Daydream » VKook

1. Following My Mind

The sounds of swift movements and steel clashing one another intrigued my senses.

That was what drew me to the art of Japanese sword fighting ever since I was 10. My father was a Japanese man, who married my Korean mother. My mother never wanted me to indulge in such a dangerous sport, especially anything that involved sharp cutting objects. Every time I even stared at a katana, my mother would instantly pull me away from it.

Little did she know that I snuck out to my father's antique store every day after school, which secretly housed a training space for various kinds of sports. There were scheduled matches for martial arts, kendo, and best of all, sword fighting. At first, my father didn't know that I was sneaking out to view these matches. I would usually hide behind the metal bleachers and watched the action for hours on end. Sometimes, I forget how long I really stayed there, but I didn't care. I wished that I could hold that sword and feel its intense power.

After a while, my father noticed me peering out of the metal bleachers from time to time. When he found me, I thought I was going to be punished. I was prepared for a spanking as he pulled me out in plain sight, but then my father threw a bamboo sword at my feet. I was utterly confused and I didn't know what he wanted me to do.

"Pick it up." My father ordered.

I knew that my father was a strict man, but when I saw the fiery look in his eyes, he was testing me. I picked up the bamboo sword and held it by its base. It was the first time I ever held this kind of weapon. At first, I was a bit intimidated by its purpose and my father could clearly see my apprehensive nature.

"What are you waiting for, son?" He sternly questioned.

"What do you mean?" I nervously asked.

"Show me what you got."

I gulped down an anxious lump in my throat. My eyes widened at the bamboo sword I was holding, feeling scared and unsure of myself. With both of my shaky hands, I gripped the handle tightly and closed my eyes. As I inhaled, my mind pictured the quick, sharp movements that traveled across the mat. I took in great detail how one shifts his body into different positions, getting an advantage over the opponent. Various motions were engraved into my mind as if I were back by the metal bleachers watching the match.

My body wanted to move. I felt my arms lifting up the bamboo sword and held it up diagonally in front of me. I took one more deep breath, then opened my eyes. Although there wasn't anyone in front of me, my eyes glared sharply as if I was facing my opponent. I grunted deeply, then began flowing, but aggressive movements that cut through the air. The wind traveled rapidly through my hair and the underlying of my skin. I felt so invisible and free at the same time. I swung the bamboo sword with such precision and careful tactic, that I didn't even know if these techniques were real. But honestly, I didn't care. It felt incredible to wield a sword, even if it was just bamboo.

Although it was a such a lively feeling, very little oxygen flowed through my lungs. I felt tired after swinging the sword numerous times. My muscles ached and my mind went blank. I stopped my forceful movements and weakly stood in place with the bamboo sword slipping out of my hands. I breathed slowly and heavily as I looked at my father's serious, unchanging expression. I was scared to hear what he had to say, just from the way he harshly looked at me.

"Son." My father deeply began. "What made you move like that?"

I wasn't sure how to answer his question. He still had that stern look in his eyes, making me more afraid to reply. But I knew he was testing me.

"I followed what my mind showed me."

My father stood there with no reaction. He continued to stare directly at me as I continued to look apprehensive. Suddenly, a light smile appeared on the old man's face and patted me hard on my shoulder. I was still a bit sore from the vigorous workout but smiled along with my father. Then he walked away from me back towards his office with a confident and satisfied spring to his step.

"Come here tomorrow right after school."

"Why father?"

He stopped in his tracks and peered over his shoulder to look at my questionable nature.

"You got your wish, son." He straightforwardly replied. "You're going to be trained in Kendo."

At that moment, my heart burst with excitement. It was my chance to finally practice the art of sword fighting. Well, I knew that it wouldn't involve actual katanas, but it was still something for me to wield my energy. Because within those few seconds of me swinging that bamboo sword around, I knew it was my purpose. I was very eager to learn everything.

But of course, who knew that my eagerness led me to my ultimate weakness.

Control.