The Sword That Stays Sheathed: The Night Before the Opener
The second installment of a column by licensed sword bearer Chitose Kaname, on the nervousness she saw in a young officer's practice the night before the autumn tournament opens.
The autumn five-match tournament opens tomorrow. While I was tidying the practice hall, I found one of the young Minase officers sitting against the wall, still in her armor. When I asked what was wrong, she said, "I told you before I don't feel like I can win, and nothing's changed since then." I told her it was fine if nothing changed. The days you feel like you can win are the dangerous ones.
I started this column talking about a job of counting, but tonight I want to talk about something that can't be counted. The size of a person's nerves never becomes a number. Even the three judges who call a match score points, but they don't measure how much fear went into it. I have no idea how much she'll sleep tonight, either.
I told her, "Don't aim for a strike no one can call. Aim for one you wouldn't be ashamed of, even if they call it against you." Saying that out loud, I felt a little too proud of myself. I say "I'm not entering" before every city tournament, and then I enter anyway, every single year. Whether I have any right to sound so wise is, frankly, doubtful.
Before I switched off the lights in the hall, she finally got up and asked, "Will you be watching tomorrow?" I told her I would. Whether the sword comes out or stays in, I watch both with the same eyes. That much, at least, doesn't need counting.
