Bonds Formed

As the scene transitions back to the training site, Taro is seen practicing hand-to-hand combat, delivering swift strikes, and skillfully blocking the swings of the bamboo doll. Meanwhile, I sit there, my thoughts drifting as I impatiently wonder when Otousan will return.

Sensing my restlessness, Taro reassures me, "Don't worry, Harumi. Father will return shortly. He's probably getting something for your training." His voice carries an air of calm understanding, followed by a sigh.

"Remember, Father said he'd train both of us. Patience is a virtue, Harumi." He continues his rigorous training routine.

Just as I contemplate Taro's words, Father's presence surprises me. He emerges from behind, jesting with his characteristic humor, "If you're this impatient, I'm unsure if you can endure the demands of our training."

"Otousan!" I exclaim, shaking my head vigorously. "I'm not impatient. I've been waiting patiently. If I were impatient, I would have left the training ground by now."

I turned to Taro with a hint of exasperation, searching for his support. "Taro, tell him I've been waiting patiently, right?"

Taro chuckled as he paused his training momentarily to address the situation. "She's right, Father. Harumi's been nothing but patient."

Father grinned, amused by our exchange. "Oh, what honey words you have there."

Note: Honey words mean smart words, sweet talk, etc.

"Honeyed words," I note mentally, understanding the term from previous lessons with Father. My pride swelled as I retorted with a teasing glint in my eye. I offer a sweet and sincere smile, remarking, "All thanks to you and your wisdom, Otousan. I've learned well from the best."

Father and Taro both laughed heartily at my clever retort. Father then shifted his attention and seemed to remember something important. He held a dagger in his hand, leaving me puzzled.

"Alright, Alright. Enough talking," Father said, still smiling. "Let me give you this first, and then we can discuss your special training with me." He handed me the dagger.

"What do I do with this," I thought to myself. I tilted my head to the side, confusion in my eyes.

With a warm grin, Father steers the conversation back to our purpose. "We can delve further into your special training with this." With the dagger in my hand, he leaves me with a quizzical tilt of my head, confusion etched in my expression, not grasping why I would need the dagger.

"Otousan?" I began, curiosity evident in my voice.

Engrossed in his search, Father replies without turning to look at me. "Harumi, please be patient for a few more moments." His hands move restlessly as he pats his clothing, his mind racing as he mutters, "Where did I put the manual?" Then, as if a light bulb has illuminated his thoughts, he lifts the back of his shirt, retrieving a book from a concealed pocket. With a solemn expression, he presented the book to me.

I reached out to accept the book Father handed me with great gravity. Its cover lacked any markings or titles, leaving a sense of mystery. Intrigued, I carefully opened it to reveal the first page, and there, in bold calligraphy, was our family name, 'The Art of Hashimoto's Sword Dance.' As I read on, the next page discussed the importance of bonding with our swords and the ritual of naming them. I stopped and frowned, not understanding it.

"Otousan," I inquired, my eyes shifting between the manual and the dagger in my hands, "Why must we name our swords?"

Still focused on something in his thoughts, Father explained, "It's essential to form a deep connection with your swords. When you name them, it signifies mastery over them, making them your loyal protectors. Once you've named your swords, we'll engrave their names onto the blades. Don't worry; this dagger is only one of your swords. You'll receive the others when you're ready to wield them."

"So, should I name my new sword then?" I asked, puzzlement evident in my voice. The dagger appeared small in my hand compared to the traditional swords I'd seen.

"Remember, Harumi," Father's tone turns grave, "You must treat this book as if your life depends on it. Your life will be at stake if it falls into the wrong hands." His eyes reveal the seriousness of the matter as he hands over the book.

I trace my hand on the book again, taking a better look. The book's cover bears no written words, its appearance enigmatic. I opened it and found our family name beautifully inscribed in bold calligraphy on the first page. The title is 'The Art of Hashimoto's Sword Dance,' a testament to our tradition and legacy. Flipping carefully to the next page, I discover the instructions to connect with my swords and become one with them; indeed, I must bestow names upon them.

"Otousan," I question, my eyes shifting between the manual and my new dagger. "It's like naming a baby, then?" I giggled at Father. I can hear Taro laughing as he falls to the ground.

Father coughs to clear his throat and clarifies, "It's about forming a deep bond with your swords," Father explains patiently. I nodded my head, understanding it a little more. I looked at the size of the dagger and frowned.

Seeing my frown. Father addressed my concerns about the size of my new dagger, "Don't be misled by its size, Harumi. Just like you, who may appear small, remember that each of us has unique strengths and weaknesses. The dagger's size is irrelevant to its purpose. Consider it this way: this dagger, small as it may be, will always remain by your side, ready to protect you in any situation. It's here to stay, your loyal guardian. And remember, it's just now that you have one sword."

"Hai, Otousan!" I respond earnestly, nodding to show my understanding. "Your name shall be Mamoru, my protector and guardian." I lift the dagger with great pride, directing a hopeful, excited look toward Father and Taro.

After recovering from my baby comment, Taro gets up and chimes in, "A fine name, indeed. Mamoru..." He adds a comical touch by stroking his chin like he sports an imaginary long beard. We all shared a moment of laughter.

The scene then shifts to my initial training with Mamoru, wherein Father provides me with instruction and guidance.

I absorb Father's words. I look at my dagger. "So, Mamoru, it is, even though it's a dagger and petite like me?"

Father smiled and patted me on the head. "Don't underestimate Mamoru's potential, Harumi. Like you, its size doesn't define its strength or what it can become."

I nodded in understanding. "Hai, Otousan. I'll cherish Mamoru and let it protect me."

After the naming ceremony, Father led me through the initial steps of our family's sword dance, emphasizing the fundamental techniques that would serve as the building blocks of my training.

I diligently practiced breath control; a fundamental skill vital in my journey. Mamoru's weight was markedly different from the training stick I had previously wielded. The dagger felt heavy, akin to lifting a boulder, compared to the stick's lightweight. My body protested the change, but I pressed on, unwavering in my determination. My arms felt leaden, and even the most delicate objects seemed too heavy to lift. Father observed my discomfort, his concern evident.

"Harumi, are you sore after today's training?" he inquired, noticing the tremors in my left hand as I held Mamoru.

I admitted to the discomfort, grimacing as I tried to flex my aching muscles. "Otousan, it does hurt," I conceded, "but I understand it's part of the training. I'll adapt to the pain." Despite the pain and exhaustion, I mustered a smile. With a sense of pride, I displayed my sore muscles as evidence of my dedication. This display of resilience brought forth laughter from Father and Taro, a lighthearted moment after a challenging day's training.