Hidden Lessons

Several days had passed since Taro began training under Father's wise tutelage. On occasion, I would sneak away from our farm duties. While Mother likely suspected my destination, she never voiced her concern or made any attempt to prevent my secretive escapades.

On the other hand, Father had astutely discerned my hidden visits early on in my clandestine observations during their training sessions. Despite this, to my surprise, he hadn't commanded me to return to Mother's side.

One day, amid their rigorous training, I crouched in my concealed nook, endeavoring to control my breath to stifle any noise that might reveal my presence. Suddenly, Father strode over to me. I hadn't even noticed his departure from Taro's side, and there he stood beside me, peering down with a stern yet playful expression.

"Harumi," Father began, his brow arched in an indulgent, questioning manner, "it's not quite fitting to spy on us in secrecy. If you wished to watch your brother Taro train, all you had to do was ask."

I replied with a sheepish smile, knowing I had been caught red-handed but would not back down. "Otousan," I admitted, my guilt palpable in my voice's quiver, "but had I asked you, what would have been your response?" I inquired, my hope for permission evident in my eyes.

Father, with a contemplative hand on his chin and the other arm resting casually, considered my question and replied, "Had you approached me with your request, I would likely have directed you to assist your mother and siblings with their farm tasks."

My smile dimmed, and a sad undertone colored my voice as I lamented, "You see, Father, even if I had asked, you would have guided me back to help Mother on the farm." The reality of Father's response weighed heavily on my hopes. My gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet his eyes.

Father's gaze, once playful, now held a tinge of sympathy. He couldn't help but understand the spark of curiosity within me. His voice softened, "But curiosity is a valuable trait, Harumi, and the path to knowledge often requires its pursuit." The warmth in Father's words kindled a renewed sense of hope within me.

Father's wisdom enveloped me, and my frown became a subtle smile. The comforting reassurance in his words gradually dispelled the earlier sense of disappointment.

I finally met his eyes, expressing my gratitude through a wordless yet hopeful gaze that remained steadfast as Father's sentence hung in the air.

Diligently practicing under Father's guidance, Taro took a moment to interject. He smiled half-heartedly as he addressed Father, "Otousan, please pardon Harumi. She might not yet fully grasp your humor. She's still very young." A chuckle accompanied his words as he emphasized the innocence of youth.

A warm smile overtook Father's face as he watched my eyes, and he and Taro shared a moment of laughter, leaving me thoroughly perplexed.

Taro, sensing my confusion and, at the same time, acknowledging my youth, chimed in, his voice filled with glee, "Otousan, you really mustn't tease Harumi. She's still quite young."

I wore a frown, acknowledging the truth in Taro's words but refusing to back down. After all, several days had passed, and I had been there since the beginning of Taro's training, albeit in secret, or so I had thought.

His statement only deepened my determination. Despite my limited understanding, it had already been several days of covert observation. I wasn't ready to relent, though I understood the truth in his words.

Father, ever the indulgent parent, conceded. He offered a warm smile to accompany his reassuring words, "Alright, alright. Harumi, you may stay," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

I couldn't help but shriek with unbridled joy at the chance I had been given, though he swiftly signaled for silence, forcing me to cover my mouth. It was only when he continued speaking that I fell silent once more.

However, his approval came with a condition, which he conveyed with a severe stare. "But you can stay under one condition," Father stated, his serious gaze locking onto mine.

With bated breath, I made my proposition, knowing this was my moment of truth. "If I show you, will you agree to train me, too?" It was a pivotal crossroads – a deal that would determine my fate, either at Father's side in the training sessions or back at the farm, separated from the world I so desperately wanted to join.

The father's response was measured and fair. "How can I agree without first seeing what you've learned?" His words carried a valid point.

As I faced Father's question, I reached for a slender wooden stick lying on the ground. I didn't waste any time. Without a word, I went for a thin wooden stick lying nearby. It was surprisingly lightweight. It was about 50mm in diameter, slightly longer than my arm, and remarkably light.

I inhaled slowly through my nose, holding my breath as I raised the wooden stick above my head. With precise adjustments, I positioned the stick parallel to my body, ensuring it was perfectly aligned.

Exhaling gradually through my mouth, I commenced a series of swings, counting down from 15 to 0 in time with my movements. The whooshing sound created by the wooden stick's descent, propelled by the wind's gentle push, resonated through the air. I ended each motion with the stick, forming a 90-degree angle relative to my body. I repeated this motion and synchronized my breathing pattern for around ten more swings before Father signaled me to stop.

Father's hand rose to silence my practice, and he cast a look I couldn't quite decipher. It appeared to be a blend of amusement, confusion, and perhaps a touch of curiosity. I yearned to ask him what he thought but remained silent.

Fortuitously, Taro chose that moment to break the lingering awkwardness. He began clapping, which broke the tension between Father and me. We both turned our heads towards him as he ceased practicing, and Father's narrowed eyes seemed to convey, "Who told you to stop? Continue."

Taro swiftly resumed his training, and Father returned his attention to me. The atmosphere was uncertain, and Father's prolonged silence only heightened my anticipation.

He observed me from head to toe, seemingly lost in contemplation. After a considerable pause, he finally spoke, "If only you were born as a son..."

I couldn't help but frown at his statement. Confusion welled up inside me, and my eyes showed my uncertainty. Father, noticing my reaction, hastened to add, "BUT you are not, and that's the most precious part of you."

His words, initially perplexing, ignited a spark within me—the enigmatic blend of emotions stirred in my heart. Though confusion showed in my eyes, it was only a glint as the rest was filled with hope.