A young boy with bright pink hair was meditating, though he was trying he couldn't get hold of it. The young boy has had enough of this.
Grandpa, I cannot maintain my concentration.
The old man hearing his chuckled a bit and nestled his hair and said, its okay Haru you will able to do it once you are a bit older
Haru: Grandpa then can we start my sword training.
Note: (Author here sorry for tuning in middle of the chapter the grandpa of haru is Miyamoto Musashi widely regarded as the greatest swordsman in Japanese history. Who is a retired marine )
Miyamoto:well then show me your basics
Haru: okay grandpa. Haru then picked up two wooden katanas and charged into his grandpa
The courtyard was silent except for the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. The evening sun bathed the training ground in golden light, glinting off the worn stones and polished wood of the dōjō. A stillness lingered in the air — one not of peace, but of anticipation.
Young Haru stood barefoot on the dirt, his stance wide and firm. His long pink hair tied back into a high tail danced with the breeze, his breath shallow but focused. In each hand, he held a wooden katana, slightly too large for his frame, but gripped with the eagerness of youth.
Across from him, standing with effortless calm, was Miyamoto Musashi — his grandfather — a legend in flesh. Gone were the days of battlefield command and marine glory. Now, he was a simple man in a white kimono, holding nothing but a thin, gnarled walking stick — his weapon of choice for this lesson.
Miyamoto's expression was unreadable. "Come," he said simply, voice like the wind — quiet, yet commanding.
Without hesitation, Haru shouted and charged. His small feet pounded the ground, twin blades slicing the air in an X-arc toward his grandfather's chest.
CLACK!
With a blur, the old man moved. His stick twisted and struck both wooden swords at once, halting Haru's momentum mid-strike. The boy's eyes widened in shock as the force reverberated through his arms.
"Too rigid," Musashi said, pivoting. In the same motion, he tapped Haru's temple gently with the stick. "Balance and rhythm. You attack like a storm, but storms burn out fast."
Gritting his teeth, Haru spun backward and crouched, then lunged again. This time a feint — right sword high, left low. Clever, fast.
But Musashi stepped into the boy's guard. His stick lashed out, catching Haru's wrist just before impact. The wooden sword clattered from his left hand.
Haru gasped, stumbling back. Sweat dotted his brow, but his eyes lit with fire.
"Again!" he barked, picking up the fallen sword.
Musashi smiled faintly. The old fire — the warrior's will — was there in Haru's heart.
Round Two.
This time, Haru circled. He remembered what his grandfather had said: balance. He watched for breathing, waited for a blink, a twitch — anything. Then he burst forward, executing a spinning strike that aimed for Musashi's legs before flipping into an overhead slash.
Musashi slid one foot back and deflected with the shaft of his stick. The force cracked like bamboo in the wind.
"Better," he said. "But you think too much. The sword must be part of you — not something you swing, but something you are."
Enraged but inspired, Haru let out a roar and moved without thinking. His feet glided. His strikes flowed like water, no longer attacks but expressions. Left, right, high, low — a storm of slashes rained on Musashi.
And for a moment — just a second — Musashi narrowed his eyes.
CRACK!
The stick snapped one katana from Haru's hand, then swept his legs. Haru hit the ground with a grunt, flat on his back, staring up at the clouds, breath stolen from his lungs.
The old man walked over and offered his hand. "Not bad," he said. "You're still far too young to beat me… but you fought like a warrior."
Haru groaned, taking his grandfather's hand. "I'll get stronger, Grandpa. I promise."
Musashi helped him up, eyes gleaming. "Good. Because one day, the world will not hold back like I do."
And in the distance, beyond the trees, thunder rumbled softly — as if the heavens themselves were watching the beginning of a future legend.