Mortal Masks

Chapter Twenty Four

Jaemin grew up with tales of heroes and monsters being whispered into his ears, of warriors that paled at nothing, that feared no one.

Images of strong individuals clad in armour, decorated in war paint and smiling in triumph, coloured his dreams, painting them golden. He often imagined what it would be like, wielding an ancient weapon, rich in history and power, as he stood tall, bathing in victory and confidence after defeating an ancient evil- whatever form that may take.

Sometimes it was creatures like the Tsuchigumo with the body of a tiger, limbs of a spider and the face of a demon. Sometimes it was predators like the Kuchisake-Onna who preyed on children, but whatever it was, he dreamed of his own battle story so much so that sometimes he swore he could feel the rush of adrenaline set fire to his heart, distracting his concentration from the mundane. Standing before those who needed him, he could feel the heaviness of the bronze plates moulded to his body, he could feel the light of hope within burn bright, he could feel the--

--mud on his face...

"Stop daydreaming and maybe you'll stay on your feet"

And Jaemin would've spluttered, spitting out the mouthful of grass he had just consumed, if his fall to the cold earth didn't cause his jaw to tense, pain blooming upon his left side where he hit the ground.

"And you need to stop enjoying this so much" He mumbles back, words strained and forced out through his teeth. The only response he gets is Yuta's melodic laughter cutting off his current train of thought doubting every decision that he lead him to this.

Pushing himself up into a seated position, he winces slightly as he looks up at his father, sighing heavily in defeat as he grumbles, "Couldn't we have started with something easy?"

Yuta extends a hand to Jaemin, which the younger takes, gradually getting to his feet before shaking his body, patting himself down to rid his clothes of the mud and grass stains that are now latching onto the fabrics.

"This is easy, once you get the hang of it" Yuta reassures, his expressing then changing, transitioning to the loving father to a strict sensei, "Front stance, I'll cross strike then down strike- meet them with a strong block like we practised"

Nodding his head at the command, Jaemin sinks into his stance. Bending his front knee and extending his back leg, keeping it straight, Jaemin squares his shoulders as he plants his feet firmly against the earth, getting ready.

Before he knows it, Yuta's bo staff flashes before his eyes. With controlled strength, he brings his bamboo staff down, Jaemin's meeting it in a block with a shudder. The contact causes tremers to run along Jaemin's arms like an aftershock of an earthquake, but he keeps his frame strong as he watches Yuta's staff swing down again, just as powerful and swift as before.

Like he's been instructed to do so, Jaemin blocks the attack, his knuckles white and hands already aching just from the sheer force he was gripping the bamboo with. But then, after the sequence was complete, Yuta smiles at him, encouragingly, proudly, and the deep ache within Jaemin's muscles begins to melt slightly.

"Good. Now we swap, you strike and I'll block"

However, when Yuta brings up his staff, a slight protest falls from Jaemin's lips.

"It's not that I'm not grateful that you're training me physically, but shouldn't you be teaching me more about who spirit hunters are and what they do first?"

The weight of the bo staff still felt heavy and foreign in his hands.

His father only shakes his head, that smile still on his face from before, "If I did that then you'd complain that I was boring you with history lessons". Jaemin inclines his head slightly, noting his father's point.