Kazuma hadn't heard the knocking at all.
He was in a kind of meditative trance—that level of noise couldn't shake his concentration.
In fact, he was positively thrilled right now. As he kept humming his tune, he'd just noticed his Combat Experience had leveled up again.
He was now at Combat Experience 5.
The speed of this progression was insane. From nothing to level five in one go. By comparison, it had taken him ages to grind his Shintō-ryū up to level six.
The contrast was glaring—this combat stat leveled far too fast.
But then Kazuma thought about it: in the military, it was common wisdom that soldiers who'd seen real combat were completely different from those who hadn't—you could tell at a glance.
So perhaps it made sense that actual battle would yield more experience than years of training.
Besides, opportunities for real combat were far rarer than regular practice.
The founder of Shintō-ryū, Tsukahara Bokuden, had fought only nineteen real duels in his life—and that was a man hailed as a sword saint, a living legend.
Given that, earning so much experience from one true fight seemed perfectly reasonable.
After all, this was the hard-won spoils of risking his life.
Kazuma had been sitting at level five for a while now. Logically, he knew he'd probably already squeezed all the experience out of this battle. But emotionally, he kept humming—what if there was still a bit more he hadn't extracted yet?
As long as we don't stop moving, the road ahead will continue to unfold...
Suddenly, he sensed something flying straight at him!
Before he could react, it smacked him in the face with enough force to send him tumbling backward.
What the hell? Did Nishiyama Heita pull some trick?
**
It was Kiryu Chiyoko who had answered the door for Fujii Mikako.
After all, the police were still canvassing the neighborhood. If one of the bruised and battered yakuza had answered and been spotted by an officer, things would've gotten complicated.
As she opened the door, Chiyoko deliberately stiffened her expression and shot Mikako a frosty glare—If this woman hadn't been caught, my brother wouldn't have had to risk his life.
When Kazuma had launched that desperate thrust just now, Chiyoko had nearly burst into tears. She practiced kendo herself, so she could tell at a glance that he'd gone all-in on a reckless, no-guard, life-or-death strike.
Chiyoko didn't want to lose any more family. So despite her own fear, she had charged in.
Up until then, she'd been watching from the sidelines because her legs had been shaking too much—she knew if she'd rushed in, she might've done more harm than good.
Kendo required space to execute properly.
Multiple kendo practitioners attacking at once could sometimes be less effective than taking turns.
Chiyoko had wanted to help, but she'd been more afraid of becoming a liability. So she'd stayed ready to provide support from the side.
But when she saw her brother risking his life, she couldn't just stand by any longer.
Now that it was over, the more she replayed the scene in her head, the more cold sweat poured down her back.
In hindsight, her own charge had been reckless. If she hadn't knocked the blade away, she might have disrupted Kazuma's attack and gotten them both captured.
The post-battle dread had now transformed into anger toward Fujii Mikako: If you hadn't gotten yourself caught, my brother and I wouldn't have been at death's door!
So at the moment, Chiyoko's expression was utterly sour.
Naturally, this terrified Mikako.
"Where's Kiryu-kun?!" Mikako asked in a panic.
Chiyoko replied coldly, "I'm a Kiryu too."
"I mean Kazuma!"
Mikako quickly corrected herself.
In Japan, only people with very close relationships called each other by their given names. Even friends usually used surnames.
What's more, honorifics were standard—san, kun, chan, and so on—all showing a degree of respect.
Normally, Mikako called him Kiryu-kun. On the rare occasion she used Kazuma, she'd blush for half a day.
New couples often eased into first-name terms by adding an honorific. But right now, Mikako had skipped that entirely.
She was clearly so worried that she wasn't thinking about social niceties.
If anything, that made Chiyoko scowl even more.
—Who do you think you are, calling him Kazuma? Did you get my permission? I don't care if you recognize me as his sister or not—I haven't recognized you yet!
"My brother is meditating—communing with the heavens and earth. It's best not to disturb him—"
Before Chiyoko could finish, Mikako shoved past her and darted into the house, her footsteps thudding toward the dojo.
"Kiryuuuu-kun!" she shouted, unconsciously slipping back to her usual way of calling him.
She flung open the door from the main house to the dojo.
She froze.
Then shut the door, took a deep breath—
"Kiryuuuu-kun!" she shouted again, reopening it.
**
The first time she'd opened the door, Mikako's instinct had been to close it again.
—Did I just see a room full of bloodied yakuza? I must've opened it wrong.
So she closed it and opened it again.
Inside, the dojo floor was littered with battered, bruised, bleeding yakuza. In the center, Kiryu Kazuma sat upright, facing the open door to the courtyard.
Outside lay the broad wooden engawa, its floor strewn with fallen cherry petals.
In the garden beyond, a great cherry tree stood in full bloom, petals drifting down in a gentle cascade.
Kazuma was softly humming a tune—it sounded like the theme from The Manhunt, one of Ken Takakura's films.
Compared to the miserable yakuza around him, he seemed like he belonged to an entirely different scene. For a moment, Mikako stood rooted to the spot.
The scene before her held an almost surreal beauty. She felt that if she stepped into it, she'd be leaving her familiar daily life behind.
Just then, a voice beside her said, "Why're you frozen? Haven't you seen the movies? After everything's over, the heroine's supposed to run in and embrace the blood-soaked hero, right?"
He's got a point, Mikako thought. She glanced sideways—and jumped.
A yakuza with a massive Hannya tattoo sprawled across half his shoulder and back had suddenly appeared in her view, cigarette dangling from his mouth.
"Sorry," he said. "Yakuza tattoos are meant to be scary. Did I spook you?"
Mikako shook her head vigorously, then hurried toward Kazuma.
Chiyoko tried to grab her wrist to stop her but missed.
Mikako flung herself at Kazuma, tackling him to the floor and pulling his head tight against her chest.
"Thank goodness... You're okay... Thank goodness!" she whispered.
Kazuma struggled to push her shoulders back just enough to gasp, "I... can't... breathe!"
Chiyoko rushed over, grabbed Mikako's ponytail, and yanked. "Let go! You're gonna smother my brother!"
"Ow ow ow! My hair!"
In an instant, the dojo dissolved into chaos.
(End of Chapter)