Footwork [part 2]

**The Beginning of Practice**

Silence returned to the courtyard after the nanny's demonstration, but this time it was different.

The air felt heavier, laden with expectation and tension.

Every fiber of my being was focused on what I was about to do, aware that this moment could mark a turning point in my training.

I positioned myself in the center of the area; the ground beneath my feet felt cold and hard, but I didn't pay it any mind.

All my attention was directed inward, trying to evoke the mental image that would guide me through the River Footwork.

**Creating the Mental Image**

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to visualize the flow of a river as the nanny had described.

I imagined the water flowing, fluid and unstoppable, adapting to every curve, every obstacle, never stopping.

I wanted my body to reflect that same fluidity, that same inevitability.

But as I tried to grasp that mental image, something wasn't working.

The river in my mind wasn't clear.

Every time I tried to focus, the image blurred, distorted into something chaotic, uncontrollable.

I couldn't create that deep connection, that inner calm necessary to let the river flow within me.

I felt that something was missing, that I wasn't yet capable of fully grasping the technique the nanny had shown me.

As I struggled internally, the nanny watched me with her cold, penetrating eyes.

**nanny's POV**

'This is a good approach…' the nanny thought, watching me as I tried to evoke the mental image of the River Footwork.

Imagining a martial art in your head was indeed an effective way to train, but it could only be done when one was more qualified.

At this stage of my training, I should have been focusing on the physical movements rather than trying to imagine them.

It was a common mistake, especially among those who were too carried away by their own potential.

The nanny continued to watch me, her gaze a mix of critical evaluation and a shadow of uncertainty.

She knew I was pushing myself beyond my current level of experience, yet there was something about me that made her doubt her own critique.

'I should tell him to stop fooling around later,' she promised herself, aware that my concentration was misdirected at that moment.

And yet, one thought kept her from acting immediately. My talent, already demonstrated earlier, had something extraordinary about it, something that made her wonder if, in fact, I might succeed where others would have failed.

What if that seemingly premature attempt was a sign of a deeper understanding she hadn't yet recognized?

'Either I'll be proven wrong… or I'll witness an exception, where he realizes the two missing movements,' she thought, torn between rationality and intuition.

As the night progressed, and I continued to struggle to find my balance, the nanny remained silent, watching.

At that moment, she was both teacher and spectator, uncertain whether my failure was inevitable or whether, against all odds, I might surprise even her.

**The Result**

The courtyard filled with a darkness that seemed to mirror my confused mind.

I kept struggling to evoke that mental image, but the more I tried, the more it felt like I was sinking into a sea of frustration.

The river that was supposed to guide my steps remained out of reach, an invisible current I couldn't capture.

Every attempt to replicate the nanny's movements fell flat.

My body didn't respond as I wanted; each step was clumsy, disconnected, as if the ground beneath me had become hostile.

Instead of flowing, the River Footwork fragmented into a series of disjointed, unharmonious movements.

Inside me, the sense of failure grew, a weight that crushed me, making every breath more difficult.

I knew I was close to giving up, but I couldn't afford to quit.

Not now, not like this.

Frustration turned into anger, a negative energy that threatened to explode, but I had to control it at all costs.

**nanny's POV**

The nanny continued to watch, her face impassive as a mask.

She could see my struggle clearly, the internal battle I was fighting, and realized my attempt was crumbling.

Every missed movement, every hesitation, was proof of my failure.

'He's not ready,' she thought with a note of disappointment, but also with the understanding that only an experienced teacher could have.

She knew that at this moment, I was facing a crucial lesson, perhaps the most important in my training.

I needed to understand my limits before I could overcome them.

And yet, something kept her from intervening.

Perhaps, she still hoped I would find a way out, to grasp that spark of understanding that would turn my failure into success.

But that moment had not yet arrived.

**The Traditional Approach**

Realizing that the battle in my mind was lost, I forced myself to stop.

My breath was irregular, my body tired.

I had reached my limit, and the weight of failure weighed heavily on my shoulders.

Yet, I knew I couldn't give up.

Not now, not like this.

Slowly, I let go of the mental image of the river.

I pushed it away, accepting that I wasn't yet ready for that vision.

I needed to return to the basics, the safe ground of traditional practice.

With a deep breath, I reoriented myself, focusing on the cold ground beneath my feet.

Every step I took now was deliberate, every movement measured.

I no longer tried to chase an elusive idea but to master what was concrete, real.

I began to replicate the movements the nanny had shown me, slowly, with precision.

It was a longer, more arduous process, but I felt my body responding.

The steps were still far from the fluidity I desired, but at least they were controlled, consistent.

**nanny's POV**

Watching me return to the fundamentals, the nanny nodded almost imperceptibly.

It was a small victory, a sign that I was beginning to understand the true meaning of training.

'Now he's making progress,' she thought, seeing how my body was adapting to the discipline I was trying to build.

It wasn't the River Footwork, not yet, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Focus on the movements, Schadet," she finally said, her voice firm but not devoid of a note of encouragement.

"Every step must become a part of you, without forcing it. Only when your feet know what to do without your mind having to tell them, can you think of returning to the river."

Her words were a beacon in my darkness, a guide I accepted with gratitude.

I knew the road was long, but at least now I knew where to start.

And as the night advanced, my resolve solidified into a new determination.

The River Footwork would not elude me forever.

One step at a time, I would build my mastery until I could flow like the water itself.