Chapter Fifteen: Snap!

"Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. I'm Kitaro Ishihara, a second-year student." Without ceremony, Kitaro Ishihara snatched the bamboo sword from Saiki's hands and, after pushing him aside, stood before Tsukasa Aoki. "Even Dojima herself praised your talent. Surely you’re not so timid as to refuse a practice match with me?"

Tsukasa Aoki shot an annoyed glance at Kitaro Ishihara, but before he could speak, Saeko Dojima cast a frosty, disapproving gaze at Kitaro. "Ishihara, Aoki has only just begun learning kendo, while you’re already among the elite of the club. Such a match would hardly be fair."

Kitaro Ishihara lifted his head, practically looking down his nose at Tsukasa Aoki. "Of course, I’ll go easy on you. Here’s the deal: I won’t wear any armor. If you manage to score even a single point on me, I’ll concede defeat."

"...Ishihara." Saeko narrowed her eyes, her tone sharp. She knew exactly why Kitaro Ishihara was behaving this way and found it particularly distasteful. It wasn’t partiality toward Aoki, merely a deep dislike for the bullying bravado Ishihara displayed.

Tsukasa Aoki, expressionless, replied, "Very well."

Fool. Without armor, I could break your ribs. Tsukasa was well aware there was still a significant gap between his own skills and Ishihara’s, but he had absolute confidence in his physical abilities. His attributes far surpassed those of his peers, outstripping even most adult men. While he lacked technique, dealing with someone like Ishihara—who was only a bit sturdier than average—was hardly a challenge. Kendo skills represented one’s proficiency in the art, but not necessarily one’s true fighting power.

Especially when the fool before him was mouthing off about not wearing armor.

In kendo matches, even with protective gear, a full-force strike could leave you feeling bruised. Without armor, with Tsukasa’s strength, a single hit—no matter where it landed—could render someone unable to continue.

"Aoki, are you sure?" Saeko had been about to refuse on Aoki’s behalf, but seeing his agreement, she simply turned, her gaze serene. "Ishihara is one of the club’s top kendo practitioners. You’ve only been here two days."

"Hahaha! Since you agree, let’s cut the chatter," Kitaro Ishihara said, eager to begin before Tsukasa could change his mind, adopting the ready stance of kendo.

"Please put on your armor, Ishihara," Saeko said, seeing neither would back down and deciding not to interfere further.

Kitaro Ishihara looked as if he wanted to protest, but under Saeko’s icy stare, he clicked his tongue, sheathed his sword, and began donning his gear. Yet, in his arrogance, he only put on the chest protector, ignoring the facemask.

"No need to worry, Dojima. It’ll take Saiki at least a year or two before he can land a hit on my head," he scoffed, though he hadn’t seen what Tsukasa had done a moment before. He’d watched Tsukasa closely the day prior, knowing it was his first time even touching a bamboo sword. With that in mind, he felt invincible.

Saeko’s advice had been for his own safety. Seeing his prideful disregard, she no longer bothered to warn him. Instead, she stated coolly, "This is a match for points only. I’ll act as referee. Aoki, please put on your facemask."

Tsukasa obediently donned his mask. He was not so arrogant as to believe he could dominate someone with years of training. Without protection, a blow to the face or neck could end very badly.

Saeko sighed, casting Kitaro a glance full of disappointed exasperation, then produced the red and white flags of a referee. Calmly, she announced, "Aoki, white side. Ishihara, red. Bow."

Tsukasa and Kitaro bowed in accordance with the rules, then took their stances.

"Three, two, one—begin!" No sooner had Saeko finished speaking than Kitaro swung his bamboo sword with a shout of "Men!" The powerful overhead strike came crashing down.

Though Tsukasa’s kendo skill was ordinary, his sharp mind granted him swift reflexes. In the instant Kitaro began his attack, Tsukasa understood his intent. He simply stepped back, letting the strike fall on empty air. In the same motion, Tsukasa swung his sword horizontally and shouted, "Strike!"

The bamboo sword crashed hard against Kitaro’s chest protector. Infuriated, Kitaro raised his sword for a counterattack, but Tsukasa deftly retreated two steps to a safe distance. Kitaro moved to pursue, but Saeko promptly raised the white flag. "White—do, point scored."

"Return to your positions," Saeko instructed, signaling them to resume.

Kitaro’s eyes blazed with anger, his face—unprotected by a mask—twisted with rage. "Not bad. You’re faster than I expected. But kendo isn’t just about physical prowess. That’ll be your last point."

"Three, two, one—begin!" Saeko, too weary to bother warning him further, simply began the next round, her disappointment growing.

This time, Tsukasa struck first, delivering a forceful blow aimed at the head.

Kitaro, experienced as he was, could see through Tsukasa’s movements—skilled, but still somewhat rigid. Smirking, he raised his sword in anticipation. His plan: block, turn defense into offense, strike Tsukasa’s hand as he reset, and when he couldn’t grip the sword, finish with a head strike. In kendo, you’re still green, kid!

But at the instant their swords met, Kitaro’s expression changed to one of shock. He barely had time to look up before realizing Tsukasa’s blow had knocked his sword aside—it failed to block in time, reducing the force but not enough to stop the strike.

Damn! The thought had barely formed when Tsukasa’s bamboo sword landed squarely on his unprotected face.

A sharp, resounding smack rang through the entire kendo hall.