Gonten struck forward with his sword. He did exactly what Inaki did. He had taken a step back. He had focused. Imagined the result he wanted. Pictured how he would do it. He had stepped forward, and with the force of his entire body, he had swung his wooden practice sword.

Gonten’s sword hit the dummy, and pain shot into Gonten’s wrist. He tried to hold on, he wanted to hold on, but the sword flew out of his hand. Gonten’s eyes focused on the path of the sword and it was flying at the portrait of his father. It was just about to hit it, but suddenly, it stopped. Inaki stood there with his wooden practice sword stretched out, guarding their father’s portrait.

“You were all the way across the room,” Gonten said, “How did you get there?”

“I care about Father’s honor,” Inaki said. “That gives me enough skill.”

“And I don’t?” Gonten said, but he stopped himself as the anger seeped into his voice. Gonten stepped forward and picked up his sword and bowed to his younger brother.

“What happened with Shinra yesterday,” Inaki asked.

“What do you mean,” Gonten said.

“He fought you. Then went on to fight me. My fight with him should’ve never happened,” Inaki said. “The boy was like me, too young for a steel blade.”

“I apologize,” Gonten said.

“Apologizing to me won’t bring back your honor,” Inaki said.

“I know that, Inaki. I will try harder next time” Gonten said.

“Try?” Inaki. “You are the first born child of the Great Sword Sage Hassai, there is no trying for you, only winning.” Inaki stepped to the dummy and examined the cut that Gonten had made. “This is disappointing even for you.”

“I am sorry,” Gonten said.

“Look at this cut, your sword barely even hit the dummy,” Inaki said.

Gonten’s grip tightened on his sword. The sword was made of light wood, but it felt heavy in his hand. He hated the sword so much. He despised it. He despised his name. He looked at the portrait of his father and wished that the sword had hit the painting.

But even more than he despised it all, he hated himself. He looked at Inaki but felt so much shame. His younger brother was superior to him in every way.

“How about this,” Gonten said. “Why don’t we spar and you can teach me what I am doing wrong.”

“You wouldn’t learn much sparring with me, go spar with the juniors in the school,” Inaki said.

“Yes, but you are my brother, and the closest thing we have to Lord Hassai himself,” Gonten said.

“Do not dishonor him by comparing me to him,” Inaki snapped. The sudden anger that flared from Inaki made Gonten step back. “Fine I will spar with you, but you will fight with your blade, not a practice sword. You won’t learn unless there is something on the line.”

“But you don’t have a real blade yet,” Gonten said.

“I don’t need one,” Inaki said.

Gonten wanted to scream at his brother. He wanted to scream about how that would be a dishonor to him. Gonten knew that he had no honor to lose. Which is why Gonten agreed to Inaki’s proposal.

“Lord Inaki is going to duel Gonten, and Gonten is going to use a real sword,” Someone in the garden outside the training hall screamed. This was the main training hall only for the main Tomoka family, how could anyone else be there?

Gonten ran out of the training hall and saw that hiding at the gates of the garden, a few students from the school were watching the brothers train. A person entered with more following him.

“I see, you have an audience,” Inaki said, holding his wooden practice sword in one hand, and Gonten’s sword in the other. Gonten’s face twisted in shock as he saw Inaki carrying his sword. His younger brother had no respect for him, and he was making that clear by the way he held his brother’s blade. Only the owner of the sword is allowed to hold it by its handle. Holding someone else’s sword’s handle without express permission was considered the gravest of disrespect, people had killed one another over this.

Gonten bit his tongue in a flurry of emotions. It was like the most disgusting dish of negative emotions, a large serving of self-hatred, a sprinkle of jealousy and just a dash of rage and sadness to taste.

Gonten took the sword and stood. “Are we fighting in the garden?”

“Where would you be comfortable,” Inaki said.

“Here is fine,” Gonten said.

“Good.”

More people poured into the garden, and surrounded the two brothers. “Begin,” Inaki said. Gonten and Inaki stood there for a few moments. A cold breeze flowed through the garden and sent a chill down Gonten’s spine. Gonten looked at all the people, then at his steel blade. He swallowed bile that entered his throat.

He felt a pressure in his chest. He remembered his father’s face. He didn’t want to break down before the fight even began, he held himself up straight and looked down at Inaki.

Inaki was the shorter one, and while physically Gonten was looking down at him. The truth was that Inaki was the one looking down at Gonten. The sheer disappointment in his eyes made Gonten want to cry. The disappointment stabbed through his heart. Inaki looked disappointed in everyone. Gonten, the spectators. And if Gonten looked deep enough, he saw Inaki’s disappointment in himself.

What would he have to be disappointed about himself?

“Come on, attack me,” Inaki said. “I am not going to wait here all day.”

Gonten stood in Lionstance, extremely similar to the Tigerstance, but more defensive. Inaki stood with his sword to his side. No fighting stance.

Gonten leaped forward and stabbed his sword forward towards Inaki’s ribs. Inaki swatted away Gonten’s sword like it was a fly then rammed his sword forward, in the same exact strike, but better. In his counterattack, Inaki was teaching Gonten about his error without uttering a single word.

Gonten leaped back, but his heel hit a small rock and he hit the ground. Inaki ruthlessly slashed down at Gonten, but Gonten rolled back and quickly stood up.

“Your breathing is shaky,” Inaki said. “Like this you’ll fall limp in the next few minutes of fighting.”

“I apologize,” Gonten said.

Gonten rushed at Inaki once again. Gonten struck and Inaki defended.

“I haven’t seen anyone with the Lionstance ever fight well,” Inaki said, parrying Gonten’s strike. “It is non-commital. Commit to a defensive style, or commit to an offensive one. You can’t have it both ways.”

Gonten slashed at Inaki. At this point, Inaki was barely fighting back. He was mostly defending or dodging. “You tell me your strike with your body language before you strike, so I know how to block. Stop telling me.”

Inaki completely stopped fighting. He was only defending, and screaming about how horrible Gonten’s strikes were. “You’ve gone through your swordsman’s ceremony, how do you fight like such a novice,” Inaki screamed.

Gonten’s arms hurt, but he kept striking at Inaki. Inaki blocked effortlessly. Inaki continued blocking strikes from a steel blade with his wooden blade.

Gonten jumped forward with the entire power of his body, he slashed, Inaki blocked with his sword. Gonten prepared his hand to stop, but it didn’t. Instead it sliced through Inaki’s practice sword.

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Inaki threw down his broken sword and stood there. Gonten stopped, his sword in hand, waiting for the words of appreciation from his brother.

“It took you that long to disarm me while I fought with a wooden sword? You bring shame to our father’s name,” Inaki said. He wasn’t saying that just to make Gonten feel worse about himself. Gonten knew that. Inaki was as serious as death.

Gonten looked at Inaki. Inaki was standing at such an angle that the sun was in Gonten’s eyes. Squinting in the sun, Gonten could not see his short brother. Instead he saw his father.

He had only known his father for a few years, and his youngest years in fact, but he remembered him. A second spent with the Great Sword Sage Hassai was enough for a lifetime.

“Come on, aren’t you going to attack? Aren’t you going to try to cut me down,” Inaki said. “I am unarmed.” His voice didn't sound like Inaki’s voice. It sounded like Gonten’s memories of Hassai’s voice.

Inaki stepped towards Gonten, he didn’t say anything. Gonten stood, looking at his steel sword. Could he attack his unarmed younger brother? Yes. He could. If his brother could pride himself to be able to defeat him unarmed, then he would injure both him, and his pride.

Gonten’s anger flared up to the surface. Gonten rushed at Inaki. He slashed at him blindly. Inaki stepped back, then dodged the side. He grabbed Gonten’s arm and drove it backwards. He kicked Gonten in the side. Gonten fell to the side, his sword flew out of his hand.

Inaki stood over Gonten, and stared down at him. “Pick your sword up.”

Gonten picked up his sword and stood up. Gonten rushed at Inaki, this time in the Tigerstance. He didn’t need any defense now. He just needed to inflict pain. His brother just kept dodging. He stepped forward, the range was too short for Gonten to use his sword. Inaki rammed the butt of his palm into Gonten’s chin. Gonten stepped back, he nearly fell down, but this time he kept his balance. Gonten rushed once again at him.

“You can’t even defeat me while I am unarmed,” Inaki whispered at Gonten so the others wouldn’t hear. “You should not have been born the son of Hassai. You bring shame and embarrassment to the entire family.”

Gonten felt tears flowing into his eyes. His sword buckled. Inaki looked at him and somehow looked even more disappointed. Gonten raised his sword, and touched the flat of it to his forehead, then threw it down and walked into the training hall.

Gonten stood in front of his father’s portrait. He collapsed in front of the portrait, and became a mess of tears. Inaki stepped into the training hall, and Gonten raised his crying mucous-nosed face to look at Inaki. Inaki looked at Gonten, then continued his training as if Gonten wasn’t even there.

Gonten stood up and walked outside into the garden, his face still coated in tears. Gonten knew his reputation, and this would just be worse for it. Gonten saw that the garden was empty, and now the gardener was standing there, hedging the bushes.

Gonten looked at the gardener, he looked at the cleaner, and wished that he could be as lucky as them. The gardener spent his days in this garden, serving these plants, and that guaranteed him his meals and a place to sleep.

The cleaners could clean, eat, then go live the rest of their hours free of worrying about things like reputations, and honor. Gonten stepped to the gardener and said, “Can you teach me please.”

“I am sorry, I cannot, young master. I am a lowborn, you are a highborn. You standing so close to me is bad for you.”

“I don’t want to be highborn,” Gonten said. “I am only highborn by name, not by skill or ability.”

“Please don’t say that master. You have asked me this many times and I have refused many times.”

Gonten didn’t know what to do, or where to go. It was dusk now, and Gonten was done with his training. Gonten left the garden, and began walking through the streets of the walled Tomoka city.

Gonten walked down the street and looked around him. They all looked at him with reverence, but not because of who he was, but because he was the son of a great man. There was one thing that he knew. When he showed his back to these people who treated him with reverence, immediately they would begin laughing at him.

Gonten stepped through the larger streets, and walked into the outer streets of Tomoka, where the people who didn’t care who ruled them and just wanted to live their lives with as little discomfort as possible lived.

He walked into a tavern. The tavern was a small hut, with tables having only enough space for the single server to walk through. The tavern was so crowded that calling it just full would be a lie. It was overflowing with people—like water, if there was a hole in the wall, the people would probably flow out.

Here, there were just so many people, that people didn’t care that he was Gonten. He could be just any rookie swordsman. Gonten drew out his sword and kept it on the table. His swordsman’s ceremony had happened almost five years ago now—when he was twenty. He looked at the hilt of his sword and saw that it was still just wood. He hadn’t even earned the iron coating.

He was a failure of a swordsman. Most of his classmates were Iron swordsmen by this point, with the hilt and base of their swords coated in the metal of their tier. It was to tell people that the man you might be instigating a fight with is in every way superior to you.

Gonten was only superior to a child waving around a stick. A server walked past and snickered at Gonten, but then stood straight, “Whad’ya like.”

“A beer,” Gonten sighed and put his head on the wooden table.

When Gonten’s beer came, he quietly took it and began sipping from it. He stared into his own reflection and focused on his face in the piss-colored waters. He hated the sight he saw, he hated the man he saw. His sword was still on the table, visible for everyone to see, that this man was an overgrown Wooden.

“Oh, if it isn’t the Tomoka’s overgrown Wooden,” Said a man as if sensing his thoughts.

“Leave me alone,” Gonten said. “I am not looking for a fight.”

“You’re a part of the head Tomoka family, you don’t have to look for one,” the man said. He was a disheveled swordsman, his black robes tattered and the man smelt like rotten fish that had been kept out in the rain. The band of Iron on the top of the hilt of the man’s sword glinted in the lamp light.

“Are you here to challenge the Tomoka?” Gonten asked.

“Damn right I am,” The man said.

“Fine, then what is your name, and where do you come from,” Gonten said, standing up, putting his sword in the sheathe.

“I’ll tell that to the Tomoka worth fighting,” The man said. “I expect that you will take me there.”

Gonten’s meekness did not cut off his tongue in that moment, instead it flared him more, “Or what?” He immediately regretted the words the minute they were out, faltering over his words at the end.

“Well, then I’ll just have to make you scream for your younger brother then,” The man said. “My name’s Danzan-son-Dan Giryan.”

“All the way from Giryan,” Gonten said, trying to navigate the cramped mess of tables. “Explains why you smell like manure, and look worse.”

“Great swordsmen are about to duel, move the tables, leave now, unless you’re willing to pay to watch,” The bartender announced.

Soon they had moved the tables and chairs and formed a small ring; most patrons had been kicked out, but a few were there. One man in particular stood out to him. Standing behind a table just outside the ring was a man in long swordsman’s robes but he had no sword. But he was holding something Gonten could vaguely make the shape of scissors.

“Come on overgrown woody, you want me to attack first?” Danzan said.

“I am thinking of taking your tongue as a forfeit when you lose,” Gonten said. Unsheathing his sword.

“You talk as if your younger brother’s going to fight me, not you,” Danzan said.

“Well, I am enough for you,” Gonten said.

“Then enough foreplay isn’t it,” Danzan said.

Gonten rushed at the man with his sword, his frustration from half a decade of losing to his brother. He fought in Tigerstance, Hassai’s signature stance.

The man used Leafstance, it was much looser, more flowy, completely different to the Tigerstance, which was quick, yet deliberate.

Gonten struck, and the man blocked, and immediately flowed into a counterattack. Gonten was forced backwards, blocking with his sword as the man seemed to use Gonten’s own attacks against him. The man put barely any force into his attacks, and yet Gonten was on the backfoot.

“Is this the eldest son of the great Hassai,” Danzan said.

Gonten jumped forward and slashed downwards, Danzan just as if a leaf carried by the wind stepped to the side, and slashed at Gonten’s neck. There was absolutely nothing that Gonten could do to stop this next strike. It would kill him. And then Inaki would get Gonten’s head on a platter, and then Inaki would kill this man with a wooden sword to avenge his honor.

But nothing. A loud clang, and the sword stopped halfway, the swordsman without a sword, he had stopped it, with scissors. No, those were shears. What was a man with shears doing inside a tavern, and why did he interrupt the duel?

That’s when it hit him. This man had stopped the killing blow, dragging Gonten’s image even more through the dirt.

“What the hell,” Danzan said. “When it’s not your brother, it’s your gardener.”

“I am not a gardener,” the man said. “I am a monk.”

The man pushed Danzan away, then began walking away. He jumped over the ring of tables and said, “You coming, Gonten.”

“Just to be clear, I won that duel,” Danzan said.

“Yes, yes you did,” Gonten said, jumping over the table himself.

“So much talk, and you lost in just a few seconds,” One of Danzan’s friends called. “The only reason you’re still alive is that you are of the head Tomoka family.”

“Ignore them,” The monk said. Gonten left with his head ducked down. The minute they left the tavern, Gonten exploded. “You should’ve just left me to die.”

“Why?” The monk said.

“My honor,” Gonten said.

“Honor is a strange thing,” The monk said. “Men would rather die than lose honor. It is considered very manly to have honor, and yet what is honor. Caring about what others think about you. That is the least manly thing in the world. You say your honor was disgraced because I didn’t allow them to kill you, now they think less of you. But that isn’t honor, that is insecurity. Come on, follow me. Let me take you to the monastery.”