It was just past six in the evening.
The finals stage was ready. Inside the massive, dedicated Kendo dojo, spectators gradually filled the seats from all sides.
Soon, the arena was packed.
A rough count suggested over two thousand people.
In the first row on the south side, seven luxurious seats were arranged in a straight line. The occupants were roughly in their fifties or sixties, dressed in traditional Kendo uniforms, sitting with calm composure and an imposing aura.
"Those are the masters of the Seven Major Dojos?"
Shanu lifted the curtain of the changing room and glanced over. "Do you recognize any of them? Have they changed since five years ago?"
Junichi shook his head.
"No, they're the same. Not a single change. The grey-haired one in the middle and the two beside him were all my father's closest friends, bonded by life-or-death experiences in their youth."
"Honestly, only the two on the far right ever had some conflicts. The rest all had good relations with my father as far as I remember."
"So aside from the two with bad relations, the others' betrayal looks even stranger, right?"
Shanu pinched his chin. "Indeed, it's bizarre—it even makes me a little nervous."
Human hearts are fickle, but they don't usually do a 540-degree Thomas spin in a single second.
In these waters, only one force could achieve that.
—The power of a devil.
But… what kind of Devil Fruit could reach that level?
"Look over there."
Junichi suddenly whispered.
Shanu followed his gaze.
On the opponent's side, their changing room curtain had been slightly lifted at some unknown moment, revealing half of a fox mask, staring motionlessly in their direction.
Specifically, it was staring at Junichi.
"I have a feeling this person is very interested in you."
Shanu glanced at his junior. "When you fought him this afternoon, did you sense anything familiar about him?"
"I tried, but as soon as I bowed, I got sent flying, so…"
"Next time, try flying a bit slower—you might catch it."
"…You really know how to hurt someone's feelings."
——
Time quickly passed to seven o'clock.
"This is the Asakura Island Kendo Tournament Dojo. Welcome, everyone, to the finals of this year's Kendo Tournament!"
Under the spotlight, the host stepped onto the central platform to warm up the crowd.
When he finally introduced the two dark horses, especially mentioning that Shanu was from the Sakuraba Dojo, murmurs spread through many sections of the audience.
Clearly, even after five years, despite the efforts of the Seven Major Dojos to erase traces, many still remembered Sakuraba Dojo's former glory.
Especially its former master, Sakuraba Itsuki.
As Asakura Island's most famous swordsman and the founder of the Kendo Tournament, he had been an idol for many local residents for over a decade.
Hearing the chaotic whispers, Junichi's expression grew complicated.
"It's your turn, boss."
He glanced at the wall clock, then quietly handed a pale pink candy to Shanu from his pocket.
"What's this?"
"Cherry blossom candy. When I was a kid, attending big events with my father made me so nervous my hands and feet would shake. He would give me these candies—chewing them made me feel better."
"Two thousand people isn't exactly a big event, is it?"
"Eh?! That doesn't count?"
"Tch, country kids really have no sense of occasion."
Shanu tore the wrapper and popped the candy into his mouth.
"And it's got a filling—I like that." He chewed while grabbing his bamboo sword and stepped out of the changing room. Glancing at Junichi, he smiled. "No encouragement? No 'good luck' or anything?"
"No need. I trust you," Junichi said sincerely.
"Good."
Shanu paused slightly, then grinned. "Coincidentally, I've never done anything to disappoint anyone."
Swish!
The curtain was lifted, and the spotlight blazed down.
Amid the thunderous cheers of thousands of spectators, Shanu's face remained calm as he strode onto the central platform.
"Please," he said politely, bowing slightly and assuming a standard starting stance.
After all, he'd been practicing Kendo for over a year. He might not have mastered flashy moves, but the basics—enough to look the part—he knew.
Yet…
After waiting for some time, there was no bow of acknowledgment from White Fox.
The masked swordsman stood motionless, like a statue.
What was he doing?
Just as Shanu frowned, he suddenly heard a deep voice.
"Junichi… has he been well all these years?"
Shanu's heart skipped a beat. He lifted his head and met the eyes hidden behind the mask.
For the first time, the two were this close.
Under the bright spotlight, Shanu could see clearly—this man's pupils were deep purple.
Deep purple was rare, though not unheard of.
But…
Junichi's own eyes were also deep purple.
"You… exactly who are you to Junichi?"
Shanu narrowed his eyes. "Why ask me in riddles? If you really want to know, why not go ask him face-to-face?"
"…"
White Fox didn't answer.
He merely raised his head, coldly scanning the camera bug mounted on the wall.
"Hey, what's going on? Why have they both stopped?"
"Why is he staring at the camera?"
"What the hell! Aren't they going to fight?!"
The platform remained motionless for a long while, and unrest grew among the spectators.
——
Behind a large office desk.
The middle-aged man, surrounded by beauties serving him drinks, suddenly stiffened.
"Damn it!"
He pushed the women away, slammed his hands on the desk, and glared at the screen.
"Has he lost his mind… at a critical moment, what the hell is he trying to do?!"
On the screen, the tall figure remained unmoving, silently staring into the camera.
A very bad feeling grew in the man's heart.
"Hey, Carpenter-san, what's wrong? Don't get upset, it's bad for your health. Here, I'll have another drink with you."
A blonde beauty on his right cooed, holding up two glasses of sherry.
"Get out! All of you, get out!"
Bang! He swept his arm across, shattering the glasses, his roar sending the women scurrying in terror to a corner of the sofa.
A knock came at the door. A bodyguard pushed it open slightly.
"Carpenter-san, what's the matter?"
"Prepare the carriage… no! Get my motorcycle downstairs! I want to reach the finals venue as fast as possible!"
The "Carpenter" swiftly donned his coat and hat. Escorted by several bodyguards, he strode toward the stairs.
Moments later…
The engine roared. The modified jet motorcycle tore through the streets, scattering fallen cherry blossoms.
Buildings and scenery blurred past. The Carpenter gripped the gilded handlebar, his face dark under the wide-brimmed black hat.