In his previous life, Kiryu Kazuma had been a man chained to hard work—years of toil had only earned him the title of "business representative."
Back in school, whether in high school or university, everyone used to say programming was the toughest job. They thought a foreign trade business representative was an easy, cushy gig.
In reality, it only sounded impressive. At the end of the day, he was still a glorified errand boy.
There wasn't much difference between a high-level errand boy and a low-level one. No matter how much you looked up, the life of the privileged class remained just as far out of reach.
Kazuma had once dreamed of becoming one of those people at the top. But years after graduation, that dream had quietly been replaced with the simple wish to live an ordinary life.
He'd accepted reality. He'd compromised. He'd settled for muddling through—thinking that if he buried his head in the sand like an ostrich, refused to look at those high above the clouds, and stopped fantasizing about becoming one of them, the beast called "life" might just leave him alone.
He never expected life to gallop up behind him and smack him in the face with the label of "youth has passed you by."
Hearing people on screen—the so-called "former generation"—talk about the life of the "new generation" he could only imagine, Kazuma compared it to his own reality and felt like he'd already been expelled from the ranks of the young.
It sucked. Really sucked.
Kazuma didn't think he was inferior to others. He was just born too late.
He'd imagined it more than once: if only he had been born during the early days of reform and opening up, he would have seized those opportunities and soared to the top.
Then he would have been one of the "former generation," able to look at the "new generation" and say, with heartfelt pride, "I'm watching you with admiration."
And now? Now he really had crossed into another world, and he even had a cheat. He had to make it big. He had to rise above.
At this moment, Kazuma suddenly realized how foolish it had been to hesitate about selling the dojo just because of Chiyoko's feelings.
—Just because Chiyoko is sweet and adorable, I let myself be swayed? Pathetic. I wasn't pure enough.
But now that he saw it clearly, it wasn't too late.
Kazuma tightened his grip on the bamboo sword. He was going to convey his resolve to his little sister through this match.
"If we sell the dojo, once I've made enough money, we can buy an even bigger plot and build an even grander one. Memories can be kept in our hearts—that's enough.
"Chiyoko! Stubbornness and sentimentality alone won't protect anything!" Kazuma shouted. "I'll show you your brother's resolve! I'll shatter your childish notions once and for all!"
As he made this bold declaration, a gust of wind swept perfectly through the open side door of the dojo.
Kazuma let his bangs fly wildly in the wind, making no move to fix them.
Through the whipping strands of hair, he locked eyes with Chiyoko.
He understood her attachment to the dojo, understood its extraordinary meaning for her.
But selling it—and forging a successful future—meant just as much to him.
He had crossed into a new world and even gotten a cheat. He refused to repeat the aimless, mediocre life he'd led before.
Until now, he'd hesitated because he hadn't fully grasped this truth. But now that he had, everything in his heart felt clear.
Compared to Chiyoko's sincere feelings, his half-hearted resolve had no chance of convincing her.
Now was the time to let her witness the strength of his determination.
Kazuma suspected that the martial arts of this world were different from those of his old one. There was a good chance people here could truly speak through the sword.
He couldn't be bothered to check his own state—that required meditation, and it was faster to gauge his opponent's state anyway.
Even if his current resolve didn't trigger some kind of buff, Kazuma was confident he could defeat the wavering Chiyoko.
He stepped forward.
As his foot struck the dojo floor, a crisp sound echoed, accompanied by a subtle shockwave spreading outward.
A martial artist's stance should be as steady as a hydraulic jack.
"Chiyoko!"
Kazuma shouted and launched his attack.
**
Chiyoko was stunned.
When she was little, their father had once told her that will could be expressed through sword technique.
She'd always thought it was drunken nonsense.
All these years, she'd never once felt any will during a kendo match.
A sword was a weapon. Kendo was a killing art—now reduced to a competitive sport.
How could a mere technique convey will?
Don't be ridiculous!
And yet, right now—she could feel it.
An intense, indescribable aura radiated from her brother Kiryu Kazuma. He'd only taken a single step forward, yet she already felt immense pressure.
—This strike will be fierce!
In the next instant, Kazuma charged in. His speed was so fast Chiyoko couldn't see it clearly—she could only block by instinct and muscle memory.
The clash of bamboo swords rang out in a sharp, clear note.
Though overwhelmed by his aura, Chiyoko's response wasn't delayed.
She took a half-step forward, trying to close the distance to neutralize follow-up attacks. Bamboo swords, like real katana, required space to swing properly—closer wasn't always better.
But Kazuma's blade had already struck her hand!
—Wait, when did he launch a second strike?!
A sharp pain shot through her hand—she nearly dropped her sword, which would have been a grave mistake.
Kazuma had already withdrawn to a neutral stance.
That chilling aura still surrounded him.
Chiyoko even had the illusion that the wind blowing through the open door was swirling around her brother.
She recalled a TV program she'd seen once—where a Tai Chi master trained in a temple-like setting (actually a Taoist shrine). Fallen leaves had whirled around the master, as if in harmony with his flowing movements.
At the end of the program, when the master finished and returned to a resting stance, the leaves settled into a pattern resembling a Tai Chi diagram.
She'd always thought that was fake—just like those sword masters who sliced leaves in staged demonstrations.
But now... she wasn't so sure.
At that moment, Kazuma spoke.
"What's wrong, Chiyoko? Where's that spirit from before? Your sword... has dulled."
Chiyoko glanced down at her bamboo sword, a biting retort almost slipping out.
Kazuma struck again, swift as the wind.
Another sharp clash echoed through the dojo.
It was a simple, honest strike from jōdan stance.
Her left hand nearly lost its grip.
Chiyoko couldn't help but think back to the last national kendo tournament, where she'd faced a master of Jigen-ryū.
That girl had supposedly been the daughter of a high-ranking Osaka police officer, trained in Jigen-ryū since childhood—an officially recognized style within the police.
After the Meiji Restoration, the police system had largely been controlled by former samurai from the Satsuma domain—and Jigen-ryū had its roots there.
Kazuma's strike was on par with that master's!
But Chiyoko could tell—his power wasn't drawn from Jigen-ryū.
A trained eye would see that Jigen-ryū's overhead strikes differed subtly from typical downward slashes.
Chiyoko widened the distance and re-gripped her bamboo sword—though it hadn't flown from her hands, the impact had shifted her grip slightly.
In kendo, even a minor shift could throw off your form. It had to be corrected.
"Why aren't you following up?" Chiyoko demanded.
"Because my goal isn't to defeat you," Kazuma replied boldly. "I want you to understand my intent!"
"What are you even saying? That's totally meaningless!" Chiyoko shouted in frustration and charged—she knew that if she kept defending passively, she would surely lose.
Her attack was easily parried. Deep down, Chiyoko felt a pang of ah, of course.
—I'm supposed to be the stronger one here.
Kazuma's counterattack came as expected.
Chiyoko barely managed to respond.
In a flash, her bamboo sword flew high, landing with a sharp clatter on the dojo floor.
As if in harmony with that sound, a soft drizzle began outside. Within seconds, it turned into a downpour.
Chiyoko stood frozen, still holding her empty stance, gazing at her brother.
Kazuma gently tapped her throat with the sakigawa of his bamboo sword.
"You've lost," he said. "I'm going to sell the dojo. If you disagree, then defeat me before the Sumitomo people arrive. I'll accept your challenge all day tomorrow."
Chiyoko couldn't hold back anymore. "Why? I know this place holds precious memories for you too!"
"I already told you—memories can stay in the heart. I won't let the past chain my steps. Chiyoko, we should embrace the present and look to the future."
Chiyoko stared at him for a long while. Finally, she sighed.
"I've lost. I agree... to sell the dojo."
(End of Chapter)