To be honest, Kazuma hadn't expected such a sudden turn of events. It caught him completely off guard.
"Uh… well, I don't think I can beat you, sensei," he blurted without thinking.
It wasn't exactly wrong—after all, Daimon Gorō's Style-less 8 level made him a solid martial artist by civilian standards.
Kazuma himself was currently Shintō-ryū 6.
Before he transmigrated, the original Kazuma had been even worse: Rishin-ryū 3. Back then, he'd even lost to Style-less 4 Fujii Mikako.
Clearly, this cheat ability of his was simple and unadorned—the number after each style represented raw combat power.
So even between practitioners of different styles—or those with no formal style—you could compare numbers for a straightforward gauge of strength.
Four was greater than three. Eight was greater than six. A simple ratio of four to three.
By the numbers alone, Kazuma was certain to lose.
And this time, he didn't have any terrain advantages or other factors to exploit.
If he wanted to win, he'd have to stack some of those mysterious buffs... whose effects were still unclear.
And for Kazuma to stack buffs, he needed a sense of ceremony.
Of course, he wanted to win—not because he was aiming to fight as the team's anchor. He'd already decided to give up the kendo scholarship track and enter the University of Tokyo through regular exams. The national kendo tournament no longer held much practical significance for him.
Right now, he simply wanted to win on instinct. That was all.
It was also a good chance to further explore the potential of this cheat ability.
This ability would be key to helping him survive the challenges ahead—who knew when Tsuda-gumi might drop their caution and make a move?
**
Naturally, Daimon Gorō had no idea what Kazuma was thinking. He simply assumed Kazuma was being humble.
How could someone who fought off yakuza and seriously injured a gang boss possibly lose to an ordinary high school P.E. teacher?
Common sense said it was impossible!
Teachers like Daimon Gorō were partly hired to deal with delinquent students—that was how things were now.
Five or six years ago, teachers like Daimon had also been tasked with dragging radical students off stages during school assemblies, clearing them out of occupied broadcast rooms, and more.
Back then, high schoolers weren't quite as extreme as university students, but they were still a handful.
Even so, Daimon knew his own limits—he could handle students, sure, but yakuza? No way.
Someone capable of beating yakuza wouldn't lose to him. He didn't believe it for a second.
This match, in fact, was a tactical move to quiet the original anchor.
He couldn't exactly announce to the entire club that "Kiryu Kazuma defeated the Nishiyama-gumi boss." If he did, Kazuma would likely be suspended on the spot. The school wouldn't care whether he'd fought the yakuza or colluded with them. What they feared was the PTA writing complaints to the Ministry of Education.
Public schools relied on government funding. They couldn't afford to offend the higher-ups—not like private schools, which answered only to their wealthy board members.
If any hint of yakuza association got out, Kazuma's chances of being recommended to the police academy would vanish.
As for entering Todai—well, Daimon had just come straight here from the mailroom after a phone call. He hadn't been back to the office yet, so he still didn't know about Takanashi-sensei's little incident.
As far as Daimon knew, Kazuma saying he wanted to get into Todai was just a joke.
—Kazuma, this is the best I can do for you. Win the national tournament as the anchor, then join the police academy!
That was what Daimon was thinking as he raised his voice. "Everyone, gather around! We're going to hold an exhibition match between me and Kiryu Kazuma!"
**
At Daimon's shout, the kendo club members quickly assembled, forming a hollow square around Daimon and Kazuma. Each student sat in proper seiza, their bamboo swords neatly placed on the same side of their bodies in perfect alignment.
**
Mikako came running over with Kazuma's armor and began helping him suit up.
As Kazuma donned the armor, he watched his classmates sitting so uniformly and couldn't help but be impressed.
Seiza was brutal—just as torturous as being forced to hold a squat for too long during military drills.
Kazuma could never get used to seiza. When sitting on the floor, he usually preferred to sit cross-legged.
But looking at everyone in such orderly formation, he suddenly thought—this is really ceremonial!
If he followed it up with a dramatic "I'll take on ten of you!" it would be even more so.
Then he glanced at Daimon Gorō and thought the man looked like a beefier version of "General Miura."
Once that image popped into his head, Kazuma couldn't unsee it. Every time he faced Daimon, he wanted to toss aside his bamboo sword, strike a Wing Chun pose, and say: "Wing Chun. Ip Man."
And in Cantonese, no less.
While these random thoughts swirled in his head, he finished suiting up.
At that moment, the club captain—who had originally been the team anchor—and the vice-captain each took a pair of flags and positioned themselves on either side of Kazuma.
These were the match referees.
In kendo matches, referees used flags to indicate which player had landed a valid strike.
Unlike Western fencing, Japanese kendo lacked sophisticated scoring equipment—no wired jackets that signaled a hit. Everything was judged manually.
Seeing the referees in place, Daimon Gorō adopted the standard kendo starting stance.
There was no sword drawing per se in kendo matches—no Iaigiri techniques here—but at the start of a bout, both sides performed a ritualized "drawing" of their bamboo swords, simulating the motion.
Japan loved such formalities. It was all about ceremony.
Kazuma had never taken this pre-bout ritual so seriously before.
After all, a strong sense of ceremony might help him trigger buffs.
At the referees' signal, both sides drew their bamboo swords—held reversed at the hip—in unison. That completed the "drawing" motion.
Then both players crouched low, crossing their bamboo swords in the air.
Next, they slowly rose together in sync.
Kazuma thought, This still isn't enough. I should announce myself—really lean into the ceremony. If possible, I'd even like to recite a haiku.
He spoke up. "Rishin-ryū—Kiryu Kazuma—enters the field!"
Before he could finish, Daimon Gorō had already charged in.
"Men!" Daimon shouted, striking Kazuma's men guard with the sakigawa of his bamboo sword.
Even through the helmet, Kazuma felt the force of the blow. His head buzzed, momentarily dizzy.
Daimon frowned. "That's not how you do it! You think this is a taiga drama? You're not supposed to announce yourself before a match!"
Kazuma felt wronged. Hey, there's no rule against it in kendo! No rule says you can't announce your style—or recite haiku!
Sensei, what's the rush?!
(End of Chapter)