I was Thrown into an Unfamiliar Manga

Basketball Club.

“What the—! The backboard shattered from a single dunk?!”
Baseball Club.
“Velocity not measurable?! That’s impossible! Is the machine broken?!”

Judo Club.
“Uwoooh! It’s like grappling with a tree trunk!”
Tennis Club.

“There’s a ball-shaped dent in the court!”
We’d been going around to various sports clubs offering trial admission for new students, and by now, there weren’t many places left to visit.
Ichijo Academy had quite a lot of sports clubs for a humanities-focused school—likely because most of the students came from wealthy families—but by the third day, we had pretty much hit the limit.

“Yes! Three bingos!”
Kishimoto squealed with joy as she crossed out another block on the sports club bingo she’d drawn in the club guidebook with a marker.
I watched her blankly and asked:

“Rika, how many sports clubs are left?”
“Mm? Hold on a sec.”
In the guidebook she showed me, the only sports clubs left without a line through them were the Track and Field Club, the Swimming Club, and the Kendo Club.

Honestly, by this point, there wasn’t any real need to keep conquering clubs.
My physical abilities were so absurdly strong that anyone could see it was strange.
I started to wonder if maybe I’d been affected by some kind of comedy character buff.

After all, in most romantic comedies, muscle-bound male characters were usually the designated gag characters.
They’d casually do things no normal person could, like surviving getting hit by a speeding car or walking out of a helicopter crash unscathed, covered in flames.
If my body was under that kind of narrative law, then my current abnormal physical capabilities might actually make sense.
Feeling like it was time to wrap up the experiment, I decided to knock on the door of the last one: the Kendo Club.

“He’s heeere!!”
“Kim Yu-seong has arrived at the Kendo Club!!”
“Hurry, go fetch the kids who went to watch Swimming and Track!”

For some reason, it seemed the entire school had heard that I was going around crushing clubs.
When all I was really doing was just trialing them.
I’d come after school, expecting hardly anyone to be around, but the Kendo Club’s dojo was packed with students.

At that moment, a microphone suddenly popped out from the crowd.
“Kim Yu-seong-kun! How do you feel right now?!”
“Ah, for interviews, please go through his manager—me.”

Kishimoto had fully switched into enjoying-the-moment mode by now.
She even had a pair of black sunglasses on—who knows where she got them.
While she handled the Newspaper Club student in my place, I met face-to-face with the captain of the Kendo Club, who had come to greet me at the entrance.

“So you’re the infamous Kim Yu-seong?”
I scratched the back of my neck shyly and replied:
“I’m not sure about infamous, but yes, I’m Kim Yu-seong.”

“I heard you’ve been going around doing trial admissions with the sports clubs. The rumors are all over school already.”
The Kendo Club captain, Fuma Yukika, with her deep blue hair tied neatly into one braid, pointed her shinai at me.
“But our Kendo Club won’t go down that easily.”

At her charismatic declaration, the crowd inside the dojo erupted into cheers.
“Kyaah! I love you, unnie!”
“As expected from one of the Academy’s Big Three Beauties. She’s not intimidated by that human weapon at all.”

“She’s as beautiful as ever. Especially her heart—it’s so generous.”
Ignoring the crowd spewing corny lines without a filter, I gave a small bow to Fuma Yukika, the third-year captain of the Kendo Club.
“Please let me know the rules of the trial admission.”

Fuma Yukika tapped the floor with her shinai and said:
“How about a single point match? The first to land a valid strike wins. I’ll be your opponent.”
“Sounds good.”

It was the last one anyway.
To be honest, I didn’t care whether I won or lost—but I’d never once thrown a match on purpose.
That would be disrespectful to my opponent.

“Do I need armor?”
“I doubt anything would fit you, so no.”
“Then, for fairness, I won’t wear mine either.”

“…I won’t take responsibility if you get hurt.”
“That’s my line, actually.”
Saying so, Fuma Yukika stepped back a few paces.

During that time, a short-haired girl from the Kendo Club handed me a shinai.
I gripped it lightly and gave it a swing through the air. A sharp whoosh echoed out.
I felt like I was finally starting to get a handle on adjusting my strength.

Up to now, I’d often used 50 units of force ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) when I meant to use 30—but as I toured the sports clubs, I gradually learned how to control myself.
That’s why property damage had decreased over time.
Inside the dojo, which was polished to a gleaming shine, the two of us stood facing each other.

Not knowing how to swing a sword, I stood naturally. Meanwhile, Fuma-senpai, a seasoned expert, assumed chudan-no-kamae.
“Let’s have a good match.”
“Let’s.”

We gave each other a slight bow in greeting.
The red-haired girl who had handed me the shinai stepped between us.
She looked at both our faces, then raised her right hand overhead.

“Both fighters, fair and square!”
Then, her hand sliced down.
“Begin!”

***
“Men!”
The moment the match began, Fuma Yukika dashed in, closing the distance.

A surprise attack.
With a speed too quick for the average eye to follow, she moved like a swallow skimming over water.
Smack!

‘Blocked it?’
But the underclassman in front of her parried it easily.
Without panicking, Fuma Yukika took a step back, then resumed her unique rhythm and began swinging again.

Usually, people with large builds like Kim Yu-seong were slow.
Having fought many such opponents, Fuma Yukika was shocked by his incredible reflex speed.
‘He didn’t predict and block it—he reacted in real time.’

Modern competitive sword arts are all incredibly fast.
In kendo, and especially fencing—an Olympic event—it’s not unusual to trade multiple strikes within a single second.
The fact that he could keep up through sheer physical ability alone meant his kinetic vision was off the charts.

‘But fights aren’t won on physical ability alone.’
“Do!”
She shouted, swinging toward his waist. Kim Yu-seong raised his shinai to block—but then suddenly changed the angle.

“Kote!”
This time she feinted toward the wrist, but her real target was the head.
By deliberately saying one thing and doing another, she caused Kim Yu-seong to react half a beat too late.

‘His movements are simple, after all.’
The movements of someone who’s never been formally trained.
In another sport, his overwhelming physique might have let him brute-force his way through, but in kendo—where skill and speed matter more than size and strength—it wouldn’t fly.

‘Time to finish this.’
Using secret techniques in such a public match wasn’t ideal—but if no one noticed, it was fine.
She steadied her breath, facing Kim Yu-seong with her shinai poised.

Even if he’d only defended so far, she felt a faint respect for his tenacity and resolved to use one of the Fuma Clan’s secret arts: Evil, Be Slain.
Just then—
“…I’ll finish this with the next strike.”

After having done nothing but block, Kim Yu-seong suddenly raised his shinai to head level.
And with just that—
Fuma Yukika, heir to a legendary ninja clan, felt the threat of death for the first time in her life.

‘I'm gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die.’
The man named Kim Yu-seong, who just moments ago had seemed normal, suddenly radiated a terrifyingly savage aura.

This man hadn’t never learned techniques.
He’d never had a reason to learn.
Did the lion, king of beasts, become strong through training?

No—Kim Yu-seong had simply been born at the top of the food chain.
It was only as she teetered on the edge of death that Fuma Yukika realized it.
‘Grandma, I’m sorry!’

If she hadn’t insisted on reviving their fallen clan and come to Tokyo—
If she hadn’t stepped up to fight this man instead of letting someone else do it—
Would she still be alive?

Frozen before the first true fear of death she’d ever experienced, Fuma Yukika watched the approaching shinai as if it were the blade of a guillotine.
And just as it was about to strike her neck—
Tap.

“I win.”
Having slowed down at the last moment, Kim Yu-seong spared her life.
Fuma Yukika’s legs gave out and she collapsed onto the dojo floor.

“Thank you for the match.”
As his back moved coldly away, Fuma Yukika sat in a small puddle on the mat, her hakama slightly damp.
***

“Aaah! After all that club-hopping, and you joined the Board Game Club in the end?!”
Kishimoto sounded like she felt a deep sense of anticlimax. I looked at her, deadpan.
“For all that, you were having plenty of fun too.”

“Well yeah, ‘cause it was fun!”
“Haha, you two really do get along,” said Satoru, who’d originally been in the Board Game Club.
We were in the middle of playing Halli Galli, so I quietly placed my hand on the deck of cards at his cue.

Ahhh.
I could feel it.
The breath of the card.

“Draw! Banana card!”
Whatever else, the Board Game Club was still my spiritual home.