After classes ended, the air seemed to become lighter. The pressure of the school routine had lifted, replaced by a light hum of voices and the anticipation of freedom. As arranged, Jin, accompanied by Murayama and Katase, headed to the kendo club. He walked with a calm, measured pace, his almost weightless bag slung over his back. On either side of him, like an honor guard, the girls walked, guiding him to his destination. Their chatter was light and easy, a clear stream breaking the silence.
"Have you really never held a shinai before, Izayoi-san?" Katase asked curiously, adjusting her short hair. "Kiba-kun praised your grip so much, I thought you had experience."
"Never," Jin replied, his voice even but with notes of warm politeness he had learned to feign to maintain conversation. "Perhaps it's an innate talent for holding sticks."
The girls giggled. His dry humor, devoid of any vulgarity, was new to them and seemed refreshing.
"Then you should definitely try!" Murayama picked up, her stern features softening slightly. "Kendo isn't just swinging sticks. It's a path, a discipline of spirit and body. It helps you focus, to find your inner core."
"Sounds... meditative," Jin remarked, though he privately thought his own inner core was already hard enough to break others'.
They left the main academy building and followed a well-kept path that skirted the sports fields. The kendo club was located a little further off, in a separate, traditional Japanese building—a dojo. It was built of dark, time-polished wood, with a high, tiled roof whose curved eaves resembled the wings of a giant bird. In front of the building lay a small, perfectly flat field for outdoor training, surrounded by a low bamboo fence. Everything here breathed with peace, tradition, and strength.
When they entered, a very special atmosphere enveloped Jin. The air was saturated with the smell of wood, sweat, and something else—a subtle scent of will and discipline. The spacious hall with its high ceiling and perfectly smooth wooden floor was filled with a soft light filtering through large windows with paper shoji.
And the hall was alive. It was filled with sounds. The rhythmic thud of wooden shinai against training dummies. Sharp, abrupt shouts—kiai—accompanying every strike. The shuffle of bare feet on the floor. The muffled hum of voices as one of the senior students gave instructions to a junior.
Dozens of girls, dressed in snow-white keikogi and dark blue hakama, moved across the hall with honed grace. Some practiced swings alone, their shinai cutting through the air with a whistle, creating invisible patterns. Some sparred in pairs, their movements fast, precise, resembling a deadly dance. Some struck the dummies with all their might, pouring all their energy into every swing.
Jin couldn't help but admire the sight. There was nothing explicit about it, but the aesthetic of the female form, clad in a stern kimono and in motion, was captivating. The sweat glistening on their tense necks and temples. The strands of hair that had escaped their tight buns and stuck to their flushed cheeks. The focused, almost predatory expressions at the moment of attack. The way the thick fabric of the kimono clung to their figures, accentuating the curves of their backs and hips with every swing. It was the beauty of strength, discipline, and youth.
A few moments later, after Jin and his companions arrived, the training hum began to die down. First one girl, noticing them, froze with her shinai raised. Then another, then a third. Gradually, all eyes in the hall, as if drawn by a magnet, were pulled to his figure. Gazes that Jin had already begun to get used to over the last few days at the academy. Surprise, curiosity, admiration…
'This is starting to get tiring…' was the only thing Jin thought at that moment, feeling dozens of pairs of female eyes fixed on him again.
'Who is that?' flashed through the mind of Ayako, one of the club's senior students. She had just been practicing a men strike on a dummy when she noticed Captain Murayama had brought a guest. And what a guest! Tall, blond, with a figure that even his loose school blazer couldn't hide. And those eyes... you could drown in them. She had never seen eyes like that.
'The new guy everyone's whispering about?' thought her friend Rika, who was standing nearby. 'They say he's on par with Kiba-kun. Hm… Kiba-kun's beauty is soft, prince-like. But this one… there's something predatory, dangerous about him.'
The comparison to Kiba Yuuto was inevitable. Kiba was their idol, the unattainable Prince Charming who sometimes stopped by their dojo to maintain friendly relations between the clubs. His aura was bright, warm; he smiled at everyone, and his smile made you want to melt. He was like the sun.
This one, Izayoi Jin, was like the moon on a clear, cold night. His beauty was sharp, almost provocative. An aura of calm but absolute confidence emanated from him, bordering on arrogance. He wasn't trying to be liked, wasn't smiling ingratiatingly. He just was. And his presence alone was enough to make everyone fall silent and pay attention.
'Kiba-kun makes your heart flutter with tenderness,' decided a third girl, the most romantic one in the club. 'But this one… this one makes your blood run cold and, at the same time, boil with excitement. I don't know which of them is better…'
Murayama and Katase, noticing that practice had come to a complete halt, stepped into the center of the hall. "Attention!" Murayama's voice rang out, loud and commanding, bringing everyone back to reality. "My apologies for the interruption. I want to introduce our guest. This is Izayoi Jin-san, a transfer student from our class. He expressed an interest in kendo, and we invited him to watch our practice. Please, welcome him."
The girls bowed in unison, offering a greeting. Jin responded with a slight nod, his face impassive.
"We thought," Katase continued with a smile, "that the best way to get to know kendo is to try it yourself. Izayoi-san has agreed to a light spar."
An excited murmur rippled through the hall. Sparring with such a handsome guy? This would be interesting!
Jin stubbornly refused to put on the protective gear—the bogu. He waved off all of Murayama's pleas about it being dangerous and against the rules. "Don't worry, Captain. I'll be careful. I just want to feel the sword, not sit in that bulky armor like a turtle."
He took the shinai that was offered to him. A standard bamboo sword. He turned it over in his hands, assessing the weight, the balance. Then he made a few light, almost lazy swings, playing with it as if it were a reed. This show of disdain caused a new wave of whispers among the girls. He clearly wasn't taking them seriously.
Murayama, seeing this, frowned. Her professional pride was wounded. "Fine, Izayoi-san. But in that case, I will be your opponent. And I will not hold back."
They briefly explained the basics to him. One of them was the stance—kamae. One must hold the sword firmly, the stance must be stable, so that a blow to the sword would shake it as little as possible. It was the foundation, a demonstration of the strength of spirit and body.
Everyone watched as Jin agreed to try. He got into the required position. But his stance was... ridiculous. Instead of adopting the classic pose, he stood nonchalantly, one hand stuck in his pants pocket. With the other hand, he calmly held the shinai, extending it slightly forward. No tension, no concentration. Just a relaxed, almost bored posture.
"He's mocking us!" "He has no respect for the captain!" "She's going to show him now!"
The girls began whispering again, their admiration turning to slight irritation. This newcomer was taking things too far.
But then they heard his voice. And looking at him, they began to doubt. His gaze, which had been detached, became warm, almost tender. His voice sounded soft, but it held an absolute, unshakeable confidence that made you believe him.
"I'm ready. You may begin, Captain."
He said it as if he were inviting her to a dance, not a fight. This intimate, almost theatrical manner didn't look ridiculous coming from him. It was mesmerizing.
Murayama felt her cheeks flush. She was embarrassed. But at the same time, she felt slighted. This guy in front of her was not taking her seriously at all. It was frustrating and infuriating. She didn't object. She decided to teach him a lesson. To show him that the Kuoh Academy kendo club was no place for games.
Moving into position to strike, she tried not to look him in the eyes. His sincere, expectant gaze was incredibly flustering. She took a deep breath, concentrating. She gritted her teeth, pushing away all other thoughts. And, drawing back, she struck. A fast, precise, powerful men strike, aimed directly at his extended sword. A strike that should have knocked the shinai from any novice's hands and possibly even made him stagger.
CLACK!
The sound wasn't like usual. Not the dull thud of wood on wood. It was a sharp, dry sound, like a gunshot. The sound of an absolute collision.
And that was all.
The hall froze in shock.
Jin, with his ridiculous stance, his hand in his pocket, hadn't moved. Not even a millimeter. His shinai, which he held in a relaxed grip, was frozen in the air, having completely absorbed the force of the blow.
And Murayama's sword... it flew from her hands from the monstrous feedback. As if it had struck an indestructible cliff, it traced a high arc in the air and landed with a clatter in the far corner of the dojo.
The girl was frozen in place. Her hands, which a second ago had been gripping the shinai, were trembling slightly, but she didn't even notice. She was still in the stance she had used to strike, her hands empty. Her eyes were wide, filled with absolute, total bewilderment. She stared at the smiling Jin.
His smile was soft, almost apologetic. "Seems I overdid it a little," he said, as if it were an unfortunate accident. "You have a very strong strike, Captain."
But she didn't hear his words. She saw only his violet eyes, and in their depths, mocking, all-knowing sparks now danced. He hadn't overdone it. He had calculated it all. He was simply... playing with her. And he was strong. Unbelievably so.