prologue 1[ a little backstory of the Main character]

As the nurse tidied up Blake's room, she couldn't help but notice the stack of magazines on his bedside table. She glanced at the magazines and then back at Blake, who lay in his hospital bed, looking pale and weary. It was clear that he had been spending a lot of time in this room.

'Well, well, what do we have here?' the nurse remarked, nodding toward the magazines. 'These magazines aren't doing you any favors.'

She continued her cleaning but then turned her attention back to Blake. 'You know, people often turn to such distractions to ease their minds when they're haunted by memories. It's like they're trying to escape from that one point in their lives when everything went wrong.'

With a warm smile, she added, 'I distinctly recall that moment for myself, the day my dear grandma passed away. Do you remember your moment?'

Blake, with his hand on his forehead, began to rub it gently as he responded, his voice carrying a weight of sorrow, "How could I forget? That moment took something precious from my life." He looked at the nurse with a mixture of nostalgia and pain, his eyes betraying the depths of his grief.

The nurse, her expression filled with empathy, gently said, "If it's too painful, you don't have to share it."

Blake, offering a reassuring smile that barely concealed his inner turmoil, said, "Nah, it's okay. I've been wanting to talk to someone about it before... you know, before I..."

The nurse settled into a chair near Blake's bed and said, her voice laced with compassion, "weel, I've finished all my tasks for the next few hours, so I'm all ears now."

Blake began to reminisce, his gaze drifting back in time. "It all started for me when I was just six years old. I remember my mom picking me up from school one day. The sky was clear, but the traffic was horrendous, even for our city."

His tone shifted as he continued, his words tinged with regret, "While we were waiting at a red light, I saw an old man selling popsicles on the left side of the road. You know how kids are at that age; they want everything right away. I begged my mom to buy one for me, even though she promised to get one from the store near our home."

Blake's voice quivered slightly as he added, his eyes welling up with tears, "She assured me we'd have it once we got back, but I couldn't contain my impatience. I threw a childish tantrum in the back seat of the car..."

Blake continued, his voice filled with longing and a touch of guilt, "So, with a smile and a teasing tone, she said to me, 'Alright, alright, I'll buy it for you, but you have to share it with me, okay?' I eagerly nodded in agreement. My mom got out of the car while the traffic light still had some time left before turning green."

He met the nurse's gaze with a soft smile and said, "I can still remember her words before she left, the sun shining on her face, her smile radiant. She said, 'I'll be back in five minutes, don't you dare go anywhere, because naughty kids don't get any popsicles, okay?'"

Tears welled up in his eyes as he recounted, his voice quivering with anguish, "As she crossed the road to buy the popsicle from the old man, my excitement was unbearable. But then, just as she was returning, her eyes fixed on my eager face peering out of the car window, something unimaginable happened."

Blake's voice trembled as he continued, the pain etched across his face, "Out of nowhere, an uncontrolled truck came speeding toward her, and it hit my mom." He paused, tears streaming down his face, his shoulders trembling with the weight of the memory.

"And she... she didn't make it," he choked out, his grief palpable, his hands trembling as he wiped away his tears. "Though everyone, all the relatives who came for her funeral, my father, they all said it wasn't my fault, I just can't forgive myself. I keep thinking that if I hadn't thrown that tantrum and had waited until we got home, my mom would still be alive and with me."

The nurse, empathetic and concerned, gently placed her hand on her lap and spoke soothingly, her voice a balm to his wounded heart, "Hey, hey, don't cry. They're all right; it's not your fault, okay? Now, tell me something else. What happened to the truck driver? And... what about your dad?"

Blake, still looking down as he wiped away his tears, answered, his voice tinged with anger and sadness, "Well, the truck driver was arrested. They found out he was drunk and asleep at the wheel, and he was sent to prison."

His expression turned grim, and anger simmered in his voice as he continued, his fists clenching involuntarily, "But my dad... he couldn't handle it. He threw himself into his work to escape the pain of losing my mom and, well, neglecting me. At first, I thought it was because he was heartbroken over my mother's death."

"But when I was twelve, I discovered the truth," Blake continued, his voice thick with resentment and betrayal. "He had been having an affair with his assistant even before my mother's accident. After her accident, he just started coming home late, or sometimes he wouldn't even come home, spending nights with his assistant."

Blake's eyes blazed with emotion as he recounted the painful revelation, his voice filled with a mix of anger and hurt, "Even though he provided me with everything, I can't bring myself to face him. I can't forgive him for what he did to me and for cheating on my mom. So, I made a decision—to become a businessman even more successful than my father and strip him of everything he's ever built. I excelled in school, consistently earning A's and ranking at the top every year."

He then looked out of the hospital room window, lost in thought, his gaze distant, as he reflected on the bitterness that had fueled his ambition. "I had all those plans, but at one point in my life, I met someone who changed everything. It was an elderly man in our neighborhood who ran a dojo, teaching swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat."

" His name was Matsuhide Kurobe, his children and a grandchild had already died from a car accident. At first, I only went to him to channel my anger, but over time, my anger began to dissipate, and it was Kurobe Sensei's words that sparked a transformation in me."

The nurse, intrigued, asked, her curiosity tempered with compassion, "What were those words? Please, do share."

Blake smiled as he recalled the memory, a hint of the warmth he had found in his sensei's teachings flickering in his eyes. "Well, one day, while we were training with wooden swords, he was scolding me for holding it incorrectly and giving me a light smack on the head whenever I got a posture wrong. As we sat outside, watching the sun dip below the horizon and enjoying some melons, he said to me in a determined voice..."

He said, "Hey, Blake boy, I want to ask you something. For what reason are you wielding your sword?" I replied, "Well, not for any particular reason. I just thought it would be fun and a good way to protect myself if I ever found myself in a tough spot."

Blake continued, "I still remember that after those words, I got a chop on my head, and he shouted loudly, 'Fool!'" He went on, "Then he said, 'As your senior, your sensei, and someone who has lived longer than you, I should tell you this. Whenever you hold your sword, you should have a reason for doing so, whether it's for revenge, protecting others, or some other purpose."

"If you don't have a defined reason, you're nothing more than a madman swinging a weapon. Just as the decisions and trials in your life make you strong, your reasons for holding that sword will make you strong.'"

Blake chuckled and added, his laughter tinged with fondness, "After he said that, I replied in a joking voice, 'Yeah, yeah, old man, I'll remember that. But why do you sound like a character from those wuxia novels?'" He continued, "In response, he burst into laughter, grabbed me, and playfully rapped his fist on my head."

"Amid his laughter, he said, 'Huh, who's an old man? I'm your sensei; show some respect. And this isn't some novel dialogue; it's my advice to you. Just think about the reasons and consequences of your actions in the future.'"

That evening marked a bond between student and teacher, shared in laughter and wisdom.