When he said he would train me, I imagined something else.
I thought he would hand me a sword, look me in the eyes, and say something like:
— "Try to hit me."
But instead...
He told me to climb up and down the mountain.
At first, I thought it was just part of the preparation. Maybe he was testing my strength before starting the real training.
But it wasn't.
For days, weeks, and months, all I did was climb.
Descend.
Climb.
And descend again.
On the first day, my body couldn't take it.
My feet slipped.
My legs gave out.
I fell more times than I can count.
Scraped my knees.
Twisted my ankle.
Threw up before even reaching halfway up the mountain.
But I never complained.
Not because I was strong.
But because…
I knew it was necessary — all that pain would be necessary if I wanted to become… better.
I felt it in every part of my body:
Everything inside me had to break, so that something new could be born.
---
Urokodaki never yelled at me.
Never called me weak.
Never said he was disappointed.
He only said:
— Get up.
— Keep going.
— Don't stop now.
His voice held no anger.
It held firmness.
And for some reason… that worked.
It encouraged me to keep going, because no one had ever spoken to me like that before.
---
Today marks one year since the beginning.
Before, I could barely climb it once.
Now?
I can do five full climbs in a single day.
Of course, I end the day with my body wrecked, my lungs burning, and my muscles screaming.
But in the late afternoon…
There's always that dinner.
Hot rice, vegetable soup, grilled tofu — the taste doesn't matter as much as the warmth it brings.
Urokodaki always stayed silent; he didn't like to talk much. But that silence was the closest I'd ever gotten to a hug.
---
At night, he always left.
Never said where he was going, but by the way he carried his sword, I knew.
He was going to hunt demons.
And every time he left, I waited a few minutes.
Then I got up.
Grabbed two simple wooden swords I'd found stored in a corner of the house.
And walked to the clearing behind the pine trail.
That clearing...
It was like my own world.
No yelling.
No pointing fingers.
Just the sound of falling snow.
And there, with two swords in hand, I began to move.
---
I didn't know what I was doing.
No skill. No technique.
I just let my body follow what it felt.
My feet slid across the snow.
The wooden blades sliced through the air without any clear direction.
Sometimes too fast, other times slow as if I were floating.
I think… my "swordplay" looked like a dance.
A clumsy, rhythmless dance.
But it was mine.
And the more I trained, the more the snow seemed to respond.
It spun with me.
Fell where my steps retreated.
Lifted into whirls with my spins.
It was like we were dancing together.
---
A habit began to form in me.
Every time I went to practice, I wore the mask.
A fox mask that Urokodaki had left near my futon in the second month.
— "This mask will be yours," he had said, handing it to me calmly.
— "It's tradition for my disciples. It protects and represents you."
Mine was white, with fine light-blue lines that resembled frozen branches or snow crystals.
It was cold to the touch, felt like porcelain.
But when I put it on, I felt something strange.
As if the pain in my legs disappeared.
As if the cold didn't matter.
As if I stopped being the unlucky Fubuki from the village…
And became someone new.
---
That night, with the mask on my face and the wooden swords crossed in my hands, I moved with more speed.
My feet held firm in the snow.
I spun my body with my arms raised, and the wooden blades cut the air in motions that seemed to flow on their own.
I wasn't imitating anyone.
I was creating something.
It wasn't technique.
It was instinct.
---
At the top of the hill, among the shadows, Urokodaki watched.
He didn't come closer.
He didn't say anything.
He just watched.
And later, when I came back home, I noticed the swords were placed neatly in the same corner as always.
Clean.
Dry.
As if someone had put them away with care.
I didn't need to ask anything.
The next morning, Urokodaki only said one thing:
— "Tomorrow… be ready. You'll train with real swords."