Teaching Kendo in Tokyo 1980

The first morning of Golden Week.

Kiryu Kazuma dreamed that the police had returned his beloved sword.

He had jumped out of bed in excitement—only to realize it was just a dream.

Another day without seeing his treasured blade.

Is this what a man feels for a weapon he once entrusted his life to?

Kazuma recalled a comic he'd read in his previous life about U.S. soldiers growing attached to their Jeeps—one panel had shown a soldier tearfully shooting his broken-down vehicle.

Shaking his head, he got dressed and headed to the kitchen, as usual, picking up the mug of barley tea Chiyoko had prepared.

"You're heading to Akutagawa Dojo today?" Chiyoko asked as she bustled at the stove. "Is it really okay to spar with an injury? Won't it seem like you're not taking it seriously?"

"I don't care how it looks. As long as I win, that's what matters," Kazuma replied nonchalantly.

"She's a girl, you know. Be gentle!" Chiyoko shot him a glare. "And don't you dare be like those dumb kendo boys who deliberately aim for the chest."

Kazuma responded automatically, but then something clicked. "Wait a second—how do you know about boys aiming for the chest?"

Chiyoko bopped him lightly. "It's not what you think! At Etsukawa Girls', we sometimes do joint practice with other schools' kendo clubs to improve. And those boys always aim for the chest, grinning as they say, 'It doesn't hurt as much here.' Total lie! Even through armor, it hurts like hell. The chest is pulled tight—getting hit in the stomach actually hurts less."

Kazuma's blood boiled. "Which school? I'll crush them at the tournament! Forget the championship—I'll Gatotsu them all off the stage!"

Chiyoko burst out laughing. "Oh, come on! It's not that big a deal. You'd be better off going a bit harder when sparring with Senpai Nanjō. She hits me hard enough during training!"

"Oh, Nanjō, huh? I see... so that's the kind of person she is. Just wait until I—"

"No Gatotsu! Forbidden!" Chiyoko set down the pan of fish and crossed her arms in an "X."

In Japan, circles on tests mean correct, but an "X" means wrong—just like in China.

Kazuma smirked. "Aren't you going to burn the fish?"

"Relax, I've got it under control." Chiyoko hurriedly picked up the pan again and carefully flipped the fish.

The fish was precious in the Kiryu household—no waste allowed.

Watching her, Kazuma suddenly shuddered. Damn… did I jinx myself when I joked about that Fool? Am I doomed to be poor forever?

No way! I don't want to live on grilled fish for the rest of my life!

Lately, he'd been accompanying Chiyoko to the shopping street. Now he understood why their table still seemed decently stocked—Chiyoko was adored by the old shopkeepers, who always gave her unsold fish and vegetables for free.

If someone else were doing the shopping, keeping their current menu would cost a lot more.

I've got to get serious—get the dojo back on its feet. Start with those delinquent kids. Surely some of them, moved by my righteous aura, will want to reform and pay to learn kendo!

Kazuma was deep in thought when the doorbell rang.

Yes, the front gate had been rebuilt after two days of round-the-clock work by a subcontractor from the Shiramine-kai.

The speed of Japanese construction in this era really is like China's in 2020...

Such infrastructure efficiency!

The bell rang once, then stopped.

Chiyoko looked puzzled. "It's a holiday—who'd come this early? Maybe some kids messing around? That would explain just one ring."

Kazuma scratched his head—then the bell rang a second time.

This time it didn't feel like a prank, but rather a polite visitor deliberately spacing the rings.

"I'll go check," Kazuma said.

"Wait! I'll get your wooden sword!" Chiyoko turned off the stove and dashed out, returning moments later to hand him the bokken.

Kazuma didn't really think it was yakuza trouble again, but better safe than sorry.

Besides, as a Shihan-dai, walking around your own house with a wooden sword was perfectly normal, right?

He slung the bokken over his shoulder and casually headed toward the entryway.

The new entryway floor was made of high-quality wood, sharply contrasting with the original flooring—visibly mismatched and a little odd.

And then there was the old shoe cabinet, the only survivor of the incident, now looking completely out of place against the new entryway.

Kazuma ignored these little quirks and approached the newly installed front door, gripping the rather ornate handle and pulling it open.

The yakuza had even hung a small flag outside the gate—emblazoned with "Kiryu." It actually looked pretty imposing.

Of course. Yakuza thrive on appearances. Naturally, they'd pay attention to this sort of thing.

Kazuma opened the door and glanced toward the gate.

Maybe the police are returning my sword…

That hope was foremost in his mind.

Instead—there was a Lincoln parked outside.

A distinguished-looking butler stood before the gate. When he saw Kazuma come out with the bokken, his brow lifted slightly.

Kazuma, by force of habit—yes, by habit—glanced instinctively at the old man's head.

And was startled: Okinawan Matsubara-ryū, level 67...

Isn't Matsubara-ryū a karate style?

Level 67… well, at least there are no special attributes. Otherwise, this guy would be a walking tank!

As Kazuma thought this, he finally looked properly at the man's face. Wait... have I seen him before?

Then he noticed a girl peeking shyly from behind the butler—a girl with princess curls.

It was Nanjō-san.

The moment their eyes met, she smiled—a warm, hydrangea-like smile.

Kazuma suddenly felt awkward, standing there with a wooden sword slung over his shoulder.

Never mind whether I could beat a level-67 karate master—this posture is definitely not the right way to greet a future financial backer... no, a fellow student!

"Good morning, Nanjō-san," Kazuma said with a smile. "Are you here to see Chiyoko?"

A tactical move—by suggesting she was visiting Chiyoko, he could prompt her to say, "No, I came to see you," giving himself the moral upper hand.

Nanjō blinked—then her butler spoke first.

"Kiryu-sama, my young lady heard you were ill and came to visit… Though to my eyes, you hardly look unwell."

His gaze fell to the bandages visible beneath Kazuma's sleeve.

The old man gave a knowing smile. "I've heard some rather interesting things. That's why I insisted on accompanying her today. It seems I was right to do so."

Well, makes sense. After causing such a stir that even Sumitomo Construction backed off, it'd be more surprising if the Nanjō household hadn't heard.

The butler turned to Nanjō. "Miss, associating too closely with this young man could be dangerous. I would advise—"

But seeing the lonely, wistful look in Nanjō's eyes, he stopped mid-sentence.

Kazuma sympathized. That unintentional expression had quite the impact.

The butler sighed. "Very well. As long as you do nothing to bring shame upon the Nanjō family, I shall turn a blind eye."

Ah, he's gone soft, Kazuma thought.

Just then, Chiyoko's voice came from behind. "Bro, who is it? Someone at the door?"

She appeared next to Kazuma, peeking past him toward the gate. "Huh? Nanjō-senpai?"

Chiyoko's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Nanjō-senpai, there are two Kiryus here, you know. If you just say 'Kiryu,' how will we know if you mean me or my brother? Right, Kazuma-san?"

A clear attempt to prompt Nanjō to call him Kazuma directly.

Nanjō gave an apologetic smile. "You're right! Then—Chiyoko-san, Kiryu-san."

Chiyoko's grin vanished instantly.

Before anyone could say more, the screech of a sudden stop echoed outside.

A perfectly ordinary Japanese sedan pulled up beside the Lincoln. Fujii Mikako hopped out, holding a very fancy-looking bento box high.

"Kazuma! I came to hang out! Whoa, whose car is that? So cool!"

(End of Chapter)