The taste of wisteria lingering on Shinobu's lips was enchanting to Ryuji.
Especially when mixed with her own delicate scent.
Because of that, his attitude had become especially gentle. And though Shinobu's posture and gaze clearly invited further intimacy, he instinctively held back. After the kiss, he simply wrapped her in his arms and let her rest quietly.
But up on the wall…
"This guy… really…"
With one leg raised and an elbow propped on her knee, Mai watched them—Ryuji holding Shinobu under the starlight, peaceful and pure, like something out of a romantic painting.
She couldn't help sighing.
"He's such a damn expert at deceiving women…"
Wearing her usual training clothes—not the traditional, overly revealing outfit—Mai gazed up at the moon. No one had been assigned to keep watch, so she'd taken the role herself. But after witnessing Ryuji and Shinobu's cuddling from afar, her mood grew more complicated.
If she was being honest with herself, Ryuji had been the man with whom she'd shared her most intimate moment. Even though it was from behind, he'd seen and touched places she'd originally reserved only for Andy.
And now, Andy had gone and gotten married.
They were both responsible people. Once Andy married someone else, he wouldn't betray that commitment—not even for her. That just wasn't who he was. If he were, she might've ended up pregnant long ago and never had time to fight or pursue her dream of revitalizing the Shiranui style.
She truly cherished her family's legacy—the Shiranui-ryu fighting arts—but that didn't mean she enjoyed wearing such a skimpy outfit. Her usual clothing was actually quite modest.
So she looked at Ryuji again.
He was simply sitting there, holding a sleeping Shinobu under his cloak, quietly flipping through vocabulary words on his phone. He looked so… well-behaved. She stared at him for a while before blurting out:
"Hey, Ryuji. What do you think about me passing down the Shiranui-ryu to people in this world?"
Ryuji blinked, then shook his head.
"Probably not a great idea. I mean, Shiranui-ryu's techniques are solid, sure—but your outfits? Way too revealing. Even someone like me, who's admittedly a bit of a perv, wouldn't call those clothes appropriate. I like the look, don't get me wrong—but only if it's my wife wearing it, in private, for me alone."
Noticing Mai's expression shifting subtly, Ryuji quickly added:
"Well, if you could somehow guarantee there's no wardrobe malfunction, maybe it'd be fine. But wearing that in a real fight? Come on. And aren't those traditional split-toe shoes super uncomfortable?"
He was referring to the tabi—the thin-soled footwear often worn by shinobi.
He understood that they were used in ancient times for stealth. But in modern settings, was it really necessary to stick with such impractical gear? They barely protected your feet at all—let alone from rocks, broken glass, or hygiene concerns.
"If I were head of the Shiranui-ryu," Ryuji continued, "my first reform would be the outfit. Next, I'd redefine what it means to be a ninja. Then, I'd advise all the girls in the clan: only wear the traditional Shiranui fighting gear when sparring or training alone with someone you love."
He spread his hands with a shrug, doing his best not to wake Shinobu in his arms.
"…You're treating our combat gear like some kind of fetish lingerie," Mai muttered, covering her face.
Ryuji chuckled.
"And what are ninja, really? I'm no expert on Japan, but you are a kunoichi, right? Tell me, Mai—why did female ninja in the past dress like that? You of all people should know."
The reality of the ninja profession was far less glamorous than fiction suggested. In the past, it wasn't uncommon for shinobi to hide in a cesspit for days to complete an assassination. The romanticism of the modern "ninja craze" was largely built on aesthetic and sacrifice—a taste manufactured for the upper classes.
And of course, anime like Naruto and cultural export campaigns had done their part.
Mai stayed silent.
Of course she knew what her ancestors had done. While some did battle yokai or demons, most served feudal lords—and those lords used every dirty trick imaginable. The skimpy design of the Shiranui uniform wasn't just for mobility. It was to enhance seduction, to distract enemies in battle, and sometimes… to ensure survival, even in defeat.
Even if they were captured and subjected to humiliation, as long as they lived, the mission could be considered a success. With their beauty and skill, the kunoichi of her lineage could always… find a way to survive.
"So yeah," Ryuji continued casually, "your ancestors wore sexy outfits to seduce and complete missions for the clan. If you modernize that idea: Shiranui-ryu women seduce their husbands and boyfriends using that same outfit—for family harmony instead of espionage. Seems fair to me."
He leaned back slightly, adjusting his grip on the sleeping Shinobu.
"If you ask me, the best path forward for the Shiranui-ryu is to embrace its feminine identity. As a ninja clan, you've surely developed various techniques to charm and emotionally sway powerful men. Pass those down. Modernize your martial arts so they shape the body and enhance beauty. If you did that, do you know how many girls in your world would flock to join?"
"And once your numbers grow, talents will emerge. Before long, the Shiranui-ryu would be known for producing strong, beautiful, reliable, graceful, loving women—amazing in battle and in bed, devoted, domestically capable, and full of justice."
"Once that happens, your clan will flourish."
"Because in the end… martial arts are only for the few."
He propped his chin on his hand, speaking casually—but everything he said made too much sense.
Sure, in the King of Fighters universe, people were passionate about combat. But most of society was still made up of ordinary civilians. Peace and development were always the mainstream.
Mai just stared at him, stunned.
Because… she could do that.
The Shiranui-ryu had all of those elements already: breathing techniques that shaped the body, ancient books on seduction, even bedroom arts. She had learned them all—for Andy.
But still—
"That would make it a glorified brothel! I didn't want to revive that kind of Shiranui-ryu!"
"Don't say it like that," Ryuji replied coolly. "Call it an all-girls academy. A dance school. An opera troupe. A ballet academy. Or something more dignified… like a cultural institute. You know, 'Traditional Eastern Heritage Preservation' or whatever."
Mai slapped her forehead.
"You're insulting art! You're insulting artists!"
"That's fair. But let's be honest—those circles are often not as clean as people like to think. Especially writers. Novelists are the worst. Always writing smut or edgy garbage. I swear, eight out of ten of them should be jailed for obscenity—and maybe shot."
He said it with no hesitation at all.
Because in his view, that's what he'd observed in real life. Few parents genuinely wanted their children to pursue art unless they had connections or could afford the risk.
But even he knew he was being unfair. There were still plenty of artists who fought for the beauty of their craft. So Ryuji changed the topic.
"…You really do have a strong bias against artists, don't you?"
"It's not bias," Ryuji replied. "It's just that too many of them are tainted. Imagine a famous dancer who's married, right? But then some rich guy—ten times wealthier than her husband—pursues her madly because he likes her body. He doesn't care about her husband at all."
"At first, he throws money around behind the scenes. She thinks her career is taking off because of her talent. Only later does she find out the truth."
"Now imagine how her husband must feel. Resentful. Insecure. Powerless. And she, caught between admiration and guilt, begins to feel stifled at home. Eventually, they divorce. And to outsiders? He's the jealous jerk who didn't support her dreams."
Mai paused.
She hadn't considered it that way before. She imagined herself not as the dancer, but as the husband—and suddenly, she did feel angry. Hurt. Powerless.
"…Yeah. I guess I'd be upset."
"And that," Ryuji said, "is why I say those circles are 'dirty.' Wherever there's fame, glamor, and beauty—flies and bees come swarming."
"Art is beautiful. But it naturally draws filth."
He stretched with a yawn, then gave her a crooked smile.
"So… what about you?"
"Hmm?"
Mai looked over at Ryuji.
"Are you a bee… or a fly?"
She was genuinely curious—how did he see himself in that analogy?
"…I'm an old bull."
"…Huh?"
Now it was Mai's turn to be confused.
Ryuji scratched his cheek awkwardly. The words had just slipped out—completely unfiltered, straight from instinct.
"I mean… I cucked Andy."
Mai froze for a moment.
Then stared at Ryuji in blank disbelief.
She didn't know what that word meant at first, but from the awkward smile on his face, she got the gist almost immediately.
"You bastard!"
As the memory came rushing back, her temper flared. Not just the shame—but the sensation of Ryuji's hands on her body, the rhythm of his movements inside her. That moment had been a whirlwind of embarrassment, vulnerability, resistance—and yes… pleasure.
Furious, she reached for her fan, ready to hit him.
But in the end, she let her arm fall.
Andy was married now. What was the point of clinging to those feelings?
There was no going back.
"That's why I'm telling you, Mai," Ryuji said gently. "It's time to move on. I know Andy's a good man, and I'm truly sorry… but things are the way they are now. You need to start your own path."
"I know."
She cut him off.
Ryuji didn't dodge her gaze—he just sat there quietly, letting her vent if she needed to. That made her even more aware that his words were coming from a place of concern.
"That's why I asked about rebuilding Shiranui-ryu. And all you gave me were garbage ideas."
Mai sighed.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, their relationship had reached this odd point of familiarity. She never would've imagined herself discussing the future of her martial arts with someone like him. But the more she thought about everything he'd done… the more she realized—
He really was a good guy.
"…Garbage ideas? Come on. Be honest," Ryuji said, lifting an eyebrow. "Your family's techniques are decent, but even if you trained someone stronger than you, could they beat a Kusanagi?"
Mai paused.
Then shook her head.
"…No."
"And if someone wanted to break through their limits—would they go to you? Or to Kyokugen-ryu?"
"…Kyokugen."
"And poor folks who just want to get in shape, improve themselves—would they choose big-name martial arts like Karate, Taekwondo, and Judo, or a diluted, civilian-friendly version of ninja arts like your Shiranui-ryu?"
"…Of course they'd pick the famous stuff."
She was nearly in tears, voice filled with resignation.
People in Japan knew what real ninja were like. Americans, on the other hand, wanted fantasy ninjas—but she wasn't about to train those people.
Even Andy hadn't chosen Shiranui-ryu for its fighting style—he'd wanted assassination techniques. He had enemies he couldn't beat head-on, so he chose the shadows.
But assassination techniques…
She never taught them.
They were darker than seduction—even more taboo.
"So tell me," Ryuji said, his tone still calm but firm, "if your martial art has no overwhelming strength, no flashy gimmick, and no harsh rigor to attract masochists, what do you have left besides sex appeal?"
"You're wasting your biggest asset by not leaning into the feminine angle. And who says you have to teach just anyone? You could handpick girls who aren't just learning to snag a husband—students who really believe in the style. Once the student base grows, so does your reputation. You'd have financial stability and time to focus on teaching."
"Split it into two branches. Public students and inner disciples. Keep the deep secrets for the ones who earn your trust."
"The others? Let them think they're just signing up for a glorified yoga class. And let's not pretend we don't all know why some women take yoga in the first place."
"Since when did beautifying yourself for someone you love become some sort of shameful act? If a girl works hard to reshape her body, to pursue someone she cares about—what's so wrong with that?"
Ryuji's voice grew firmer.
"Bottom line is: for a martial arts style to thrive, it needs to be relatable and meet actual human needs. Within the hardcore fighter circles, you'll never outshine Kyokugen or the Kusanagi. Accept it."
"Your image, your body, your beauty—those are the real signatures of Shiranui-ryu. As long as you're willing to pass on techniques that shape women's bodies, you'll never run out of students."
"Trying to revive the clan through fighting? That's a pipe dream."
His words hit her like a cold splash of water.
But she couldn't deny them.
Shiranui-ryu's fame didn't come from ancient scrolls—it came from her. Girls might roll their eyes now, but if you told them this training could give them Mai's figure, preserve their youth, eliminate cramps, and wasn't even that painful…
Shiranui-ryu could spread worldwide in five years. Maybe even three.
With enough reach, it would even become a high-class pursuit—something fashionable and elegant.
"You're not even thinking like a real martial artist!" Mai cried. "And didn't you say you hated our outfits?!"
Her mind was spinning. Most martial artists guarded their secret techniques like treasure. Ryuji? He was basically telling her to turn her clan into a franchise. Worse—he wanted her to be the poster girl for how to seduce men with martial arts!
"If it's someone else's wife, I'd be thrilled. But if you were my wife, I'd never let you wear that stuff in public. And those shoes? Those things kill your feet."
Ryuji shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Yes, he was attracted to her. But after she made her boundaries clear, he'd backed off. He wasn't the type to become a clingy, obsessed loser.
He was fine being friends.
But those casual, unfiltered words—
—left Mai speechless.
She stared at him.
Was he serious? Or was he trying to trick her into bed?
She didn't know.
But the truth was—
"…Andy never said anything like that."
The moment she said it, the mood changed.
Even Ryuji, who'd been smirking a second ago, fell silent.
Mai realized she'd been pushing aside too many things, pretending not to notice.
Andy had no job. He said he wanted to help revive Shiranui-ryu, but never made any moves to actually do it.
He kept saying, "After I take my revenge." But what came after revenge?
They never talked about that.
In their entire relationship, it was always her who took the initiative.
She understood Andy—his desire to propose only after securing peace and stability. He didn't want her to become a widow.
But when would things ever truly be stable?
If she stayed with Andy… how long would she have to keep putting on that revealing outfit, keep fighting, just for the sake of Shiranui-ryu?
When could she finally let go of it all—and just be a wife?
When would she finally be able to settle down?
Mai hugged her knees to her chest, falling into a heavy silence.
A quiet question echoed in her mind.
She and Andy...
Had they ever really been in a proper relationship?
Meanwhile, Ryuji's thoughts were far simpler.
He watched Mai's face shift through a whirlwind of expressions—confusion, sorrow, realization, and perhaps something darker—and only one thought crossed his mind:
Please don't get so embarrassed that you come down here and try to kill me.
~~~~~~~~~~
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