Chapter Text
He's technically not supposed to be near the rice terraces.
Last time, he apparently was gone for too long and his mother had a fit that sent most of the villagers out looking for him. Kuina'd found him, like usual, thinking she's so cool and smart because she's tall and doesn't fall for the rice fields' tricks.
His mother had been red-faced from how annoyed she'd been, eyes glassy, lips pinched. She'd scolded him, sure, but she'd also grabbed him and pressed him hard against her front in a rib-crushing embrace, nuzzling his hair.
It'd been embarrassing since Kuina'd seen it all.
He vows to not get tricked by the terraces this time.
Zoro hums to himself as he hops around, kicking rocks and hiding from the occasional field worker. He doesn't need a babysitter, he's six now and he’s close to being old enough to join the dojo and become a swordsman. He’s even gotten his dad to agree in gifting him that neat sword from the old swordsmith’s shop, since his dad won’t budge on gifting his dagger. With a sword, Zoro’ll be unstoppable and he can be so much cooler than Kuina.
He looks over his shoulder to inspect all that he's traveled. The fields look... criss-crossy and not how he remembers them. He thinks they're trying to play tricks on him again, but he's aware now so it won't work.
Shimotsuki Village is too green, he thinks. It's probably why he's easily tricked by nature. He can't tell where something starts and the other begins. He likes it when the cherry blossoms are in bloom, because then at least there's different colors that won't confuse him so much.
Zoro sighs through his nose as he crouches down, playing with the damp soil and collecting rocks he can go skip in the river later. His mother says his dad will be home today, so really, Zoro's just killing time 'til he can run to the docks and greet him.
"You aren't supposed to be up here."
Zoro rolls his eyes, refusing to look up from his rock inspection. Kuina's voice is teasing, kinda like she's singing. She should go away. But she has nothing to do while her dad's busy with kendo lessons.
He and Kuina aren't old enough to start the classes just yet.
"Don't ya got someone else to bug?" he asks, when he feels her presence come closer. "Kinda busy here."
"Doing what?" Kuina asks, her hands clasped behind her as she comes to a stop at his side. Her eyes are dark blue, like the night sky and they glint when she tilts her head in curiosity. "Looks to me like you're just getting all muddy."
Zoro makes a face as he starts to mock her.
"Ugh," she scoffs. "You're such a six year old."
This makes Zoro really defensive, since he is six and he can't exactly do anything about it until his birthday comes around later in the year. So he opts for a mean glare, grabbing his little rocks and stomping away.
"That's not the way," Kuina says with a laugh.
Zoro'll show her.
Except she snatches his unoccupied hand and starts to lead him back towards the meadows and the trails that lead to the village proper. She's running and skipping and Zoro has to scurry to keep up, annoyed that his legs are short and that Kuina thinks he can't find his way home on his own.
The trees rustle around them, hinoki trees dropping leaves with the wind’s insistence. They stop by the river that twirls its way from the fields and into the village proper, bisecting her as it stretches from one end of Shimotsuki to the other. Zoro reluctantly shares his stash of rocks but he quickly starts to regret it when Kuina shows she's actually good at this and can get her rocks to skip farther than him.
"Like this," she says even though Zoro thinks he's doing a pretty good job in hiding his envy.
She manhandles him around, shifting his body, adjusting his legs, guiding his arm to where she deems is the right distance for a good throw.
"Okay," she says, stepping back and pushing some of her hair away from her face. She leaves a streak of mud on her forehead. "Try it now!"
Surprisingly with little reluctance, Zoro does as told. The rock skips just as far as Kuina's and he grins, turning to her and pausing to give her a quick glare (he's his mother's son, that's what his dad says when he sees him be indecisive on how to show his excitement) and then jumping in place before trying it all over again.
Kuina claps and it’s not as condescending as Zoro’s prone to assume everything she does tends to be. She reaches for a rock and throws it, both watching it skip across the river’s surface, leaving ripples in its wake before it sinks. Zoro does it too and they both grunt and call out potential names for potential sword moves for when they’re older.
They spend the afternoon skipping rocks, running around the clearing in search of the right kind of rocks for their game. Soon, they’ve made it further into the meadows, the trees more sparse and scattered. They've grown tired of running around, collecting and throwing rocks; with deep sighs and sweaty limbs, they both find themselves sprawled in a field of wheat with poppies, swaying with the cool afternoon breeze.
"That cloud looks like Shuga," Kuina points out.
Shuga is the convenient store owner's pet dog. And she's chased Zoro down the streets trying to steal his snacks countless times. He hates her.
"Shuga sucks," he grumbles.
Kuina laughs. Of course she does, she enjoys Zoro's misery.
"Once I saw her bite at my grandfather's kimono," she says, voice low like it's conspiratorial. She's grinning and Zoro can't help but grin right back. Conspiratorial.
Honestly, it sounds like Shuga. A true menace, attacking unsuspecting people just trying to mind their business. What a dumb dog.
"Look," he says, pointing, "That one looks like an onigiri."
"No it doesn't," Kuina says with a snort. "I think you're just hungry."
Zoro rolls his eyes. But his stomach decides to growl in that moment and Kuina's laugh doesn't sound mocking in the slightest. Okay, he supposes, feeling his cheeks warm up, he supposes she isn't so bad.
In fact, after today he can reluctantly admit she’s a little tolerable.
.
He's running towards the docks. Kuina felt the need to point him in the right direction, when he started to scurry back the way they'd come (he did this on purpose) so now he's only a few minutes away.
He can see his dad's sailboat from here, and his friends Kazuo and Osamu. Zoro grins as he jumps onto the docks, ignoring how they sway at his weight and simply choosing to run faster.
"Dad!" His eyes are trained on the wild blue spikes on top of his dad's head. "Welcome back!"
Arashi turns from the nets of fish, an eyebrow raised and his gray eyes wide. His dad's got a mean scar over his forehead. Every time Zoro asks him what happened, he has a different story. Each one's interesting, though, so Zoro gives him the benefit of the doubt.
"Heya, sprout!" Arashi's grin is wolfish as he jumps onto the dock, crouching down to greet him. "Wha'cha been up to?"
Zoro knows that if he tells his dad he's been in the terraces, he won't tell his mom. But he knows his dad will feel like he has to do the dad-thing and tell him he should not defy his mom's wishes.
So instead he says, "Was playing by the river. Kuina taught me to skip rocks."
"Oh yeah?" Arashi's large hand rests on top of Zoro's head. "Thought you could always skip rocks, sprout?"
Zoro rolls his eyes. "Yeah but I couldn't get them to go as far as her."
This makes his dad laugh, head thrown back and smile wide. He's sporting trousers and a simple shirt as opposed to his usual kimono and haori. Despite owning a sailboat, Arashi says he isn't a fisherman, but his friends are and he usually lends them the boat and chooses to go along with them to help out with the fishing further out in the East Blue.
He's usually gone for a few days when this happens and Zoro gets so bored at home.
"You're gonna have to show me, then," his dad says as he stands back up to his full height. He looks over his shoulder at his friends and then back to Zoro. "Give me a bit, 'kay? Just gonna help these guys, since they can never do anything right. Then we can go home; your mom's probably pissed at me for being late."
Shrugging, Zoro sits at the edge of the docks, swinging his little legs back and forth while his dad and Kazuo and Osamu get their catch up and off the sailboat and start moving things around. It's all pretty boring work so Zoro ignores them.
Evening is starting to settle, the horizon turning a burning red where the sun begins to set. Zoro stares at it, admiring how it reflects against the sea's surface and how it looks a lot like his dad's favored kimono.
He hopes his mom's cooked something good, like fish. Usually, it's Arashi the one that cooks, since he weirdly enjoys it, but his mom isn't too bad either. She likes to make oyakodon and soba noodles and that dish with the green tea Zoro can't ever remember the name of.
His dad makes lots of fish dishes and Zoro loves that. And lots of rice.
The thought of food makes his stomach grumble and he hears the men start to laugh. In his defense, he hasn't eaten since lunch time.
"Alright, sprout," Arashi says, clapping his hands free of any invisible dirt and grime. "Let's get home."
"'kay," Zoro responds, hopping to his feet. "Race ya!"
He starts to run, laughing when he hears his dad say he's a cheat. Zoro runs into the village proper, running through the labyrinthine alleyways, zig-zagging around villagers and laughing some more when he hears his dad call for him:
"You're gonna get lost, Zoro! Your mom's gonna kill me!"
Someway, somehow, Zoro ends up at their front door. He's out of breath and his cheeks sting from the speed of his run against the wind. Arashi lets out a long breath as he comes to stand next to him, one hand on his knee while he tries to catch his breath, his other hand ruffles Zoro's messy green hair.
"You're getting faster, kid," his dad gasps. "Also good on Ume for catching you before you headed out of town again."
"I did that on purpose," Zoro sniffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Arashi laughs, finally reaching to slide the door open. The smell that greets them is the very definition of home to Zoro: fresh rice, grilled fish, the incense his mother likes to burn that smells like what snow smells like.
He doesn't know if that makes sense at all, but Zoro understands himself. Snow smells like crisp cold and a freshness that’s different to that of any normal day.
"Oh," his mother scoffs, a hand on her hip. Her voice has a little rasp that comes out every now and then and when his dad's in an extra teasing mood he tells her she sounds like a teenage boy during puberty. Zoro doesn't know what that means but it makes his mother rage. "Look who's decided to show up."
Her brown eyes look at Zoro and then she groans. "Were you in the terraces again?"
"No!" Zoro crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I was at the river!"
Tera comes closer, eyes narrowed as she studies him. She's tanned and her green hair is lighter than Zoro's, pulled back in a ponytail that sways when she walks or moves her head.
"Right," she says in that way she does that means 'not right'. "Go wash up before you eat, Zoro."
He bites back the groan crawling up his throat. He wants to eat now.
But his mother has her arms crossed in front of her chest, a hip cocked as she leans her weight on one leg. It's her no nonsense stance, dark trousers loose on her legs, dark sash tight around her hips even if she isn't holding her sword.
Zoro stomps off, shedding his dark t-shirt as he goes. As he washes himself, he listens to his parents talk. He can't really hear what they're saying but it's nice to hear the sound of their voices. His dad's smooth tone, the valley accent his mother has. He hears them laugh; loud for his dad, snickers from his mom.
They're sitting at the table when Zoro emerges in his sleep-clothes, barefooted and his hair dripping down his back.
"Close enough," Tera sighs, shaking her head. "Eat up, my love."
Zoro swings his legs as he scoops up big spoonfuls of rice, cheek stretched like a chipmunk as he chews. His dad's talking about his time out at sea.
The sway of the waves, the cry of the seagulls, the fishes they caught. Tera listens as she eats, humming in response here and there and even pausing to rest her cheek on a closed fist to stare at Arashi as he talks.
He likes this part of his day: coming home and his parents being there, fitting like puzzle pieces. His dad's easy going and quick to laugh, his mother's like a natural disaster waiting to cause chaos. Arashi smooths out Tera's rough edges and Tera anchors Arashi's flightiness.
Zoro watches them as he eats. The smirk on his mom's face as she continues to listen to his dad talk. His dad's gray eyes are bright as he tells her about Osamu's news of his girlfriend being with child.
"And you, my love?" Tera asks as she turns her attention to him. She has freckles on her cheekbones spread across her nasal bridge and, though sparser, they trickle down to her jawline. "How were the terraces?"
"S'fine," Zoro mumbles with a shrug, playing with his chopsticks. He really wants seconds.
"Aha!" She smacks a hand on the table. "Caught you! You know I don't like you going over there. What if you get lost and I never see you again?"
Zoro rolls his eyes, cheeks warm at being caught in his lies. "I don't get lost."
"Besides the point," Tera says, arms crossed in front of her chest. "Don't lie to me and don't go to the terraces, my little directionless baby boy."
"I'm not directionless either," he grumbles.
When will they all understand that it's not him doing this, it's literally the roads shifting around trying to confuse him. It's not his fault they only do this to him and appear normal to everyone else. Or maybe the rest of the village has learnt how to ignore the roads’ trickery. Who the heck knows; Zoro grumbles to himself, shoulders hunching when Arashi starts to laugh.
.
He rubs at one of his eyes as he walks towards where he hears the familiar singing of a blade against a whetstone. It's still early in the night and the sky is filled with so many stars outside the window.
"Mom?" he asks sleepily.
True enough, Tera sits on the ground, legs crossed as she concentrates in sharpening her sword. It doesn't have a name, she's told him, but it used to be her father's.
The saya is yellow and it has a red sageo wrapped around the top of it. His mom likes to tell him he used to chew on it when he'd been a baby, her expression open, lashes fluttering as she reminisces on the days where she could still get away with keeping him cradled in her arms. In the present, Zoro scurries over and kneels in front of her, his eyes trained on the movement of her hands and the sound the whetstone makes.
Zoro can't wait until he can join Koushiro's dojo; he bugs his mom about it all the time until she throws one of her boots at him and demands to know if he thinks she can make him turn eight any sooner. But he really can't wait and he really wants his own sword.
"Why are you awake, my little shrub?" His mom's forelocks sway with her arms' movements, the length of her ponytail falling over her shoulder and so long, it’s close to pooling at her lap.
"Had'da pee," he mumbles, blinking out of his stupor to look up at her once his mind catches up that she’s paused her sharpening.
Tera wrinkles her nose, reaching over to poke his forehead. "Too much info, Zoro."
Shrugging, Zoro grabs the saya his mom has carefully placed to the side, next to the different little bottles of choji oil. It's smooth and cool to the touch, the sageo a thick, silky material. Each end of the sageo has a bead; a blue one and a green one. Zoro raises an eyebrow; these are new.
"Whassit?" he asks.
"They're reminders," Tera says as she looks at him, her forelocks entangled with her long eyelashes. "Blue for your dad...."
"Green for me?" Zoro asks, blinking.
Tera's smile is roguish and crooked, one of her sharp canines peeking out, her eyes crinkled in amusement. "Exactly."
"Why am I green?" Zoro asks, almost pouting.
She laughs a bit more, turning her head towards the hall that leads to the engawa where Zoro supposes his father is. She then turns back to him, amusement still so clear on her face.
"Your hair," she says, rolling her eyes. "Duh."
"Your hair's green too," Zoro says, reaching to touch the long straight strands. "So it could be you and Dad you're remembering and I'm not even in the picture."
"I could never forget you," Tera says, picking the whetstone up. "You are my cute little green baby."
Zoro wrinkles his nose. He's not a baby anymore; he's six.
Tera chuckles, her eyes glittering like amber stones. His mom is as playful as she is easy to anger. It's comical, the way she's incapable of expressing what she feels and tries to grab something, usually a frying pan or an empty bucket. She'll make it as if she's going to throw it, at the wall or at his dad, but never does. It's more like an expression, a way to channel all that she feels. It's so funny to Zoro.
"Come here," she says as if Zoro isn't close enough. "Do you want to help me?"
Zoro's eyes brighten and he nods vigorously. Without a moment to spare, he climbs onto his mother's lap, shifting until his back rests against her chest, his little legs tucked together to get them out of the way.
His mom smells like choji oil and steel, like snowfall and lavender. Zoro takes a quick moment to close his eyes and commit it to memory, glad no one can really see him doing so.
"You have to be careful," his mother says, her voice soft and like this the rasp is more prominent. "Or you'll cut yourself. Place your hand here." Zoro does so. "And the other here at the tsuka." Zoro does this too.
His hands are small so they rest over his mother's. She's much tanner than him and like this Zoro's skin looks a little paler in comparison. He stares at the difference for a moment, at the white little cuts that decorate his mom's hands and fingertips, her nails that she keeps well groomed and not too long.
"Ready?" Tera asks.
Zoro nods.
She guides their hands, gliding the blade against the whetstone. There's the sharp sound Zoro likes to hear. He hums in appreciation, lips tilted into a smile.
"You have to put a bit of pressure on this hand," his mom instructs, flexing the hand resting over the flat of the blade. "Not too much, though."
"Okay," Zoro says, fascinated. "Again."
They do it again. And again. Each time more exhilarating than the last. Zoro thinks he's found a space of pure contentment, caught in between his mother's warmth and the weapon he's so enthralled by, listening to the cry it makes against the flat stone.
Tera's hair tickles his bare arm as they move and it's a kind of sensory-overload that is so welcomed but makes Zoro so tired. He isn't sure if he's the one that smells like steel now or if it's his mother. Or maybe it's both.
But they finish sharpening the blade and Tera starts to tinker with the little bottles at her side. She's going to clean the blade now and Zoro curses himself for being so sleepy, for being susceptible to the warmth his mother envelops him in and at his little body for answering back in kind by curling up in her lap.
It doesn't impede Tera from continuing her tasks. She's told him plenty of times that when he'd been a baby, this is exactly how she'd sharpened and cleaned her blade.
Zoro blinks as he looks at the soft curve of his mom's jaw, the constellation of golden freckles there that become sparse up her cheek and then grow in numbers again at her cheekbones. Her earrings swing as she moves. Like a pendulum. Hypnotic.
Zoro falls asleep.
.
.
Like this he hears the leaves rustle against the wind. They sound like the seashore, waves growling as they come and go, kissing the harbor and then running away. Like this he hears the birds chirp and the seagulls cry. He hears the rustle on the other side of the shoji doors, as his mother moves around, cleaning. Or, as his dad says: making an even bigger mess.
"You're not focusing, Zoro," Arashi says, his voice softer than his usual smooth and steady tone. His father is so sure of himself and it shows in the way he speaks. In the way he does everything, really. "I can feel it."
"I am too!" Zoro pouts, clenching his eyes to keep them closed.
"What do you hear?"
"The birds and the leaves and mom--"
"Then you're not focusing," Arashi comments.
Sighing loudly, Zoro looks up at his dad. His blue hair is spiked and slicked back, he's wearing his emerald and navy checkered kimono. His haori is a similar navy blue with silver flames decorating it. Zoro's sitting on the side that Arashi's scar is on, the scar tissue thick and the stitch marks dark.
"You aren't supposed to hear anything," he says, looking at Zoro with an impassive expression. "Focus on your breathing. On the inhale…” Arashi takes a deep breath. Then he lets it out before saying, “And the exhale... The rest is just noise."
Inhale, Zoro closes his eyes and faces the front again. He rests his hands on his lap, fingers laced. Exhale, he lets all thoughts and all noise leave and builds a wall around his mind to keep them out.
He repeats: inhale... exhale.
The next problem Zoro comes across is where the thin line between meditating and falling asleep lies. He doesn't realize he's dozed off until his dad playfully shoves him, a large hand on his scrawny shoulder.
"I suck at this," he confesses with a pout. Zoro doesn't usually admit to the things he can't do but it's easy to do so when he's with Arashi.
His dad laughs, leaning back and holding his weight up with his hands against the engawa's surface. He uncrosses his legs, letting them fall over the edge so his toes can curl into the grass.
"It takes practice and discipline," he says, looking at their backyard and then up to the sky.
It's always bright out in Shimotsuki, the clouds sparse and mostly hanging out in the hills outside of town. Despite the brightness, it’s never unbearably warm. They’re close to the sea and with that brings the ever present sea breeze. It's all good and well, since Zoro doesn't really like warm, sunny days. They're asphyxiating.
Zoro looks towards the sky too, wondering what his dad sees and if he can see it too.
"How long did it take you?" he asks, leaning back but unlike his dad, he rests with his arms crossed behind him so they can cushion his head. Like this, he can hide from the sunlight thanks to the ceiling.
"A while," Arashi admits with a little chuckle. "My mother loved to meditate and she tried to teach me when I was around your age."
His grandmother passed away when Zoro was a baby. Some illness, from what dots he's able to connect. Arashi never really displays any emotion when he speaks about her but Zoro’s so aware of his dad’s moods and habits, he picks up on how his voice slows down, goes lower, whenever the topic of her comes up, Tera’s mentioned that Arashi had been closer to his mother than he had been with his father. There’s a childish part of Zoro that wonders if his dad gets sad.
Zoro sits up abruptly, pumping his fists in the air. He has to get better, so his dad can think of him when he thinks of meditating instead of his mother. That way, he won’t be sad. “I’ll get better!”
Arashi laughs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "I know you will, sprout."
.
Every morning after freshening up and every night after dinner, Arashi excuses himself to do his meditations.
Before, Zoro hadn't really paid much mind to it. He enjoys sleeping so he's never awake when Arashi does his morning session and in the evenings he's usually doing his chores. Things change gradually; Zoro wills himself to sleep lighter, enough so he can hear footsteps and whispers, enough so he sits up and rubs his eye as he watches his father pass by in the hall, back bare and sleeping trousers rumpled.
He's fully awake by the time Arashi comes out of the bathroom, dressed in his kimono, hair slicked back, toothbrush between his teeth. He looks down at Zoro and grins around the toothpaste foam, moving to the side to give Zoro space to come inside.
By the time Zoro changes into his clothes and runs to the engawa, his dad is already there waiting for him. He sits, mimicking Arashi's posture: his back straight, his hands in his lap, his legs crossed, his eyes closed.
"Inhale," Arashi says softly.
Zoro inhales long and hard.
"Exhale," Arashi says.
Zoro exhales long and soft.
In the evenings, Zoro's begged Tera to let him do dishes after meditating and, though she played the rough and hard act, she caved the moment Zoro started to wring his hands in a very uncharacteristic way. She'd then crushed him against her chest in one of her bone-shattering embraces.
"Inhale," Arashi says softly.
The sky above them is littered with stars and constellations. The town has low-lit lanterns in the streets so they do little to impede the brightness of the stars. They're magnificent and---
Zoro inhales long and sharp.
"Exhale," Arashi whispers.
Zoro exhales long and soft.
The rest is just noise.
.
The thing is, Zoro is a creature of habit.
Tera swears he gets it from Arashi and his side of the family. And his dad does little to argue about it since Tera doesn't know much about hers other than her dad being a bandit taken into Goa and publicly executed.
It takes him weeks, but soon Zoro's adapted to his new routine. He wakes up at the crack of dawn and gets ready, he meditates with Arashi and then he wanders off to spend his day exploring Shimotsuki and every little crevice and hill it has to offer. Then, evening comes and he washes up before dinner, then he meditates with Arashi and then he does the dishes.
There is comfort in habit, Zoro thinks.
And he enjoys spending time with his dad.
A couple days ago, Arashi told him a story about Furiko, Zoro's grandmother.. She'd been a swordsman, though she hid it behind her beautiful kimono and delicate features. She practiced her katas in the comfort of her backyard, hidden behind the fences and trees.
Zoro can't stop thinking about it. Imagining what his grandmother looked like, holding her sword while wearing a beautiful kimono and obi, her hair down (in his daydreams, she has the same color hair as his dad). He thinks it's amazing and he thinks it's stupid for anyone to believe a woman can't handle a sword the same way a man does.
His mom is the greatest swordsman he knows.
He's thinking about this as he wanders off to the rice fields again. He has his arms stretched out at his sides for balance, gray eyes on the ground as he walks and navigates the maze-like trails. An idea occurs to him when he crouches down in front of a paddy, dipping his finger into the water almost absentmindedly.
He sits down, crosses his legs and straightens his back.
He can meditate here!
Zoro inhales, low and soft.
All daydreams of his swordsman grandmother evaporating from his mind as he exhales so his mind is empty.
Before he blocks everything out, he listens to the birds up above and the farmers around the sloped corner from where he sits. And then everything is just noise and Zoro drifts.
"What are you doing?"
He's proud that it takes him longer than normal to catch the grating voice, but he twitches nonetheless, snapping one eye open to glare at his disturbance.
Kuina is wearing her uwagi, now that she's able to join the dojo classes. But she's switched her hakama for regular trousers. Zoro feels the heat of envy burn his cheeks as he looks away, deciding he'll ignore her in favor of continuing his mediation.
That'll show her.
It doesn't affect her, though. And Zoro should really know by now that Kuina runs in a league of her own. She doesn't comment again but she does take a seat next to him, mimicking his posture.
He hears her inhale.
He hears her exhale.
Oh, he thinks. So she knows how to meditate too.
The more he meditates, the more he starts to take notice of what it does to him. In a good way. He notices the way he feels centered, the calmness that envelopes his usually easily-fueled temper. When this session finishes, he finds Kuina already looking at him.
"Is your dad teaching you?" she asks, shifting her legs so she can wrap her arms around them.
Zoro nods.
"Cool," she says, looking at the rice fields in front of them. "He comes by the dojo sometimes. He's trying to convince my dad to let you start early."
Zoro feels his cheeks grow warm. He didn't know Arashi was doing that.
"I didn't ask him to," he says defensively.
Kuina grins at him. "I know, idiot. You wouldn't want the special treatment." She turns back to the fields, the slow breeze caressing her hair. "Your dad says there's something in you."
"All dads say that," Zoro mumbles.
"Not mine," she sighs. "My dad says that I should take advantage of being great now, because when I get older it'll be impossible for me to continue down the path of swordsmanship."
Zoro furrows his brow. Kuina's birthday was two weeks ago, he'd been invited to the celebration and he'd had to be taken by his dad because he hadn't wanted to go. She's eight now and Zoro is still six. But even he knows there isn't a difference to someone's greatness just because they're a girl.
He wrinkles his nose with distaste.
Kuina notices and she sighs, shrugging a shoulder. "It's not his fault. It's how he was trained."
"By your grandfather?"
"I don't think grandpa trained him," Kuina admits. "And I don't think he shares those views either... I think my dad's sensei's passed away now."
"Does your grandfather have anything to say to that?"
Kuina laughs, shaking her head. "Not really. Grandpa's checked out, if you know what I mean. He likes to hangout by the harbor most of the time. I only see him for dinner, if I'm lucky."
Zoro considers all this, and then considers how this is the longest conversation he's had with Kuina without being infuriated by her mere presence.
"Well... I didn't know my dad was going to your dad about any of that."
"I know," Kuina says. "I wish my dad would budge on it. It'd be nice to have a bit of a challenge there."
.
Zoro has two things he wants that are in the same category but different all the same.
The first thing he wants is to be like his dad.
Arashi is muscular, shoulders broad and bicep muscles thick. He has nicks and scratches here and there but he always tells Zoro that he makes sure to keep his back pristine. It's a swordsman's honor, after all.
His dad is tall, too. Tera reaches just shy off his shoulder.
The second thing he wants is he wants to be his own person.
Zoro thinks he can one day be tall but whether he's muscular or not doesn't really matter to him. He wants his own sword he can tuck into his sash, like his mom, and he wants to be an expert at meditating like his dad. He wants to be able to fight because that always looks like fun but mostly he just wants to be able to go on adventures with his dad and fight boars and tigers ten times his size and win without breaking a sweat.
His dad told him he did that once.
Zoro stares at himself in the mirror of his bedroom. His shirt is off, his stomach pudgy and his arms scrawny. He pokes at his cheeks, still soft and round with baby fat. He grows annoyed with himself, hating how soft he is in all the places others are hard.
"You want to grow up so fast, sprout," Arashi says with a laugh when Zoro walks into the kitchen area, shirtless and trying to flex. "Enjoy being a little beansprout longer."
His dad's cooking tonight since his mother is out. Zoro can already taste the grilled salmon his dad's marinating with lemon and butter. Usually, his dad is simple, using salt and pepper and nothing more but every now and then Arashi likes to add lemon and butter because it reminds him of Furiko.
"Dad," Zoro whines. "Kuina's already beating me. I have to do something so that she's not too far ahead!"
Arashi snorts.
"You're gonna end up marrying her if you keep going this route," he teases but doesn’t look up from whatever he’s doing.
Zoro wrinkles his nose and feigns to gag. Marriage sounds like a bother and really boring. Also, he so does not like Kuina like that. It’s with reluctance he can actually admit they’ve become tentative friends on a good day. Usually, she just makes him want to tear his hair out.
"Can we start training?" he asks, ignoring the comment altogether.
Arashi looks up from the frying pan he's inspecting, an eyebrow raised. Tera's mentioned that when Zoro raises his eyebrow like that, he looks exactly like his dad. She says it with so much pride and fondness it makes Zoro embarrassed. Currently, he doesn't see it.
"Training?" Arashi parrots. "Like, kata? You want to start kata training?"
Zoro's eyes sparkle as he nods, thinking how awesome it'll be to stand in the backyard, following the movements his dad instructs him to do.
Arashi sets the pan on the stove, turning the dial so the fire will start. He looks thoughtful for a moment, as he taps the marinade and brings his finger to his mouth. He hums approvingly, tapping the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth to make a ta-ta-ta sound.
Finally, he says, "Ask your mom."
And Zoro groans.
.
.
Tera looks at him where he kneels.
Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, arm guards tied tight on his forearms. His mother dresses looser than Arashi, in a cropped sleeveless top the color of berries, bindings wrapped around her chest underneath it, loose trousers tucked into knee-length boots. His mother is a warrior, sword tucked into her sash, her elbow resting over the tsuka.
“So,” she starts, head tilting to the side and her long green ponytail swaying with the movement. “You want to learn kata?”
Zoro gulps a little but nods nonetheless, fingertips tapping against his lap to let out some of the static energy inside him. His mom can be a little scary.
“I don’t think so,” Tera says as she starts to pace the space in front of him, but it looks like she’s talking to herself aloud, responding to whatever she’s thought of in the moment between when she first spoke to him and his response.
Their house is decent sized, on top of an incline that zig-zags back down to street level. It has two bedrooms, a bathroom and a large room that divides into the family space and the kitchen. They’re currently in the small backyard, the shoji doors left open so Tera can hear if anyone comes by.
The grass is dewey against his knees but Zoro bites the inside of his cheek to keep his attention on his mom.
“We’ll start with zanshin,” she says, still pacing. “If you want to do this, little bonsai, you’re doing it the right way. And that means you’re doing it the long way.”
Zoro blinks his eyes, not accustomed to this side of his mom.
Sure, Tera is chaotic and a terrible combination of over-expressive and incapable of expressing what she feels. But she’s also usually tender and teasing. Now, the woman in front of him is all business, the day’s brightness accentuating her freckles and brown eyes, her hair a pale green.
“The thing is, Zoro, that all this requires a lot of giving mentally,” Tera says, pausing with a hip cocked to one side. The sageo wrapped around her sword’s saya dancing with her hip movements. “That's why there’s an age requirement for Koushiro’s dojo. I wish you’d just enjoy being a sweet little baby for as long as you can.” She sighs dramatically, clasping her hands together and interlacing her fingers. “But I admire your ambition so much. You’re just like your father.”
Zoro blinks.
She nods her head, turning to face him again. “We’ll start with zanshin and mushin. What is zanshin?”
He has no clue so he stares at her.
Tera stares right back at him, her lips in a neutral frown. “A relaxed alertness. A vigilant calm. A focused awareness. It’s a body-mind combination. You must be focused on your opponent, but you can’t forget the rest of the world around you.”
This is harder than he’d thought. Zoro deflates a little, his attention following as his mother kneels in front of him. There is space between them, and Zoro eyes it curiously. Tera’s expression is sober as she breathes evenly, her eyes half lidded.
She kneels like this for long enough, Zoro thinks she’s meditating and that he should follow her lead. But then her hand starts to move, guiding towards the tsuka of her sword, gripping it tightly. In a fluid motion, she lifts herself so she kneels on one knee, the other one raised to support her weight as she moves forward at the same time she pulls her sword out and strikes.
It stops inches in front of Zoro.
Then, Tera grips the tsuka with both hands and strikes in an up and down motion, grunting as she moves. She stands to her full height, swiping her sword. She takes a step back, her attention never wavering from her invisible opponent, even as she starts to sheathe the blade. Then, she starts to lower herself back to a kneel, her eyes unwavering, like she’s afraid someone will still strike her.
Zoro’s breath hitches when she turns her head sharply to the side, standing back on her feet and unsheathing her sword with a sharp swipe. She moves to come down on a strike, takes a solid step forward and strikes in an up and down motion again.
Tera’s breathing is even despite the visible rise and fall of her chest. Her mouth is set in a frown as she resheathes her sword again. She walks back to the same spot where she’d first kneeled, never looking away from her invisible enemy and, again, slowly lowers herself back into a kneel.
It takes a long, long moment, one that fills Zoro up with anticipation and admiration, before Tera loosens and turns back to him, that familiar roguish smile on her mouth.
“How was that?”
Zoro opens and closes his mouth, at a loss of words, filled to the brim with awe. “Mom, that was… How did you… Where…?”
Tera laughs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. There’s a thin layer of sweat on her forehead, making her forelocks stick to her skin. “Left ya speechless, huh, baby?”
Zoro crawls up to her lap, taking a seat and trying to grab her sword’s tsuka. He won’t unsheathe it, though, as it’s disrespectful and the blade is heavy for him anyway. But he likes to pretend.
“So cool,” he gushes, letting his mom wrap her arms around his middle. “Awesome!”
“Being a swordsman is not all about swinging a sword, Zoro,” she says, nuzzling his head with her cheek. “There is so, so much to it.”
“I wanna learn it all,” he tells her, veins thrumming with want, with possibilities.
.
“Ha!”
He pretends to strike down his opponent.
He moves to the left, his arm extended, pretending it’s a sword. He stares at an empty space as he moves, but his attention is caught by the rustle of a bush where a squirrel runs out to get away from him.
Damn, that’s not it, he thinks. He’s not supposed to lose focus on his enemy until the fight is surely over. He’d be dead by now if this was an actual fight.
Sulking, Zoro drops his hand and kicks a rock.
He’s in the meadows, surrounded by wheat and red poppies. Up above, the sky is a deep blue and the clouds lazily float by. Zoro rolls around the ground, hidden under the tall wheats, the only thing giving away his position the rustle as he rolls.
“Ha!” He stands and tries to do the fluid sway and swing he saw his mom do in today’s morning session. He is absolutely terrible at it. He tries again. “Ha!”
This is way harder than he ever thought it would be. He’ll admit to himself only that he really did think swordsmanship was mostly just swinging and striking a sword. Now it kind of makes a little sense.
He runs through the fields, practicing dropping into a roll and standing back to his feet in one single motion. He trips a few times, not used to these sorts of movements and also his legs being short. Zoro can’t wait until he hits his growth spurt and he can execute all these things he wants to do with more finesse than his current tiny body allows.
He rips at some wheat in minor frustration, lips pursed as he rolls into a kneeling position. He focuses on a specific point in front of him. Zoro inhales, rising up to one leg, the other still kneeled. And he feigns to unsheathe the sword he does not have.
“Ha!” he cries out, striking his invisible sword towards his invisible enemy.
He stares harder, moving his feet but trying to keep his focus on everything but his movements. It’s hard and his attention starts to waver again. Zoro’s becoming frustrated with himself, so it’s only natural he lunges when Kuina appears, hands at her sides, expression curious and questioning.
They drop to the ground and Zoro rolls away, rising to one leg and striking his hand out. The side of his hand grazes her shoulder, from where she’s sitting up, wheat in her hair.
She slaps his hand away. “What is wrong with you?”
“You crept up on me,” Zoro sniffs, looking away to hide any embarrassment he’s unable to hide.
“I didn’t,” Kuina defends, picking at the wheat caught in her hair. “I called out to you a few times before you went and jumped me.”
Zoro chooses to ignore the rest of this conversation. Kuina isn’t in her uwagi or any of her dojo clothes, rather she’s sporting a pink top and a skirt. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, sneering.
“Do you always gotta be looking for me?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
Kuina snorts, cleaning her clothes from any dirt that’s clung to them. She’s taller than Zoro, which annoys him, and she’s also a year older, which annoys him more. It’s what makes warming up to her so hard, so hot-cold. One day, he thinks he can see himself being her friend, and the next he wants to yell and scream and throw something at her.
“All the other kids are boring,” she finally explains. “And annoying. And they don’t like me because my dad’s the dojo sensei.”
“Well that’s dumb,” Zoro states, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of other children. Zoro’s not a big fan of people in general, just because they’re too noisy.
This pleases her, though, and her aggravated expression melts to something brighter. Kuina smiles and like this her blue eyes look a little lighter than their usual dark blue. “See, that’s why you’re easy to talk to, Zoro. You think differently than the others.”
He isn’t sure if that’s a compliment, nor if he wants to accept it. So he chooses to ignore it all together. Sighing long and hard to show how aggrieved he is of her disturbance, Zoro kneels down again.
“I’m training,” he tells her. “So don’t distract me.”
Kuina doesn’t say anything but she watches him and his movements. It makes him make mistakes quicker than before: losing his footing, forgetting to keep his attention on his nonexistent opponent even after making a strike.
He turns to her again, face stony. “You’re distracting me.”
“I’m not doing anything!” She laughs, sitting back down on the ground, yellow wheat and red poppies around her. She starts to pluck some out, weaving the long stems together in what Zoro can only assume is a flower crown. “Zanshin is hard, though. So it’s okay if you mess up.”
“I didn’t mess up!” Zoro shouts. “You distracted me!”
“How?”
“You’re breathing!”
Kuina snorts again, rolling her eyes and turning back to her loose crown of flowers. “Sorry for trying to stay alive.”
Zoro grumbles, giving up on any more training and settling to sitting next to her. He doesn’t know how to make flower crowns so he simply pulls some flowers and starts handing them to her, his eyes on the way her nimble fingers move.
“Wanna learn?”
Zoro feels like he’s learning too much in too little time, but he’s never one to admit when’s overwhelmed. So he grabs some of the flowers, trying to mimic Kuina’s movements and snapping a few stems here and there.
The crown he ends up with is lopsided and super loose but Kuina nods at him. He supposes that not everything needs to be perfect and he can do with relaxing how strict he is with himself. He guesses.
Kuina leads them back towards the village, her crown on her head while Zoro is careful in the way he carries his. He’ll give it to Tera. The red will look a bit silly against her green hair and it’ll make Arashi laugh.
The small wooden bridge they cross to enter the village proper makes hollow drum-like noises as they pass. And the cobblestone is uneven as they walk; Zoro has to look down and focus where he steps lest he trips and ruins his mom’s present.
“If you want,” Kuina says when she’s about to make a different turn than him. “We can practice zanshin together.”
Zoro doesn’t want to and it’s not because it’s Kuina that’s asking. It’s because he wants to do this on his own. He’ll train with his mom in the mornings and then fit some more training on his own when he’s being a menace around the village and the outskirts. He’ll get good on his own.
He doesn’t say anything but turns away nonetheless.
When he gets home, his parents are there, sharing space.
He slides the front door open, standing at the genkan to kick his sandals off before scurrying further into the house. Arashi is in the kitchen, wearing his mother’s yellow apron over his kimono. Tera sits at the table, resting her chin on her hand.
“Welcome home, sprout,” his dad greets, grin crooked. “How do you feel about some ochazuke tonight?”
Zoro shrugs as he walks to Tera and hands her the flower crown. Some of the red petals have started to wilt. “I think I like that.”
“For me?” Tera asks, her eyes sparkling. “Thank you, my love!”
“Wow,” Arashi comments when Tera places the crown on her head. “That clashes horribly with your hair.”
“Don’t say that,” Tera yells, throwing something that looks like a pencil at him. “It looks beautiful on me, doesn’t it, Zoro?”
Zoro stares at her for a moment longer, taking in her features: her caramel brown eyes, her freckles, her devious smile. Her long air, her tanned skin. The red flowers in her hair. Zoro’s lips start to stretch into a wide smile as he takes her in, nodding his head.
Arashi comes around the counter, placing the pencil thrown at him back on the table. He leans forward, brushing his lips against Tera’s forehead in an odd show of affection.
“Absolutely it does,” he says, an eyebrow raised. “I’ve learned the error of my ways.”
Tera laughs, a blush on her cheeks, her hand finding Arashi’s, their fingers interlacing briefly before he returns to the kitchen. His mom turns to him, her features soft and sharp. “Go wash up for dinner, baby.”
Nodding, he goes to do just that.
.
The evening breeze is cool against his damp hair.
Zoro sits with his back straight and his legs crossed. His hands rest at his lap, fingers interlaced. He looks at his dad one more time, at his blue hair looking black in the evening’s darkness, the sharp slope of his nose and the mean scar on his forehead.
Then, Zoro closes his eyes just like Arashi does.
Together they breathe in.
The cicadas’ singing starts to dim as Zoro finds that place inside himself.
Together, they breathe out.
The rest is just noise.