HANEGAWA HIGH – GYMNASIUM
The bleachers buzzed with scattered conversation. Students and parents clustered together – some murmuring, others fanning themselves with programmes.
Futaba sat cross-legged, melon bread in one hand, bored expression in the other. Aki sat beside her, legs swinging lightly.
THWACK!
Aki coughed.
"Does he always look this… intense?" Aki asked, eyes locked on Ren warming up across the court.
"Nah. He's worse today." Haruki chuckled, passing Aki a water bottle – the kind with the ridged grip she liked.
"Thanks," she tilted her head. "Why?"
Futaba bit into her bread. "Tournament. Plus, I think he's trying to prove something."
Haruki gave a knowing nod. "To himself."
"I wonder what's going through his head…" Aki muttered.
***
Soren, we are not going to 'kill' all our opponents.
"A real knight shows no mercy in combat."
It's the 21st century.
"So?"
Just… shut up, I need to focus. The brackets are about to be announced.
Ren glanced to the side. The brackets were being pinned up.
MATCH ONE: TSUKIHARA REN VS. INOUE TAIKI
Guess this is it, Soren. Ready to kick some ass?
"Of course."
***
Ren stepped up to the line, shinai swinging lazily at his side. His steps had that loose, easy rhythm – the kind that said he wasn't nervous.
He wasn't.
At least he thought he wasn't.
The referee called out, "Match one, Ren Tsukihara versus Taiki Inoue. The match will…"
Ren didn't hear the rest. The sound warped and faded, sucked away under the pressure around him.
The hundreds of spectators, eyes pinned on him like knives. His soon-to-be opponents on the sidelines – all judging his now seemingly faltering stance. The way he had to keep adjusting his grip because it was just too goddamn sweaty.
Why would he be worried? He had done this before. Hadn't he?
It was no different from Kendo Club sparring. No different from the thousands of drills with Soren. Hell, no different from World Liberator.
So why did it feel so different? Why was he so afraid? Why was–
"Ren!"
THWACK!
Taiki blitzed in with incredible speed, shinai flashing.
Ren parried just in time. Out of instinct? Because of Soren? He didn't know. All he knew was that he was backpedaling now.
"What happened, Ren?"
Huh?
"We've started, you imbecile!"
THWACK!
Strike after strike. Taiki didn't let up. And Ren? Ren wasn't fighting back. He wasn't fighting at all.
THWACK!
***
"What the hell?" Haruki barked. "Why did he just stand there?"
"Is this normally how he fights? He's not fighting back at all!" Aki said, biting her fingernails.
Futaba frowned, clutching her melon bread. "No. I don't know what's gotten into him."
"Ren! Wake up! Kick this guy's ass already!" Haruki shouted.
A group of dirty glances a few rows ahead of him.
"Whoops, guess they're Taiki's friends." Haruki chuckled sheepishly.
***
THWACK!
"Ren, create distance. I need to talk sense into you."
He stumbled back, giving himself three paces of breathing room.
"What in god's name are you doing?"
I… don't know.
"You're letting this fool embarrass you. His guard is abysmal – all flash, no skill. He's nothing but offense. Shoddy offense at that."
Why was Soren lecturing now, of all times?
Embarrassing myself? That's what you care about? Looking cool? Glory in front of a crowd?
"No."
"I do not care about them. It will be embarrassing – but for your sake. Your pride. Your honor. That is what matters. That is what you fight for. That is what WE fight for."
…
"Ren?"
I hate it when you're right.
Ren blinked – and the world snapped back into focus. Taiki's attacks weren't overwhelming. They were sloppy, desperate compensation for his lack of skill.
Taiki charged. Shinai high, guard lazy.
"Do you see it?"
Yup.
Parry – shift weight – slide left – strike the exposed side.
THWACK!
"Point, Tsukihara!"
…
Cheers erupted through the crowd.
Ren let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
He gave a solemn bow and then walked off to the sidelines.
Thanks, Soren. Really. And I'm sorry that I lashed out at you.
"All is forgiven. I understand why."
Yeah, but it still. It was a dick move on my part. We'll get udon after this. My treat.
Haruki ran down from the bleachers. "Holy shit dude, that was so awesome! Were you just toying with him in the beginning or something?"
Ren laughed weakly. "Thanks man, but nah. I kinda froze up."
"Ah, damn. Anyways, you beat the crap outta that guy, so who cares!"
Ren sighed. "Still got two more rounds to go. Speaking of – where's Futaba and Aki?"
Haruki rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Futaba said," – he pushed a pair of imaginary glasses up to his nose, slipping into a terrible imitation of her – "I'll come down before round three… if he makes it that far. I love science."
"That was atrocious. And Aki?"
Haruki shrugged. "She said she was just tired."
Tired…
Ren's smile faltered for a half-second.
"You good?"
"Yeah, it's nothing. Thanks for coming down, man. Seriously. Always glad to know you're cheering me on."
Haruki gave a half-assed salute then jogged back up the bleachers.
"Ren, the match two brackets. They have been pinned up."
He glanced over to the board.
MATCH TWO: ARAI MASATO VS. TSUKIHARA REN
"Will you be okay this time?"
Yeah, unless I go into cardiac arrest on the way there or something.
"Do not kid about such matters."
Alright, sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.
"By talking about cardiac arrest?"
Yeah in hindsight, probably not the best idea.
***
Masato was big. Strongman-competition big. He towered over the other contestants on the far sideline, and Ren could've sworn that every time the guy stepped, a mini shockwave rippled through the gym floor.
He's already there, guess we'd better get moving–
BZZT-BZZT!
BZZT-BZZT!
He flipped over his phone on the bench.
FUTABA: I've analysed his rounds. He fights patiently. He waits to see what you do, then counters accordingly.
Ren glanced up toward the bleachers, spotting Futaba – melon bread in one hand, phone in the other. He gave a goofy grin and a thumbs-up.
Obviously unreciprocated.
"That information shall prove useful."
Ren jogged up to the line, and bowed.
Hope so.
"Match two, Masato Arai versus Ren Tsukiahara. The match will be the first point wins. Ready?"
"Begin!"
Futaba's intel held true. Masato stood there like a mountain. Unwavering. Watching.
What's the play here, Soren?
"A feint. His form seems defensive, perhaps too defensive for you to break through. So you must force his hand."
Got it.
Ren dashed in, Shinai low, provoking a low left guard.
Masato changed as expected, dropping his guard low.
Predictable.
Ren swung low, just as Soren had taught him, letting his shinai intentionally fall short of the target – then, in a flash, snapped the arc upward, striking clean into Masato's exposed high right side.
THWACK!
"Point, Tsukihara!"
It was over just like that.
More cheers erupted through the crowd, but Ren didn't care. He hadn't won yet.
He gave a bow to Masato, who gave a low bow back, and then walked over to the break area to prepare for his final match.
"Yo! Dude!" Masato called out from behind him.
Ren turned as Masato jogged up to him.
"Seriously good match. You completely faked me out there. Where'd you learn how to fight like that?"
Ren smiled. "Just an old friend, that's all."
"Well they must be one hell of a fighter. I heard that this was your first tournament, so I thought I might have it easy, but you proved me wrong. I'll be rooting for you next round."
"Appreciate that, Masato."
Friendly guy.
Anyways, I think I should go find Futaba and thank her. That information was super useful.
"I agree."
Ren scanned the bleachers, expecting to see one obnoxious cheering guy, one moody melon-bread nerd, and his asshole of a sister.
And… yep, there they were. Haruki practically standing on his chair, pumping his fist, Futaba next to him, stone-faced, and Aki sitting down – camcorder obscuring her face.
Behind them? They were there again: the 'Haruki Fan Club.'
"Kyaa~ the way he pumps his fist is so passionate!"
"The way he cheers for that unknown boy… so selfless. So noble. That's my charitable Haruki!"
But hell, it wasn't even them that caught his eye. It was someone sitting a few rows behind them.
A light haired girl. Not clapping. Not cheering. Just watching.
Alina.
Why is she here? The advanced tournament isn't until next week.
"Perhaps she was watching us again."
But why?
"I do not know."
Normally I'd be thrilled that a pretty girl was obsessing over me, but…
"Her presence is off putting?"
Sure. You could put it like that. I don't like it.
A pause.
You know what? I'm confronting her after this. I need to get to the bottom of this–
The announcer's voice crackled over the speakers.
"Finalists, Ren Tsukihara versus Keisuke Yamada, please make your way to the line!"
Guess it'll have to wait till later.
***
Ren stepped onto the line.
Across from him stood Yamada Keisuke – every inch of him measured, every breath calm, centered. His shinai sat steady in his hands, like an extension of his body rather than something he held.
***
Haruki whistled. "This guy looks good. Wait, not like that."
***
Any read on him Soren?
"I am unsure. We shall test it in battle."
Ren bowed. Yamada bowed. The referee raised his hand.
"Final match! Ren Tsukihara versus Keisuke Yamada. The match will be the first point wins. Ready?"
"Begin!"
They moved.
Slow at first. No one committing. No one overextending.
"We must find out what kind of warrior he is. Strike to the head – a quick feint, then pivot left and slash."
Got it.
Ren advanced – textbook feint, quick pivot, blade rising–
THWACK!
Keisuke's counter was immediate. Effortless.
He parried the strike with perfect form, perfect technique, and reset in one smooth motion, not even breaking his stance.
"Now he is an opponent. Try a different approach. Full commitment to the side. Keep your guard up."
Ren adjusted, lowering his center of gravity, and tried a different approach – a quick step-in, perfect strike to Keisuke's right. Lightning fast. Almost unguardable–
THWACK!
Another perfect block.
Keisuke made use of the momentum. Now he was on the offensive. He twisted his backfoot off the parry, and lunged at Ren, letting his momentum carry his shinai forward, straight towards Ren's side.
THWACK!
A sloppy parry, but it was enough. Ren backed off, breathing heavy.
"My god, he is perfect."
Yeah, no shit. Shut up, for a second.
His mind spun – the drills, the fake-outs, the sparring sessions, all flashing past.
Soren was right. Keisuke was perfect. Too perfect.
He knew every single counter to every single move. Nothing Ren had practiced would work.
Soren, this guy is too perfect. I know what to do.
"Which is?"
The only way through against this guy, is to not make sense.
Ren tightened his grip, posture loose. He dropped his shinai, letting it hang crooked. Took two awkward, jittery steps forward – feinting without rhythm, moving with jagged, unnatural motions.
Keisuke hesitated.
That's all Ren needed.
Ren charged – not a clean strike by any means, not even a proper one – his body low and off-balance, his shinai swinging upward at a crazy angle that no sane kendo practitioner would ever throw.
Keisuke braced himself. Textbook guard. Perfect…
…Against a textbook attack.
But Ren wasn't playing by the textbook anymore.
The shinai whipped through the air and cracked into Keisuke's shoulder.
THWACK!
The sound echoed across the gym.
The referee's hand shot up.
"Point, Tsukihara!"
For a second, the entire gym froze.
Then the crowd roared, scattering applause and muffled gasps through the room.
"Hell yeah, that's my boy!" Haruki hollered from across the gym.
Ren exhaled – not cleanly, but ragged and raw, heart still hammering from the rush.
Keisuke stood there for a moment – then gave a short, sharp bow. Respect. Ren returned it – a little clumsier, but genuine. They exchanged no words. None were needed.
As Ren turned to leave the mat, he caught the faintest glimpse of light hair, high up in the stands, fading into the exit doorway.
You're not getting away that easily…
A man in a black suit walked up the Ren. "Well done on qualifying, Mr. Tsukihara. I'd like to invite you over to the podium where–"
"Sorry, no time! I'll be back!" Ren shouted as he rushed past the man.
***
His footfalls echoed down the empty hallway.
The hallway was a stark contrast to the lively gym. Not dark, but dim. Deep blue walls, with peeling paint revealing the brick underlayer, were illuminated by white, clinical overhead lights flickering with age.
Ren ran harder.
The hallway stretched ahead, empty and cold. Puddles from leaking roof panels reflected the dim lights, and every slap of his sneakers against the wet floor sent little ripples across them.
He turned the corner.
There.
At the far end of the hall, just before the emergency exit, stood Alina.
Her features lit up by the only semi-decent light in the entire hallway. Her long, light hair lightly swaying in the draft, seemingly brighter – maybe because of the light, maybe it was always like that. Her face an expresionless mystery – pretty, but tired. The sort of tired that doesn't go away after a good night's rest. It was a different kind of tired.
And her eyes? Wandering. Waiting.
She hadn't left yet.
Ren slowed, breath catching in his throat.
He jogged the last few steps, then stopped, keeping a cautious distance. Neither of them said anything at first. The rain filled the gaps between them, steady and endless.
Ren was the one who finally broke the silence.
"What do you want from me, Alina?"
She stepped closer, within a whisper's range. Her eyes still wandering. Nervous?
Still silent.
Then, her eyes locked with his.
"I know about the knight in your head."