Looking at the tall youth in the distance who seemed completely unharmed, Sōichirō could not help but complain inwardly.
He knew that with the full-force strike he had just delivered, even a head cast in bronze and forged in iron should have been smashed apart.
"Well?" Isshin bared his teeth in a grin, the smile filled with the unrestrained sharpness and flamboyance unique to youth. "Did I pass? President?"
The scene instantly fell into a subtle silence. Everyone's gaze shifted back and forth between Isshin, standing proudly in the arena, and Sōichirō, who was barely managing to support himself.
Shock, confusion, awe, complexity… all kinds of emotions spread through the shattered dōjō.
Sōichirō remained silent for a few breaths. At last, he took a deep breath, forcefully suppressed the surging blood in his chest and the numbness in his arms, and slowly stood up.
"Hmph." He snorted. "Since this old man gave his word beforehand, naturally I will not go back on it."
His gaze swept across the entire venue before finally settling on Isshin as he said in a deep voice, "From this moment on, you are a shihan recognized by the Sekikōjō Swordsmanship Association. You are qualified to open a dōjō in Sekikōjō and teach your Ashina style."
"Isshin-shihan."
"Haha!" Isshin laughed aloud, cupping his fist casually in salute. "Then many thanks, President!"
He then turned to the other dōjō heads whose expressions were complicated, and laughed heartily. "And many thanks to all of you shihan for your guidance and witness just now. Since we'll be in the same city from now on, I hope you'll take care of me."
Hearing this, the dōjō heads' facial muscles twitched. They forced stiff smiles, cupped their fists in return, and said polite phrases such as "Congratulations, Isshin-shihan," "Young and promising," and "We must exchange pointers often in the future."
After the formalities, Isshin seemed to suddenly remember something. He turned back to Sōichirō, blinked, and asked, "President, now that I can sit in the hall, according to our local rules, is there any proper ceremony? Like announcing it to the whole city, hosting a banquet, letting everyone get to know me?"
Hearing this, Sōichirō frowned and snorted irritably. "Ceremony? Do you think this is a festival or a wedding? There's none of that flashy nonsense! Do you want to beat gongs and drums and let all of Sekikōjō know you've arrived?"
Isshin let out a sigh. Not only was he not annoyed, his eyes actually lit up. His grin grew even brighter as he spoke bluntly. "President, you've hit the nail on the head! To be honest with you, I've loved fame all my life! Why practice the sword? Aside from seeking the Path, isn't it to make a name for oneself—so more people know the name of my Ashina style? The livelier, the better!"
"You…" Sōichirō was choked by his unabashedly utilitarian candor and was about to say something more.
Just then, a man who had been standing quietly to the side—looking like a guard and dressed in a simple samurai outfit—strode up. He leaned close to Sōichirō's ear and murmured a few words respectfully.
After the guard withdrew, Sōichirō looked at Isshin again and snorted coldly. "You want a ceremony that makes it widely known?"
"Yes!"
"Then come with me!"
…
Inside Sekikōjō's lord's manor.
Sōichirō explained the situation in a few concise sentences. After Yagyū finished speaking, Takeda Nobutsuna slowly opened his mouth.
He did not ask for details, nor did he care for pleasantries. The terms he offered were direct and pragmatic:
The lord's manor could make an exception and hold a sufficiently grand membership recognition ceremony for this newly acknowledged "Ashina style" shihan—one grand enough to spread throughout the entire city—satisfying his desire for fame.
Not only that, afterward he could also have people publicize the matter widely across the southeastern region of the Land of Iron.
But the condition was that Isshin had to represent Sekikōjō in the next Land of Iron National Swordsmanship Tournament.
For the samurai of the Land of Iron, the meaning and weight of this tournament were comparable to the jōnin selection held within the Five Great Shinobi Villages.
It was not only the highest arena of skill, but also a ladder to reputation and power.
Those who excelled would be granted the nationally recognized honorific of "Sword Master," and might even directly receive a military promotion—obtaining a general's post and stepping into the nation's power hierarchy in a single stride.
After hearing this, Isshin agreed without any hesitation. This so-called condition hit him right where he wanted!
The fundamental purpose of his trip to the Land of Iron was to build fame through battle and seek the Path through fame—quickly gaining enough recognition to drive the profession Entry [Swordsman] to transform into the higher-tier [Sword Master], and even [Sword Saint].
The National Swordsmanship Tournament was precisely the most ideal, broadest stage.
Nobutsuna's proposal was no different from pushing him onto this high-speed lane, with a grand starting ceremony and early publicity thrown in as a bonus.
…
A few days later, a fresh topic of heated discussion—like a drop of ink falling into still water—quickly spread through Sekikōjō's streets and alleys.
"Have you heard? A remarkable young swordsman has come to Sekikōjō—he's become a shihan recognized by the association!"
"Heard? More than that! That day, the commotion at the Seishin Meichi-ryū dōjō could be heard from half a street away—like someone was tearing down a house!"
"They say Chairman Yagyū personally tested his mettle, and the result… tsk, tsk, half the dōjō collapsed."
"No way—seriously? How skilled would he have to be? And I heard he's very young!"
"A joint notice has been issued by the lord's manor and the Swordsmanship Association. In three days, a membership recognition ceremony will be held for him at the central square. That's a grand scene not seen in years!"
Curiosity, doubt, anticipation, awe… all kinds of emotions mingled in the idle chatter after tea and meals.
An outsider, young, and having burst in with such a forceful stance—such a swordmaster was, in himself, full of controversy.
Three days later, the central square was packed with people.
On the high platform, General Takeda Nobutsuna stood side by side with President Yagyū Sōichirō. Both were dressed in formal attire, their expressions solemn.
Below them, the prominent samurai of Sekikōjō, the various dōjō heads, and numerous citizens who had come upon hearing his name surrounded the square so tightly that not even a drop of water could pass through.
The ceremony was concise and dignified. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Takeda Nobutsuna personally announced the recognition of Isshin of the Ashina style, while Sōichirō, representing the Swordsmanship Association, conferred upon him the plaque and documents symbolizing his official qualification to sit in the hall.
There were no lengthy speeches, but the joint appearance of the two leading figures of Sekikōjō carried more weight than a thousand words.
Under the sunlight, Isshin—dressed in a plain swordsman's outfit—accepted the tokens. The image of him standing tall with head held high was deeply imprinted in the eyes of countless onlookers.
At that moment, his name, together with the unfamiliar school known as the Ashina style, was formally carved into Sekikōjō's collective awareness.
However, after the clamor brought by the ceremony subsided, this newly acknowledged young shihan did not, as people had expected, hasten to open a dōjō and recruit disciples in large numbers, swiftly turning fame into tangible influence and profit.
On the contrary, his behavior left people somewhat puzzled.
He did not establish a fixed dōjō, but merely rented a quiet courtyard at will.
Every morning or afternoon, people would see him carrying an ordinary katana, like a lion patrolling his territory.
Unhurried, he walked through the streets and alleys of Sekikōjō—from the bustling main avenues to the secluded residential areas—his footprints seeming to cover the entire city.
Occasionally, upon reaching some open space—at the entrance of a market or at the head of a bridge—and seeing a gathering crowd, he would suddenly stop.
Regardless of whether the gazes cast toward him were curious, appraising, or reverent, he would simply find an empty patch of ground and begin to practice, absorbed and undistracted.
He practiced with such composure, such immersion, as if the surrounding crowd, the murmurs, and even Sekikōjō itself were merely part of the background to his sword training.
When he finished and sheathed his blade, his breathing steady once more, he would continue strolling away like a lion patrolling his territory, leaving behind a ground full of speculation and discussion.
What exactly was this young shihan Isshin trying to do?
Was it merely to make more people remember his face and his sword through this peculiar method?
Or was he using this city as a whetstone, silently sharpening something?
No one knew the answer, and time quietly passed amid these seemingly casual days.
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