"Hey! Why are you still here? Come with me, now!"
"What's the rush? I haven't finished watching this match yet."
"Don't waste time—there's a monster at the southwest corner! We're already on the fifth round, and he defeated all his previous four opponents in a single strike each!"
"Huh? One strike? Seriously?!"
"In short, he's insanely strong! Just come along—hurry, or we won't be able to get through the crowd!"
...
Similar conversations were happening constantly across the plaza.
Like a magnet, the spectators began flocking in huge numbers toward the southwest corner. Gradually, most other arenas became eerily empty.
At the very center of this crowd surge:
A black-haired boy leaned against the edge of a wooden platform, bored, idly picking at his ear.
"Is the next competitor not here yet?" he glanced at the referee.
"Almost! Mr. Shanu, please bear with us a little longer!" The referee, a young woman in her twenties with a high ponytail, hurriedly replied.
The dense crowd pressed around her, making her flush and sweat, but she still couldn't hide a smile—she was clearly in high spirits.
Lucky!
Her first time serving as a referee, and she got to oversee such an incredible swordsman. When she returned to the dojo, her juniors would be green with envy.
Having watched four consecutive matches up close, she was already in awe of the masterful swordsmanship on display.
And Mr. Shanu was so young—if his skills were already this formidable, what would the future hold?
"He's here!"
Her eyes suddenly lit up as she spotted a scar-faced swordsman approaching. She tiptoed and waved frantically. "Mr. Qilin, over here!"
The scar-faced swordsman's expression was cold. A cigar dangled from his mouth, shadows seeming to cloak him, and he silently stepped onto the wooden platform.
"Hey, that's Qilin, vice-master of the Falling Leaf Dojo, one of the Seven Major Dojos!"
A spectator recognized him and exclaimed.
"So it really is him!"
"The runner-up from five years ago's Kendo Tournament, right?"
"A swordsman famous for years is competing again? Huh… must still be obsessed with the championship he didn't win back then."
On the platform, Shanu absorbed the murmurs. Squinting at the scar-faced swordsman, a hint of seriousness appeared in his gaze.
This guy… isn't like the weaklings before. Just judging by his presence, he's formidable.
If nothing unusual happens, he should be the most noteworthy contender in the entire tournament—
"I forfeit."
A hoarse voice, mingled with smoke, drifted out.
"Alright, it seems both competitors are ready… huh??"
The ponytailed referee, shocked, turned to the scar-faced swordsman. "Mr. Qilin, what did you say?"
The surrounding noise fell silent. All eyes focused on Qilin.
Plop—the sound of a bamboo sword being tossed aside. Qilin exhaled smoke rings, waved his hand, and casually said:
"Don't stare at me like that. I saw that kid's third-round match."
"His swordsmanship is terrifying. I admit I'm not a match. At my age, it's better to keep some dignity than get flung around and embarrassed."
"T-That… makes sense…"
The referee started to speak, but Qilin had already stepped off the platform. His cigar-dangling silhouette merged into the crowd and disappeared.
Shanu retracted his gaze, noticing a bamboo sword lying at his feet. He frowned slightly, then bent down to pick it up.
"This… counts as a trophy, right? I'll take it."
"Eh?" The referee blinked, then quickly nodded. "Of course! He dropped it himself, you can do as you wish."
"Good."
Shanu placed the bamboo sword alongside his own and sheathed them at his waist.
The referee took a deep breath, suppressing her excitement, climbed onto the platform, and announced loudly:
"Preliminary Round, Fifth Match: Shanu vs. Qilin, final result—Shanu wins!"
"I also declare, on behalf of the Kendo Tournament organizers, that Mr. Shanu has won all five rounds! No revival matches needed. He is officially the first competitor to secure a spot in the top eight!"
The audience, already whispering in anticipation, erupted in deafening cheers after the brief silence:
"Shanu! Shanu! Shanu!"
————
Bang!
In a spacious office, a middle-aged man in luxurious attire slammed his fist onto the desk, furious:
"This is the 'unknown nobody' you talked about? Coincidence? We gave him the toughest draw, and he still won five rounds straight! This strength clearly belongs to a strong ally that brat from the Sakuraba family hired!"
"The 'unknown nobody' is what you said, boss," the tall, thin swordsman wearing a white fox mask replied calmly.
"Huh? Really? …Wait! That's the point! And you dare talk back?"
The middle-aged man froze, then in a mix of anger and embarrassment, grabbed the ashtray on the desk and threw it.
"That was based on your intel! How do you explain this kid's insane strength?"
"And Qilin! He's been brooding over not winning the championship back then. I thought he'd come to redeem himself—but he's a complete coward! Not even the courage to step on stage for a single match!"
"…" The tall, thin swordsman remained silent, expression unreadable behind his mask.
The man, still fuming, remembered something:
"What about that brat from the Sakuraba family? Has he finished his matches? How's his record?"
"Four wins, one loss. He lost to another top contender, but he holds a revival match right, so he should still make the top eight."
The man grew more agitated, pacing the office.
"No! We can't let the championship go to the Sakuraba family. Their dojo's reputation would soar again—if they rise from the ashes, it'll take a lot of effort to deal with them…"
"Hey, White Fox!"
He turned sharply, fixing his gaze on the tall swordsman. "Before the preliminaries end, you go participate immediately. You must secure a top-eight spot. Only you have the skill to ensure the championship is in our hands!"
The tall swordsman frowned.
"Wasn't it agreed I'd stay behind the scenes? I'm not supposed to show up publicly for this kind of work."
"This is an emergency! Besides you, who else can reliably stop those two kids? Mainly Shanu—the Sakuraba brat might or might not beat the other qualifiers."
The man sneered. "And you don't even need to remove your mask. Any fake identity works, even swap masks. Who could guess who you are?"
"…"
The tall swordsman was silent for a moment, then finally nodded.
"Go. Hurry."
The man waved his hand. As the swordsman's figure neared the door, he suddenly added:
"White Fox, you won't back out of our agreement, will you? Betray me?"
Footsteps paused outside.
"…Asking knowingly is pointless," came the emotionless reply.
"Haha, good to know!"
The man threw back his head and laughed loudly. "Don't forget! My ability is terrifying—ordinary people like you can't resist it!"
...
Southeast plaza:
"What's up, Mr. Shanu?"
Junichi, still buzzing from the cheers, was pulled aside by Shanu and asked curiously.
"Nothing."
Shanu smiled. "First, congratulations on easily passing the revival match. You've advanced. But the top-eight matches don't start until 1 PM. It's still early—how about we go eat first?"
"Eat now?"
Junichi scratched his head, still dazed, when Shanu forcibly grabbed him and led him toward the plaza's edge.
They stopped in a quiet alley. Shanu tossed a bamboo sword to a puzzled Junichi.
"This is…"
Junichi picked it up, noticing the small inscription: '11:00, Wisteria Restaurant, 2nd Floor.'
"This is from my fifth-round opponent, Qilin, vice-master of the Falling Leaf Dojo," Shanu frowned. "Looks like he wants to talk privately. Do you know him?"
"Vice-master? Qilin?"
Junichi racked his brain. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "I remember! I don't recall the vice-master specifically, but this name—I saw it five years ago!"
"That year, when my father was still alive, he organized that year's Kendo Tournament and often brought a list home. The list had all the competitors who couldn't attend due to lack of funds. My father personally funded their travel and lodging. Qilin was on that list!"
"Really? You were only ten back then—are you sure?"
"Absolutely!" Junichi nodded firmly. "I only looked at that list carefully twice. Other names I might not remember, but this one is too unique."
"Then the most reasonable guess… is that he's our ally?"
Shanu pondered.
Thinking of Qilin's forfeit and the two cups of still-warm coffee that morning, he cracked his neck, bones cracking audibly.
"Let's meet him and see what he wants to tell us. But don't lower your guard—bring your sword."