The Busujima Dojo was located in a quiet residential district of Tokyo.
Compared to the modern buildings surrounding it, this sprawling traditional Japanese dojo looked rather out of place, yet it carried an air of antique dignity that came from years of accumulated time.
The furnishings inside were sparse to the extreme. Apart from the "Shin-Gi-Tai" plaque hanging on the wall, there was only the neatly arranged weapons rack.
The floor was old wood, long since polished smooth and gleaming.
It was a humble place, but a clean and pure ground for training.
At this moment, however, the master of the dojo, Ryumu Busujima, showed none of the composure befitting a generation's kendo master.
"Haha... hahaha!"
Phone in hand, his face flushed red, he let out a hearty laugh he couldn't suppress, his voice loud enough to set the wind chimes under the dojo's eaves jingling.
"Yes, yes! It's an immense honor! For Mr. Fujiwara to have his eye on this old man's crude skills is the fortune of three lifetimes! Please rest assured, I will hold nothing back, I will teach you everything!"
He spoke into the phone in a humble tone, repeating his assurances again and again.
In the center of the dojo, a purple-haired girl was practicing dry swings with a wooden sword, repeating the dull motion over and over.
Sweat slid down her smooth forehead, soaking the strands of hair that fell across it, dripping down onto the aged wooden floor.
Her kendo uniform was already drenched through with sweat, clinging tightly to her body and tracing the powerful, graceful curves of the young woman.
Every swing was precise, forceful, and cut through the air with a sharp whistle.
As though what she held in her hand was not a practice sword of wood, but a real blade capable of cleaving anything in two.
She was Ryumu Busujima's only daughter, Saeko Busujima.
Hearing her father's unconcealed, excited laughter, Saeko only frowned slightly, but her movements did not pause for an instant. To her, no noise from the outside world could shake the sword in her hand or the way in her heart.
After hanging up, the excitement on Ryumu Busujima's face still refused to fade.
He turned and looked at the focused figure at the center of the dojo, his eyes filled with complicated emotions.
There was a father's pride, there was worry for his daughter's future, but most of all, there was the appraising gaze of a merchant evaluating a precious piece of merchandise.
"Saeko, take a break."
Saeko stopped at his voice, sheathed her sword, and stood still. Her breathing was steady and long, as if those hundreds of swings just now had been nothing more than a warm-up for her.
"Father, is something the matter?" She turned to him, her eyes sharp and calm, like the still surface of a deep pool.
"Tremendous news!"
Ryumu Busujima strode over to his daughter, the grin on his face nearly splitting it from ear to ear.
He waved his arms excitedly. "The new master of the Fujiwara conglomerate, that Mr. Seiji Fujiwara, just called me personally. He wants to hire me as his private kendo instructor!"
He deliberately emphasized "Fujiwara conglomerate" and "private instructor," his tone brimming with boastfulness.
But Saeko's face showed no trace of joy.
She only let out a flat "Oh," then prepared to continue her practice. To her, it was nothing more than her father landing another piece of business, which had nothing to do with her.
"Hey, Saeko, what kind of reaction is that?" Ryumu was displeased with his daughter's cold attitude. "Do you know what this means? That's the Fujiwara conglomerate! A power that controls everything with a single hand! The fee... the fee is this much!"
He held up five fingers and waved them in front of her.
"One month! That's the fee for just one month!"
He lowered his voice, but his tone grew even more agitated. "With this kind of money, we can renovate the dojo from top to bottom and still afford better training equipment!"
Saeko looked at her father, nearly dancing on the spot, and a flicker of imperceptible disappointment and resignation passed through her eyes.
"Father," she said softly, her tone calm but tinged with distance, "Busujima-ryu's swordsmanship is meant for cultivating the self and tempering the will. It's not a tool for pleasing big shots."
"What do you know!"
Ryumu was stopped short by her words, and snapped back at her with the irritation of wounded pride. "Times have changed! In today's society, what good is swordsmanship alone? Can it put food on the table? Can it make the name Busujima-ryu ring out across the nation again?"
He looked at his daughter's clear, beautiful, and always somewhat aloof face, and his tone softened as he began trying to coax her along.
"Saeko, I know you're proud and don't think much of these things. But this Mr. Fujiwara is a real big shot, not like those society presidents who only dabbled in refinement for show."
"Later, you'll come with me as my assistant."
"Remember, behave well, and watch your words and conduct."
He paused, then said in a tone heavy with implication: "I hear this Mr. Fujiwara is about your age. If... if you could catch his eye, it would be a tremendous opportunity for our dojo, and for your future as well."
Saeko fell silent.
She understood the undisguised implication in her father's words.
A wave of powerlessness welled up in her chest.
She knew what her father was thinking.
In his eyes, only a man could inherit the dojo and the Busujima family's swordsmanship.
As the daughter who could not inherit the dojo, her greatest value might be like a finely crafted piece of merchandise, one that could secure the greatest profit for the family.
But Saeko could not resist.
Because she knew that if she refused, her father would have ten thousand reasons to accuse her of being "ungrateful" and "selfish."
She slowly lifted her head, glancing out the window at the patch of sky boxed in by the eaves, and a shadow flickered through her sharp eyes.
Another rich man who treats kendo like a game?
How utterly boring.
...
Seiji Fujiwara's residence. The study.
He had just hung up after speaking with his subordinate, confirming the arrangements to hire Ryumu Busujima.
His gaze fell on the computer screen.
On it was a photograph of Saeko Busujima.
The young woman in the photo had a piercing gaze and a striking presence, like a drawn blade with its edge fully bared.
A playful curve tugged at the corner of Seiji's mouth.
He knew, of course, that given the current state of the Busujima Dojo's finances, they could not possibly refuse his "offer."
He had also anticipated that the shrewd, calculating Ryumu Busujima would very likely bring along his national champion daughter to "display the merchandise."
The theory of [Swordsmanship: Divine Mastery] needs a perfect "whetstone" to verify it.
Seiji leaned back in his chair, his long fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk.
He could feel that the kendo knowledge he had just acquired was surging and roaring inside his mind, hungry for a thorough chance at practice.
Saeko Busujima is more than just a whetstone.
His gaze lingered for a moment on that clear, stubborn face.
She's also a work of art worth collecting.
In Seiji's eyes glittered the excited light of a hunter who had spotted prey worth claiming.
...
An hour later, a black sedan carrying the Busujima father and daughter, now changed into clean kendo uniforms, drove through the gates of Seiji Fujiwara's residence.
After passing through the vast courtyard, the car finally stopped before a freestanding, antique, and imposing structure.
It was a private kendo hall built entirely in the traditional style.
Just standing outside, Ryumu Busujima could feel the solemn aura that rolled off it, an atmosphere crafted from the finest building materials and the hands of master craftsmen.
"What a tremendous undertaking..." he couldn't help marveling.
Saeko, in contrast, was expressionless, uninterested in such outward extravagance.
A maid slid open the door of the hall for them and bowed. "The master is waiting for you inside."
The Busujima father and daughter stepped through, and were immediately struck by the sight within.
The hall's sheer scale and the quality of its materials drew silent astonishment from Ryumu.
The floor alone, fitted together from solid pieces of hinoki, was worth enough to match every asset in his old dojo combined.
His resolve hardened, and the gaze he turned on his daughter became all the more expectant.
In the center of the great dojo, a man dressed in black, form-fitting training gear stood quietly with his back to them.
Hearing the footsteps behind him, the man at the center of the hall slowly turned around.
The moment Saeko saw him, her heart gave a slight start.
This man...
What a powerful presence.
Though young, his frame was lean and well-proportioned, the lines of his muscles smooth and brimming with explosive power, nothing like a wealthy young master soft from indulgence.
Just by standing there, an aura settled and deep as an abyss radiated from him, and she instinctively felt a hint of pressure.
But, that was all.
As one of the nation's top swordsmen, Saeko's powers of observation far exceeded the ordinary. She carefully studied Seiji Fujiwara's stance, his footing, and the rhythm of his breathing.
No discipline at all.
His feet were planted firmly, his lower body solid, but it was a stability that came purely from physical strength, not from the kendo principle of "zanshin," the state of being able to shift one's center of gravity at any moment.
His breathing was deep and long, but it carried no rhythm tied to the variations of technique.
Saeko could tell that this was a man with excellent physical conditioning.
But not someone who had trained in the martial arts.
She sighed inwardly and filed Seiji Fujiwara away under "gifted in talent, but utterly ignorant of kendo, an outsider."
Meanwhile, her seasoned father, Ryumu, had instantly caught the undisguised look of appreciation Seiji had cast at his daughter.
It was the look of a superior appraising a possession, carrying notes of evaluation and ownership.
Far from being offended, Ryumu was delighted. He hurriedly rose and stepped forward to greet him warmly.
"Mr. Fujiwara! I've long heard of you, and seeing you today, you truly are a dragon among men!"
After the customary round of mutual flattery, Ryumu wasted no time in pitching his daughter.
"Mr. Fujiwara, this is my daughter Saeko. She's nothing impressive, but she's had the good fortune to win the national championship a few times, so among the younger generation she has a modest reputation." He spoke through a wide smile. "If you're interested, you can have her serve as your 'sparring partner' anytime, to feed you techniques."
He bit down hard on the words "sparring partner."
But Seiji's reaction was nothing like what he had expected.
"No need."
Seiji did not even spare Saeko a second glance, refusing flatly.
"My primary purpose today is to train in swordsmanship."
"Let's begin."
That crisp, decisive answer froze the smile on Ryumu's face, who had been entirely convinced he could use his daughter to draw closer to the man.
Saeko, off to the side, was also caught off guard.
This man... seemed somehow different from the lust-driven rich men she had imagined?
Ryumu was an old hand, however, and quickly recovered his composure.
"Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Fujiwara is right." He hurriedly bowed in agreement, plastering an enthusiastic smile back onto his face. "Training in kendo does indeed require an undistracted mind. I spoke out of turn."
He pulled himself together, determined to put on a proper display of his expertise as a kendo master to prove himself worthy of that astronomical fee.
"Now then, Mr. Fujiwara, before we begin practical training, by the traditions of kendo, please allow this old man to first explain to you the history of kendo, its etiquette, and the core philosophy of our Busujima-ryu, the unity of 'mind, technique, and body'..."
He cleared his throat, about to launch into the theory he had recited a thousand times to countless beginners.
But he had barely begun before Seiji impatiently cut him off.
"I already know all of that theory."
Seiji's tone was flat, but it carried an unmistakable note of finality.
"Move straight to practical training."
"This..." Ryumu was at a loss for words.
What beginner refused to even hear the basic theory and demanded going straight to practical training?
It was completely against the rules! If this benefactor were to be injured, he could not possibly bear the responsibility.
"Mr. Fujiwara, kendo is no child's play. Basic theory and stances are essential. As the saying goes, 'sharpening the knife will not delay the woodcutting'..." Ryumu tried to talk him around.
"I said," Seiji cut him off again, his gaze settling on him with calm, unrippled steadiness, "begin. Now."
Ryumu felt as though he were being stared down by some ancient beast.
A cold chill ran straight up his spine to the crown of his head.
Every word of persuasion he had been about to say was choked back down his throat.
"...Yes!"
He dared not raise any further objection, and quickly took two suburi-bo from the weapons rack beside him, the kind used for basic practice.
Off to the side, Saeko took in everything.
Whatever last shred of curiosity she had held about Seiji vanished.
Just as she had thought.
This man was nothing but an outsider acting on a sudden whim, here to dabble in a game of kendo.
He lacked even the most basic patience or respect for tradition.
Bored, she walked over to a corner of the dojo and crossed her arms, standing aside like an uninvolved spectator, ready to watch how this farce would end.
Ten minutes at most. Then this man, who didn't even know how to hold a sword, would lose all interest from the tedium and exhaustion, and leave, surely?
In the center of the floor, Ryumu didn't dare offend his benefactor, and could only summon his patience to begin teaching the most basic grip and swing.
"Mr. Fujiwara, please watch closely. When gripping the sword, the left hand goes in front, the right hand behind. The tiger's mouth between thumb and forefinger should align with the line of the spine of the blade. Both palms must press flush against the hilt, with no gap..."
He explained as he demonstrated, each motion meticulous.
Seiji took the suburi-bo and copied his movements.
His initial performance was exactly as Saeko had predicted.
Clumsy.
All brute strength, with none of the essence.
Even the most basic grip technique was full of mistakes.
His left hand was too high on the hilt, and his right hand gripped too tightly, leaving the muscles of his entire arm locked stiff.
When he swung, it was limp and powerless, with no discipline, nothing more than an empty pose.
Ryumu corrected him again and again.
"Mr. Fujiwara, relax the shoulders... drive the power from the waist, let the body carry the arms... yes, yes, that's it..."
Saeko watched until she nearly yawned.
She had already begun planning, after this was over, whether to continue practicing the new technique she had been working on, or to go see a newly released film.