Chapter 44: Both Mentor and Friend

Zoro was utterly bewildered—had he done something wrong again? Was it a crime to wake up early and train? Since when had morning practice become so intense? Normally, they just ran five laps together around the streets of Shimotsuki Village, but today it was suddenly quadrupled. Though the increased intensity didn’t bother him, the threat of missing a meal seemed excessive.

As for sword swings, they were to be proper, disciplined strikes—not mindless hacking. To finish five thousand swings by noon was impossible unless he kept going without rest; he’d certainly miss lunch. He may have no sense of direction, but he wasn’t stupid.

“I have something to say, and I don’t know if I should—damn it all!” Zoro muttered fiercely, echoing a phrase he’d picked up from his big brother Donshin. Apparently, it was meant to vent frustration, and to be honest, it did feel pretty good. It even sounded imposing; though he stumbled a bit the first time, he was sure he’d get better at it.

Still, he couldn’t make sense of the situation, so he went to ask Donshin.

Donshin was enjoying a massage from his adorable apprentice, sinking into bliss as those small hands worked their magic. Without even raising his head, he replied, “I guess his time of the month has come again. You know how it is with men! Every month, they get a few days like this—irritable, impatient, quick to anger. Just finish your tasks and don’t get on his nerves.”

Kuina was puzzled. “Time of the month? I’ve never seen my father with any such symptoms...” Her father had always been gentle and refined, rarely showing anger. She’d certainly never noticed any recurring mood swings.

Zoro, however, nodded with sudden understanding. “Oh, so the master gets like this every month! No wonder. Better not provoke him. Big brother is always right.” With this revelation, he set about his morning training with renewed purpose. The sooner he finished, the more he could eat for breakfast—since lunch might be a lost cause.

Years later, only then would Zoro and Kuina realize the true meaning behind Donshin’s words that day.

The lure of food was irresistible. Zoro finished the task with time to spare, as usual, but the other students weren’t so lucky—they’d all received the same grueling instructions. Zoro, grinning from ear to ear, ate his breakfast while watching the others sweat and struggle through their morning drills.

It felt rather satisfying. Silently, he reaffirmed his belief: waking up early did have its benefits. Of course, it never occurred to him that he was the cause of all this—that everyone else was suffering because of him, and only he was enjoying his breakfast while the rest toiled away. Poor Zoro truly believed the master was just having one of his episodes.

If the other students ever learned the truth, Zoro would’ve gotten a beating for sure. But they remained oblivious, only finding the master’s sudden demands unpredictable and hard to fathom.

After breakfast, Donshin and Kuina headed straight into the forest. This was no ordinary walk; each carried two homemade stone locks, arms outstretched to shoulder height, unbending and unwavering.

The way of the sword begins with wrist strength, followed by training the waist and stance, and only then the sword techniques themselves. Of course, the foundation must be solid and unshakable.

After half a month of practicing horse stances and pillar training, their basics had become remarkably strong—not at all comparable to two weeks prior. Kuina’s early foundation in kendo, along with her unusual constitution, played a significant role.

Each stone lock weighed fifteen pounds, but the forest path was uneven, and holding the arms straight out made the effort required much greater than just fifteen pounds. The strain on their wrists and arms grew with each passing moment.

At first, it was manageable. After ten minutes, their arms trembled. After twenty, they shook violently. By thirty minutes, they looked as if they were suffering seizures.

And this was just the warm-up for wrist training!

Donshin couldn’t help but marvel at how hard martial arts really was. One had to endure pain beyond what most could imagine, forging both body and spirit. In virtual reality games, progress came swiftly and effortlessly, but it lacked the satisfaction of true, hard-earned strength.

Only through relentless training could one truly savor the feeling of growing stronger, a feeling unknown to those who’d never struggled for it.

Diligence and sweat, in the end, were always rewarded in proportion to the effort given.

Sometimes Donshin wondered if, without his lovable apprentice, he could have maintained the resolve to persist in his role as teacher. Perhaps he would have given up long ago. With pillar training, for instance, the moment one felt exhausted and gave up was the moment rich rewards slipped away.

This was why martial artists began their training as children—obedient, unable to argue, constantly pushing past their limits, building strong foundations, and progressing steadily. Once grown, bones set and the will to persist wavered; it became all too easy to quit when tired, making success elusive.

Slaying monsters, barbecuing, training—again and again.

Donshin and Kuina were inseparable, their strength accumulating day by day, their bond growing ever closer. Each training session ended with a massage to relax their muscles—master and apprentice, but friends as well.

In reality, Donshin barely left his room. The daily regimen of in-game training and monster hunting left him drained. After logging out, he’d bathe, eat, browse the forums to check on other players, and then fall asleep.

As Donshin and Kuina’s relationship grew closer, Koshiro found himself grinding his teeth with envy. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to intervene, for he saw Kuina’s transformation with his own eyes. Despite the exhaustion from daily training, her happiness shone through.

Smiles blossomed more and more on her little face. As a father, he realized it had been ages since he’d seen such a radiant smile on his daughter’s face. The last time had been when she first began studying swordsmanship, and he praised her for the first time. Since then, there had been only sternness and reprimand, and her smile had vanished.

How could he bear to destroy such happiness with his own hands? He wanted to preserve that radiance forever.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

So, each time, he took out his frustration on the other students, pushing them to train even harder. Yet this had its benefits; some students improved by leaps and bounds, entering a period of rapid growth.

Especially Zoro, who had just joined the dojo—his progress was extraordinary, thanks in no small part to his relentless effort and refusal to give up.