A/N: Since most of you liked the flashbacks, I'm revealing a little more of the past. I'm very fascinated with who CY was before he became Woodalchi and how all those prior experiences shaped him. I am very busy and can not post frequently, but I will try my best. So please be patient and check back in a few weeks for the next chapter. Make sure to leave a review, however, short or simple it might be, it assures me that there are people out there who are still interested in the story. Love to all the readers.
Little Young was huddled in the corner of his room. His dark clothes camouflaged his thin body in the deep shade of the afternoon. Sun would not reach that far, dropping off its fading light on the wooden floor before his feet. With his wet red eyes, still itching from all the tears he had shed, the boy stared at the sunrays that tried to lick his toes. He pulled his feet closer, wrapping his knees tightly and snuggling his nose deeper. "Oma, Oma," he whispered in his exhausted exasperation.
His father was standing in the doorway, dark and graying in front of his child's eyes, he was stoic, but broken. Grief stricken, he watched his only son become an orphan at a tender age, when he was still searching for his mother's love and affectionate kisses. He was not the man to dispense affection easily. His whole family was much reserved. Even his sister, being a woman, would not give a hug unless it was a special circumstance. Today was such a day. He took a few heavy steps toward the kid in a corner, lowering before him, the father asked with great care, "Young-ah, come," his warm large hand, extended. Hesitantly, the boy lifted his head and stared up at his father. This gesture was uncustomary, but he understood and flung into his father's embrace. It was warm and safe, his chest was strong and accommodating and his firm arms held him so tightly he knew things absolutely would get better because this man was his father.
. . .
"I want to introduce you to a good friend of mine. He wants to talk you."
Choi Young was seating across from his father, both of them still dressed in mourning rags, the funereal scent in the house made the mood somber.
"I told him that you enjoy martial arts and that you are talented. He is a very good teacher. If you wish, he can teach you. I will pay for your studies."
"Aboji, I don't care." The child's eyes were so empty, it broke his father's heart.
"I know that you enjoy the arts of the sword more than poetry and reading."
"Aboji, I'm grateful." He hung his head, embarrassed to speak back to his father. Young knew he had to feel grateful, that's why he said it. But his little heart was locked out, it was unable to hold gratitude or joy or any hope for the future, it was torched by overwhelming grief and bitterness, anger and resentment at the world, and most of all at his mother who left him, depriving from her love and physical comfort his young body still sought. How could he think of what gave him pleasure? Doing something pleasurable would constitute the highest form of betrayal; if anything, he wanted to punish himself for having those feelings of anger toward his late mother. And that punishment would be fitting by reading books, studying and never practicing martial arts or touching the sword. In fact, his heart yearned for the comfort those exercises gave him, the way his body moved his mind and the mind moved his body. The way he felt the strength in his very center and a strange pulsating heat that sometimes warmed his insides was amazing. He did no deserve to have that feeling.
"Aboji, I want to be a scholar, like you. I will be the best among all of them. I will make you proud, father."
"Young-ah, you don't have to."
"I want to be like my father. I am your son, Aboji. Choi Young will be the name that everybody will remember."
"Son, don't speak pridefully. It is wrong."
"No, I know I will make you proud because I can." Stubbornly, he continued, staring down at his feet again, where the sunrays managed to caress his bare toes and soles, insistent on giving him warmth that he much desired.
. . .
"So, where is your boy?"
"He is refusing to see you."
"You allow your son a choice of refusing a guest's introduction?"
"Give him a break. He just lost his mother. He is still young. I know what he is doing, but he has to learn himself what's right for him."
"And what is it?"
"To find his own path in his own time."
"That's why you are the scholar, and I'm the warrior." The man chuckled as he took his cup of wine in.
"My son has something special within him. I watched him practice. There is certain hidden power in his stance, behind his movements. A child of his age should not be able to conjure the energy the way he does. Teacher, I need you to see my son, even if he does not see you. Do you understand?"
"What of it, if he is unwilling?"
"I want my child to regain happiness. It used to shine in his eyes. I want his eyes to shine again."
. . .
"The teacher will be our guest."
"Yes, Aboji. Can I go study now?"
The man motioned for him to approach. His large palm landed on his head and Young shot his eyes up in surprise. His father ruffled his hair and gave him a warm smile before sending him off with a pat. The boy was startled by the show of affection he has been receiving ever since his mother had died. And it also made him feel ever so guiltier. His eyes were red from studying for hours and his body ached to be exercised. Sitting for hours on end was not healthy.
"You have to take a break, staring at a page for too long won't make you a better scholar. Moderation is as important as devotion."
Choi Young began protesting, but under the stern heaviness of his father's gaze he retreated with his head low.
"I need for you to take care of our guest. Show him around, help him in any way he asks, do whatever he requests of you. He is a very important and honorable guest of mine, please treat him with as much respect and care as you would myself."
"I will obey you father. But I'd rather study."
"I know, Young. I know. Do this for me."
Although he had to go back to his books, despite himself, a happy feeling of being outside was undeniable. His body stiff and stifled in restriction of his small room, his muscles crying to be stretched and flexed, his legs begging to run outside. And his hands yearning to feel the weight of the sword. Her remembered the pleasant fatigue after rigorous exercise that would set over his body, making him feel accomplished. But Young stopped himself from daydreaming, prohibiting the thoughts to excite him. He will walk with the teacher and he will be obedient and courteous, just like his father had requested.
"Choi Young, I presume?" The man asked in low and surprisingly smooth voice with a raspy depth that was somewhat alluring.
"Yes, sir."
"Your father said you did not wish to be disturbed from your studies, you must dislike this chore of showing an old man around?" A slight smile peeked through his beard and a twinkle in his eye pointed to a lighter and humorous tone the man was taking with the boy behind the differential and supposedly serious words.
"Yes, sir. I do."
"Then, should I apologize for taking your precious time away from the scholarly activities?" Another smirk irked the boy. "Then where is the place where I could find a decent partner for an afternoon brawl?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Why am I bothering somebody like you? You would not know a sword from a stick or a punch from a kick, being a moldy bookworm like yourself." The man showed a row of shiny teeth and gave him a disturbingly condescending wink, patting the boy's shoulder with almost a sense of pity.
Choi Young found himself responding in a completely inappropriate challenging fit, as it was clear the teacher was making fun of his situation. "I'm not a bookworm. I study because it is the right thing to do. And for your information, I know a thing or two about a sword and martial arts. I'm very good!"
"Honest, you are? That's good." The black eyes laughed at Choi Young; the man was looking for a fight, pushing his buttons without any hint of remorse or basic compassion.
The boy breathed in and glared angrily from underneath his tightened brows. His fingers curled into fists, and for some reason his body strung taut prepared for an attack. If this man were not an elder and his father's valued guest, he would have punched his smug smile off the face with a nice blow. Something hot and powerful moved inside his body and tiny bolts of lightening glistened in the boy's almond eyes. He stretched his lips thin, pressing them so hard together, it hurt, and felt the energy building within his chest that was too strong to ignore.
"I... can't..." He mumbled, shaky on his feet, he took a few steps back, but the teacher stood big and tall, invading his space, his dark shadow blocking the sun.
"You look like you want to hit me, boy."
"Yes, sir. I do."
"Then do it."
"NO!" His pressed his arms tightly to the sides and crunched his fists, the bones cracking from the force. "You are our guest."
"But I must make you very a-n-g-r-y," the teacher said almost tauntingly and grabbed Choi Young's wrists pulling him forward, "a little angry boy, who can't fight a big scary man, are you?"
Shaking, Choi Young muffled a scream and something fractured open deep inside of his abdomen, the fury he's been feeling ever since his mother's death spilled thick and sticky through his veins, turning him into something he did not know he could be, electricity trickled through him and a charge burst through his tightly balled fists, forcing his fingers open and sending the man who was holding him flying backwards in the swirl of dust and into the soft dirt of the ground. Everything happened so quickly, Choi Young had only a few seconds after the jolt of electricity discharged and before he heard the strange black-robed man laugh gregariously, sitting in the dirt and looking up at him.
"Come here," he called Choi Young with a smile. "I'm glad we got that out of the way."
The boy, still quite bewildered by the experience, cautiously approached with his head hanging so low, his chin practically fused to his chest. Not only did he hurt the guest, he also disrespected him by arguing and furthermore, dishonored his father by his horrible spiteful and selfish outburst. He deserved the most severe punishment and was ready to accept it.
"I should not have done it. I will inform my father and wait for his verdict, sir," he said in a low tone of resignation.
"You did what I would have done in your place. I was obnoxious and mean and I deserved it."
Young opened up his eyes, lifting his gaze, he could not hide his confusion and curiosity. He was not going to be punished and the teacher actually approved of such unprecedented violence.
"Don't you want to find out what that thing was?"
Choi Young stared at his hands, only now beginning to fully comprehend what he had done. Something flew out of him and hit this big man hard enough to throw him to the ground a couple of meters away. Of course, he wanted to know what that thing was.
"Would you like me to teach you how to control it?"
The boy nodded, embarrassed.
"I can teach you many things, Young, and with your father's approval, I would like to start today."
"But... I can't. I can't." Bitterness filled the boy's eyes, regret and exasperation. How quickly he forgot that he was not supposed to do anything in the least enjoyable or interesting for him, besides studying, studying and studying.
As if he read his mind, the man reassured him, "It won't be fun and you will hate me soon enough for making your life miserable. You'd wish you were studying your books, left alone in your room. I can guarantee that much."
Choi Young checked his eyes. There was no earlier smirk in them or sarcasm in the corners of his mouth. The black robed man was dead serious.
"Still, sir, I would rather do what I set out to do."
"If you insist, you can do both."
"Can I?" A tentative and timid smile flowered on the boy's lips.
. . .
His life became a rigorous training circuit. He had to uphold his own promise to study as well as train with the master. Each day was busy from sunrise till sundown and Choi Young's next couple of years flew by at a blink of an eye.
"Young, I have something important to tell you." The Master announced at the end of the daily training.
The boy was drenched in sweat, his sword glistening with the droplets that fell down from his long tresses and he lovingly wiped it off with his sleeve. The boy has grown. He just recently met his 13th year and his body was no longer the lanky body of a child, lean muscle covered his slender form, his face developed angles and his baby fat on the cheeks was diminishing. He had a bright smile and his eyes were shining with life and energy. He was a scholar to make his father proud, his intellect sharp and mind learned, but using his body in a fight, maneuvering the sword in his hand was something that he loved. Everything about it was intuitive. His youthful enthusiasm did not need to be contained and using his inner power was something that he slowly started to get a grasp on. His Ki was something that was hard to tame and harness at will. At times of strong emotions, it was accessible easier, but could also become uncontrollable. Meditation and special exercise were a necessity and Choi Young only now started to understand the mystery behind his ability.
"Yes, Master," his white toothed smile sparkled. The boy was eager to listen to his teacher.
"I have taught you everything I could. I must leave now. There is job I will take for this country."
The boy's smile disappeared and he appeared troubled. "But I still have so much to learn. And..." he looked embarrassed.
"Speak."
"And I will miss you," he added.
. . .
My master took me to have a meal together. As he poured me my first cup of alcohol, I was too excited to be a man!
Wine hit my blood quickly, and my mind became blurred. My attention waned rapidly, but inside my chest something was stirring. It was a wave of heated longing, a sense of loss and frustration, a mixture of feelings overwhelmed my body, burrowing its way to the surface. I felt my energy move erratically and electricity bursting inside my veins, my hands were on fire and I could not think, overwhelmed by the power beyond me. With my feelings running high, the KI discharge was imminent. I saw dark orbs and flashes of white light, my fingers trickled with lightning and I blacked out.
When I came to, the eyes of my Master were so stern, I shriveled inside. "Master, forgive me. It's alcohol," I mumbled.
He was so displeased, it was evident in the narrow slit of his black eyes. "I'm disappointed in you. The heaven bestowed upon you a great gift and you squander it uselessly," said the man shaking his head.
"Master, I won't drink again," I asserted. I turned my cup over, determined to never let a drop of alcohol touch my lips. I was so single-minded back then, everything seemed absolute, all the decisions seemed to be made infinitely. I bowed my head in anticipation of further reprimand, but instead in his low timbre he pierced my mind with the words that stayed branded in it ever since.
"It's not about drinking, child. It's about responsibility. You are a vessel for an unimaginable power, you have to nurture your body and your soul, but your remarkable ability is never truly yours. You can tap its limitless potential, but you must respect the heavens. Never underestimate the damage you can cause or the benefits you can reap. The time will come, my boy, when you will have to make a choice that might affect many. And when that time comes, remember you are nothing but a tool in the hands of destiny."
"Imja, I've learned that the my ability is something that was bestowed on me for a reason. I've struggled with who I am and why only I can do what I do for many years. Yet, the answer has eluded me. Without my teacher I fumbled through life like a leaf moving whenever wind took me. I've put aside my KI training and focused on work, focused on being the best warrior and protector I could be to honor my Master, to honor my father, to honor my country. I'm still conflicted about being home. I don't yet know or understand how I'm supposed to and what I should be changing in order to keep the balance in the universe and protect people I love. Including you, including our future."
Eun Soo watched the person that was the most dear to her in the whole world struggle. Like a leaf in the wind – her darling stranger, the man with the softest and most caring heart, plated over in steel, needed her help.
"That's why you don't like to drink alcohol. Now it makes sense," she said softly.
"What?" his eyes reflected confusion. "Alcohol?"
"Yes, you can drink now, but it's probably tough to manage your KI."
"Sure, but..." This was definitely not the point he was making.
"No buts. You and me are in this together. Whatever you have to do. Whatever you will decide, I am beside you. I will help you, Choi Young. You are never alone. Never! All those people whom you loved had left you to fend for yourself, but not me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stick to you like a piece of gum. Since I can't live without you, you will have to bear with me. I'm stubborn and annoying. You can't shake me off, even with all of your superhuman strength." Eun Soo hugged him from the back and tightened her grip. She pressed tightly against his back and felt his wide shoulders slacken.
"Eun Soo-ya," he whispered, "Saranghe." She was the key to all the choices he will be making. If she is by his side, he would know what to do.