To anyone walking by the sight of a small, frail boy punching and kicking at a training dummy would have seemed somewhat ‘cute’. Dressed in a simple black gi, the boy would be switching up punching the dummy, to kicking it, to going back to what appeared to be a scroll describing how to punch and kick, to punching the dummy once again. He seemed to be lacking emotion at first, as if this was a boring exercise that he had been forced to do, and that would have been a correct assumption.
“Train for at least 5 hours per day…”, had been his fathers instruction, and now his caretaker was watching him like a hawk, ensuring that this rigorous training regime happened. He had been training for over 4 hours now, his gi clinging to his frame making him look like a haggard scarecrow. The boys’ frustration was clearly evident as his continuous punches grew more aggressive, but slower, showing a sense of fatigue.
He stopped, turning to walk once more over to the scroll his father had given to him, outlining some taijutsu techniques. He hated taijutsu.
Allowing himself a moment of anger, he cast a crimson stare that spoke volumes, his hands quickly and expertly performing the correct handseals… His hands came towards his mouth just as he breathed out. Suddenly a small bead of flame rushed out, striking the wooden training dummy and just… sizzled for a second.
The boy slumped to the ground, clearly frustrated, annoyed and disappointed. He lent back on the dojo wall as his breathing came in heavy. Why wasnt he improving as much as he wanted to! Everyone seemed to do everything better than he did.
I want to go home.
[MFT]
[WC: 287]
“Train for at least 5 hours per day…”, had been his fathers instruction, and now his caretaker was watching him like a hawk, ensuring that this rigorous training regime happened. He had been training for over 4 hours now, his gi clinging to his frame making him look like a haggard scarecrow. The boys’ frustration was clearly evident as his continuous punches grew more aggressive, but slower, showing a sense of fatigue.
He stopped, turning to walk once more over to the scroll his father had given to him, outlining some taijutsu techniques. He hated taijutsu.
Allowing himself a moment of anger, he cast a crimson stare that spoke volumes, his hands quickly and expertly performing the correct handseals… His hands came towards his mouth just as he breathed out. Suddenly a small bead of flame rushed out, striking the wooden training dummy and just… sizzled for a second.
The boy slumped to the ground, clearly frustrated, annoyed and disappointed. He lent back on the dojo wall as his breathing came in heavy. Why wasnt he improving as much as he wanted to! Everyone seemed to do everything better than he did.
I want to go home.
[MFT]
[WC: 287]