Everyone present was enthusiastically cheering for Saeko Busujima's solo kendo performance.
Saeko was the very picture of the ideal Yamato Nadeshiko—gentle, graceful, and refined. Both Rikka Eriri and Kasumigaoka Utaha were on good terms with her, so once her performance ended, neither of them held back their applause.
The Kasumigaoka couple also gave heartfelt praise to Busujima Tarō, openly admiring him for having such an outstanding daughter.
But Minamoto Senya, watching from a short distance away, could clearly see how forced his future father-in-law's smile really was.
The freshman opening ceremony ended a little after eleven in the morning.
After that, there wasn't anything else formally arranged by the school. Classes would officially start tomorrow.
The group strolled around the school grounds together before the Kasumigaokas suggested going out for lunch.
When it was time to part ways after the meal, Kasumigaoka Utaha had her own little idea—maybe she could send her parents home first and then tag along to Senya's place for a while.
But before she could open her mouth, Busujima Tarō beat her to it. With a hearty laugh, he slung an arm around Senya's shoulder and said warmly,
"Senya! I rarely get the chance to come back like this. If you're free this afternoon, how about we finally spar again?"
By "spar," of course, he meant a proper, structured kendo match with bamboo swords.
As someone who had dedicated his life to promoting kendo culture, Tarō had always held a deep admiration for Senya's natural talent. It was something widely known.
Senya agreed without the slightest hesitation.
At the same time, he was also curious to confirm a certain suspicion of his.
And just like that, Utaha's little plan fell through.
Since Tarō had named Senya specifically, it would've been awkward for her to insist on tagging along.
So, after bidding farewell to the others, Senya followed the Busujima father and daughter back to their home.
True to his decisive personality, Tarō headed straight to the family dojo the moment they returned.
They didn't bother with full armor—just like old times. After changing into kendo uniforms and doing some light warm-ups with their bamboo swords, the two stood face to face.
Saeko knelt at the side, acting as referee, and gave the signal. The two charged forward.
Without relying on his demonic brain's combat calculations or predictive movements, Senya and Tarō went at it evenly. Against Tarō's seasoned technique and strength, far superior to most men his age, Senya occasionally found himself pressed back.
But if he truly went all out, the situation flipped instantly. The match would become one-sided in his favor.
"Dō! Point, Senya!"
Saeko raised her hand to announce the end of their fifth bout.
Senya calmly withdrew his bamboo sword, its tip still hovering near Tarō's chest.
His father-in-law-to-be was breathing heavily, chest heaving, while Senya himself looked utterly composed, not even breaking a sweat.
The difference was obvious.
Tarō sheathed his sword and gave a strained but satisfied laugh. "Seeing you win the Yulong Flag again, I was worried that the standard of kendo among Japan's youth was declining. But now, it's clear—those kids didn't lose unfairly. You've grown even stronger. Truly, you're the future of kendo, Senya. Its inheritance and path forward rest on your shoulders."
He clapped Senya's arm firmly.
Senya replied modestly, "You flatter me, Uncle. When it comes to etiquette, culture, and the deeper spirit of kendo, I'm still far behind someone like you, who has devoted years of his life to the art."
Tarō's personality was open, bold, and straightforward—very easy to get along with. That was a relief.
Though, Senya couldn't help but wonder what kind of reaction he would have if he discovered the truth about his relationship with Saeko.
Given how Tarō had once wanted to adopt him as a foster son, maybe he'd actually be pleased. After all, to him, a son-in-law was as good as a son.
But if he ever learned the full extent of Senya's "generous affections"… well, that was a different story.
Saeko once told him that her father had been promoting kendo around the world for years, establishing countless dojos abroad.
He might not literally have disciples everywhere, but if he raised his voice, hundreds would surely rally to him.
Senya could take on dozens of opponents at once, sure—but against an endless tide? Reality wasn't a video game. No matter how strong, if his stamina couldn't recover, he'd eventually collapse.
So while he politely replied to Tarō, his mind was already running wild with thoughts of potential future disasters.
Tarō himself had no idea of Senya's thoughts. Looking at this handsome, powerful, yet polite and refined young man, he couldn't help but think back to his own youth.
At Senya's age, he hadn't been this strong.
And unlike Senya's steady humility, he had been reckless and arrogant, flaunting his early fame until reality humbled him with bitter defeats.
It had taken years of "beatings from society" for him to recognize his faults and change, to become a man of humility and restraint. But mistakes don't simply vanish.
Because of this, seeing Senya's talent combined with discipline filled him with deep joy and admiration.
A good lad—an excellent lad!
For such a brilliant rising star to appear before him, and for him to just so happen to have an equally excellent daughter… surely this had to be fate!
But then, when he thought of his daughter…
Tarō's smile gradually faded. "Thanks for sparring with this old man so long, Senya. Take a break."
Senya nodded.
Tarō then turned to his daughter, still kneeling at the side. "Saeko, spar with me for a few rounds. I want to see how much you've improved while I've been away."
Ah, here it comes.
Senya handed Saeko his bamboo sword and sat cross-legged at the edge of the dojo, watching intently.
This was, in fact, one of the main reasons he'd agreed to Tarō's invitation. He wanted to see this very scene—whether his suspicions were true.
Saeko's expression shifted as she gripped the sword with both hands. The gentle warmth faded, replaced by a sharp, steely focus.
Tarō chuckled at her stance. "Good expression. Now come at me—without holding back."
Saeko gave a small nod and then lunged forward with all her strength.
As their bamboo swords clashed, Senya's brows furrowed slightly.
Tarō's smile also disappeared, replaced by a serious expression.
Remembering her earlier mistakes on stage during the cutting demonstration, he quickly came to a conclusion.
After a dozen exchanges, he grew impatient with her attacks—energetic on the surface, but riddled with flaws.
He seized the moment. With a powerful swing from left to right, his bamboo sword struck her guard hard at the tsuba.
It was a decisive blow, not only aimed to end the match but also fueled by frustration.
Caught off guard, Saeko's hands went slack, and her sword flew from her grip, spinning through the air—only to land neatly in Senya's raised hand.
Saeko stared in disbelief at the bamboo sword now leveled at her chest, then down at her trembling hands.
Tarō's stern expression lingered for several seconds before it softened into a sigh.
Just moments ago, his admiration for Senya had been immense. Now, the disappointment he felt toward his daughter was equally immense.
"Saeko," he said gravely, "I already noticed something this morning. When you cut the tatami mat on stage, your angle was off. Your swing lacked force. Those are beginner's mistakes—ones you shouldn't be making. At first, I thought maybe you were just nervous in front of an audience. But clearly, that wasn't it.
"Your strikes now—the Busujima family's most basic techniques, men, dō, tsuki—you performed them sloppily, with distorted form. Your body was lax, your grip weak. You couldn't even hold your sword properly. Tell me, Saeko… what has happened to you? Have you truly been practicing every day while I was gone?"
"…."
Saeko lowered her head, unable to respond. Her eyes grew dim.
Her father's words weren't shouted, but each one pierced her heart.
Senya, face burning with shame, stepped forward. Because now, he was nearly certain—Saeko's decline in kendo was directly tied to him.
No, not just tied—he was the culprit.
Ever since that hot springs trip, when they confessed their feelings and made their relationship official, they had been inseparable.
Not quite "every single night," but close. Whenever they had spare time, they were together—intensely so.
Every time, Saeko would be drenched in sweat, collapsing with a dazed, blissful expression…
Ancient texts like the Suwen claimed, "Essence is the foundation of the body." The Jingyue Quanshu warned, "In youth, after losing essence, seven days are required to recover." Even the Zhenjiu Jiayijing stated plainly: "Excessive indulgence weakens the sinews."
Senya had never experienced any negative effects himself. If anything, he felt more refreshed, less restless, sleeping soundly through the night. He hadn't realized—until now—that Saeko had been paying the price instead.
Her weakening kendo.
Her irregular eating habits.
Even… early signs of fatigue.
All of it suddenly made sense.
Tradition said that men suffered more from excess. "There are only exhausted oxen, never ruined fields."
But with his monstrous stamina, maybe it was the opposite.
And now, watching Saeko wilt under her father's disappointment, Senya couldn't bear it any longer. He blurted out,
"Uncle, please don't blame Saeko. This is my fault."
Because her head was lowered, Tarō didn't see the sudden light in her eyes at those words.
He waved dismissively. "I know you two are close, Senya, but what does this have to do with you? Don't take responsibility for everything."
Of course, the thought had crossed his mind—had his daughter and Senya gotten… that close? Could that be the reason?
But after crossing swords with Senya himself, he dismissed the idea. If that were true, how could Senya look so vigorous while Saeko alone declined?
Men knew the toll of such things. He himself had suffered dips in performance back when he was newly married.
"Really—it is my fault," Senya insisted, though carefully avoiding the full truth. "Before the Yulong Flag tournament, Saeko helped me train intensively. She focused on me instead of herself. That's why her own practice suffered."
Half true, half not. Yes, they had "trained." But not only kendo, and not only in the dojo.
Tarō still seemed skeptical, but at least it was a concrete explanation. He turned to his daughter. "Saeko, is this true?"
She raised her head and answered calmly, "Yes, Father. I did train with Senya before the tournament. But my decline is due to my own negligence, not his."
Tarō sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"Saeko, I'm not blaming you. But kendo is like rowing upstream—if you don't advance, you fall back. If you want to pursue it seriously, you must have both spirit and discipline. Never forget that."
"I understand, Father."
With her obedient reply, he patted her head and left the dojo.
He had originally planned to stay only a few days for her entrance ceremony. But seeing her condition, he decided to remain for at least a month, to keep an eye on her progress.
Once her state reassured him, only then would he leave again.
After he left, Saeko smiled gently at Senya. "We may have… overdone it."
Her choice of words carried a double meaning.
Senya's face flushed with guilt. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."
"No, it isn't," she murmured, cheeks reddening. "After all, I was the one who kept wanting it…"
Senya, seeing Tarō was gone, reached out and took her hand. "I love you, Saeko. But if being too frequent hurts you, we should hold back. Everything in moderation. Let's… try to restrain ourselves."
"Restrain… then maybe… once a week?" she teased, drawing a line across his palm.
"No," he said firmly, curling his fingers around hers. "Once a month. That's safer."
"…Alright."
Though the sudden drop was hard to accept, the fact that he was considering her well-being filled her with warmth.
Still, she hesitated. "…But when we're together, you never seem affected at all. If you have to endure so long… what will you do?"
"I'm not a beast," Senya said softly. "I can control myself. This much is nothing."
Her moist, enchanting gaze rose to meet his. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.
"Besides, we can still do this. For me, that's enough."
"Senya…"
"…Hm?"
"Not enough."
And then she was the one who closed the gap—standing on tiptoe, looping her arms around his neck, kissing him with fiery passion.
April 1st.
The new school year began.
Minamoto Senya was now in his third and final year of middle school.
Time really did fly.
It felt like only yesterday he'd sent Yukino off at the airport, every detail still vivid in his memory.
Of course, maybe that was just his sharp memory.
As the new term began, Senya set himself a few short-term goals:
First—his writing.
Winning the Edogawa Ranpo Prize with The Astrology Murder Magic was only the beginning. Not only had it brought him wealth, but also fame. Now, industry professionals—whether familiar with him or not—always addressed him respectfully as "Minamoto-sensei," regardless of his age.
That alone reminded him of the high status writers held in Japan, and strengthened his resolve. He would keep writing novels.
Second—Toika.
He thought maybe it wasn't worth waiting so long. Perhaps he could find a chance in daily life to confess to her directly. But her words the other day had blocked his first attempt, so he'd have to think of another approach.
Third—money.
Not that he lacked any. On the contrary—his recent income had skyrocketed, to the point of being a "happy problem."
Endorsements, events, TV appearances, royalties—his personal savings had already exceeded one billion yen.
Not euros or dollars, sure—but still, an impressive sum.
He hadn't touched it yet, letting it sit in the bank. He wasn't interested in stocks or securities.
Instead, he wondered if he should personally lead some kind of investment or business venture.
But without a clear idea, he remained in the "thinking stage."
…