Slowly but inexorably, time moves forward, sweeping us away with its current, tearing off our nails and chains. Tearing off our skin, dragging us along the rocky bottom or the pebbles of the shore, but the result is the same — we are covered with bruises, abrasions and blood. It hurts, it is difficult, it is morally difficult, our hearts bleed, but Time doesn't care about the dust of people's lives, their joys and sorrows. Time moves on, and its progress is unstoppable.
When I defeated the clan teacher for the first time, everyone thought it was my luck, or fatigue, or absent-mindedness, or something other than the teacher. The unbalanced man himself became terribly angry, furious, and started beating me stupidly during the training. There was no justification, the arguments were like "I know better" or "the elders know better".
I was waiting for a logical explanation for what was happening, a philosophical turn. I didn't wait, but I was tired of being beaten for a week in a row, and I hung a shikigami on his clothes. A few hours later, in the evening, in a drunken stupor, I listened in a trance to what this man was saying.
Anger bubbled in my chest, and the colors of the world shifted to red and yellow-orange. This creature was bragging to his drinking buddies (who turned out to be members of the lower clan) how and how hard he beat the "bastard", how he showed him the place. And so on. At some point, my anger turned to cold hatred, and my vision turned to cold blue, but I listened to the end, even to the knot that he was cheating on his wife.
The next day this man was in excellent spirits and health (magic and potions work wonders) and decided not to deny himself the pleasure of humiliating the child. According to his plan, I had to stand with the shinai again and endure the beatings.
Standing in a standard position, I saw that many people from the lower branches of the clan had already gathered, all smiling and waiting for fun. Well, I also smiled broadly and took his first blow on a sliding block by jumping to the side. First misunderstanding, then caution and anger appeared on the man's face.
— I told you not to move! — He turned red with rage. — Follow your teacher's orders, idiot! — By the way, he often called me names like that.
— Of course, Teacher. — I smiled even brighter and wider, noticing the surprise on some faces.
This is natural, because the public and even the servants did not see my smile, only the blacksmith and the master of the brush.
Another swing, but the shinai only sliced through the air loudly, and I, again going to the side, struck him on the wrist as hard as I could. The shinai fell from his hands and the man hissed in pain, looking at me with hatred.
— You bastard! Yes, I will smear you!
In response, I took two steps back, froze for a moment, then closed the distance at a decent speed and struck again, causing a howl of pain from a broken collarbone.
— "Remember, the fight continues until you are either dead or unable to move your arms and legs," I repeated the words I had just heard. — You can still continue the fight. — I nod thoughtfully.
I return to the starting point, and again there is an approach and a howl of pain — the second arm is also broken, and a sharp angle and a dark spot appear on the dark sleeve. I return to the starting point because he is still conscious and able to escape. But they stopped me there — the spectators woke up and cut me off from the victim.
There was a lot of noise, of course, but there were no specific punishments, they were just thoroughly brainwashed. Even after I clearly explained the situation and the actions of this "great teacher", I was still "squeezed" by other mentors for a long time. Every lesson was an opportunity to give me a lecture on "The clan is more important than anything personal, and each of its members is an irreplaceable part.
Despite all my skepticism, the logic in these words was reinforced concrete, and quite quickly I even began to accept it, albeit with reservations. The result, the final result of my actions, was the disappearance of the previous teacher and the appearance of a new one.
But he didn't appear right away, and I had almost three weeks of independent training. In addition, classes in ordinary sciences began, albeit mixed with magic. Still, it freed up a lot of my energy and time, and I was able to sleep properly, relax, and even start training with a spear.
The man who appeared introduced himself as Sugawara Sho. Serious, calm, strong, broad-shouldered, soft-spoken, cold, strict, but very honest and fair. A chaotic description, but that's how he is. Appearance, if you take away the muscles and stature, is the most common — Japanese.
The first lesson took place in a closed courtyard, and the man demanded to show everything I could do. There was no thought of hiding and being quiet — why? This is a teacher and he must know what to teach, right? That's what I thought. He took the shinai and went on the offensive against a similarly armed man.
For more than an hour I spun, waved my arms, jumped, covered in sweat and dirt, when suddenly my attacks turned into flying into the bushes, then into a tree. It was very offensive, I wanted to break in with all my anger, because I had never experienced such powerlessness before.
I even began to shake and felt the air around me tremble. One more moment and I would have attacked this Sugawara Sho purely by instinct and physics, without a sword. But at that very moment, the teacher decided to stop the test.