Arisugawa Ren slipped her phone into her handbag, not exactly matching her kendo uniform, but as a proper young lady, it was an indispensable accessory.
She had just finished texting her father, asking him to bring a small gift to the dojo at noon.
Mr. Arisugawa was a strict man — the kind whose entire demeanor embodied every stereotype of a veteran police officer: disciplined, stoic, and unflinchingly serious.
Even his name, Arisugawa Gourei, carried the meaning of self-restraint and relentless drive.
He treated his only daughter with the same rigor he applied to everything else — one look at her hairstyle was enough proof.
While her friend Himeno Seiko sported trendy wine-red curls, Ren's hair was kept in a classic hime cut.
Coupled with that delicate rikyu pouch in her hands, she looked every bit like a noblewoman from Japan's Heian era.
Still, when it came to reasonable requests, her father never refused her.
And when she mentioned she was visiting last year's and the year before's national kendo champions, he had agreed immediately — even cheerfully.
"Ren? You always hated it when your dad tried to introduce you to those kendo masters in the police force," Seiko remarked, eyeing her friend's every move. "What changed today?"
Ren's lips curved into a radiant smile.
"Well, if I have to choose someone eventually, why not someone I actually like? Besides…" Her eyes gleamed mischievously.
"This guy can literally cut a bullet in half! Think about it! While everyone else brags at New Year's about their salaries or promotions — so boring — I'll be like, 'My boyfriend slices bullets in midair.' How cool is that?"
It was a childish boast, but for the only daughter of the Arisugawa family whose future husband would one day inherit everything, it didn't sound entirely unrealistic.
Seiko found herself momentarily entranced by the idea.
Her social circle's "fun" usually meant expensive getaways and enduring endless chatter from older relatives or superior classmates.
But this? A man who could slice bullets? The kind of person who made others think twice before even speaking in front of him — because who knew if their tongue would still be intact afterward? Now that was real power.
"…Maybe I should meet him too," she murmured under her breath, discreetly texting her own mother.
Around them, people were already kneeling or sitting cross-legged on the dojo floor.
The wooden boards had just enough give to absorb impact, but anyone who had ever knelt properly for long knew how brutal it was on the legs.
Even the tough guys who had just been smacked in the calves with bamboo swords couldn't help but admire the impeccable posture of the "ojou-sama squad."
Men and women, after all, had their own kinds of battlefields — and anyone who could endure in theirs deserved respect.
Meanwhile, in the center of the dojo, Hojou Kyousuke was still redefining what "overwhelming force" meant.
Over sixty opponents from Higashi and Kaiju High had charged at him, and not a single one could stand within two meters of his position.
If anyone else tried to step in, Ren and Seiko would've lost sight of him completely amid the chaos.
One man standing against a nation — that's what it felt like.
If Kyousuke stood his ground, even an army would crumble before him.
That was the unspoken thought running through everyone's minds.
When the last of his opponents finally collapsed, the dojo fell silent.
Even Amakawa Toru, who had been watching closely, could barely breathe — it was as if all the oxygen in the room had been claimed by Kyousuke's presence.
Ren, the quick-moving daughter of a police family, darted forward before anyone else could react.
She pulled a soft, fragrant handkerchief from her pouch and, blushing prettily, began wiping the sweat from Kyousuke's brow with careful, almost reverent motions.
Two girls from Soubu High froze a step too late — fuming as they realized Ren had stolen the chance they'd been waiting for.
Did she have any idea how rare it was to catch him alone, away from school and prying eyes?
They had risked coming here precisely for moments like this — all in the name of "protecting" Kyousuke for their absent friends Yamauchi and Nishimiya, of course.
Seiko, meanwhile, clenched her fists on her knees.
Damn it. She really needed to work out more.
Watching her friend practically cling to Kyousuke like a spoiled cat, Seiko could feel her teeth grind.
And when Kyousuke's face actually turned pink — she nearly screamed.
He blushed! So he was the sincere, soft-hearted type she imagined!
But then—
"Ren, you useless show-off! Where do you think your hands are going?! You can't just touch his chest like that!"
Seiko's eyes widened.
Not far away, Ren — still looking every inch the elegant noblewoman — was kneeling beside Kyousuke, her small hand sliding from his neck toward his chest.
If she had been wearing a kimono instead of a kendo uniform, the scene could've come straight out of an ancient romantic painting.
That "wiping sweat" excuse was long gone — her hand was practically bathing in his sweat now.
You shameless minx, Seiko thought furiously. You're not even trying to hide it!
Thankfully, before the girls could leap in to "save" Kyousuke's dignity, he seemed to realize just how compromising the situation looked.
He gently caught Ren's hand and smiled politely.
"Heh… Arisugawa-san, I can take it from here."
He raised the embroidered handkerchief — the very same one she had given him earlier — to make his point.
Her enthusiasm was a bit much, and her hands had felt more like a massage than a friendly gesture.
Her hair had even brushed against his clothes — a bit too intimate for public viewing.
"Oh~ so that's where my handkerchief went," Ren giggled softly, finally withdrawing her gaze from his chest.
"I was wondering why I couldn't find it anywhere."
Her tone was so shamelessly casual that Kyousuke could only return a strained, polite smile.
By now, the fallen fighters had either crawled away or been carried off, meaning the next round — the tachikiri spar — was about to begin.
"Well then," Kyousuke said with an easy grin, "shall we, Arisugawa-san?"
"Eh?" Still lost in the glow of his presence, Ren blinked blankly, her mouth slightly open.
"The sparring match," he reminded her. "We agreed you'd be next, after Higashi."
"Ehh??" The princess-cut girl's big eyes widened as she nervously rubbed her fingers together
So warm… even the sweat still felt nice on her hands.
That thought alone brought the moment flooding back, and when she glanced between Kyousuke's gentle smile and Seiko's smirking, "let's see you steal the show now" expression, Ren felt her heart leap.
So this is the price of happiness?
'Gulp.'
Ren swallowed hard and accepted the shinai Hojou handed her.
The violent display he'd just put on had left her breathless with admiration — and now it filled her with bone-deep fear.
Fear and force. Desire and dread.
Oh no, what do I do? Am I about to get beaten up?
I never meant to have this kind of close contact — that little moment before was enough. I could've just helped him wipe his face!
Ren's mind screamed as the images of those people Hojou had casually sent flying replayed in her head.
Before she knew it, their faces blurred and morphed into her own — her carefully applied makeup smeared by a sudden nosebleed.
Hojou… must be one of those protectively gentle men, right?
Unbeatable force.
Pure, absolute violence.
The more her heart had raced earlier, the deeper her despair now.
Still, Ren — raised by the formidable "Arisugawa" household — wasn't about to panic completely. Her brain spun, searching, and it found a brilliant workaround.
She bowed her head and pretended to think for two seconds, then looked up at Hojou Kyousuke with the most pitiful, trembling voice she could muster.
"Um… I'm not very good at putting on armor. Could you help me?"
Her voice trembled on the verge of tears; with that demure, it was practically irresistible.
Seeing a flicker of agreement on his face, Ren smugly glanced at her friend.
Ha—bet you didn't see that coming. It's all part of the plan!
As expected, Seiko's expression was a mix of shock, envy, and eager competitiveness.
Hmph. You want Hojou to help you with your armor too? Dream on.
Once my sweet spar with Hojou is over, I'll claim I've already learned it and volunteer to do it for you!
If getting beaten was inevitable, she might as well milk the situation for everything it was worth.
Even though Seiko outclassed her in family background, looks, and smarts, Ren had already scored several wins today — and feeling triumphant, she unleashed her watery-eyed charm on Hojou.
"Let me help her!" someone shouted.
"No way — I'm coming! I've been wearing armor since I was three!"
"Three? I was born in armor; nobody knows armor better than me!"
"I have three hands, so I put it on the best!"
Chorus after chorus of ridiculous boasts erupted.
The idiots who'd just been nearly beaten to a pulp by Kyousuke instantly seemed revitalized, tongues lolling like dogs at the sight of a bone.
"Eh?" Ren hissed — that was her third confused sound of the day.
Kyousuke breathed out a quiet relief.
These girls might be lovely, but he was really terrible at dressing people — it wasn't news.
Poised seniors like Shiha, Mitsuha, and even Sakura could testify.
Mitsuha, in particular, during that body-swap episode, would prepare her formal outfit the night before and sleep in it, hair perfectly set — because she knew Hojou couldn't manage it otherwise.
'Damn it! I should call my dad to bring a police transport and ship all of you to jail!'
Ren thought, certain Seiko was snickering nearby.
Still, as a resourceful young woman, Ren had another card to play.
What if she said, "My family's fortune-teller (or household onmyōji) divined that only someone named Hojou can help me put on my armor today, otherwise misfortune will come"?
Hojou seemed kind enough; surely he wouldn't see through such a cute lie.
But before she could utter that, two girls who'd been elbowed aside earlier — the ones who'd lost the "wipe his sweat" opportunity — strode over.
"Arisugawa-san, let us help you," they offered.
What good people — when I marry Hojou, you two are invited over all the time, Ren thought.
She relaxed a little, but hadn't yet handed over her armor when those two grinned.
"Actually, Hojou-bucho's protective gear has always been put on by us — we're pretty practiced at it."
What!?
Ren's eyes widened.
In an instant she resolved to transfer schools and join this Kendo club — the benefits were ridiculous!
Once she got in, the first thing she'd do was kick every other female member out.
Then for three years she'd devote every waking hour to making the club into a boys' school with only her as the lone girl.
Carrying her gear like a peasant from the Warring States era, Ren was dragged away by the two girls.
In Japan, school clubs had signature looks: archers slung long bamboo poles like fishing rods, baseball players couldn't wait to strip on the train after practice.
And the kendo club looked like a farmer shouldering a yoke — shinai in their bags and armor wrapped in cloth, balanced on a bamboo pole across their shoulders.
It was a colorful sight.
A short while later, Ren returned in full armor; the large tare (waist protector) bore three bold kanji: ARISUGAWA.
Standing before Hojou, her mind involuntarily replayed those bloody scenes, and she took a few deep breaths to steady herself.
'I'm a daughter of a warrior house! Show him the spirit of a martial family! Even if I have to die, I must land at least one strike!'
She pumped herself up.
Now she finally understood why those students from Higashi had been so reckless earlier.
They hadn't been trying to kill themselves — they'd been fighting for his attention.
Damn it all!
'Please don't let Hojou knock me out. '
'Fainting is one thing — but not because of a shinai to the head!'
'And if I do pass out, the first thing I'll tell my father is to bring extra men and drag those shameless, attention-seeking vixens away!'
Kisaki Tetta stood between them, anticipation written all over his face.
He knew his older brother's reputation for mercilessness. Aside from a few at their dorm, he had no intention of holding back.
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