Reagan was furious as he remembered the feat, while writing the letter to the Samurai board.
He was 3 years older than Kelly, a senior in all aspects. Yet Kelly's talent outshone everyone, including Reagan.
It was rumored amongst the masters that he was a full on prodigy and not until a passing remark by a fellow student did Reagan lose it and began to write.
.
.
.
I know, after 7 days of silence, that's quite an ominous way to start a post, yet it is so real.
Prodigies are strange beings that don't bring anything but pain, discontent and anger to their rivals (me).
Still, despite the embarrassment of having to admit in written words that the people cited as examples further down this letter are better than me in our respective arts by methods of their just existing, it is reasonable to note that it is because of their superiority in a cellular level which has pushed me to such extents.
I'm sure by now you can guess at least one name on this list, you have surely come across someone who has gotten a high amount of progress, one probably rivaling yours or dwarfing yours with a seemingly miniscule amount of effort. When you ask how they do it, they say "I just do it."
"I just swung the sword." He said. Nonchalantly slicing the tied bundle of bamboo cleanly in half with a normally sharpened katana.
A feat that takes people months of training to master. He mastered it within weeks of learning the basics—a feat that takes most students month.
After sincere deliberation and the fact that I lost my dignity when I first put ink on this paper when writing this letter I can say it with blatant honesty.
I am jealous of this boy and I don't think I can do my best with him here.
He's nice, respectful and strong, too strong. So strong that I can feel this little sword hatchling of 3 months clipping at my heels and I can feel his hunger breathing down my neck.
I noticed him watching me when I practiced, my pride allowing me to show off my skills, skills hardened and perfected with years of training.
Then a few days later my common sense scolds and ridicules me as he tries and completes or nearly completes the skill, making it his own.
I've read novels describing this fear and although it's initially thrilling to read about, in reality it is terribly terrifying to realize that you are the protagonist in your story who is about to be devoured by a genius.
Still, I know there's nothing I can do about it, I can't beat him in battle, nor do I want to try and tell him to stop swinging the sword. The least I can do is, at this moment, wield my pen and write these things down, hoping that by writing about my weakness, I can figure out a way to deal with it, a way to best it, a way to kill it.
Reagan looked up from his letters and realized that it was already mid-day, almost time for his afternoon training.
He looked at his Katana on its rack, knowing that he could spend the next 3 hours swinging, practicing his form and refining his technique, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Kelly would watch him once and reproduce it effortlessly.
Still he stood up, he hated it but he stood up, he had already killed himself once by admitting his weakness, now it was time for him to kill that weakness.
He folded the letter neatly and then threw it into the dying fireplace, watching the paper go up in smoke.
A simple gesture, the letter sent to his gods before battle, a cry for help because his opponent is one he has no idea of how to beat.
Still he would work hard, then try his best, for he's in a battle with genius.
Images collected from Pixabay.
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