Daimon Gorō clicked his tongue.
Just then, the taishō placed a freshly grilled fish in front of Daimon.
The portion was small, creating a stark contrast with Daimon's large frame. But that was typical for a shop like this, where the focus was on drinking—dishes came in small portions, meant to be enjoyed gradually.
If you wanted a hearty meal, you'd be better off at a ramen joint or something similar.
After setting down the dish, the taishō deftly poured sake for both Daimon and Sayama.
Daimon tore off a piece of fish with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth, then sipped his sake.
"Last year, he was barely good enough to make the regular team. Despite coming from a kendo family, I didn't see any particular talent in him." Daimon began recalling. "At the last district preliminaries, his performance was average. He was the second fighter in the team lineup—won all his matches, sure, but the opponents were also other schools' second fighters… in other words, not the strongest."
Sayama frowned. "He was at that level last year? Are you saying he improved enough in a single year to take down Nishiyama Heita?"
"It's not impossible." Daimon emptied his cup and poured himself another. "His parents died in a car accident last year. No other relatives, so he inherited the dojo directly."
Sayama took a sip of his own sake. "And you think inheriting the dojo caused a breakthrough?"
"That seems to be the case. My last one-on-one spar with him was last year. After New Year's, the third term was mostly self-practice. He kept doing air swings, as if trying to force himself to forget something unpleasant."
"And that made him stronger?"
"Exactly. He defeated me easily—just earlier tonight." Daimon downed another cup and refilled it again. "I can't say how strong Nishiyama really is, but I have no doubt that Kiryu could beat him."
"That strong?" Sayama looked astonished. "Even with personal hardship as motivation, the usual jump would be from an average regular to team captain level, at best."
"Have you forgotten about Kinitani Genshin?" Daimon replied.
Sayama instantly fell silent.
Kinitani Genshin—a towering figure from their kendo youth, a name they could never surpass.
Sayama silently finished his sake before speaking again. "He's really that strong? I checked his record—Kiryu's style is Rishin-ryū, right?"
"Yes. But his jōdan stance reminded me of Kinitani. His swordsmanship has changed—honestly, it no longer resembles Rishin-ryū. It's more like Shintō-ryū, or even Katori Shintō-ryū."
Strictly speaking, Shintō-ryū was a branch of Katori Shintō-ryū. Before creating Shintō-ryū, Tsukahara Bokuden himself trained in Katori Shintō-ryū.
Sayama furrowed his brow even deeper. "He switched styles? That's not something a change in mindset alone can accomplish. Unless someone taught him… but how? From TV kendo shows?"
"I don't know. Maybe he trained at another dojo during this time, or met some master."
"Don't be ridiculous. This isn't a taiga drama. You don't just bump into wandering swordmasters on the street."
Yet even as he said this, Sayama sounded uncertain. After all, it was the golden age of Japanese period novels—those cheap kenshi serials ran for dozens of volumes, the Japanese equivalent of wuxia.
Every Japanese boy had dreamed of meeting a wandering master who'd teach them unparalleled sword skills—just like boys in China once dreamed of buying Rulai Divine Palm for a few coins.
Sayama had dreamed it too. Though now an adult, worn smooth by society, there was truth to the saying: men remain boys at heart until they die.
So even his denial sounded far from confident.
Daimon took another swig of sake, his mood loosening. "Aside from his style, there's another odd thing about his technique. During our match, he completely forgot this was kendo keiko—forgot the rules. He used practical combat moves. For example, he kept trying to close the distance and go for kicks. I could clearly tell when he was about to lift his leg. I had to adjust my footwork to block him."
Sayama's eyes widened. "Are you sure? A high school student with real combat techniques?"
Daimon didn't answer directly. "And his movement—interesting too. Kendo teaches lowering the center of gravity for stability, but emphasizes a stable central axis. Kiryu's stance was noticeably lower than typical kendo. That's a habit you see in full-armor combatants."
Sayama fell into deep thought.
Daimon continued, "I have no idea where he picked this up—it's bizarre. But if you ask me whether he could beat Nishiyama Heita, I'd say there's a good chance. I've never seen Nishiyama fight, but real combat often depends on execution. At Kiryu's current level, if he's on form, taking down a yakuza boss shouldn't be a problem."
Sayama nodded. "I see. Very insightful. Come on—drink. It's been ages since we've had a good drink together."
"Over a year, at least. But is this all you wanted to ask? Is the Organized Crime Countermeasures Division only interested in this?"
"Yes," Sayama replied frankly. "To be honest, we initially suspected the Kiryu family might be part of an undocumented yakuza group. That their conflict with Nishiyama-gumi was really a gang feud. But after hearing your account, I personally believe Kiryu is just an unusually strong high schooler."
Sayama paused, then added, "Also, when HQ checked Kiryu's criminal record and found nothing, they were quite surprised."
The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, or Keishichō, oversaw the entire capital region—Japan had no legal 'capital', but Tokyo was considered the capital region.
Above Keishichō was the National Police Agency—the top police body in Japan.
"Keishichō..." Daimon looked surprised. "My student has drawn attention at that level?"
"Two detectives came—plainclothes, the stylish trench-coat type. I think their names were Shiratori and Takayama. I heard they also went to the Traffic Division, probably to check the details of Kiryu's parents' accident."
As he spoke, Sayama picked up the sake bottle and refilled Daimon's cup. "Alright, that's enough official talk. Come on, drink."
Later that night, after parting from Daimon Gorō, Patrol Chief Sayama didn't catch the last train home.
Instead, he walked through several blocks to the shopping street near Taishakuten Temple.
Walking was deliberate—passing through the empty late-night streets made it easier to spot anyone tailing him.
Once certain he was alone, Sayama stopped in front of a closed electronics shop and pulled out a cigarette case.
From the shadows, Tsuda-gumi wakagashira Ōta Jūzō emerged. "Chief Sayama, you're a bit late."
"But I brought what you wanted." Sayama opened his bag and took out a large tape recorder—the kind only police were issued.
He removed the cassette and handed it to Ōta. "This is Daimon Gorō's evaluation of Kiryu Kazuma's skills. And what about my end?"
Ōta produced a yellow envelope. "Intel on a few of our rival groups. Should make this a smooth year for you, Chief."
"Hmph. Don't act like I'm the only one benefitting here." Sayama handed over the tape, took the envelope, and opened it for a quick look.
"Not bad. Looks useful." He tucked it away. "You never saw me."
"Of course." Ōta bowed slightly, then melted back into the shadows.
(End of Chapter)