Chapter Seventy-Two: Saeko's Memoirs

“My name is Saeko Busujima, the eldest child of the Busujima family and its only daughter. Since my earliest memories, my constant companion has been a wooden sword so heavy that even lifting it was a struggle.

My father is a powerful and imposing man, known to others as one of the most famous swordmasters in Japan—an expert who brought the Busujima style of kendo to foreign lands and earned the respect of people worldwide. But to me, he was never a proper father.

From birth, I was burdened with everyone’s expectations, striving to become the heir to the Busujima style. While other girls played with dolls in their rooms with friends, I could only avoid my father’s nightly scoldings by swinging my wooden sword again and again. When girls my age debated which clothes were the prettiest, my father demanded that I study every form of swordsmanship.

Time after time I was defeated by opponents much larger than myself, forcing down tears and rising again to charge with my wooden blade. That was my childhood.

I once believed that if I worked hard enough, my father would acknowledge me, that I would become the next master—a swordmaster admired by all. But I was wrong. Perhaps I was once the pride of my father’s eye, but...

With my mother’s death, my father’s remarriage, and the birth of my younger brother, everything changed. The same techniques that took me days and nights of sleepless practice to master, my brother grasped effortlessly, as if it were a game. I finally understood: no matter how hard I tried, I could not escape the bitter fate of being easily surpassed by my own brother.

Father stopped urging me to practice the sword and instead insisted I learn how to be a woman. To him, if I could become a good wife in the eyes of others, I would not disgrace the Busujima family.

Ironically, though I was so hopeless in swordsmanship, I proved unexpectedly gifted in these arts. When I learned to cook, sew, perform the tea ceremony, and even the ways of being a good wife, my dreams began to change.

It’s almost laughable to recall that it was not until middle school that I realized I was, after all, just a girl—my heart would race around someone I liked, and I couldn’t help but smile at cute things.

Naively, I thought that though I would never achieve greatness in kendo, I could still become a good wife to someone in the future. To have a beautiful love I would never regret, to give up the sword and dedicate myself to that person—perhaps that was my way of fulfilling myself.

I left my father’s side and came alone to Chiba, to watch over an empty dojo. I went to school alone, cooked alone, lived alone in a city where I had no acquaintances and no ties.

For a time, I thought I might finally begin a true life of my own. No more living up to my father’s expectations, no more jealousy of my brother’s talent, no one who knew me.

I only wanted to treat kendo as a hobby; to live as peacefully and simply as other girls would have been enough for me.

Until...

That night in middle school, as I walked home alone, I noticed someone stealthily following me—a deviant. Though I knew what he intended, I deliberately let him get close. When he tried to assault me, I drew the wooden sword I always carried, and broke his leg and shoulder.

I don’t know why I did it, but when I shattered his bones and watched the wicked contortions of his face turn to terror and despair, I felt an unprecedented rush of pleasure and excitement.

In the end, though my actions were considered excessive self-defense, my age and identity spared me of responsibility.

But I knew then that I could never go back.

When I discovered the darkness within me, the terrifying force of my violent impulses, I knew I could never become a normal girl. I even began to loathe myself—loathe that I could harbor such thoughts and still possess a gentle heart, like any ordinary girl.

I hated myself. I hated the part of me that was still capable of loving someone.

I am unworthy.

I am unworthy of loving or being loved.

Until that day… when Aoki appeared before me.

I had sworn never to fall for anyone again, and yet, for reasons I cannot explain, I found myself irresistibly drawn to him.

With each day’s practice, his skill in kendo improved at a remarkable pace—a talent even my brother couldn’t rival. I felt a bit jealous, but more than that, I admired him.

Most of all, I envied his ability to live freely under the gaze of those who feared him—whether their looks were fearful or hateful, he advanced at his own pace, step by step. Perhaps that is why my heart was moved by him.

Maybe… he might even accept me.

Such a strong man, who stirred my heart and earned my respect—if only I could be like him: living for myself, unaffected by whether others feared or adored me.

That admiration became something deeper.

The day he collapsed in my arms, bloodied and battered, the pain and anger I felt for him, for the first time, overwhelmed my insatiable violent urge whenever I saw blood.

When I saw the gang of delinquent high schoolers he had defeated, writhing on the ground, I had to admit he was far stronger than I had imagined.

I carried him home, cleaned his wounds, laid him in my bed, and watched him for a long time. His sleeping face was serene and gentle—so different from his usual scowl, so handsome. Perhaps, I thought, this was his true self.

I still remember my wish at that moment—I simply hoped that time could stand still.

When he woke up, I couldn’t help but subtly confess my feelings to him. After he left, I lay down where he had slept, face burning, lingering for a long while.

His scent lingers in my memory still.

But…

He quietly rejected me.

This afternoon, he told me he would not return to practice kendo.

He said he didn’t know how to repay the debt he owed me.

Truthfully, I don’t know either. I don’t want him to repay it, because if he did, he might never think of me again.

I only know that, perhaps from today onward, I will be alone once more.

That day, his peaceful sleeping face in my room became the only color in the black-and-white of my memories.

Now that dreamlike time has passed, and I must awaken and face reality.

I am unworthy of love—Saeko Busujima.”

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PS: I hesitated for a long time before including this chapter in the main story instead of keeping it to myself. I’m not sure if you all will like it… There probably won’t be any more chapters like this going forward.