Unlike Inaki, Gonten remembered who their father was. The real Hassai.

Gonten had been seven years old when Hassai had left for his pilgrimage. Gonten’s clearest memory of the man was around the week coming up to Hassai leaving for his pilgrimage.

Gonten was just a child, barely tall enough to touch his feet to the ground when sitting at his father’s desk. He remembered training with Hassai.

“Come on,” Hassai screamed. “My son wouldn’t swing a sword like a wimp.”

Gonten swung the practice sword in his hand. To him it was a normal, regular strike but Hassai walked to him and said, “Come on. How many times do I need to tell you this, your pose is off balance, your hands need to be like this, use the force of your whole body.”

Gonten nodded, standing up straight, lifting his sword back, and striking downwards. “Again, making the same mistakes. How can you make the mistake after I just told you? Are you my son or not?”

“I am your son, father,” Gonten said, hefting the wooden sword that was just a few inches shorter than him into the air, and swinging it down. Gonten lost his balance, and as the sword went ahead, Gonten fell ahead too, hitting the ground, the sword landing a few steps away.

“Now do you know what I mean about a balanced pose,” Hassai screamed. Hassai stepped forward, picked up Gonten. Hassai examined Gonten for any wounds, making sure that he didn’t scrape his elbows or his knees on the hardwood floors. Then he swiftly slapped Gonten in the face.

“I can understand you making mistakes,” Hassai said. “You are a child. But if you repeat mistakes, I cannot understand that.”

“I am sorry father,” Gonten said.

“Never say those words again,” Hassai said. “We are swordsmen, we don’t speak with our tongues, but with our blades. Now stand up, give me ten more strikes, then I’ll start teaching you katas.”

Gonten got up from where he was standing. He picked up his sword, stepped forward and slashed his sword down, and once again, Hassai stepped forward, corrected him, shouted at him, then walked away.

This happened ten more times. Each time Gonten would make some small mistake, some minute error, and Hassai would make sure Gonten knew that.

“Stop being stupid,” Hassai said. “You don’t want to disappoint your father at the under-nine sword tournament just before he leaves, don’t you?”

How would Gonten win a tournament? He could barely swing his sword. Gonten stood there, his sword limp in his hand. He stared at his father.

“What, come on, back to practice, you keep striking your sword until you get it right, and you won’t complain,” Hassai said. Gonten stepped back, and slashed downwards with the sword. He felt his arms growing more and more tired as he slashed downwards again and again.

Gonten stepped back, he was too tired. His entire body was aching from the practice, he felt like he had been practicing since the beginning of time. His short severn year old body ran to the garden door of the training hall and vomited into the grass.

“You’re this tired in only two hours,” Hassai said. “You’ve been training for a year now, how are you still not used to this?”

“I am sorry,” Gonten said.

Hassai stepped to Gonten, and once again slapped him in the face. “What did I tell you about saying sorry?”

Gonten stood there quietly, looking at Hassai’s feet, holding in his tears.

“Are you deaf,” Hassai said, flicking Gonten’s ears. “What did I say about saying sorry?”

“That I shouldn’t,” Gonten said.

“Yes,” Hassai said. “Now stop being a little weakling, and prove that you are my son. Keep swinging the sword until you get the downward slash correct. Then I’ll teach you the simplest sword kata.”

Gonten swung the sword again, his tired arms couldn’t carry him. The repetition was exhausting him, boring him, he wanted to stop, but his father’s stern look made Gonten continue to swing his sword.

Gonten swung his sword one last time, and fell onto the ground, face first.

When Gonten opened his eyes again, he was still lying down in the training room, just on his back instead of on his stomach.

“What happened,” Gonten said.

“You fainted during training,” Hassai said. “I’m just giving you a little medicine and we’ll get back to training.”

Gonten assumed that fainting would mean that he wouldn’t have to train anymore, but Hassai just kept force-feeding him a bitter herb, and made him stand up again.

Ivanta entered the room, as Gonten was standing up after eating the medicine.

“Go easy on him, please,” Ivanta said, holding Gonten in her arms.

“Don’t interfere in this,” Hassai said. “I am training my son to be a worthy successor.”

“But he’s only seven years old,” Ivanta said.

“When I was seven years old I had already learnt my first sword stance. He is still only learning how to swing his blade for Okan’s sake. Are you sure he is even mine?” Hassai

“He’s your lord, I wouldn’t dare breach your trust. He’ll bloom at a different time, don’t worry,” Ivanta said.

Hassai stepped up to Ivanta, grabbed her arm and began walking her to the door of the training hall. “Do you know what happens to a butterfly if they are not allowed to break out of their cocoon and it is broken for them?”

“No,” Ivanta said.

“A butterfly needs to develop enough strength to break its cocoon to fly. If it doesn’t break the cocoon itself, it is too weak to fly,” Hassai said. “I am teaching our son how to break his own cocoon, so don’t interfere.”

Hassai threw Ivanta out of the room—she crashed onto the floor—and slid the door of the training hall shut with a loud crash. Gonten was only seven years old, he didn’t fully understand his emotions. All he knew was he felt bad. He walked back to Gonten, who was standing now.

“Come on,” Hassai said. “Just because you fainted doesn’t mean that training ends until you’re done with the perfect strike. Maybe we won’t do katas today.”

Gonten stood up, and swung his sword once again. Once more. Hassai once again stepped to him, and told him how he was wrong.

“Forget it,” Hassai said. “Now we’ll eat and we’ll continue your training tomorrow.”

Gonten could barely walk. He couldn’t even raise his sore, burning arms and he felt light in the head. He didn’t even know how many times he had swung the sword. All he knew was that he had done it wrong each time.

Gonten didn’t know how he would make his father proud. Gonten assumed that he never could. Maybe that would just be his life. I hope Inaki will be better than me. He thought as he walked into the dining hall.

It was the day of family dinner, which meant that only those who were direct kin of Hassai sat in the room. That meant, Gonten, their mother Ivanta, Inaki, and Hassai’s father and Hassai’s brother.

“So how was practice today,” Grandfather asked.

“Horrible,” Hassai said. “Boy has the hands of a man your age when swinging a sword. Who made this food,” Hassai said upon tasting it. He made a face. “Did this person forget that salt was a thing.”

“It must’ve been one of the cooks,” Ivanta said.

“Go bring them,” Hassai said. “And pass me some salt.”

On their next round of serving, the servers gave Hassai his extra salt, and Ivanta arrived, with the cook in tow. The cook was an older man.

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“What was this,” Hassai said. “You want the Sage to eat this?”

“Sorry sir,” The cook said. Hassai stood up and held the man by the collar. “There is only one thing that I cannot tolerate, incompetence. Everything else is different. If you want to be the cook of the Tomoka castle, you better be competent, this is the last time you’ve cooked anything less than perfect. Pack your bags.”

“But sir, I’ve cooked so many amazing meals for so long,” The cook said. “I’ve been here since your father’s time.”

“Has he ever made a mistake before,” Hassai asked his father.

“No son,” Hassai’s father said.

“Then go back, but this is your warning, any other mistake, and I will make sure that you are fired,” Hassai said. Hassai sat back on the ground in front of his plate, and began eating the salted food.

“All this needed was some salt,” Hassai said. “Bloody fool knows how to cook but not how to add salt.”

Gonten watched and wondered. When he became older, would Hassai kick him out of the Tomoka for his incompetence? The thought terrified Gonten as he sat there.

They continued to eat in silence.

The next evening, when it was time for his training again, Inaki stepped into the room.

“What are you doing here,” Hassai asked. “I forgot, have you learnt how to talk yet?”

“Mama tell me to watch you and brotha train,” the two year old Inaki said.

“Why did she tell you that,” Hassai asked.

“Dunno,” Inaki said.

“Well, sit and watch, but don’t touch anything,” Hassai said. “You could hurt yourself.”

“Okay,” Inaki said, sitting down in the room to watch his failure of a brother train.

“Come on,” Hassai said. “If you don’t learn how to swing your sword properly by today, how am I supposed to move on to anything else? How are you supposed to win the under nine provincial tournament before I leave?”

“I am sorry,” Gonten said.

Hassai wordlessly slapped Gonten on the face when he said those words. Suddenly, a sound caught both Gonten and Hassai’s attention.

“Hai, yah,” Inaki screamed. He was holding a wooden practice sword in his hand. It was much taller than he was, but he held it, dragging it against the ground. Using the force of his entire body, the boy twisted his body, and struck the blade sideways. He jumped with the sword throwing it back, making it touch the ground, then swung, slashing it in front of him.

In all of this Hassai stood watching his younger son in awe.

“Now that is my son,” Hassai said, running forward to his son. “Come on, do what you were doing again.”

Inaki raised the sword behind him, and struck it forward with all the force in his two year old body.

“Wait,” Hassai said. “Let me get you something your size.” Hassai took that sword from Inaki’s hands and ran into the garden, once he was back in, he held with him a small branch that he had shaved using his steel blade.

He handed the stick to Inaki and said, “Come on, do what you were doing again.”

Inaki did, but this time he was faltering.

“Wait, do it like this,” Hassai said. Hassai raised his own sword with small bands of all the ranks, the first band being iron, the second being bronze, then silver, then gold, then a few rocks of diamond, and at last platinum. A Sage, the pinnacle of swordsmanship.

Hassai slashed downwards, demonstrating to Inaki. Inaki raised the stick that he had in his hands into the air, and swung downwards.

“Beautiful,” Hassai said. “Why weren’t you born first?” Hassai picked up his younger son into the air, and spun about, smiling in joy. Gonten felt like hiding, running away, as he watched his two year old brother have more skill.

The strange part was that Inaki didn’t smile. He had a small grin on his face, but not a proper wide smile. Hassai set him down and stepped up to the young Gonten and said. “Your two year old brother just accomplished what you haven’t in a year. Now do you still feel worthy of having -son-Hassai in your name.”

“I will try harder,” Gonten said.

“Then stop just saying that and actually try harder dammit,” Hassai said.

“Yes father,” Gonten said. Gonten struck down with his sword once again, and it was a failure. It wasn’t until the end of that day, just before they had to go eat dinner, that Gonten finally did the proper downward sword strike.

“Finally,” Hassai said. “You know all the basic strikes. Now show them to me.”

Just before they had to leave, Gonten showed the side strike from the left to right, then the side strike from right to left, then the forward stab, the upward strike, and finally the downward strike.

“Good,” Hassai said. “Now I can start teaching you katas from tomorrow.”

The next week it was the under nine tournament a day or so before Hassai had to leave for his pilgrimage. Gonten would be facing a Yaroka boy named Itto, but he was eight years old, a small advantage over Gonten.

Luckily for Gonten, he had two losses before he was removed from the under nine tournament.

Hassai, and Ivanta stood outside the ring, with little Inaki held in Ivanta’s hands. Gonten held his wooden practice sword—with a rubber covering so none of the boys hurt each other—in his shaking hands.

Itto-son-Taral of the Yaroka on the other hand was standing completely still. He was confident. At that point in time, Gonten really thought that the tournament was everything in life, only once he became older did he realize that all those provincial children’s sword tournaments were nothing but excuses for the different clans to show off their prospective students.

There was nothing to show off about Gonten.

The two of them stepped into the ring, the rules were read out. Itto stepped forward, and slashed downwards. Gonten tried to block, but he failed, the sword strike hit Gonten right in the shoulder.

Itto then stepped forward and stabbed Gonten with his sword, sending Gonten out of the ring. Ending his first fight, where Gonten hadn’t even swung his blade.

He then fought another boy, he was from the Heoin clan, a short boy named Yetey. He was seven years old too, so now Gonten couldn’t claim that since he was one year older that was why he lost.

Yetey stepped forward, Gonten stepped back in fright. The boy slashed at Gonten, Gonten jumped back in fear again. Yetey continued running after Gonten began running away. He was scared of getting hurt by those swords after his fight with Itto.

Yetey continued slashing, and Gonten didn’t slash at him even once, he just kept running away. He found himself unable to do anything. Gonten raised his sword to slash at Yetey, but Yetey was faster. Yetey stabbed his sword into Gonten’s ribs. Gonten stepped back, clutching his ribs. He began running once again, as Yetey chased him.

Gonten looked into the crowd and saw as Hassai was hiding his face. Gonten felt like the world was laughing at him, but he did not mind that too much. But looking at Hassai’s disappointed face in the crowd, Gonten wanted to collapse to the ground and cry, but instead he just let Yetey wail on him with his sword. Yetey slammed his sword into Gonten’s chin, throwing him down to the ground.

Gonten looked down and realized that he had fallen outside of the ring, and had lost the fight once again, without him having hit his opponent even once.

Once the fight was over, Hassai pulled Gonten aside. The tournament had taken place in the building of the Coalition of Sages and Hassai pulled Gonten into a hallway between a few unused rooms.

“What in the name of Okan was that,” Hassai said. He was red in the face, embarrassment and anger all exploding from his face. “You make my pilgrimage feel like an exile after how you lost.”

“I am sorry,” Gonten said.

Hassai slapped Gonten on the face. “If you had only lost, I would have been angry,” Hassai said. “If you had only lost after even a little fight, I could understand. But you lost so miserably, that it reflects poorly on me.”

Hassai held his seven year old son by the collar, and slapped him. He slapped him again and again, until Gonten’s cheek was red. Gonten held his tears with all the strength he had.

“I am going to be gone for a very long time,” Hassai said. “A very long time, so long that by the time I come back, you will be a man then, with a sword in your hand.”

“Why,” Gonten said.

“Because you are such a big disappointment, anyway, the point is that by the time I return from my pilgrimage, if you are still this weakling, I will exile you and announce Inaki as my heir.”

Gonten was seven years old, all he could hear was that his father was abandoning him.

“Go tell your mother to put some ointment on your face,” Hassai said, walking away. “Fuck,” Hassai screamed, burying his fist into a wall as he walked away.

As soon as Hassai was gone, Gonten turned into a living puddle of tears. Gonten ran away and stepped into a small closet room, he unsheathed the wooden practice sword at his side, and began slashing at the wall.

Father hates me because of this sword. That was the only justification that Gonten could come up with. It was all because of the sword, and Gonten’s incompetence.

Gonten slashed at the wall with his wooden sword, he kept swinging, until it broke in half. After that, Gonten just sat there and cried.

The day after the tournament, was the day that Hassai was to leave for his pilgrimage.

“I don’t know how long this will take me,” Hassai said. “It could be a few years, a decade, two decades. I will only return when I am confident that I am ready to rule as Sage. Father, I have appointed a council with you at the head, and once you pass, you appoint your own patriarch, or a council.”

Hassai one by one walked to everyone in the Tomoka family. He hugged them, spoke kindly to them, and spoke about how he would miss them. He said his final goodbyes to the older members of the family, who probably wouldn’t survive the length of his pilgrimage.

At last, he stepped to Ivanta. When Hassai stepped forward to hug Ivanta, she flinched a little at first, but let him hug her. He then kissed little Inaki on the forehead. But when he stepped in front of Gonten, he looked down at him with grave eyes and then just walked away, without a single word for his elder son.

That was the last time that Gonten had ever seen his father. The last thing his father had ever done to him, was give him the cold shoulder, and Inaki a hug. Gonten had felt like absolute dirt.

Inaki was the Golden Child, and Gonten was significantly below, barely even the Wooden child.

Gonten couldn’t help but be reminded of that time, as he stood in front of Itto's father, the man who was the first of many to defeat Gonten in a duel. A Platinum, a man that his more talented brother was running away from. Gonten had lost to two of this man’s sons, and still stepped up. He felt reborn through Takehito’s training.

Gonten was ready to die.