Chapter 13.5: Whooosh!

The sharp crack of bokken striking echoed through the dojo, steady and rhythmic. Sunlight streamed through high windows, catching motes of dust in the air.

Little Aiko tightened her grip on her wooden sword—then broke formation, lunging at her classmate with a theatrical swing.

“Whooosh!” she hissed, swinging her bokken with exaggerated force.

Her friend stifled a laugh, raising her own blade. “Ha! You’ll never defeat me!”

They clashed, their wooden swords clattering with far more enthusiasm than precision. Aiko spun clumsily, nearly losing her balance, and the other girl let out a squeal of laughter before lunging back.

Another classmate, not wanting to miss out, darted into the fray, hakama swishing wildly as she swung in broad, reckless arcs. She misstepped, the long pleats tangling around her ankle, and with a yelp, toppled backward onto the polished wood.

The other two burst into laughter, Aiko nearly dropping her bokken as she doubled over—until a silence fell across the dojo like a held breath.

“Takara.”

Sensei’s voice was quiet but carried through the room like a blade through silk.

The children froze. One by one, the others scrambled back to their places in line, straightening their stances. Only Aiko lingered, caught with her bokken raised mid-swing, the laughter still fading from her lips. Slowly, she lowered it, cheeks heating as she shuffled back into place.

Training resumed. But her sensei’s gaze lingered.

✧ ✧ ✧

When the lesson ended, the other children bowed and hurried off to change.

“All except Takara,” Sensei said evenly. “You stay.”

Groans and guilty glances from her friends followed, but they scampered out.

Aiko sighed, dropping her bokken against the wall rack with a thunk.

Sensei handed her a broom. “The floor.”

She pouted, but took it. “Hai…”

The dojo grew quiet as she swept, the broom bristles scratching softly against the wood. At first she dragged her feet, humming under her breath, but as the minutes passed, her strokes became steadier, more thoughtful.

When the last of the dust was cleared, Sensei finally spoke.

“Aiko.”

She turned, clutching the broom like a staff.

He studied her for a moment, then crouched down so his eyes met hers.

“You are not untalented,” he said. “Far from it. Your body remembers things faster than most children your age. Your stance, your breath, your balance—it’s there.”

Her brows lifted faintly.

“But talent is nothing,” he continued, “if you waste it laughing through practice.”

Aiko blinked, lips parting, but no words came.

“If you gave half as much focus as you give to play, you would surpass students twice your age,” he said, voice softening now. “You don’t see it yet, but one day you will. And when you do—you’ll understand why I tell you this.”

For a rare moment, Aiko was quiet. Her fingers tightened faintly on the broom handle.

Then she gave a small nod. “Yes, Sensei.”

✧ ✧ ✧

That evening, long after the others had left, the dojo was nearly silent. Only the faint rasp of bare feet against wood broke the stillness.

Aiko stood again with her bokken, clumsy but intent, moving through the kata she’d half-botched earlier. Sweat dotted her brow, her jaw set in concentration.

From the doorway, Sensei watched quietly. For a while he said nothing, letting her finish the sequence.

Then, gently: “Aiko.”

She froze, straightening, bokken lowering.

“Come,” he said, his tone softer than before. “It’s time to go home. Your father’s waiting outside.”

Her shoulders eased. She gave a small bow, then hurried to set the bokken aside, padding quickly across the floor toward him.

Sensei lingered a moment longer, eyes following her with the faintest trace of a smile—before sliding the door shut behind them.

Outside, the evening air was cool, the lanterns along the path flickering low. Her father stood beside their car just beyond the gate, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed the way it always was when he waited for her.

“There you are,” he said warmly as she bounded up to him. “Were you good today?”

Aiko froze for half a second, lips pursing, eyes darting away. “…Ummm…”

He raised a brow, already grinning. “That doesn’t sound like a yes.”

Before she could wriggle away, he swooped down and tickled her sides. Aiko shrieked with laughter, flailing as she clung to his arm.

“Papa! Stop!” she squealed through her giggles, eyes shining.

He finally relented, ruffling her hair instead. “Come on, troublemaker. Let’s get you home.”

He opened the car door for her, and she hopped in still laughing, the sound lingering in the night air.