He never listens. He thinks his way is the best way. He thinks just because he's strong means he's right. We had another 'conversation' today. More like a yelling match then anything else. He wanted to go. He wanted to fight. I told him he couldn't. I forbade him from going. So now he's pouting. Sitting on the other side of the room, arms folded, head down, food uneaten and growing cold. I can hear his thoughts as loudly as if he were speaking them.
'You don't understand. You'll never understand. I hate you.'
But I do understand. I understand all to well. He's arrogant enough to think he can help. Simply because he's learned the best sword style in all Japan, he thinks he can save the world. He's the one that doesn't understand. Hiten Mitsurugi wasn't intended to save the world. It was created to save the people. But he won't see that. His boyish head is full of dreams of victory. Of becoming a hero. And he just might…but it will scar him. Bloodshed always scars in some way or another.
He stands now, and heads for his futon. That boy sleeps more then any child I've ever seen.
"You haven't eaten," I tell him.
"I'm not hungry," he says. He gets in his futon, pulls the blanket up to his chin and turns his back to me. I roll my eyes and drink some sake, the burning as it makes its way down my throat helps to relieve some of my irritation. That child is impossible. A stubborn, bull headed teenager. It was probably karma coming back from all the hell I gave my master. That old man must have been grateful the day I accomplished the final sword technique. That child, though, will never learn it. Not if he continues on the same path.
It's strange though. I'm more mad at myself then I am at him. What did I do wrong to make him feel this way? Why didn't I see how he would turn out? If only I knew that he would act like this, I wouldn't have taught him the Hiten Mitsurugi to begin with. He seemed so strong back then…even though he was young. Strong…but lonely. I suppose the reason I took him in is because he reminded me of me. By that alone, I should have known how he would turn out.
Well fine. If he wants to leave, then he can go ahead and leave. I can't keep him here. I'll waste my breath trying to convince him one last time…but I know it's going to be fruitless. If he wants to throw his life away with both hands then let him. He's going to do it anyway.
I stand up and go over to him. Ready to give him a good boot in the rear just so I can waste my breath on him one last time. But he's asleep. Mouth slightly open, hands curled near his face, breathing deep and even. He's still so young… I pull the blanket up over his shoulder, sigh and go back to my sake. As I drink, I watch his sleeping form. He's too young to paint his hands with blood…but he's going to do it anyway. He's such a baka-deshi.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em Don't sue me.