“The world only wants those who can offer something nobody else can. The rest are leaves in the wind, forgotten by the tree and the land on which they fall,” father said.

Inaki was floating in an infinite black void. It was like being in the dark depths of the ocean except that Inaki could still breathe properly. He had immersed himself in the Dreamspring in the garden of the main castle of the Tomoka clan, and was now in a land between wake and sleep. The mystical spring water was taking him to his subconscious.

Like a dye slowly dissolving into water, a vision began forming. At first only a small whirl in the infinite waters, then it spread around Inaki covering him, and before he could realize it, he was standing once again in the training hall.

“I apologize father,” Inaki said, standing in front of him. No, it wasn’t the Great Sword Sage Hassai of the Tomoka. He was the man assembled from accounts given by others. His mother, Hassai’s writings, his brother, and a portrait. And by all accounts, that was Hassai. A man Inaki had made so that when he met the real Hassai he wouldn’t disappoint the Great Sage.

“Do you know why you apologize?” Hassai said.

“I won, but I could’ve won quicker,” Inaki said.

“Yes, but why didn’t you?”

“Because I was too sloppy. I missed an attack that should’ve hit.”

“Because you were sloppy, that is a horrible excuse,” Hassai said. “Now come on, let me see the fruits of your week’s training.”

Inaki was going to pick up his wooden practice sword, but found that he already had it in his hand. That practice sword was such a part of him that he had forgotten that he was holding it.

“Come on now, you don’t have all day,” Hassai said. The Great Sword Sage Hassai, by all accounts, was great in all aspects. He was bald—by choice—and his long goatee fluttered in the wind coming from the open doors of the training hall. He held in his hand a practice sword. Inaki had seen many swordsmen in his life—being the son of the Sword Sage of Tomoka—but the image he had of his father held a wooden practice sword with more grace than any swordsman had ever held a steel blade.

Inaki rushed at his father, holding his practice sword in a two handed grip. He used his father’s Bullstance. His father in turn stood ready in the Tigerstance. Inaki knew his father enough to know that he would never use a defensive stance. Inaki rammed his sword forward like it was a bull’s horn, his father swatted his sword like it was a fly. Inaki’s momentum had carried him forward, he was under his father’s arm, if he cut with his sword now he wouldn’t hit anything. Hassai slammed his fist onto Inaki’s back, throwing him onto the ground. Inaki rolled, and stood up. He switched stance. He now stood in the Tigerstance too, it would take more advantage of his speed.

“You are still a child,” Hassai said. “Your swordsmanship is unrefined. The only reason you’ve won all your duels is luck.”

Inaki leaped back, and waited. Hassai stood there too, waiting. The two of them circled each other as they tried opportunities to engage. Hassai was probably finding a way to non-lethally attack Inaki, though it didn’t matter it was just a vision, so Inaki knew that even if his father fought lethally, he would be fine.

Inaki jumped forward and slashed sideways at Hassai’s neck, Hassai stepped to the side and kicked Inaki. Inaki stepped back, but regardless, the kick grazed Inaki in the chin. Inaki stumbled, about to fall, but he stepped back and stood, stabilizing himself.

“If this was a real fight, you would’ve died infinite times over,” Hassai said. “Is this what I am going to return to?”

“No father,” Inaki said.

Inaki stood in Bullstance once again. Father this time stood in a loose stance that wasn’t named. Inaki’s sword shook in his hand. He was covered in sweat. He charged at his father once again. Hassai dodged to the side again, but Inaki twisted and with the force of his entire body swung at Hassai’s neck. Hassai blocked with his sword, and while his sword was still blocking Inaki’s strike, Hassai twisted his blade and it touched Inaki’s neck.

“How many times do I have to tell you, unless you know you will win the battle of strength do not strike like this. Attack with your entire body, but be fast. Now come at me. Strike with your entire body but be fast.”

Inaki stepped back and charged at his father once again. It was becoming too repetitive at this point. Inaki could barely run at this point, but instead of blindly slashing this time, Inaki ducked down and slashed at his father’s legs. Hassai jumped up and kicked Inaki in the face.

This went on for a few more times. Inaki would stand up, run at Hassai and get slashed. Each time Inaki felt his pride being ground into dust. The image of his father critiqued his technique as if he was a real trainer. Inaki ground his teeth. He knew his mistake. Too slow. Blocked too late. Didn’t put enough torque into the slash. Mistakes piled on more and more, and Inaki felt pain in his head, his chest, and his legs. Hassai didn’t need to even use his sword to inflict such pain.

For the last time, Inaki got up. His joints were creaking. His lip was busted, and even his palms were bleeding. He had been holding his sword too tightly like a bloody beginner.

“I wish you weren’t my son,” Father said. “You are such a big disappointment that I thank Okan that I haven’t actually met you. I wonder how the real me will react when he sees you.”

Inaki didn’t say a word, instead he rushed at his father. He wasn’t angry, he was only disappointed in himself. He swung upwards and Hassai blocked it. Inaki twisted his whole body into a sideways slash towards Hassai’s hip. Hassai turned to the side and blocked the strike then he turned into a flash. Inaki couldn’t see him. A sword hit Inaki in the back, sending him to the ground. He looked up and saw his father standing over him, this time a real sword in hand.

“You are not worthy to be called the successor of the Tomoka,” Hassai said. Hassai raised his steel blade and dropped it onto Inaki’s neck.

Inaki’s head burst above the spring. He took deep breaths in, swallowing in precious air. He came here nearly everyday to meet the voice that was always in his head. He fought this man everyday and everyday Inaki lost.

The sun had gone down. Inaki looked at his hands and found that they were still covered in blisters from that morning’s training and duel. He came out of the spring, and walked forward where he had kept his practice sword to rest. He picked it up, and the man who he had fought with in his vision became a voice in his head.

“You did exceptionally badly this time, it is time that you practice,” Father said in his mind.

The strangest thing was that Hassai wasn’t dead, far from it. He had gone on the Sage’s Last Pilgrimage before they spend the rest of their days in castles being administrators. Inaki wanted his father to respect him when he returned, which is why Inaki had done the next best thing to training under him directly.

Making himself an image of Hassai in his head.

Inaki stepped into the training hall, he stepped to the portrait of his father and changed the incense sticks next to the picture. They sent good luck to his father, these incense sticks supposedly made attaining enlightenment easier.

Inaki then stood up and walked in front of the greatest trial for any swordsman in the world. Cutting wood with wood. In front of Inaki there was a wooden dummy in the shape of a human, and through the torso there was a clean cut. The dummy had been put back together using glue, but the cut was still visible, and extremely clean. Hassai had made this cut at seventeen with a wooden sword, though most swordsmen would struggle to cut through this so cleanly with a steel sword.

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Inaki looked at the shallow cuts made by him, and the mere dents made by his brother Gonten and felt sheer disappointment. He couldn’t live up to his father, and his brother even less. They were the worst kind of son any father could ever be cursed with.

Inaki was nineteen, almost twenty, his elder brother was almost twenty-five and still, they hadn’t conquered this trial that their father had done when he was seventeen.

Inaki stepped back to take a run up. He raised his prized wooden practice sword and focused on it. Hassai had given a technique to attain unbreakable focus. Inaki stared at the target, and in his mind pictured the result he wanted. He focused on the result he wanted until he began to see it with his eyes. There was no training room, no portrait, no sword. There was only Inaki standing there, and his goal, to cut the practice dummy down, just above where his father had all those years ago.

Inaki stepped forward and ran, he twisted his body and angled the sword as best as he could. He put all his strength into it, he put all his soul, all he had into this swing. Time seemed to slow and Inaki felt one with his sword. He felt as if his sword was a limb he could feel with. He felt the air that the sword cut through. When the sword touched the surface of the wood, he felt the surface of the wood as if he had put his own hand against it.

The sword broke the surface, he rejoiced. The force of the blow had hit his wrist horribly, his wrist screamed at him, but he didn’t stop, he dragged his sword through the wood it cut through, Inaki rejoiced, it was going more, more than it had ever before.

The sword stopped less than half way through the torso of the dummy. Inaki continued to try and force it through, but it wouldn’t budge. He pulled out his sword and examined the cut. It wasn’t smooth, it was jagged, amateurish compared to the cut his father had made.

I am sorry father.

Inaki dropped his sword in pain, he had twisted the wrist of his right arm. Inaki yelped. He had another duel tomorrow, this wouldn’t be good.

Inaki still readied his sword again, but yelped in pain again as his wrist burned in pain. Inaki cradled his wrist in his other arm, walked over to the portrait of his father and said, “I apologize for being so weak,” Inaki said. Then walked out of the training hall.

He couldn’t sleep properly that night, because he was too disappointed in himself.

Inaki walked into the Eating hall, surrounded by other students of the main castle of the Tomoka clan. Mother walked in along with the servers. In the Eating hall, everyone ate together, sitting on the floor in rows, on plates made of leaves. The servers walked through the rows, putting each dish on their plates. The breakfast for that day was rice and a curry made of the beanstalk plant. It was very sweet, and one of Inaki’s favorite foods. Inaki decided that he didn’t deserve it, which is why he got up and walked away.

“Not hungry?” Mother said, as Inaki walked towards the arena of the main castle of the Tomoka clan.

“No, mother,” Inaki said.

“Why did you stop training so abruptly last night,” Mother—Ivanta—asked.

“I injured my wrist,” Inaki said. “I promise I will make sure that it is no problem.”

“Good, you will fight injured, and you will win,” Mother said.

“Yes, mother. I will,” Inaki said.

Soon everyone was done eating and Inaki was ready for his duel. The man who would be his opponent stepped into the arena, a circle enclosed by a thick rope.

“My name is Shinra-son-Taral Yaroka, I come to challenge the prized student of the Tomoka clan. And to prove my worth I have already defeated Gonten-spm-Hassai Tomoka.”

“You defeated my brother,” Inaki said, smiling yet shooting a sideways glance at his brother. “Congratulations.”

“I, Ivanta-wife-Hassai of the Tomoka clan, shall serve as the witness of this duel, which shall be to submission and will be with wooden practice swords. Exiting the ring is forfeit, losing consciousness is a forfeit, and dying is a forfeit. Are the duelists ready to begin?” Mother said.

“Ready,” Inaki said.

“Ready,” Shinra said.

Inaki needed to end this fight as fast as possible, that is how his father would fight, finish the duel quickly, prove your superiority.

Inaki stepped into the ring. Shinra stepped in too. Mother raised a wooden stick and struck the gong, signaling the beginning of the duel.

Inaki leaped forward. He was holding his sword in his left hand, and had his right hand behind his back. That meant that he was barely strong compared to how he fought usually. Like a master-painter forced to paint with his toes.

“Purposely handicapping yourself?” Shinra said.

Inaki didn’t say anything. He couldn’t admit to an injury in a fight, yet he didn’t want to lie and dishonor his opponent. Shinra would probably figure it out anyway. Shinra forced Inaki to keep his distance. Inaki was not good with his left hand.

Shinra stooped low and struck forward to hit Inaki in the stomach. Inaki stepped to the side and spun, slamming his sword into Shinra’s arm.

The bone should’ve shattered. The fight should’ve ended, but Shinra hit the ground, and got up. He flexed his shoulder and touched his arm and said. “I am ready to continue.”

Shinra rushed at Inaki and began striking at him. Inaki saw all his flaws. His stance was too unbalanced, if Inaki was just a little faster with his left hand he could have him on the ground. He took too long between attacks, once again, his left hand’s uselessness ached him.

Inaki grit his teeth because he knew if he was fighting with both his hands, he could’ve defeated this man a second after the gong had sounded.

Inaki had one foot on the rope of the ring, he blocked a strike, and felt his wrist revolt, if he injured his left one too that would be his end. His mother shot a look at him, and he felt the stinging disappointment.

He was a horrible fighter, if one tiny setback like spraining his wrist could hinder him so much, then he was nothing. Inaki was standing at the brink. Inaki was too slow. Shinra slammed his sword into Inaki’s stomach. Inaki felt horrible pain, blood pooled into his mouth. Inaki’s ribs groaned, but he did not fall out of the ring.

Shinra then tried to slam his shoulder into Inaki, but Inaki just jumped to the side and hit the ground. His sword fell out of his hand, and he just sat on the ground, coughing and groaning. Shinra stood a foot away from the coughing Inaki.

“Do you yield,” Shinra said. “You probably cannot come back from that one,” Shinra said. “I did not expect the crown student of the Tomoka to be this stupid and weak.”

Inaki forced himself onto his feet. They shook. His ribs screamed at him, so did his right wrist. Inaki before even picking up his sword said, “I am ready to begin.”

“Be my guest,” Shinra said.

Shinra rushed at Inaki. Blood rushed to Inaki’s head and he felt dizzy. Shinra slashed at Inaki, but Inaki became a blur, he dodged to the side and slammed his left palm into Shinra’s nose. His nose shattered, sending blood spraying over.

Inaki ran to his sword and picked it up. If Shinra got up again, then Inaki would force himself to fight properly. Inaki screamed and held his sword in both hands.

“So an injury,” Shinra said, rubbing blood off his nose. He then raised his sword, and rushed at Inaki. Inaki had one strike. One chance. If he lost this one, it would be over.

Shinra ran, the epitome of Flamestance. Inaki closed his eyes and felt the Tigerstance. He imagined himself. He focused, but instead of himself, he forced himself to see his father. Inaki was useless. Inaki was a disappointment. Inaki was weak. Hassai was strong. Hassai was a force to be reckoned with. Hassai could win this fight with both hands tied behind his back and his feet tied together.

Shinra slashed, Inaki slashed too. Inaki’s wrist yelled at him, his sword fell out of his hand. The wooden practice sword hit the ground. Inaki looked back, and saw Shinra on the ground. Inaki had hit Shinra in the head, shattering his skull.

I can be wanted. Inaki thought. I just have to work harder, become stronger and I can be wanted by the world.

Inaki stepped out of the ring, as the cleaners stepped in to wipe the blood and clean the corpse. As Inaki stepped out of the ring, a voice entered his head.

“That was unbelievably sloppy,” Father said. “You are so weak. I could barely watch that fight. You were so incompetent. Is this how you plan to represent the Tomoka?”

Father was in his mind, but Inaki knew that this is what the real Hassai would have said too. He knew Hassai from his own writings.

Inaki walked out of the dueling arena and walked through the courtyard of the castle. He would be going to the infirmary for treatment. On his way, he saw the gardener. He was a failure, a man that Inaki could not afford to be. He was not wanted, which is why he worked at plants all day for three meals and a small shed to sleep in which three gardener families shared.

He walked past a cleaner, who swept the floor. These people were necessary, yet unwanted. If the world wanted these people, then they wouldn’t live having to work for each meal. If they were wanted by the world, the world wouldn’t spit on them, then give them a meal in return.

Inaki had to work hard, to be the son his father wanted, and to be the swordsman the world wanted.