When Kazuma entered the kendo hall, several girls were already training. Since it was an all-girls school, some of them were even changing into their kendo uniforms right there.
The moment Kazuma stepped inside, the place erupted into chaos.
It took several minutes for the commotion to subside. By the time Kazuma began putting on the male-sized protective gear that Etsukawa Girls' kendo club had prepared for their "special guest instructor," the spacious kendo hall was empty except for Kazuma, Head Coach Hiroshiro, and two girls helping them gear up.
On Kazuma's side, it was of course his sister, Chiyoko. On Coach Hiroshiro's side was a high school girl with a traditional Japanese hime cut.
Kazuma couldn't help but feel a bit biased against the hime cut. He remembered how taiga dramas had depicted the real appearance of Sengoku-era princesses—shaved eyebrows, two dots painted where the brows should be, and blackened teeth…
Frankly, it looked like something straight out of a horror movie.
So when he saw the high school girl's hairstyle, Kazuma instinctively avoided looking at her face.
Well—more accurately, he subconsciously avoided paying attention to it.
Fully geared up, Kazuma picked up Chiyoko's bamboo sword—his own had broken during yesterday's match against Daimon. Today he'd packed a wooden sword in his bag for self-defense, but for practice, he planned to use one of the club's communal bamboo swords. They weren't well-maintained, but they'd suffice for now.
Once he took his stance, Chiyoko and the hime-cut girl each grabbed a referee's flag and positioned themselves on either side.
"Please go easy on me," Coach Hiroshiro said politely.
Kazuma bowed in return. Just as the hime-cut girl was about to call for the match to begin, Kazuma quickly interrupted, turning to Coach Hiroshiro. "Wait a moment. Coach Hiroshiro, uh, do you—"
He'd wanted to ask, "Aren't you going to power up?"
But then it struck him—this was 1980. No one would get that reference. Arcade machines could barely manage simple "bee-shooting" games or pachinko. The fighting games that would make "powering up" a mainstream concept didn't even exist yet.
Besides, even if the concept were popular, no one else would actually see the "power-up" effects.
Only Kazuma could see the status bars and their corresponding visual effects.
So he swallowed the words.
"All right, you can start," he said, nodding to the hime-cut girl.
She raised her flag. "First match, begin!"
Her voice was unexpectedly pleasant—Kazuma was reminded of one of his favorite voice actresses from his previous life, Ogura Yui.
His plan was simple: open with a Gatotsu and see if it would push this guy into Stage 2.
Maybe Coach Hiroshiro would trigger a flashback and "power up," too.
If Kazuma's theory was right—that people in this world could gain temporary buffs from life experiences—then Coach Hiroshiro should be no exception.
After all, who didn't have life experience?
And this guy was a con artist, too. People like that usually had plenty of life experience.
Kazuma launched his Gatotsu.
When he'd used it on Daimon Gorō yesterday, Daimon had quickly retreated to absorb the force of the thrust.
Coach Hiroshiro didn't retreat at all—in fact, he stepped forward.
The moment Kazuma saw his movement, he thought, Oh no. Chiyoko's bamboo sword is going to—
But to his surprise, the sword didn't break!
At the moment of impact, Kazuma thought he saw a gentle light envelop the bamboo sword.
The glow was so faint he almost wondered if it was an illusion. But his logical mind told him otherwise—there really was light, and it was almost certainly a side effect of his "cheat."
The sword must have been "enchanted"—and the enchantment likely came from the feelings Chiyoko had poured into it during maintenance.
Year after year, with deep affection, Chiyoko had cared for this sword. Over time, it had become something special.
Both Chinese and Japanese folklore had similar ideas—objects kept at home for long periods, or treated with great care, could become imbued with a spirit, transforming into supernatural entities.
In Japan, such entities were called tsukumogami.
And in traditional Japanese culture, a swordsmith's emotions and will, poured into the forging of a blade, were said to give it a spirit.
Countless legends told of blades gaining a soul through years of companionship with their wielders.
Without a doubt, Chiyoko's bamboo sword had been strengthened by her devotion.
But now… there was a problem.
Bamboo swords were designed to break when needed—to protect the practitioners during sparring.
If the sword refused to break when it should…
Coach Hiroshiro went flying.
Kazuma's mouth formed a perfect O.
Oh crap, he thought. Didn't Daimon Gorō specifically warn me yesterday not to use Gatotsu in matches? Said it could cause trouble?
Kazuma wanted to facepalm—but with the helmet on, that wasn't possible.
Great. Now I've done it.
Coach Hiroshiro hit the floor with a loud thud.
Etsukawa Girls' clearly had money—the kendo hall's wooden floors gleamed with a fresh wax polish.
After landing, Coach Hiroshiro slid quite a distance.
For a moment, Kazuma was even tempted to run up and stop him with a soccer "trap" move.
But reason prevailed—that would be way too humiliating.
Finally, Hiroshiro came to a stop. He lay there for several seconds before letting out a pained groan.
Kazuma quickly removed his helmet, tucked it under his arm, and ran over.
"Are you all right, Coach Hiroshiro?"
The coach didn't take off his helmet. Instead, he raised his right hand and pointed at Kazuma. "You... you violated the rules!"
"Apologies. It was my fault. Please count this round as my loss."
The hime-cut girl raised her flag. "Point for Coach Hiroshiro!"
Kazuma offered Hiroshiro a hand and helped him up.
"Sorry. I won't use that move again in the second round."
Coach Hiroshiro removed his helmet and stared at Kazuma in disbelief. "Second round? Didn't I just win?"
"Yes, you took the first round," Kazuma replied cheerfully. "But kendo matches are best two out of three. You still need two points to win."
Coach Hiroshiro looked ready to cry. "You expect me to take another point off you? You've got to be kidding me!"
Kazuma grinned. "You're a menkyo kaiden holder of Kasumi-ryū. It should be easy for you."
Coach Hiroshiro stared at him, face drained of all color.
"Kiryu-kun... Chiyoko-kun said... you haven't earned your menkyo kaiden yet, but your father—"
"Please, no honorifics!" Kazuma quickly cut him off. "I'm your junior. You don't have to be so formal—really, really, really!"
Before the coach could say more, Kazuma pulled him back to the starting line, snatched the helmet from his hands, and put it back on him.
Then Kazuma returned to his position and donned his own helmet. "Besides, I really haven't earned my menkyo kaiden yet. That's why I need to learn from a master like you! All right—round two!"
As he prepared, Kazuma deliberately checked the top of Hiroshiro's head.
No status effects. No Stage 2.
Hmm... was I not aggressive enough? he wondered.
(End of Chapter)