Turning Swallow

Summary:

OR One morning, three-year-old Sasaki Kojiro remembers a life not yet lived, and decides to do something about it. History changes. SI!Sasaki Kojiro. Expect general lightheartedness, but dark topics when the time comes.

CH. 1 START

It was a quiet spring morning in Ichijodani, a fortified Castle Town located in the Echizen Province of Japan. The town was home and territory of a man named Toda Seigen, famed swordsman and samurai, known also as the founder of the Toda Style of swordsmanship. After a life of battle and hardship, the old warrior had retired to his home and founded a school to teach the swordsmanship he had cultivated all his life. It was here, where a young orphan boy named Sasaki Kojiro resided.

For one Sasaki Kojiro, it had been a normal day. The early morning sun was rising far in the distance and the air was cool, perfect for a morning walk. It was here, on an out-of-the-way woodland road, that something rather strange happened. It was between one step and the next, between one heartbeat and another, that Kojiro's memories suddenly returned to him. One moment ago, Kojiro suddenly realized, he'd been Sasaki Kojiro, an orphan aged three years, half student and half choreboy of the Toda Dojo, and the next, though he was still all of those things, he'd changed. Not by any virtue of physical growth, but by way of age. In Kojiro's head now was a lifetime's worth of experiences from an age yet to pass. Indeed, Kojiro recalled a lifetime where he hadn't been Sasaki Kojiro, but instead, an average citizen of a nation called America, a country yet to even be founded. Stranger still, Kojiro even remembered reading about himself, a samurai legend immortalized in the history not of Nihon, but of Japan, as his homeland would come to be known in the coming centuries. The foreign words slipped off of his tongue, spoken with the tone of a long-time native speaker, rather than the heavily-accented speech it ought to be. That, more than anything, alerted Kojiro to the extent of how much had changed. He'd never spoken anything but Nihongo, what would come to be called Japanese, but now, he knew an entirely new language called English.

Inevitably, the thing that caught his attention was that very legend, 'The Fateful Duel of Sasaki Kojiro and Miyamoto Musashi.' He, an orphan child, had carved his name in the annals of history itself, his name known the world over! For where he was now, the trajectory seemed astonishing. An accomplished swordsman, founder of a sword school, and a samurai famed across Nihon, no, Japan, for his skill. But that wasn't really the case was it? The story of the duel wasn't about Sasaki Kojiro, it was about Miyamoto Musashi. Sasaki Kojiro was just an opponent for Miyamoto Musashi to strike down, so that the other man could make a name for himself. The historians who'd recounted the tale hadn't even been certain if the person named Sasaki Kojiro was real or made up! Though he'd become famous and skilled, all that had amounted to in the end had been an ignominious defeat by Musashi. It wasn't Sasaki Kojiro that was named the most famous samurai of Japan, it was Miyamoto Musashi. Kojiro was just a side note, a stepping stone on another's path to greatness. As Kojiro now remembered, he hadn't even been bested in an honorable duel. Musashi had shown up hours late, with a boat oar rather than a sword in hand, and had not fought so much as fled like a deer, until the sun had caught Kojiro in the eye and Musashi took advantage to slay Kojiro. There were rumors that he hadn't even been dueled, but assassinated! What, 'immortalized in the annals of history,' what 'famous samurai legend!?' In the history that Kojiro remembered reading in a life yet to pass, he'd been made a joke of!

Why, he felt the need to find that man and kill him right this very-! No. His mind returned, and the grown man soothed the angry child. No. What did it matter that he'd been humiliated in an event that was yet to come? He had no reason to be angry at what amounted to a fellow child. Who cared if he'd been a stepping stone in that history? For that matter, what did it matter that history called him fake, or if it knew him as a made-up opponent for Miyamoto Musashi to become famous with? The morning sun certainly felt real enough upon his skin and he could feel the crunch of loose soil beneath his sandals. Even the wind upon his face felt the same as it had yesterday, before these new memories had arrived. He even lifted two of his fingers and pressed them gently against his neck to feel his pulse. Beneath the touch of his two fingers, he could feel the beating of his heart, as blood passed though his veins. He certainly felt real enough, and in the end, that was all that really mattered. Who cared if he'd been fictional in a thousand histories, novels, or work of art? In this here and this now, this Sasaki Kojiro was real.

It felt like madness, Kojiro mused to himself, but what else was he to do but accept his new memories as fact? He'd always been a calm, if lazy child, as his caretakers told him, and apparently, he'd grown to be just as level-headed, in his other life. Besides, madness wouldn't explain how he knew things, and the fact that they made sense. He'd certainly not learned what veins, arteries, and pulses were from anyone in this life, and if these things were true, then without a doubt, the entirety of everything he remembered from his other life were true as well. As true as they could be, anyways, accounting for human error. Kojiro hummed happily, content with his existential crisis now averted. This new knowledge certainly changed his plans for his own future.

Before he'd remembered, Kojiro had been midway through a lackadaisical stroll in the woods, determined to idle away the time until he was next called into the Toda Dojo to do one chore or another. He'd been taken in by the Dojo at a young age, in an act of charity by the Dojo's master Toda Seigen, and in exchange for doing miscellaneous chores, he was given food and lodging. He'd even been provided a wooden practice sword and was taught a basic set of swordsmanship forms. Truly, he'd taken the fact for granted. Toda Seigan was an old warrior, and old men in occupations where men died young weren't to be taken lightly. The old master must've done it for some reason, even if it was as simple as pity. Despite this, Kojiro recalled, the old man had never so much as once glanced at him with pitying eyes. The treatment he'd received was fit more for the son of a noble lord, rather than an orphan, and Sasaki Kojiro knew for a fact that he was an orphan, even more so than before. He'd figure out why eventually.

Now wasn't the time for mysteries he could solve simply by asking. Now was the time to figure out who the hell he wanted to be. Before he'd regained his memories of the other life, he hadn't been interested in being a samurai like Toda Seigen, for Kojiro hadn't wished to die for the benefit of some distant lord's honor. He'd planned on being a merchant, perhaps, or a farmer. Those had been the most ambitious dreams he'd had before. How had the other him gone from those dreams to a full-blown samurai? He had no wish for honor, nor did he have a family to honor. Even if he did have such a family, he'd certainly not want to be away at war while his wife and children stayed home. From his other memories, that was an excellent way to get your significant other to have an affair, and an even better way to raise children that weren't really yours, in all the ways that mattered anyways. And what if he did die on the battlefield? His children would be fatherless, and his wife might get remarried! What horror! Of course, at the age of four, Kojiro had neither wife or children to concern himself with, but it was the thought that counted.

Now though, faced with this knowledge from beyond mortal ken, what was he to do but stand up and make use of it? It was like finding an entire mountain's worth of gold beneath your farmland and refusing to mind it because you were a farmer, not a miner. Doing such a thing was foolishness at best and self-sabotage at worst. Kojiro had no intention of doing such a thing. So a swordsman Kojiro would be. He still didn't want to be a samurai, for what use was it to be a samurai when you could not wield your blade for yourself? After all, your every action reflected upon your lord, and every one of your lord's actions reflected upon you? What use was it to have a sword, if everytime you swung, you had to make sure that your lord's will was accounted for? Certainly, there was wealth and plenty of land on offer, but his memories told him of the many horrible things that samurai had done, would do, to both themselves and their families in order to maintain their honor and the honor of their lords. Kojiro desired no part of it. No, like the many Kojiros' in those novels his other self had read, he would remain a free spirit, wander the world on his own whim, do as he pleased. He had a whole life in front of him, now that he was beginning to take the first steps to changing his supposed future. First though, was the matter of actually learning how to swing a blade. For all his memories had taught him, it had done little to teach him any solid bladework. He knew what a hilt was, what the tsuba was, the basics of how to forge a katana, but as far as knowing how to actually swing the thing in battle? If he tried, he'd sooner stab himself than his foe. He'd have to learn fast though, for if there was one thing every single Kojiro across all of the media his other self had read, it was that they could cut even birds in flight out of the sky. A swallow, even. Those nimble, tiny birds, cut down with naught but human skill. He certainly liked the sound of that. To kill a swallow with a gun was difficult, but with a blade? Why, that was the kind of thing one could write themselves into legend with! Since he was also Sasaki Kojiro, it was practically a requirement to learn how to do so.

In any case, the first matter of business was learning how to properly use a blade, and to do that, he first had to find where he'd thrown that practice sword of his. He'd been far too lazy, and to simply treat such a gift like it was yesterday's garbage would be dishonoring the kindness of old master Toda Seigen. Kojiro turned swiftly and quickly moved to make his way back to his hut by the Toda Dojo. He failed to account for a single thing though. He'd forgotten that he wasn't an adult anymore, even if he could think like one. His limbs were now far shorter, and once he'd tried to walk, he'd taken as large a stride as he would have in his other life, and had accidentally fallen into a split. Kojiro curled up in pain as he hit the ground. His limbs were now far shorter, and the way he had to move them now was different from how he'd remembered moving them for decades. As he groaned in pain on the ground, Kojiro corrected himself again. His first real order of business was learning how to walk again without planting his face into the ground.

A/N:

For those of you who know of me from Enlightened, I just wanna say, 'surprise, I'm not dead!' I feel terrible for not ever following up on that promise I made in that author's note, but rest assured, that story is not dead. As I write this, I'm working on the editing for chapter 3 for that story, which is currently at roughly 14,000 words. I expect it to hit 20,000 once I'm done. I had a whole grand plan where I'd come back with several chapters ready, but I was hit with a bout of inspiration a few days ago and had to get this story out. These chapters are short-form, only about 2,000 words each with way less detail than my other story, and I'm doing it for NaNoWriMo, though I'll probably keep writing after that. ALSO, if you can think of cool things that happen roughly 1600s, please comment them, I need ideas.

TDLR: Have a story named Enlightened on hiatus, it's not dead, will be publishing 3 new chapters within a month. Swallow chapters are 2K words each, hopefully daily.