Soul of a Samurai

Another year had passed.

I was four years old now.

This was the year I would begin my training.

I had been waiting for this moment since my father first told me about it. The thought of becoming strong—of becoming a samurai—excited me. Even though I didn't fully understand what it meant yet, I wanted it.

But there was something else that had changed over the past year.

I could still see the blue particles.

At first, they were just strange, floating specks in the air—something I had no control over. But as time passed, I began to notice something different about them.

Every person had their own blue particles.

My father's were sharp and controlled, moving in smooth, steady waves.

My mother's were gentle and warm, flowing like a soft breeze.

Other people in the village had their own unique particles too, each one slightly different in the way they moved and flickered.

I had started using them to remember people.

Even from far away, I could see where someone was before I actually saw them. If I focused, I could recognize who they were just by their particles alone.

I didn't know why I could see them or what they even were, but…

I liked it.

The morning of my first day of training started as usual.

I woke up, stretched my arms, and made my way to the kitchen, where my mother was already preparing breakfast. My father sat at the table, quietly eating as always.

I climbed into my seat and started eating as well.

Mother smiled. "You're excited, aren't you?"

I nodded quickly, my mouth full.

Father placed his chopsticks down and looked at me. His expression was calm, unreadable as always. "Finish eating. Then we will begin."

I swallowed my food and gave a firm, "Okay."

Excitement buzzed in my chest.

After breakfast, I followed my father outside, my small legs moving quickly to keep up with him.

The morning air was crisp and cool, the field behind our house empty and open. This was where my father always trained, where I had watched him for years.

Now it was my turn.

I stood in front of him, waiting for instructions.

He studied me for a moment before finally speaking. "Before you can hold a sword, you must first build your foundation."

I tilted my head. "Foundation?"

"You must be physically strong," he explained. "Without strength, skill is meaningless. For the next year, you will train your body. Only after that will you learn how to wield a sword."

A whole year?

I had thought I would start using a sword immediately, but instead, I had to train without one?

I wanted to protest—but I didn't.

I looked up at my father's serious gaze. He wouldn't say something unless it was important. If he believed I needed to do this first, then… I would trust him.

I nodded. "Okay."

Father nodded back. "Then let's begin."

And with that, my training officially started.