"I didn't! I'm not! Don't put words in my mouth!"
Akira dropped the shinai like it had suddenly caught fire, spinning to face the newcomer. His eyes widened slightly as recognition clicked into place.
Kirigaya Suguha. Eighth place in the National Kendo Tournament. Of course she'd seek out the champion. The logic was elegant in its simplicity.
"You were just practicing, though." Suguha gestured at the wooden sword on the floor, her tone playfully accusatory.
Akira nodded, recovering his composure. "Senior Busujima and I aren't… that. We're training partners. Learning each other's strengths and weaknesses."
Behind the sliding door, Saeko's hand froze on the wooden frame. Strengths and weaknesses? What does he— A blush scorched her cheeks. No. Stop. He means the spar. Nothing else. She exhaled slowly, forcing rationality. I was completely defeated, yet he still frames it as mutual learning. Such humility. Such grace.
Her estimation of him rose another quiet notch.
Suguha, oblivious to the eavesdropper, settled onto the tatami with the easy comfort of youth. "Then you must know Senior Busujima's techniques really well!"
"Only sparred once, actually." Akira sat across from her, his expression thoughtful. "But I noticed something. Her swordsmanship… it's almost too fierce. Like it's holding back something darker. A hunger."
Suguha's eyes went wide. "Yes! That's exactly it! I could never find the words, but that's the feeling!"
Behind the door, Saeko pressed a hand to her pounding heart.
He sees it. He actually sees it. That shadow self beneath her disciplined exterior—the one she concealed from everyone—he had glimpsed it in a single exchange. Handsome. Powerful. Honorable. And now, understanding. This is… this is what I've waited for.
"You look our age," Suguha continued, tilting her head. "Are you from the nearby high school?"
Akira shook his head, settling into his practiced narrative. Disaster survivor. Amnesia. Refugee relief. A convenience store clerk scraping by, reliant on government assistance, only surviving local thugs because of his martial skill.
It was, technically, true. The parts that mattered, anyway.
Suguha's expression softened with genuine sympathy. "Akira-san… we'll help you find your memories! Don't give up hope!"
A flicker of guilt pricked at his conscience. If you only knew. "It's fine, really. Maybe starting fresh isn't so bad. New friends. New perspective."
"But what if you had someone you loved out there? A dream you were chasing?"
Before he could answer, the door slid open.
"I think Akira-san is perfect as he is." Saeko emerged, composed now, moving to ruffle Suguha's hair affectionately before seating herself. "He possesses the purity and magnanimity of a true martial artist. That's rare."
Akira touched his nose, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "I'll take the compliment."
Saeko turned to Suguha. "Nao-chan, why don't you teach him the fundamentals? Your style emphasizes fluidity—it might suit him better than my more aggressive approach."
Akira caught the subtext immediately. She's avoiding another wardrobe malfunction. His gaze flickered, almost involuntarily, to her chest. Still unrestrained beneath the gi. The memory of those soft, generous curves surfaced unbidden.
Definitely the right call.
"Alright~!" Suguha pumped a fist in his direction, all cheerful energy. "Akira-san, let's do this!"
He picked up the shinai, ready.
The basics came quickly. Grip. Stance. The flow of energy from grounded feet through the core. And then—
The shinai is just an extension of the arm.
The principle, so fundamental to martial arts mastery, clicked into place. Suddenly, the wooden sword wasn't a foreign object; it was a longer limb, an expression of his will.
Within minutes, he was matching Suguha strike for strike.
"Hah… hah… Akira-san!" Suguha stepped back, chest heaving, her breath coming in sharp gasps. The exertion had flushed her cheeks crimson. "Are you sure you've never done kendo before?!"
"Pretty sure." He lowered his shinai, not even winded. "If I had, I'd remember picking up one of these."
"But you couldn't even hold the sword properly an hour ago!" She braced her hands on her knees, catching her breath. "This is insane!"
Saeko observed from the side, a knowing smile touching her lips. "Akira-san's unarmed mastery is complete. In martial arts, many principles transcend the weapon. The body knows. The sword simply follows."
"That makes sense, I guess…" Suguha straightened, wiping sweat from her brow. "But still! I'm exhausted."
She was, indeed, thoroughly winded. To maintain her fluid style against Akira's relentless pressure, she had burned through her reserves at an alarming rate. Her chest rose and fell in a rhythm that was difficult to ignore, the fabric of her training gi clinging to damp skin.
Akira deliberately looked away, focusing on the shinai in his hand.
Two of them now. In one dojo. And the game's trophies…
He shook the thought loose.
Reality. This is reality.
For now.
"I really shouldn't have," Akira admitted, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "If I had any formal training, I'd have picked up a sword years ago."
"That's just it!" Suguha gestured emphatically at him. "You couldn't even distinguish between the different grips before! Complete novice—and then this learning curve straight out of a manga. It's terrifying."
Saeko offered her measured observation. "Akira-san's close-combat mastery provides a foundation. In martial arts, principles transcend form. The body remembers what the mind has yet to learn."
Suguha nodded, then promptly collapsed onto the tatami with all the grace of a falling leaf—which is to say, none whatsoever. She sprawled carelessly, tugging at her collar and fanning vigorously until the edge of her sports bra became visible. Her small hands formed makeshift fans, directing cool air into the damp fabric.
Also well-endowed, Akira noted with what he told himself was clinical detachment. Even bound by her training gear, Suguha's chest swelled prominently—a step below Saeko's striking figure, but certainly placing her at the top tier among ordinary girls. Sweat had darkened the fabric in places, and for a moment—perhaps imagination, perhaps not—he caught a hint of warm skin through the dampness.
Suguha caught him looking. Instead of shyness, her face bloomed with a gentle, knowing smile.
"Like what you see?"
Akira's composure held. "Just observing."
"Mmm." She tilted her head, still smiling. "Did it remind you of your girlfriend?"
"No girlfriend."
"Eh~?" Genuine surprise crossed her features. "Really? Boys like you must be popular. Is it because she doesn't match your type?"
Boys like me. The phrase sat oddly. "What makes you so sure I have one?"
She laughed, light and musical. "Just a hunch! Girls with personalities like mine probably have a protective older brother somewhere, right? So I figured you must have someone."
"Do I give off little sister vibes?" Akira asked, amused despite himself.
"Mmm-hmm!" She nodded cheerfully. "You've got that vibe. Kind but firm. Definitely an older brother type."
"I'm an only child, actually."
"Eh~!?" Saeko's surprised interjection came from the side, her hand covering her mouth. "I thought the same! Kirigaya-san seems like she should have an older brother."
Suguha pouted, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well, I don't! And I'm done talking about it. Shower time!" She popped up with the elastic energy of youth, pausing only to wipe away the faint sweat-mark she'd left on the polished wood—a small, considerate gesture—before disappearing through the side door.
Akira seized the moment. "Lunch? My treat. Consider it thanks for the lessons."
Both women agreed, and the afternoon unfolded in easy camaraderie—good food, lighter conversation, the comfortable rhythm of new friendship. Too soon, obligations called them separate ways, but not before phones were exchanged and contact information secured.
Progress, Akira thought, watching them depart. Different kind, but progress.
That evening, he lay in the loft, phone glowing in the darkness. But instead of immediately launching the app, he opened his status panel.
Skills:
Martial Arts Mastery (Perfected)
Precise Throwing (10%)
Swordsmanship Mastery (50%)
It actually transferred.
A slow grin spread across his face. The afternoon's practice, the borrowed shinai, Suguha's patient instruction—it had all translated into quantifiable progress within the game's framework. The boundaries between realities were blurring in the most advantageous way.
This golden finger just keeps giving.
No more delays. He tapped the icon.
Chapter One: Night Raid — Mother & Daughter
The familiar, silent displacement claimed him. The musty attic vanished, replaced by the ambient sounds of the Izumi residential neighborhood—crickets, distant traffic, the soft rustle of wind through ornamental trees.
He stood before the familiar wall. Easy as breathing, he scaled it, dropping silently into the garden.
Wonder what chain reactions today's session will trigger?
The game had proven itself dynamic, responsive, alive to his actions in ways no static script could match. Every choice rippled. Every encounter reshaped the narrative.
He walked toward the house, anticipation humming beneath his skin.
Curious. Very curious.