"Confused?"
"Yes… Mibu-senpai's swordsmanship is excellent, the best I've ever seen. But I don't understand…" Yotsuba Mahiro's gaze sharpened as he spoke, "Why does Mibu-senpai's sword seem… confused when you swing it?"
"You're mistaken. I'm not."
Faced with Mahiro's calm yet piercing question, Mibu Sayaka faltered for just a heartbeat, then forced her tone to remain cold and steady.
"My sword is never confused."
Though she denied it firmly, Mahiro's words had pierced straight into her heart.
Confused?
The truth was—yes.
He wasn't wrong. Even if she hid it from everyone else, even if she never admitted it aloud, Mibu Sayaka carried a cloud of doubt within her sword.
She had never been weaker than anyone. She had trained harder than anyone. She had poured sweat, tears, and uncountable hours into perfecting her kendo. Yet still… recognition never came.
Instead, she was met with scorn. Dismissive glances.
Last year's exhibition match was the final blow. She hadn't even been considered worthy to challenge one of the elite Ichiko students. Instead, she was rejected outright, mocked, pushed aside.
She had asked herself countless times in those quiet nights of training:
What had all her effort been for?
All that sweat, all that pain… did it amount to nothing?
And yet, somehow, this mysterious junior she had only just met saw through her perfectly guarded heart.
"…Is that so?"
Since Mibu-senpai would not admit it, Mahiro didn't press further. He simply walked into the dojo, removed his shoes neatly at the entrance, and approached the weapon rack. With steady hands, he chose a wooden sword.
Turning back, he raised it and pointed toward Sayaka.
"Mibu-senpai. Would you do me the honor of a match? No magic. Just pure kendo."
If there was no confusion in her heart, then the best way to prove it was through the sword.
Sayaka understood this as well. Her grip tightened on her own sword before she nodded.
"…Fine. No problem."
Though they had just met—barely ten minutes had passed since their first exchange—Sayaka felt compelled to fight him. Perhaps it was because he had exposed the secret within her so easily. Or perhaps… she needed to convince herself that she wasn't wavering.
Still, when she stepped into the arena and faced him properly, her breath caught.
'Wh-what is this…?'
The boy who stood before her was clearly a new first-year. Yet the way he held the sword, the stance he took, and the pressure radiating from his body—it was as though she was staring into a mirror.
Her exact form. Her exact killing intent.
No. Impossible. It had to be her imagination!
Sayaka squeezed her eyes shut and steadied herself. When she opened them again, her gaze burned with determination.
"Then let's begin, Mibu-senpai," Mahiro said softly.
"Don't you need protective gear?" she asked.
"No need."
"…Hmph. Very well."
If he wouldn't wear armor, then she wouldn't either. With a decisive tug, Sayaka unfastened the protective chest gear and cast it aside. She stood only in her white and navy kendo uniform, the hakama swaying slightly with her movement.
It was dangerous, of course. Even wooden swords could shatter bones with a single strike. But neither of them would back down.
"Here I come!"
Sayaka launched the first attack.
"Kote!"
"Kote!" is a term from kendo, the Japanese martial art of swordsmanship. It refers to the wrist or forearm strike.
Her wooden blade cut through the air with a sharp whoosh, targeting Mahiro's wrist.
Clang!
The strike was perfectly read and blocked. Sparks of pressure clashed as wood bit against wood, sending vibrations up her arm.
But Sayaka was far from done. She immediately shifted into the next strike, then another, and another! Her offense surged like an unending storm, the rhythm of traditional sword style exploding forth without hesitation.
Her movements blazed like fire. Every swing, every step, carried the ferocity of her will. Like the battle principle "Fūrinkazan"—swift as the wind, silent as the forest, fierce as fire, unshakable as a mountain—her strikes embodied pure flame.
Yet the more she fought, the more unsettled Sayaka became.
"This… what is this feeling…?" she thought, her breath quickening.
It wasn't like she was fighting Yotsuba Mahiro at all. No, what unsettled her was something far more terrifying—she was fighting herself.
The way his stance shifted, the rhythm of his strikes, even the sequence of sword forms—it was exactly her own. There wasn't a single deviation. But unlike her, Mahiro's execution was mercilessly sharp, without hesitation, without wasted movement. It was as if she were staring at a perfected mirror image of herself, stripped of doubt and hesitation.
Then—
Thwack!
Sayaka's wooden shinai was sent flying from her hands. In the next instant, Mahiro's blade pressed gently but firmly against her collarbone.
"…I lost."
Her voice trembled as she lowered her head, biting her lip in frustration. Though she admitted defeat readily, the sting of disappointment gnawed at her. She had trained tirelessly every day, pushing herself for the sake of strength—yet she had been defeated by a freshman.
Still, curiosity burned hotter than shame.
"…Tell me, Mahiro-kun… why? Why did you use my sword moves?"
Mahiro offered a small, apologetic smile. "Gomen, Sayaka-senpai. It's just a little trick of mine."
As he spoke, a faint glow flickered deep within his pupils—like a glimmering arc of light.
Permanent Perception-Type Magic: The Copying Magic Eye.
That was what the Fourth Research Institute had called it.
With those eyes, anything—whether it was magic or physical combat—once seen, could be instantly grasped and replicated. Even the unique abilities of Shiba Tatsuya, such as Decomposition and Reconstruction, could be learned at a glance. He could even perform casting without the use of a CAD.
It was through this ability that Mahiro had secretly mastered the Kudou family's most closely guarded techniques.
And it was also the reason Shiba Tatsuya, for all his might, could never completely eliminate him.
What Sayaka had faced just now was not truly Yotsuba Mahiro. It was herself—her own swordsmanship reflected back at her, honed into an unflinching blade.
…
…
Meanwhile, while Mahiro was sharing that fateful clash with the Kendo Club's proud warrior, discussions of his name had already reached higher places—within the Club Alliance Headquarters.
"Hey, Juumonji Katsuto, have you heard the rumors about Yotsuba Mahiro?"
The voice belonged to Saegusa Mayumi, the elegant Student Council President. She sat gracefully on the right, her eyes watching the towering figure across from her.
Katsuto Juumonji, scion of the Ten Master Clans, leaned back slightly in his seat. He was a third-year, a mountain of a man. Though only around 185cm, his sheer presence and iron-forged physique made him feel like a giant boulder looming over the room.
At Mayumi's question, Juumonji nodded with deliberate weight.
"Yes. His academic scores in the seven standard subjects, as well as his practical magic tests, were only just enough to meet the Ichiko students' passing line."
But his low scores weren't the real issue.
The true matter was that he bore the blood of the Yotsuba.
"Could it be he was adopted from a branch house into the Yotsuba's main line?" Juumonji mused aloud. "It wouldn't be strange. The Yotsuba are known to adopt promising talent into their main family for cultivation."
"Juumonji-kun… are you implying something?" Mayumi's eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity.
"Yes. I want him to join the Student Council." Juumonji's words carried the weight of duty. "As magicians of the Ten Master Clans, it is our obligation to support one another. It's tradition—and responsibility."
Mayumi smiled faintly, recognizing the sincerity in his tone. "That shouldn't be too difficult. After all, the Council only needs to recruit one new first-year representative—Shiba Miyuki. That leaves one more seat open."
And even if there wasn't, creating an external position just for Mahiro was well within her power.
The only hesitation lay in his weak academic performance.
"Um… may I say something?"
The voice belonged to the third figure in the room. A short-haired girl with cool, sharp features, seated quietly in the center, finally spoke up—drawing the attention of both Mayumi and Juumonji.