Chapter 13: Hikigaya Hachiman Swings a Wooden Sword
Half an hour later, everyone—with the exception of Akishin—felt completely stuffed.
Akishin served some tea. They took a short breather until seven in the evening, just as the day began to fade into twilight. The streets were starting to buzz with life, and the warm glow of shop lanterns began to flicker on one by one.
"Hiratsuka-sensei, get home safely. And to the three of you, thanks for stopping by today."
Outside the Chishima Residence, Akishin waved toward Shizuka's car while addressing the students.
"No, it is I who should be thanking you, Chishima-sensei. The meal was truly excellent," Yukino said in her usual composed, level tone.
"We're grateful as well, Chishima-sensei," Hayato added. Beside him, Yumiko nodded with a bright smile.
"I appreciate the kind words."
"We'll be heading out now, Chishima-sensei. Thanks for everything. I really intended to help out, but you just had to turn me down."
Hearing that, Akishin offered a polite smile. Shizuka had offered to help since Akishin didn't have any staff, but he had firmly declined. At the moment, he didn't feel the need for a servant or an assistant.
He gave a final wave as Shizuka drove the three students away.
The last rays of the setting sun painted the streets, which were now being taken over by the artificial hum of streetlights. Various aromas from nearby food stalls wafted through the air. Akishin watched the car disappear at the end of the road before turning to Hachiman, who was standing beside him.
"Hikigaya-kun, would you like to head home now, or stay at the shop for a bit longer?"
As it happened, the Chishima Residence wasn't far from where Hachiman lived. Thus, he hadn't asked for a ride from Hiratsuka Shizuka.
Hikigaya Hachiman stared back at Akishin with those trademark dead-fish eyes of his. "I think I'll stay a while longer. I already sent a text home to explain the situation. It's not that I'm particularly eager to help you, mind you. I just wanted to make sure. If your business gets too hectic and you find yourself overwhelmed, I'll step in. Consider it a way of fulfilling my responsibility to Hiratsuka-sensei."
"Fair enough, then."
Akishin led Hachiman back inside, guiding him toward a storage area that had been converted into a training hall—a Dojo.
"Hikigaya-kun, have you ever practiced Kendo before?"
Akishin asked as he slid open the storage door at the end of the first-floor corridor, revealing a spacious, well-lit room.
Hachiman followed close behind and asked, "Never. Have you, Sensei?"
Stepping into the Dojo, Akishin scanned the room, his gaze lingering on two pieces of calligraphy hanging on the wall. "You could say that."
Hikigaya Hachiman found the answer a bit vague. He surveyed the space, which spanned about fifty square meters. The oak flooring looked aged but was impeccably clean. There was no furniture to speak of. In the center of the room lay several Suburito—heavy practice swords—and a single Bokken, a wooden sword.
"Hikigaya-kun, feel free to hang out here for a bit. Why don't you try swinging the wooden sword?"
Akishin patted Hachiman on the shoulder and pointed toward the two scrolls on the wall. "I'm quite fond of Kendo. To train the sword is to train the heart! Those are my own writings. The first one says: 'A single blade emerges from the sea of the heart, cutting down others as well as oneself.' The second is: 'No matter how sharp a three-foot blade may be, it is no match for a single bullet.' Do you get the gist of it?"
Hachiman stared at the kanji characters. After hearing the translation, a look of bewilderment crossed his face. "Sensei, the first part sounds quite profound... but that second one... don't you think it's a bit weird to put them together?"
The second sentence felt brutally, almost jarringly, realistic.
Akishin explained with a serious expression, "Don't look at it that way, Hikigaya-kun. You have to understand them as separate concepts. The first reflects my philosophy on Kendo—the act of cutting through one's own doubts and confusion. The second speaks to reality. In this era of firearms, individual strength is minuscule. Even a Kendo master can't stop a bullet. I wrote it there as a reminder to stay humble, no matter how much power I might possess."
"...I see. I think I get it, Sensei."
Hachiman didn't fully grasp the depth of it, but he understood the sentiment. The words left a lingering impression on his mind.
Akishin then asked, "So, do you want to give it a try? Just swinging the sword, without any heavy expectations."
Hachiman nodded slowly. "I guess I could try."
"Alright. Do five hundred swings. You're free to give up whenever you like. I'll be heading back out now."
Akishin left the room, prompted by the sound of a customer calling for the shop owner outside.
Hachiman watched Akishin leave, then turned his gaze back to the calligraphy. "A single blade emerges from the sea of the heart, cutting down others as well as oneself... Cutting down oneself... Well, let's see."
Hachiman picked up the wooden sword. He stood straight, gripped the hilt with both hands, and began to swing. His movements lacked any formal technique; his stance was unstable, and his grip was based purely on what felt comfortable.
He was just crudely hacking at the air.
However, as he continued, his originally unfocused eyes began to sharpen. His stance shifted naturally, adjusting to the rhythm of the swing.
By the two-hundredth swing, his arms began to ache. By the three-hundredth, even that lightweight wooden sword felt like a lead bar he could barely lift.
His ragged breathing and trembling arms were clear signs that Hikigaya Hachiman had hit his limit.
He remembered Akishin's words—that he was allowed to give up.
There were still two hundred swings to go.
Besides, swinging a sword like this was pointless anyway. He had no intention of becoming a Kendo master.
So, should he just quit?
Akishin wouldn't hold it against him if he did.
Hachiman felt the exhaustion seeping into his bones, and his grip on the sword began to slip.
He didn't even know why he had pushed himself this far to reach three hundred. Maybe it was just to kill time at first, but now, the remaining swings felt like they were being fueled by a stubborn refusal to lose.
It was just five hundred swings with a light wooden sword. He should be able to do at least this much.
But his arms simply wouldn't go up.
Hachiman looked at the writing on the wall once more.
"Don't screw with me... it's just five hundred!"
He let out a grunt, his grip tightening as his gaze turned fierce. It was as if he were facing an actual enemy right in front of him.
"I don't want to keep living in this fog forever... I want to cut down this pathetic, inferior version of myself..."
Hachiman realized deep down that he harbored a sense of inferiority, which often held him back from doing what he needed to do.
Out in the kitchen, Akishin heard the shout while serving a customer and allowed a small smile to play on his lips. He handed the bill to the patron. "That will be 1,300 Yen. Thank you for coming."
...
Author's Note: Swinging a sword really is exhausting. The author is working hard on building the plot.
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