Ren learned quickly that wooden swords were heavier than they looked.
The first morning, he barely managed to hold the stance Daichi had shown him.
His arms trembled.
His knees trembled.
His dignity had already left the building.
“Again.”
Ren raised the sword.
His shoulders tightened.
“Relax.”
He relaxed them.
“Your elbows.”
Ren adjusted them.
“Your feet.”
He looked down.
“What about them?”
“They’re wrong.”
“That’s a little vague.”
Daichi pointed at the ground.
“Fix them.”
Ren moved his left foot.
“Too far.”
He moved it back.
“Too little.”
Ren stared at him.
Daichi stared back.
Ren slowly moved it somewhere between the two.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
Ren smiled.
“Excellent.”
“Now do it again.”
The smile disappeared.
The first week was mostly like that.
Daichi corrected Ren’s posture.
Ren corrected it again.
Daichi corrected it again.
Ren complained.
Daichi ignored the complaint.
Ren complained louder.
Daichi gave him another exercise.
By the seventh morning, Ren had learned several important things.
Swordsmanship was hard.
Daichi had an alarming tolerance for repetition.
And his five-year-old legs had been personally designed by whatever cruel deity governed muscle soreness.
Ren sat on the wooden floor after training, staring at his hands.
“They hurt.”
Daichi was cleaning the practice swords.
“They will.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Ren looked at him.
“Do you ever say anything encouraging?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When you do something correctly.”
Ren thought about it.
“That’s actually worse.”
Daichi’s mouth twitched.
Ren wasn’t sure whether that counted as a smile.
He decided it did.
Training wasn’t about swinging the sword harder.
Ren learned that quickly.
Daichi made him walk.
Forward.
Backward.
Sideways.
Turn.
Stop.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Sometimes Ren wondered whether Daichi had secretly decided to become a dance instructor.
“Why are we doing this?”
“Footwork.”
“I know that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
Ren sighed.
He was beginning to understand how Daichi’s conversations worked.
Daichi answered exactly what was asked.
Nothing more.
Sometimes less.
Ren adjusted his stance.
“Why is footwork so important?”
Daichi looked at him.
“Because your sword doesn’t move by itself.”
Ren waited.
Daichi said nothing else.
Ren frowned.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Ren looked down at his feet.
Then at the sword.
Then back at Daichi.
He hated when the old man said something that sounded obvious and somehow wasn’t.
The other students noticed him.
At first, they mostly ignored him.
That was understandable.
Ren was five.
He was short.
His wooden sword was almost too large for him.
And his greatest accomplishment during the first few days was managing not to fall over while changing direction.
Kenichi was different.
He had been training at Daichi’s dojo for years.
He was older than the other students, more experienced, and clearly respected by them.
He rarely needed to be corrected.
When Daichi demonstrated a movement, Kenichi usually understood it after a few attempts.
Ren needed twenty.
Sometimes thirty.
But Ren watched everything.
That was the difference.
He watched Daichi.
He watched the other students.
He watched Kenichi.
He watched how their feet moved before their swords did.
He noticed how experienced students shifted their weight before changing direction.
He noticed when someone was tired.
He noticed which exercises Daichi repeated most often.
And when he didn’t understand something, he asked.
A lot.
Too much, according to some people.
“Why?”
Daichi answered.
“Why?”
Daichi answered again.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because it does.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“Not a good one.”
Daichi sighed.
Kenichi heard that exchange from across the yard.
He glanced over.
Ren was standing in front of Daichi, wooden sword tucked beneath one arm, arguing about foot placement.
Kenichi shook his head.
The little orphan was strange.
That was all.
For now.
A few weeks into training, Daichi began pairing the students together.
“Kenichi.”
The older boy stepped forward.
“Yes.”
“Ren.”
Ren straightened.
“Me?”
Daichi looked at him.
“You’re Ren.”
“I know.
I was just surprised.”
“Why?”
“I assumed you were calling someone more qualified.”
A few students laughed.
Daichi pointed toward the practice area.
“With Kenichi.”
Ren looked at the older boy.
Kenichi looked down at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Kenichi walked over.
“Hold your sword properly.”
Ren looked at his hands.
“It’s Daichi’s grip.”
“Your thumb is too high.”
Ren adjusted it.
“Like this?”
Kenichi nodded.
“Better.”
Ren studied him.
“You know what you’re doing.”
Kenichi gave him a strange look.
“Obviously.”
“Good.”
Ren raised his sword.
“Then teach me.”
Kenichi blinked.
“Why?”
“Because Daichi is busy.”
Kenichi looked toward the other students.
Daichi was correcting someone’s stance.
Ren lowered his voice.
“And because you’re good.”
Kenichi seemed caught off guard by that.
He recovered quickly.
“Fine.”
He stepped closer.
“Don’t hold the sword so tightly.”
Ren loosened his grip.
“Like this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Kenichi frowned.
“Because you’ll tire faster.”
Ren nodded.
That made sense.
He changed his grip.
Kenichi watched him.
“Again.”
Ren moved.
Too stiff.
“Relax your shoulders.”
Ren did.
“Your feet.”
Ren adjusted them.
“Better.”
Ren smiled.
“See?
You’re good at teaching.”
Kenichi looked away.
“I’m just telling you what Daichi already taught me.”
“Still counts.”
Kenichi didn’t answer.
But he didn’t walk away either.
After training, Ren found Yuki waiting outside the dojo.
She had been sitting on the steps, watching.
Ren dropped onto the step beside her.
“I’m tired.”
“You always say that.”
“I’m becoming more predictable.”
“You’ve never been predictable.”
Ren considered this.
“That’s fair.”
Yuki looked at the wooden sword resting beside him.
“Did you learn anything?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Ren counted on his fingers.
“One, swords are heavy.”
Yuki nodded.
“Two, Daichi doesn’t believe in mercy.”
“That sounds right.”
“Three, Kenichi is actually nice.”
Yuki looked toward the dojo.
“Kenichi?”
“Yes.”
“He’s scary.”
“He told me to fix my grip.”
“Terrifying.”
Ren laughed.
“He helped me.”
Yuki smiled.
“Then maybe you made a friend.”
Ren looked toward the dojo.
Kenichi was standing inside, practicing alone.
“Maybe.”
He picked up his wooden sword.
Then stopped.
“Actually…”
“What?”
Ren grinned.
“Tomorrow I’m going to beat him.”
Yuki stared at him.
“You’ve been training for weeks.”
“Exactly.”
“Kenichi has trained for years.”
“Details.”
“You’re five.”
“Temporary condition.”
Yuki laughed.
Ren smiled.
For now, it was only a game.
The next morning, Ren arrived early.
Kenichi was already there.
He looked surprised.
“You’re early.”
Ren held up his wooden sword.
“I have a rematch.”
“We never fought.”
“Exactly.
That’s why I haven’t lost yet.”
Kenichi stared at him.
Then laughed.
It was the first time Ren had heard it.
Not a polite laugh.
Not an amused breath.
A real laugh.
Ren smiled.
“See?
You can laugh.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“That’s Daichi’s line.”
Kenichi shook his head.
“Come on.”
They stood opposite each other.
Ren raised his sword.
Kenichi did the same.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
Kenichi moved first.
Ren watched his shoulders.
His hips.
His feet.
He saw the movement coming.
He reacted.
Too slow.
Kenichi’s wooden sword tapped his shoulder.
Ren froze.
Kenichi lowered his sword.
“You’re watching the wrong thing.”
Ren rubbed his shoulder.
“I saw you move.”
“You saw me move.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t see when I decided to move.”
Ren frowned.
That was different.
Kenichi continued.
“You keep watching the sword.”
Ren looked at him.
“What should I watch?”
“The person.”
Ren glanced toward Daichi.
The old samurai was standing at the edge of the yard.
Watching.
Ren looked back at Kenichi.
“The person.”
Kenichi nodded.
“Again?”
“Again.”
Ren raised his sword.
This time, he watched Kenichi’s body.
Shoulders.
Hips.
Feet.
Breathing.
Kenichi shifted.
Ren moved.
Too late again.
The wooden sword stopped just short of his chest.
Kenichi smiled.
“Better.”
Ren lowered his sword.
“You’re annoying.”
Kenichi laughed.
“You’re worse.”
Ren grinned.
“Again.”
They practiced until the other students arrived.
Kenichi corrected Ren’s stance.
Ren asked questions.
Kenichi answered some.
Ignored others.
Sometimes Daichi stepped in.
Sometimes he didn’t.
It became a strange arrangement.
Kenichi was the older student.
Ren was the younger one.
Daichi remained the teacher.
But Ren was beginning to learn from both of them.
Kenichi taught him things Daichi assumed he would eventually figure out.
Daichi taught Ren things Kenichi had spent years learning properly.
The difference was subtle.
Kenichi taught Ren how.
Daichi taught him why.
Ren absorbed both.
One afternoon, Daichi demonstrated a basic strike.
He moved slowly.
“Do not begin with your arms.”
Ren watched.
“Begin with your feet.”
Daichi shifted his weight.
Then his hips.
Then his shoulders.
The sword followed.
Ren copied him.
His feet moved first.
Then his hips.
Then his shoulders.
The sword came last.
The movement wasn’t powerful.
It wasn’t fast.
But it felt different.
Connected.
Ren stopped.
“Again.”
Daichi nodded.
Ren tried.
This time, the wooden sword moved more naturally.
Daichi watched.
“Better.”
Ren looked at him.
“That sounded encouraging.”
“It was.”
Ren smiled.
“I’ll remember this moment.”
“Don’t.”
“Too late.”
Daichi shook his head.
Kenichi watched from nearby.
He noticed something.
Ren wasn’t simply copying anymore.
He was understanding.
Not completely.
Not yet.
But the boy was starting to connect pieces that most beginners kept separate.
Kenichi couldn’t explain why that bothered him.
It didn’t, exactly.
Not yet.
He simply noticed.
And remembered.
That evening, Ren sat outside the dojo with Yuki.
His arms hurt.
His legs hurt.
His pride had suffered several minor injuries.
But he was happy.
He looked down at the wooden sword beside him.
It wasn’t special.
It wasn’t beautiful.
It wasn’t even properly sized for him.
But it was his first weapon.
His first real tool for becoming something different from the boy he’d been yesterday.
Yuki nudged him.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
Ren smiled.
“I think I like this.”
“The sword?”
“Learning.”
Yuki looked at him.
Ren’s expression had become unusually serious.
“There’s always something I don’t know.”
Yuki shrugged.
“Everyone doesn’t know things.”
“I know.”
Ren looked toward the dojo.
“But Daichi knows more than me.”
“Obviously.”
“And Kenichi knows things I don’t.”
“Also obvious.”
Ren frowned.
“You could pretend I’m impressive.”
“I do.
Occasionally.”
“Thank you.”
They sat quietly.
Then Ren smiled.
“Tomorrow I’ll learn something new.”
Yuki leaned against his shoulder.
“You always do.”
Across the lane, Daichi closed the dojo doors.
Kenichi stood beside him.
“He’s improving,” Kenichi said.
Daichi nodded.
“Yes.”
“Quickly.”
“Yes.”
Kenichi looked through the doorway toward the orphanage.
Ren and Yuki were still sitting outside.
“He’s still five.”
Daichi glanced at him.
“That is why we train him carefully.”
Kenichi nodded.
For a moment, he looked thoughtful.
Then he picked up the practice swords.
“I’ll be here tomorrow.”
Daichi gave him a small nod.
“I know.”
Kenichi left.
Daichi watched him go.
Then he looked toward Ren.
The boy was laughing at something Yuki had said.
He was still clumsy.
Still weak.
Still far from being a swordsman.
But he was learning.
And for Daichi, that was enough.
For now.
Ren went to sleep that night with sore muscles and a wooden sword beside his bed.
He had learned the first lesson of swordsmanship.
Not how to strike.
Not how to win.
Not even how to hold the sword.
He had learned that getting better meant being willing to be bad at something first.
That was a lesson he could understand.
And he had a feeling he was going to need it.
Very soon.