Based on Rias's explanation of the martial artist system and his own understanding, Haruto referred to that special power as "Qi."
This world had many types of special energies, and different cultivation paths extracted different powers.
These included, but were not limited to, mana, cursed energy, aura, spiritual power, and Qi.
Miyajima Shihan, who was currently swinging a bamboo sword fast enough to leave afterimages, had already glimpsed the threshold of Qi.
The day Qi clearly manifested within his body would mark his ascension to the master realm—equivalent to B-rank strength.
Facing the storm of attacks, Haruto retreated in small, quick steps while circulating his mana, further enhancing his Eye of Insight and Basic Body Mastery.
Fighting barehanded against a weapon was indeed disadvantageous, as Haruto's physical resilience hadn't yet reached the point of being impervious to blades.
Fortunately, his opponent wielded only a bamboo sword, so taking a direct hit wouldn't be a major issue.
The thought of bulldozing through with sheer physical prowess flashed through his mind but was quickly dismissed. Even if he won that way, Miyajima Shihan would remain unconvinced deep down, despite not voicing it.
That wouldn't bode well for fostering future relations or gathering intelligence.
After dodging awkwardly for about three minutes, Haruto finally found an opening.
Seizing the moment when his opponent was catching his breath—old force spent, new force yet to gather—Haruto pushed off hard with his right foot, instantly closing the distance.
The solid wooden floor creaked ominously as Haruto suddenly appeared before Miyajima Shihan like a phantom.
Clenching his right fist, he struck with seventy percent of his strength, landing a blow on the well-trained abdominal muscles.
The speed and power unleashed by his formidable physique under Basic Body Mastery left Miyajima Shihan no time to react.
Taking that punch to the gut, he nearly collapsed on the spot.
"Ugh—"
Gritting through the pain, Miyajima Shihan tried to retreat, aiming to regain the advantage with his weapon's reach.
Haruto couldn't help but respect him more. Taking a direct hit and still fighting on confirmed his earlier assessment—Miyajima Shihan's strength was nearing B-rank, though his combat experience was lacking.
Overall, his skills were quite impressive.
No wonder he neglected his stunning, mature wife to immerse himself in kendo.
Once the admiration passed, Haruto pressed the attack without mercy, employing close-combat techniques honed through countless beatings from a certain white-haired loli.
He still held back at seventy percent.
This wasn't out of restraint, but because in real combat, unless certain of a one-hit kill, one must always reserve some strength.
Otherwise, the result would be like Miyajima Shihan earlier—once a weakness was exposed, there'd be no chance to counter.
This was also why many fighters intentionally left openings during battle.
If the opponent took the bait and committed fully, they'd seize the moment to strike back decisively, even determining life or death.
From the pre-battle kiai to his subsequent attacks, everything revealed Miyajima Shihan's lack of real combat experience.
While kiai could bolster one's spirit, it also served as a warning to the opponent.
Seasoned swordsmen usually drew their blades without fanfare—at most, they might utter a low grunt.
Haruto didn't aim for lethal or crippling spots. After Miyajima Shihan desperately held on for dozens of seconds...
Scratch that.
After taking over a dozen brutal punches to his stomach and back, Miyajima Shihan finally couldn't endure it anymore and collapsed to the ground.
Once Haruto closed the distance, Shihan hadn't managed a single decent counterattack.
Seeing Shihan on the ground, Haruto instinctively raised his foot to stomp on the man's head.
The bystanders watched the scene in stunned silence. They'd imagined Shihan might lose, but never this decisively.
Their shock was so complete that no one even thought to stop Haruto's 'brutality'.
Shihan saw the looming shadow above him and instinctively shut his eyes.
After waiting without feeling the expected pain, he opened his eyes to see Haruto barely stopping his movement at the last moment.
"Ahem..."
After clearing his throat, Haruto slowly withdrew his foot.
"Master Miyajima, the ground's cold. You should get up."
Shihan's face flushed red as he struggled to rise, but the intense pain made his movements awkward, leaving him momentarily unable to stand.
He turned his head and glared furiously at his disciples.
"You idiots! What are you all staring at?"
The quicker disciples finally snapped out of their daze and rushed forward to help their beaten master up.
"Master Miyajima, my deepest apologies. I hope you can forgive me."
Watching the disheveled Miyajima Shihan, Haruto felt he might have gone a bit too hard.
He wasn't here to challenge the dojo—losing wouldn't have been a big deal...
Ideally, he should have lost by a narrow margin, preserving Shihan's dignity while still achieving his goal.
Haruto shook his head regretfully. Unfortunately, his skills weren't strong enough to control the entire fight with such precision.
After standing up, Shihan waved off his students' support and said solemnly, "No, I should be the one thanking Haruto for going easy on me."
He was a doting father, but not a fool. Haruto's fluid, relentless attacks were filled with lethal intent.
In terms of real combat experience, he had been completely outclassed.
Since the age of fourteen, he had participated in countless matches, and even now, he still sought out other kendo masters for sparring whenever possible. He prided himself on his extensive practical experience.
But compared to Haruto, he was like a flower raised in a greenhouse.
His earlier lapse in defense was partly his own fault, but more so because Haruto was sharp and decisive.
Shihan couldn't help but wonder how someone as young as Haruto could possess such ruthless, seasoned combat instincts.
But Haruto didn't volunteer an explanation, and as the defeated party, Shihan had no face to ask.
Instead, he compromised, saying, "This place is too crowded. Let's discuss my daughter's matter in the quiet room at the back."
Haruto nodded, picked up his clothes from the floor, and followed the limping Shihan toward the courtyard behind the dojo.
Watching Haruto's tall, straight-backed figure, Miyuna's eyes sparkled with fascination.
She had thought he was just a harmless puppy, but hidden beneath was a fiercely aggressive wolf.
This was... amazing!
She could already feel herself getting wet. If not for the inappropriate setting, she would have thrown herself against that firm chest right then and there.
She wanted to kiss that handsome, delicate face, run her hands over those well-defined abs, and then take that hard, burning heat inside her—to fully experience that storm-like intensity.
A nearby student muttered sourly, "Hey, Miyuna, stop drooling. He's already gone."
"Hah, what? Jealous?"
"Jealous? With that scrawny build, he'd never satisfy you."
Haruto wasn't short by any means—he was average for his age—but compared to these long-trained adult men, he did seem somewhat lacking.
Miyuna planted her hands on her hips. "That 'scrawny build' could take down three of you."
"And I've checked—his 'assets' are way bigger than any of yours."
She glanced downward with a disdainful smirk.
The male students who had designs on Miyuna flushed red, wanting to argue but at a loss for words.
In the end, they could only slink away in frustration.
...
Passing through the small, stream-lined courtyard, they reached a few traditional Showa-era houses where the Miyajima family lived.
Haruto and Shihan entered a quiet tatami room, which also served as the family's guest reception area.
A voluptuous, strikingly beautiful woman slid open the wooden door. Her long, narrow phoenix eyes exuded boundless allure, and her purple hair was tied into a thick braid that draped diagonally over her right shoulder, resting softly against her ample chest.
The form-fitting lavender knit sweater was stretched taut by the swell of her ample bosom, like two ripe melons filled to bursting with sweet nectar, defying gravity in their pert uplift.
Her slender waist, so delicate it seemed one could encircle it with a single hand, bore an impossible weight, making one worry it might bend or even snap under the strain.
The rounded curves of her backside, perfectly shaped like a full moon, were plump and generous, firm yet yielding beneath the fabric.
From the voluptuous hips down, the jeans clung tightly to her long, shapely legs, accentuating the full, rounded thighs and the slender, well-proportioned calves—each a sight to quicken the pulse.
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