The real art of the sword turned out to be much deeper, and its philosophy had a deep meaning. Not because you have to stand like this because "the gods want it that way", but because it warms up the necessary muscle groups specifically for that technique or ligament. Now you have to swing like this and step like this because it will make it easier for you to do this and that.
And, of course, everything is generously seasoned with the philosophy of local life and harsh romanticism. The more I worked, the more I was fascinated by this business; I was not stopped by my bloody feet and palms, cut fingers and beaten body by the "master". His teaching style also turned out to be tough and rude, more than once or twice my fingers and arms were broken by blows from the shinai and bokken.
Nevertheless, every month the sword, be it bamboo, wood or steel, seemed to grow into me, its roots penetrating deeper into my hands. I regularly took revenge on other teachers with similar behavior. One middle-aged man even fell into a medical coma for a month when he decided to punish me during the potion class and splashed the remains of the tainted potion on his hands.
And my hands were bandaged with ointment to heal the worn skin. It was painful. In response, this "subhuman" was poisoned with the common poison of puffer fish. For some reason, the poison ended up in his favorite cake. A miracle! When my injuries prevented me from actively using weapons, and I was given some free time, I was immediately sent to the forge, to old man Yamamoto, a master blacksmith. My task was to share with him the magic, the energy for fire, fur and water.
The old blacksmith, during all the years of my exile (the teachers never found out that the blacksmith treated me well, and even treated me with goodies, including sweet liqueurs, a little at a time, so that the fire burned brighter, yes), explained well the general concepts of his craft, delved a little deeper into the specifics of creating Japanese type blade weapons, a little — European.
He showed and explained how to add special impurities to weapon steel to give the weapon special, magical properties. Unfortunately, it was not possible to go deeper into this topic, because it was necessary to work for hours and days in the forge, to experience the processes of numerous different options. Of course, no one is going to give me that much time for something they don't think I need. It's a pity, because old man Yamamoto turned out to be a master weaponsmith, capable of forging even real spiritual weapons.
In all the years I spent with the master, I learned to forge good iron, steel in any form, but not magic items. My ceilings are blanks without complex specifications. We didn't even talk about jewelry, although I sometimes helped the master make expensive bracelets and combs.
At this rate, I spent another five years in this world. By the time I was eleven years old, I had reached a level in kendo where even the teacher sweated a lot during a fight and won only because of weight, strength, and arm length. We were equal in technique, and he couldn't teach me anything new even if he wanted to.
After I reached that level, all I could do was practice familiar moves and train my skills. Moreover, the ideas of clannishness and privilege began to fascinate me more and more, and I myself began to bow (still without deep bows) according to the etiquette, to keep an impassive face, to live with a straight back, and to sit comfortably in the "seiza" posture.
Nothing remains forever, the world changes and we change with it. So, unnoticed by myself, without much breaking, I smoothly transformed into what they wanted me to be. I did not feel any rejection, and the use of etiquette allowed me to feel more confident in any situation, even unfamiliar ones. For example, at a big party a few months after my eleventh birthday.