Fujii stopped swinging her bamboo sword and glanced at Kazuma.
"You could tell?"
"Yeah. Your left hand seems a little weak," Kazuma replied casually, making it up on the spot.
Fujii sighed. "This morning, while I was packing my lunch, I accidentally knocked over the rice cooker. I tried to salvage it, but I overexerted myself and strained my hand. Rice spilled everywhere, and I even burned myself. Look—see this red mark?"
She showed Kazuma a large scalded patch on her right hand.
Kazuma reached out and poked it.
"Hey, don't touch it! That hurts!" Fujii smacked him.
"You're too careless. Did you go to the nurse's office?"
"It's just a small burn!"
"Don't say 'just a small burn.' If you don't take care of it, it might get worse during this afternoon's sparring. Besides, they're about to finalize the lineup for the prefectural tournament. If you don't perform well this afternoon, you might not make the team."
"You should worry about yourself first, Shihan-dai!" Fujii stretched out the last three syllables playfully.
Kazuma pulled a face. Honestly, he hadn't been putting much effort into club activities lately. It was still the start of the new school year, and serious training had only just begun this week—no one had been in proper form last week.
Besides, let's be real—he'd transmigrated into this world. Obviously, he was more interested in figuring out how to leverage his modern knowledge to get ahead in life quickly and efficiently. Becoming a high school kendo champion? Not exactly on his priority list.
Plus, his cheat ability hadn't even activated until recently. Following the kendo path might not have been the smartest choice; better to think about how to exploit his knowledge from the future.
So when Kazuma attended club practice, he was mostly slacking off.
Well—mostly. Whenever Fujii was around, he'd definitely pay a bit more attention.
Fujii Mikako—a pure, sweet beauty of this era. A traditionally cute Japanese girl, with a round face and an irresistibly sugary smile.
Just watching her from the sidelines was enough to brighten his mood.
But now, that same sweet girl was eyeing him mischievously, a playful grin on her face.
"Shihandai~"
Kazuma clicked his tongue teasingly. "Someone's asking for a beating."
"Oh? Someone seems to have forgotten they lose to me more often than they win~."
Kazuma wasn't surprised. He'd noticed earlier that Fujii's kendo ranking was "Style-less, Grade 4," while the original Kazuma had only reached Grade 3 in his family's Rishin-ryū. The Grade 6 he had in Shintō-ryū was entirely his own achievement from before transmigrating.
Whether you belonged to a style or not mostly affected your fighting approach—kendo was all about fundamentals.
A fighter with solid fundamentals could dominate weaker opponents simply with superior distance control.
So it made perfect sense for Fujii's "Style-less 4" to beat "Rishin-ryū 3."
But things were different now.
Kazuma looked at Fujii. Though she was clearly joking, defeating her right now might earn him a nice little "reward."
Fujii grinned wickedly. "My left hand's injured—this might be your best shot at beating me, Kiryu-kun."
"You make a good point."
"Oh? You're really going to take advantage of an injured girl? I didn't think you were that kind of person, Kiryu-kun." Fujii feigned indignation, then burst into giggles and skipped off to grab her gear. "Come on, we've got just enough time—let's have a match!"
Kazuma couldn't help but wonder, Did the original me have a thing with Fujii? If so... lucky bastard. Guess I'll take over from here.
Still, Fujii kept calling him "Kiryu-kun." In Japan, honorifics are a big deal—you can gauge relationships from them. From that alone, it seemed that the original Kazuma and Fujii were at best close friends with maybe a little romantic tension.
As Kazuma mused, he put on his helmet.
Since the club hadn't recruited new members yet, everyone still had to clean their own equipment. Kazuma had been slacking, so his helmet reeked of sweat.
Once the newbies joined, upperclassmen like him could finally dump those chores on them.
Ah, the terrifying hierarchy of Japanese sports clubs.
Fujii called out, "There's no time to put on full armor—let's just spar like this."
Kazuma glanced over. She had on just her helmet and gloves, no body armor.
"Fine by me." He shrugged, finished suiting up, and the two of them moved to the center of the dojo.
Fujii immediately took her stance.
Kazuma glanced at her, then followed proper form and bowed first—a habit ingrained by his Shintō-ryū training. Skipping the bow would have earned a scolding from Master Hasegawa.
Fujii laughed. "When did you get so well-behaved? Weren't you always ranting about how old customs should be abolished?"
Kazuma blinked. Really? The original me was that progressive?
He didn't bother explaining—it'd be impossible to clarify. He simply took his stance.
"Fujii, shouldn't we wager something?"
Fujii tilted her head. "Hmm... how about... lunch for a week? No, wait—if you win, I'll buy your lunch for a week. If I win, you run five laps around the track—one lap per lunch. Fair, right?"
She probably knew the Kiryu family wasn't flush with cash these days.
Kazuma said, "That's not fair. Even if I don't lose, I still get stuck running. How about this: if I win, I get to pat your head. If you win, you get to..."
"You perv! Men!" Fujii suddenly shouted and charged.
Her movements were sharp—clearly, she'd trained hard.
But Kazuma swiftly dodged.
He danced back, creating distance, then assumed the Gatotsu stance and drove forward.
"Men!"
The tip of his bamboo sword struck her helmet cleanly.
"Huh?" Fujii looked stunned. Even through the helmet's face guard, Kazuma could sense her confusion.
"W-Wait! How was that men? How?!"
Kazuma replied, "When you hit the helmet, you shout men. That's what Daimon-sensei taught us."
"I know that! I meant, how did you pull off that strike?!"
"Just... a basic thrust?" Kazuma shrugged and resumed his middle stance.
Seeing him ready again, Fujii reset her stance, took a deep breath.
"Again! One more time!"
Kazuma obliged.
"Men!"
"Wait! Slower!" Fujii cried. "I wasn't ready! Again!"
She reset her stance, breathing deeply twice. The rise and fall of her chest was... impressive.
Girls didn't often have that kind of figure in this era. Fujii's was pretty well-endowed for the time.
"Okay, ready!" she called.
Kazuma struck again—another clean hit to the helmet.
"Wait! Slow down! Let me see what's happening!"
"I could break it down step by step...?"
"No! Just go a little slower—I'll figure it out!"
Kazuma was in a bind. He honestly couldn't slow down—once he got into position, his body just moved on its own.
He'd activated a skill to show off a little... now he was stuck.
Of course, even without the skill, he could have beaten her normally. He'd trained in Shintō-ryū for years—outclassing her wasn't an issue.
But it was too late for regrets now—time to retreat.
"Let's stop here. Class is about to start."
He removed his helmet and bamboo sword, ready to leave.
But Fujii, helmet in one hand, darted over and grabbed him.
"Wait! One more time! Just a little slower! Teach me!"
She had a surprisingly strong grip for a girl.
Kazuma tugged, but couldn't shake her off.
"Doesn't your hand hurt? Go to the nurse!"
"Exactly! That's why I need you to teach me now—before the team selection this afternoon! You've never used that move before. I won't ask where you learned it—just share it! I want to go to Nationals too!"
"I can break it down for you..."
"No! Just do it a few more times—I'll pick it up!"
Kazuma sighed. So this is what she's like? I never noticed—thought she was just the sweet girl-next-door type.
But thinking about it, she was in kendo after all—must have a competitive streak.
"We're out of time! You need to change." Kazuma appealed to reason.
He'd been in gym clothes and needed to change back to his school uniform. Fujii had it worse—she'd have to walk all the way to the joint club building to use the girls' locker room.
Public schools didn't have fancy facilities. Boys changed in the clubroom; girls used communal changing rooms.
Of course, exceptions existed—national schools like the University of Tsukuba's affiliated schools had better funding.
But Kitakatsushi High wasn't one of those. So Fujii still had a long walk ahead to get changed.
Fujii pouted but finally relented. "Teach me at lunch! Don't run away!"
Kazuma immediately resolved to eat lunch somewhere secluded.
He really couldn't slow that move down. The only way to teach it would be step by step...
"Do! You! Hear! Me?!" Fujii emphasized each word, tugging him closer.
Just then—a loud shout echoed through the dojo.
"Kiryu! Fujii! What are you two doing?!"
Both of them jumped and looked toward the voice.
It was Daimon Gorō.
"Don't you know school rules prohibit inappropriate contact between male and female students?!"
This was the 1980s. In many ways, Japanese schools then were a lot like 2000s-era Chinese schools.
Kazuma and Fujii suddenly realized how close they looked. From an outsider's perspective, they might as well have been about to kiss.
Fujii's face turned bright red. She released Kazuma and jumped several meters back.
"Out! Run laps!" Daimon-sensei roared. "Run until you're too tired for flirting! Move it!"
Kazuma called out, "Sensei! Fujii's left hand is injured—she should go to the nurse!"
Daimon stared at him for a few seconds.
"Fujii—nurse's office. Kiryu—laps."
"Sensei! I need someone to help me to the nurse's office!" Fujii added.
Daimon fell silent, glaring at them with palpable pressure.
"Both of you—run laps together until the warning bell rings. Then write a 3,000-word essay on the meaning of 'integrity' from our school motto," he said darkly.
"Yes, Sensei!" they shouted in unison, voices extra loud—any softer and they'd be told to shout again.
As Daimon left, Kazuma muttered to Fujii, "Are you an idiot? Now I have to write an extra essay because of you."
Fujii stuck her tongue out at him.
(End of Chapter)