A black SUV pulled up along the side of the road, the windows too tinted to make out anything. Slowing down, it sat there silently for a minute or two, before a door opened. A middle-aged man was revealed, dressed crisply in a suit and sunglasses so his eyes couldn't be seen. Graying hairs were slicked back with gel and a trimmed mustache sat above his lips. He was here. He was home, to a building he wasn't welcomed to in the first place. Supposedly, he was your father, who your mother despised so much despite marrying years ago.
Your sweaty palms gripped at the window sill, knuckles turning white for how long you clenched them. They ached and whined to be let go, but they were the last on your mind. It didn't matter if you anticipated his return and tried your best to improve -- the sight of him was proof enough that this would only end in failure. Your stomach lurched and you stumbled away from the glass panes. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you pulled yourself up and approached mother. This was not the time to throw a sad pity party for yourself; you had to get this over and done with. By the end of today, it would be clear to see how much freedom was taken away.
Mother was as tensed as you were. Though she kept a smile on her face to soothe you, her form said otherwise. Her body was trembling, fingers mid-air, which were desperate to latch onto something -- anything.
Then the doorbell rang. Once, and then twice. He was not that patient, was he? You glanced at the woman to find her frozen in spot, her anxious [e/c] eyes flitting everywhere like a deer caught in headlights. Deciding to help her, you timidly went up to the door, grappling at the handle and unlocking it.
A closer look at the man was somehow even more intimidating than afar. He removed his sunglasses, his beady hues digging right into you, as if he could read your mind and soul.
"Welcome home, father," you murmured, inclining your head politely. Sweat beaded the side of your face, slicking your skin in oil. Heart pounding so hard against your chest, you avoided making yet another eye contact with him.
"If it isn't [Y/N]." His voice was chilling, containing no warmth nor emotion to his words. It was as if he wasn't even trying to hide it; this daughter of his was nothing but a pawn to his plan. He didn't view you as your own person, or a human being with emotions. He didn't contain any love for you like your past father did. Ditching you and your mother, he had no shame to discard anything that held him down from the money, success, and life he dreamt of. You still didn't know much, but this was enough to discern that he was a piece of shit.
"Welcome home, dear," your mother greeted him as well, her tone light and forced.
His gaze darted from you to the woman. Lips curling up distastefully, he pressed a hand on your shoulder that was probably meant to be a gentle gesture. Nevertheless, it almost made you flinch. Stepping up to your mother, he took her hand and gave a peck on the back of it. "It feels nice to be back, even if it may be for only a short amount of time."
"Indeed. Are you hungry from your trip? Do you need anything?"
It seemed like a play was going on. Two strangers forced to play a role that they were obviously uncomfortable in. Their marriage was dead and they were dealing with it for the sake of their own personal goals.
"No need. I would like to begin the assessment with [Y/N] immediately," he said curtly, dropping the woman's limp hand. Turning over his shoulder, his expression left no room to argue. "Come. We'll go outside."
"Of course," you said, nodding obediently. Following him out the door like a loyal dog, you exchanged one last look with mother. She mouthed good luck, right before the door slammed on you, locking you outside in a world too full of expectations.
Grass tickling beneath your feet and the blue skies stretching above you, they did nothing to calm your nerves. What a beautiful scenery it always was, as it hid the ugly truths this world had to offer. It was honestly laughable, how perfect it was. A target board laid there in front of you, the small circle in the middle being the only acceptable route. A deathly reminder it was, accompanied by disappointed faces. The target was painted in many colors, which probably could capture your attention as a child... but this no longer was a child's game.
"Three arrows," the strange man explained curtly, nodding his head towards the direction of the target. Three arrows and three bullseyes -- that was what he truly meant.
Quietly taking the arrows and the bow, you nocked one and took a deep breath. Just like one of Ginjirou's tutor sessions. You had done this countless of times and though the chance was usually low to get a bullseye, perhaps a miracle would be granted.
You let go of it, the woosh of it swaying your face as it made its way to the board.
You had already failed. Too afraid to see your father's reaction, you nocked the other two and did the same thing. Only one was close to the bullseye, but alas, it did not land directly on it.
A slap across your face knocked the wind out of you. Tumbling to the ground, you fearfully looked up to see a looming shadow of your father, whose face was contorted in anger and disbelief. Holy shit. You knew that this man was bad news, but you didn't expect him to turn violent so quickly. Instinctively, a hand clamped over your cheek, face stinging at the impact. Your teeth also accidentally bit down the inside of your cheek during the series of events, so the iron tang of blood filled at the base of your mouth.
"Is this a joke to you?!" he bellowed, vision growing red. That wasn't even it. He must've thought you weren't trying here, but you were... because you were no longer the daughter he knew of.
"It's not a joke," you mumbled, eyes stuck to the dirt that slipped beneath your nails.
"We're moving on," he said, roughly wrapping a hand around your wrist. You were yanked up, so you bit down on your bottom lip to prevent a gasp from escaping. "Your favorite. Sword-fighting."
Two swords were provided by a servant of the house and fortunately enough, they were wooden ones. Picking one up, you didn't even have the time or day to think before a blow was aimed to your torso. This was not like the battles you had with Azumi, who was at a similar level to you. Nor was it like with Ginjirou, who went easy on you and always gave you time to attack back or defend. This was an actual battle with someone who held no mercy, ready to tear you apart because [Y/N] [L/N] was better than this.
Dammit. What kind of predicament was this?
You tried to dodge, jumping from one side, but the sword met you there. Slammed on the side of your arm, you whimpered at the pain and dropped the weapon.
He let out a barking laugh, not at all amused by the sight to behold, his features growing darker by the second. He crouched down and pressed the tip of the sword to your neck. It may not kill you, but it was pushed hard enough into your skin to feel pain. You winced and held your breath as he analyzed you for a moment.
That was when he spat at you. Spit flung into the air, landing right on your previously slapped cheek. You parted your lips in surprise, chest squeezing like it was running out of oxygen. How suffocating. It was dirty, it was gross, and it was obvious how much he looked down on you. Despite how frustrated and miserable you were, you couldn't do anything about it. He had you beat, his vines tugging you down until you were at his feet. "An utter disgrace. You stupid bitch. Did you not once train at all since the last time I visited? And here I thought you were finally going to inherit the business."
You were surprised when he took the sword away. Standing up, he fixed his rumpled suit. His cologne furled its way to your nose, making you feel nauseated.
"This is a waste of time. There's no use testing you further if I already know where you're currently standing," he stated. "You're a failure and now I'll have to waste my time fixing you back up. So stay back here and don't come inside until you've done a hundred push ups." He glanced over at the servant standing in the corner. "You. Make a bath for me. I'm getting a headache from this."
"You're... staying?!" you blurted, panic expanding through your system. You didn't even last for the entirety of the test and he had already made up his mind. This could not get any more humiliating.
His irises flicked back to you, staring at you as if you were a rodent to be stepped on. "Do you not agree with my decision?"
Backpedaling for a bit, you nervously shook your head. "It's just... you're always so busy with work. Training me here would only prove a hassle to you."
"And whose fault do you think this lays on?" he sneered. "You didn't pass like you were supposed to."
Whirling around, he stepped into the house, leaving you alone in the garden. You sagged your shoulders at his departure, picking up clumps up grass and throwing them in anger. Wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, you got into position and started your push ups.
He had waltzed right into your mother's home, acting like he was the head of the house he had long abandoned. The woman who had comforted you from time to time again did not deserve this. She now had to suffer in your stead, for they had an unspeakable history shared.
Helpless and determined -- the two emotions you were feeling most.