took a slow sip. And then, before his brain could catch up with his tongue, the question slipped out: "…What time do you usually show up?"
Only after the words hung in the air did he realize what he had just asked.
Seorin broke into a radiant, triumphant smile. "Five o'clock."
Yuhan froze, the coffee can halted halfway to his mouth. "…Wait, no, that's not what I—"
"See you at five!"
"Hey, hold on—"
Bang.
The heavy iron door slammed shut.
Yuhan was left standing all by himself in the cavernous training ground. He stood there for a very long time, can in hand, staring blankly at the closed exit. "…Ah, seriously."
The next morning, at five o'clock sharp, the iron door of Training Hall B creaked open.