As expected, his student was nowhere to be found.  He was likely only just waking now that the sun was coming up.  Harou didn’t know if the boy was going to eat before his lesson or not.  It’d be better if he didn’t, but Harou figured he’d learn from experience either way.

While waiting, Harou began doing some exercises.  He didn’t want to completely lose his fitness because of his leg.  What kinds of exercises he could do were limited by his leg, but it was all the more important now to stretch his good leg.  He did a lot of upper body work.

He was doing pull ups on the crossbar of a lamp post in the courtyard when his student appeared.

The boy looked to be about nine or ten, and wore obviously expensive clothes.  He was on the pudgy side, and had a snobbish air about him that made Harou want to smile.  He quickly realized this kid was going to look down on him, and he was going to end up putting him in his place for it.

“My papa said the butler approved the hiring of a cripple to be my new sword instructor,” the boy sniffed, lifting his head to try and look down his nose at Harou.  Harou schooled his features, refusing to bristle at the insolent little human’s callous words.  He stared down at the child impassively, from his much greater six-foot-two height.  The boy had to tilt his head back to look Harou in the face, ruining his attempt to look down his nose at him.  His bravado faltered a bit.

“I understand you’ve had past instructors, so show me your form,” Harou instructed.

The boy sniffed again and folded his arms.

“No.  You can’t teach me anything.  You’re a useless cripple!  My papa says people like you are a drain on society.”

Harou took a deep breath and let it out slowly, keeping his long-suffering sigh purely in his head.

“Alright.  You think I can’t teach you?  So that means you think you can beat me with your current level of skill, yeah?  Prove it.  Grab your practice sword and come at me.  If you can hit me once, I’ll leave,” Harou said mildly.

The boy, whose name Harou still didn’t know as he’d only been told to call him ‘Young Master’, lit up and ran to grab his practice sword.  Harou drew his own sword and shifted into a relaxed defensive stance.

As soon as the sword was in the kid’s hands, he turned and charged at Harou, aiming quite obviously for his left side.  Harou flicked his sword and easily sent the boy’s practice sword flying.  The kid had to scramble after it.  Once again, as soon as he had his sword back, he ran at Harou’s left side.  Harou had no trouble disarming the kid a second time.

The third time, the kid finally started exercising some caution.  He approached Harou more slowly.  Harou mentally graded his stance as he approached.  It wasn’t the worst, but the kid was holding his sword too far from his body, leaving his back and sides too open, and lacking adequate support for the weight of the sword, making him easy to disarm, despite the fact that his grip on the hilt was perfect.

As soon as the kid got within Harou’s range, Harou flicked out his sword and knocked the boy’s practice weapon away.  His much greater height and longer arms meant the kid really couldn’t get close enough to put Harou in his own range without more speed.  But the kid was so reckless and obvious in where he was aiming that Harou had no problem defending himself.

There were ways for a skilled opponent to get inside the greater reach of a larger opponent, but this boy was not what anyone would call a ‘skilled opponent’, so he never stood a chance.

Harou continued to disarm the boy over and over again, using minimal movement and energy, while the boy got more and more out of breath, sweaty, and tired.  His arms were starting to shake, and his grip on the practice sword was weak.  Truthfully, Harou was bored, and hoped the kid would give up soon.  He commended the boy’s tenacity, even if his motivation was just to get out of his lessons.

“Let me ask you something, kid,” Harou said.

“How dare you address me in such a way!” the boy panted.  Harou shrugged.

“Well, it’s not like anyone told me your name.  You didn’t even introduce yourself.  I know you think I’m beneath you, but I also know that’s not an excuse for your lapse in etiquette.”

“Well…” the boy paused, nonplussed, “I suppose you’re right, but you’re still supposed to call me ‘Young Master,’” he said, sounding put-out.

“Is that your name?” Harou asked sardonically.

“N-no.  My name is Huxley” the boy said, tone sulky.

“Alright, thank you, Huxley,” Harou said.  Huxley opened his mouth as if to protest, but shut it again, and looked sulky.  “So now that we’re back on track, I have a question.  Why do you want out of lessons in swordplay?” Harou asked.

The boy paused, his face scrunching.  He thought for a moment, with the sourest expression Harou had ever seen on a child.

“I don’t like it,” he said finally.  “It’s dull, and it makes my hands hurt, and it makes me tired and sweaty.”

Harou nodded, unsurprised.

“Practicing the sword is not exciting or interesting on its own.  It’s about repetition and form, and building strength and control.  My lessons won’t be less dull.  Your hands will hurt for a while, but in time, your muscles will strengthen and calluses will form and you won’t feel it anymore.  You get tired and sweaty because your movements are inefficient and unskilled.  Your form is poor and you leave yourself open.”  Harou paused, eyeing the boy before continuing.

“If you knew what you were doing, you’d be less tired because you would move in a way that conserves your energy better.  If I teach your swordplay, then in the beginning, you will be more tired and sore than you have ever been.  But by the end, swinging your sword will use the same energy as simply moving your arms and legs freely,” Harou said.

Huxley looked doubtful.

“Either way, it’s not up to you,” Harou observed.  “Your parents hired me.  You have a choice between doing what I say and showing improvement, or getting the snot beat out of you every lesson.  I’m certainly not going to just let you loaf around lazily on my time.”

Huxley sulked for a minute before saying anything.

“Well, I wasn’t able to hit you, so I guess I have no choice,” he said finally, sounding extremely petulant.

“Excellent,” Harou nodded, approving.  “Now that that’s out of the way… you can go.  Today’s lesson is over.  You won’t be able to concentrate at your academy if I tire you out any more than you’ve tired yourself out.”  Harou made a shooing motion at the boy.

Huxley brightened considerably.

“Oh!  Well, thank you, er…” he paused as he realized he hadn’t asked Harou his name, even when he was prompted to introduce himself.  Huxley looked abashed and said timidly, “I, um, didn’t get your name?”

“Correct, you didn’t,” Harou smiled.  “Sergeant Harou.  You can call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Harou’, I don’t really care.”

“Very well… Harou.  It was good to meet you today,” Huxley said.  He flashed a small smile at Harou before he took off running into the house.

Harou leaned against the rock fence of the courtyard that held a couple of archery targets, and let out a deep sigh.  His leg ached from standing for an extended time.  He wasn’t greatly looking forward to the trek back to the guard house.

Mister Seamus, the butler, emerged from the house a few minutes after the boy went inside.  He made his way directly to where Harou leaned.

“How did it go?  The lesson lasted a bit longer than I expected,” Seamus admitted.

“Yeah, I let the kid tire himself out trying to hit me, to prove my leg didn’t prevent me from having something to teach him.  Talked about the lessons to come.  What to expect, stuff like that.  I wouldn’t say he’s happy, but I think we’ve reached an accord, for now,” Harou explained.