Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
32: Shihondai
~*~
Her father had been an excellent teacher,
Kaoru always liked to think to herself. He had been firm, but
careful, strong, but gentle, all at the same time. He had carried
an air of power and authority that made his students want to
excel, if only to gain approval in his watchful gaze. He accepted
any and all students - young, old, weak, talented... even his
small, spirited daughter who was too busy grieving for her mother
to concentrate fully on her lessons.
After his death, Kaoru thought back upon her father's
teachings and found how much she admired the man for all he had
done. He had taken a stubborn, willful child, the very image of
the woman he must have loved - secretly and quietly, throughout
their entire marriage - and made her into a model student for his
classes, with patience, determination, and a command that could
not be dismissed or ignored. He had turned around her perspective
and shown her that life did go on, and it could improve, but only
if you set your heart on what you wanted yourself to be. Whenever
she thought of that fact, that one, simple accomplishment that
had molded her into the daughter she had wanted for him, she
echoed her constant wish to be, even remotely, as good as teacher
as her father had been.
When the Hitokiri Battousai began killing
people in the streets in her name - the name of her school, her father's
school - she wanted to cry, to collapse in despair and pain and
let everything - the dojo, the country, the world - fall to
pieces around her. She knew it would accomplish nothing, and
would in fact give the murderer the desired, satisfying reaction,
but still, she could not restrain her feelings. The very idea
that anyone might look upon her dojo, the sword that protects,
and associate it with the name of a hitokiri, a manslayer,
made her cringe. She knew that there was nothing she could do to
regain her lost honour until the murderer's reign of the night
streets was stopped.
She also knew, however, that she was going about it the wrong
way. The rurouni had told her so, and she had stubbornly refused
to listen, but in her heart, she knew. Knowing was not, however,
admitting, and it wasn't until the last of her students left her
that she realized how much she truly needed help.
What she did not know what that help would come from Hitokiri
Battousai himself.
And yet not, for he himself denied the name with surprising
distaste. It didn't take her long to realize why. Took her longer
to admit that she still couldn't - and probably never would -
fully understand this man.
Soon, however, she realized that
understanding wasn't required by love. Knowing him, by what he
showed her and what she saw against his will, was enough to help
her learn that she wanted to be his, whoever he was,
whatever he had been. She didn't have to know every detail of his
past, grim and mournful as it must have been, nor did she have to
know everything that went on in his present life - as much as she
might want to beat it out of him sometimes. His secrets were
often his own, hidden and closed to her heart... but it was all
right, in the end. She knew what she had to in order to carry on.
She had to know that he loved her.
He loved her.
And that was enough.
Myojin Yahiko proved himself to be a great
challenge as a student, his attitude and overblown pride almost
intolerable. His constant bickering and insulting comments made
her bristle angrily and wonder, each and every day, why Kenshin
had chosen this brash, impetuous pickpocket to be her first pupil
in the wake of the false Battousai attacks. She couldn't
understand what had made the rurouni even consider such a brat
for the renewal of her school.
But... watching him, in the many battles he had participated
in, she slowly began to see that the choice hadn't been so bad.
In fact, it had not been wrong at all. She soon realized that
deep within the heart of her new student, beyond the rude,
obnoxious disposition that made her eyes burn, there was a fierce
willfulness to be a strong warrior who could take pride in his
skills as well as his name, and a stubborn nature that rivaled
her own. Although he argued and complained, he worked hard, and
excelled in every aspect of her teaching. He was good - or, at
the very least, he was giving it his all.
She also began to understand how very much he was like her...
and, in the process, began to grow into the sort of teacher her
father had been. She gained a certain pride of her own. Pride in
her own teaching ability...
... but most especially, pride in the one student who
was willing to stay by her side throughout anything.
And she became determined to teach him to become the best
kendo practitioner he could be.
~*~
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