Mirage [KHR, Yamamoto]
Title: Mirage
Fandom: KHR
Word Count: 250 exact
Prompt: written_in_blue gave me Yamamoto, the sword, and tranquility
Yamamoto had been accused of ‘lacking focus’ on every school report that he had ever received. It wasn’t entirely unwarranted, either. He’d never quite understood why it was so important. In the end, school wasn’t real. It wasn’t like making sushi, where you took the components and turned them into something special.
It wasn’t even as real as Tsuna’s mafia game.
Baseball was entirely real. You showed up on the day and played your best and that was the end of it, no hidden tricks. Yamamoto revelled in the sheer physicality of it, the way his focus narrowed and his body moved in motions trained into him by hour after hour in the cages.
Even baseball paled when compared to the sword. When he took the first few swings in the dojo, it had felt like baseball - the same feel of immediacy and controlled power, something of the same form. As his mastery grew, so did the focus until it was impossible for him to tell where the sword ended and the boy begun.
He didn’t know where these reflexes came from, just that they were there. He trusted his dad to give him what he needed, trusted his sword to follow the patterns that welled up inside him.
When the time came to strike for real, Yamamoto drew his sword and let the conscious part of his mind calm into the smoothness of still water. He smiled, slightly, because this state did feel good.
Then he struck without mercy.
Fandom: KHR
Word Count: 250 exact
Prompt: written_in_blue gave me Yamamoto, the sword, and tranquility
Yamamoto had been accused of ‘lacking focus’ on every school report that he had ever received. It wasn’t entirely unwarranted, either. He’d never quite understood why it was so important. In the end, school wasn’t real. It wasn’t like making sushi, where you took the components and turned them into something special.
It wasn’t even as real as Tsuna’s mafia game.
Baseball was entirely real. You showed up on the day and played your best and that was the end of it, no hidden tricks. Yamamoto revelled in the sheer physicality of it, the way his focus narrowed and his body moved in motions trained into him by hour after hour in the cages.
Even baseball paled when compared to the sword. When he took the first few swings in the dojo, it had felt like baseball - the same feel of immediacy and controlled power, something of the same form. As his mastery grew, so did the focus until it was impossible for him to tell where the sword ended and the boy begun.
He didn’t know where these reflexes came from, just that they were there. He trusted his dad to give him what he needed, trusted his sword to follow the patterns that welled up inside him.
When the time came to strike for real, Yamamoto drew his sword and let the conscious part of his mind calm into the smoothness of still water. He smiled, slightly, because this state did feel good.
Then he struck without mercy.