While I watched that battle in front of Setomori High School's gate, something flashed through my mind: I could never lose.
Two delinquents were clashing with aggressive styles, convinced they were the strongest. All these arrogant types think they'll never lose just because they have money, but the only thing rattling around in their empty heads is the desire to win—no matter how. Win to be seen as the best, in other words, for fame. They might hit the gym every day to build muscle, train sprints for endurance, and buy imported bladians, but they lack what it truly takes to win. In this sport, determination alone doesn't mean much. The simple thought of "I want" to win is what weakens a person the most. Weak motivations like that aren't enough to land the decisive blow.
The tall student with long hair—around two meters high, with enviable musculature—was Setouishi Kanabe, said to be the strongest Kendoushi practitioner at Setomori High. All the girls were screaming his name; some even held up banners with hearts and "Kanabe-sama" written on them. They were all the same. Though, honestly, it made me a little jealous. But the opponent Kanabe was fighting wasn't weak either: Masato Kensuke. Despite also being a spoiled rich kid with a Polish bladian and a muscular build, he seemed to have a bit more intelligence. He was from Hokudera High and had come alone. Apparently, he was fighting over a girl—his girlfriend—whom Kanabe had harassed. Kanabe was a total idiot; he hit on everyone and thought way too highly of himself. Seeing him with the upper hand pissed me off. The difference in power was obvious.
"Hahahaha, pathetic! You came all the way here to humiliate yourself in front of your girlfriend!? Is that what you call honor? Trash from Hokudera—a low-class school like yours should ban students from practicing Kendoushi. And don't forget the promise you made when you hit the ground face-first!"
Kanabe charged at Kensuke at full speed. He bent his torso low, as if gaining more acceleration, but in reality, he was just forcing Kensuke's gaze downward. Then, with all his momentum, he leaped and unleashed eight consecutive strikes aimed at the other boy's head. Kensuke, under heavy pressure, managed to block seven with his bladian, but the eighth grazed his cheek, making him stagger back two steps toward the line separating the arena from the ground.
"Hey, mister, is this Kendoushi? My mom still won't even let me practice in kendo dojos, but this is the first time I've seen a fight like this outside school."
I was watching everything from the school rooftop—I'd snuck in, of course. I froze when I heard the little kid's voice. He looked about fourth grade. Kids under 12 aren't allowed to practice Kendoushi. I felt bad for him seeing the sparkle in his eyes as he followed the fight's movements. I think I was a bit like that in my childhood—maybe even more obsessed. It made me smile as I remembered the first time I held a bladian—the same one I still carry today.
"You probably don't know the rules yet, but it's a pretty simple sport."
"It's just about hitting your opponent 10 times in 15 minutes, right?" The kid looked at me like he was showing off.
"Well, it's not quite that simple. Kendoushi is relatively new—created about 30 years ago—and it's a mix of kendo, samurai katana handling, and fencing. It might sound complicated, but the rules are unique: only styles resembling those three techniques are allowed. Everyone's free to create or adopt their own moves. Look at the long-haired guy—his style is built around speed. His body's huge, and normally people that size are slow and rely on raw power. But he's trained sprints to boost his speed, plus gym every day to get even stronger. His real focus is velocity. The muscles in his legs help with explosive jumps. He doesn't just run—he leaps side to side, and that momentum makes his attacks hit harder. See? He attacks in straight lines like fencing, pointing the tip from mid-chest upward at his opponent. His goal is to steal the enemy's vision. I'd say his techniques are well-grounded and refined. No wonder he's number one at the school."
"Ehhh!? So that's the famous Kanabe!? I've never seen him up close. Whenever he walked down the hallway, tons of girls would scream his name and some even fainted. Because of my height, I could never really see what he looked like, but from up here... he looks like a monster."
"Hey, talking like that makes me think the bastard really is more famous than Elon Musk."
"But what about the other guy? He's not from here, and it looks like he's already taken eight hits while Kanabe only took two!"
"Exactly. The shorter guy with spiky hair and that rich-kid vibe uses ancient sword arts. He prioritizes slashes—lateral cuts, like slicing vegetables in the air. He aims for openings with precise strikes, so he attacks less and thinks more during the fight. But under Kanabe's pressure and power, he couldn't hold out. Plus, there are more factors in a Kendoushi match than just strength, speed, and the three base styles."
"Mister, be more specific! I'm tired of long explanations from my teachers. Look—the rich kid just took another hit!"
"He won't last much longer. Like I said, he's only in this because everyone around is cheering against him. Look closer: he has all the traits of a spoiled brat who's never lost in his life. His parents probably gave him everything—the best academy, the top Kendoushi instructors. But he lacks courage and boldness. He's been conditioned to live in a sheltered world where money buys everything. Now he's surrounded by people who don't support him, who don't care if he's rich or handsome. His mentality is already broken. I'd say this kid is actually stronger than the famous long-hair in pure skill, but his psychological defeat right at the start decided the match. He lost because he has no crowd support, lost because of the pressure from his promise, lost because he's no longer the center of attention."
I took a deep breath and placed my hand on my bladian.
"Hey, kid—what's your name?"
"Makino," he replied, still glued to the fight that was nearing its end.
"Well, Makino, want to see something interesting?" For the first time, the boy tore his eyes away from the two fighters and looked at me. "Then watch how the world of Kendoushi is way bigger than strength, money, and training."
"Ken! You promised you'd break up with me if you lost? How could you do this?"
Irina—Kensuke's girlfriend—started crying while Kanabe's friends crowded around her, laughing and praising their "boss's" supposed victory.
"Hahahahaha! Exactly! I told you before, didn't I, girl? Dump this trash and come to me. Now you have no choice."
Kanabe had forced Kensuke to his knees. One more hit and the fight would end. Kensuke had no strength left to block the endless consecutive strikes from the long-haired guy who never seemed to tire. I grabbed the metal railing of the stairs leading from the rooftop to the ground with one hand, swung my body outward, and let myself drop while holding on—releasing and re-grabbing to control the descent. The roof-to-ground height was over ten meters, but years of physics knowledge and even some parkour practice helped. When I was about two meters from the ground, I let go completely and landed with both feet planted on the concrete, twisting my spine but keeping my knees from fully buckling. I whistled in relief. Everyone in the circle turned to me in surprise.
"Huh? Who the hell is this guy? Your friend, trash?"
Kanabe rested his bladian on his right shoulder, gripping the hilt with his left hand. He was left-handed—that already showed me his biggest weakness.
"Friend? Nah, I don't have friends from elite schools like this."
One of the guys spotted the emblem on my uniform—Hanazawa High, a public school considered "low-class."
"Dude, he's from Hanazawa! What the hell is a slum rat doing here? You wanna die?"
Kanabe's lackey was a skinny kid with a long face and spiky blond hair. His bulging eyes and acne-covered skin screamed "social outcast who only follows stronger people because he's weak and has nothing else." Actually, everyone at this school seemed like that: the vulgar girls with their branded accessories and makeup, all obsessed with fame and money; the boys desperate for girls' attention and popularity. It felt like I'd stepped into a giant trash can—but I wasn't here to judge people.
"Oh yeah, I kinda came by accident. I was passing by on the street and saw this childish dispute. At first I thought it'd be a fun fight, but in the end you guys just bored me."
As I said that, two more of Kanabe's goons stepped in front of me. They drew their silver-trimmed bladians and pointed them at me. I kept both hands in my pockets, staring only at Kanabe, who was shaking his head with a grin.
"Wait—leave the rat to me. What do you want?"
Kanabe approached me, but Kensuke—who was kneeling—stood up.
"Wait! I haven't lost yet! You have to finish me!"
Before Kensuke realized, I grabbed the back of his collar and tossed him aside, stepping forward to face Kanabe—who really did look like a monster up close.
"I hate unfair fights. I really can't just stand by and watch, so I'm finishing this match for him."
Everyone stared at me and burst out laughing—because of how I looked. I'm 1.72 m tall, 17 years old—a kid compared to Kanabe's nearly two meters and MMA-fighter build. Most guys at that school were jacked; they probably all went to the same gym. They thought they were strong and invincible. They saw me—with my normal build—as just a worm. Truth is, I was weaker than all of them.
"Don't mess with me! This fight is mine!"
Kensuke pointed his bladian at my face, nearly grazing my cheek. I didn't flinch—just moved my right hand to the sheath at my waist.
"You see the situation you're in, idiot? Besides being selfish enough to bet your relationship on a fight with the biggest asshole in town, after nine hits and 12 minutes you still haven't realized you're at a total disadvantage in this environment. In a one-on-one in an empty place with no stakes or promises, you'd beat him easily—I can tell. But here, you're just getting pummeled. So step back and let me save your relationship. I saw your girlfriend really likes you. I don't want to see a couple break up because of Kendoushi. This isn't what the sport was made for—it wasn't created for kids to bet relationships or start stupid feuds at school gates. This is a sport that should be taken seriously. So stop being cocky and don't mess with guys like this. Got it?"
Kanabe looked like he was about to foam at the mouth. Kensuke, on the other hand, seemed to understand my words. He lowered his bladian as his long-haired blonde girlfriend hugged him and pulled him back.
"You're saying you'll win this fight in his place? Who the hell are you, you filthy slum rat? I wouldn't fight a rat even if you paid me. Besides, the score was 9-2. You'd accept a fight at that score? Hahahahaha, you're pathetic. I actually feel sorry for you, so I won't have my guys beat you up today. Just get lost and we'll forget everything. I'll pretend I didn't hear that crap about you beating me. The two of you together wouldn't stand a chance. Stop embarrassing yourself—can't you see everyone's laughing at you? Holy shit, hahaha."
I didn't expect any other reaction, but at this point there was no turning back. I drew my bladian—the one with a lightning symbol engraved in the center of the blade. Kendoushi is a sport that doesn't cause pain to practitioners. The blades are made of a rubber-like material with no cutting edge. There's an electronic system in the swords that calculates battle points. Every hit you land on an opponent shows up in red numbers on the right side of the hilt; the left side counts clashes between bladians. There's no way to cheat the system—the bladians only register when they touch the opponent's body. In official matches there's always a referee. Hitting the groin or eyes is forbidden, but the rest of the body is fair game. No matter how much force you put in, the worst you'll get is bruises—no broken bones or fractures. That's the cutting-edge tech from 2025, after years of refinements and exchanges.
"For a slum rat, your bladian isn't half bad. But kid, are you serious? You really want to fight at 9-2? I'd never beat up a rat like that! Let's do this: we start at 9-9. What do you say?"
Kanabe reconsidered. He looked happy—he wanted to get this over with. My stomach was growling from hunger.
"Nah, I wouldn't be satisfied with that. Like I said, I like fair fights. So I want to fight with the original score. I'm fighting for Kensuke-kun, so one more hit and you win."
Everyone went silent. They started thinking I was crazy.
"My God! I've never met a guy as insane as you. But fine—if that's what you want. I gave you a chance to leave, but when you lose, my guys are gonna teach you a lesson for making me use my sacred bladian against a suburban insect. Look, everyone—this is what happens to rats who crawl into our sacred turf."
I wasn't listening to the kid's nonsense anymore. I focused on the fight. If I took even one hit, it was over. The circle reformed. The girls screamed Kanabe's name. Kensuke watched me with a mix of pity and humiliation.
"Well, I'll be merciful and end this in five seconds."
Kanabe used his usual technique. Strong and precise as it was, it was predictable after seeing it more than three times. I knew exactly what he'd do. As he charged with his torso low and sword pointed like a fencing thrust, I stood still with my bladian behind my back. He couldn't see which hand held it. When he noticed, he smirked, thinking I was hoping he'd jump like before. But he veered left, switched hands—now in his dominant left—and made a fast move no normal person could predict, aiming for my legs.
I just leaped and landed back on my feet after dodging. The guy stared at me with wide blue eyes, sweat-soaked hair covering half his face. He jumped back twice, bent low again, and prepared the same strike. He was intense—didn't waste time in fights. Good method, but it left tons of openings. First, he couldn't read what his opponent planned because he thought too fast about his own attacks. He didn't focus on defense. Overconfident. Using both hands gave him advantage, even though he mostly attacked left—he could strike right too. That's how he hit Kensuke nine times. But in my eyes, this big, scary guy to most people was just a spoiled, selfish brat. He knew nothing about Kendoushi.
"Lucky slum rat doesn't last long, dude!"
This time he jumped over me—great leg power and impulse. He swung a violent strike at my spine. But I'd predicted it from the initial momentum. Without turning, I twisted my arm and blocked with my right alone, tilting my neck slightly to check.
"W-what?"
I'd blocked it. He froze for seconds—his mentality shaken, just like Kensuke's. That was the opening I wanted. Naturally, I couldn't dodge those strikes more than twice. Even knowing where he'd hit, he was stronger—he'd overpower and strike once I moved my bladian. But I knew he'd be shocked if I blocked, and in that tiny window, I used my strongest technique to end it fast.
"Most Kendoushi fights are lost to overconfidence. Don't forget that. Humility is one of the seven precepts of this sport."
With a quick motion, I pulled my bladian away—but subtly—leaving his sword in place. I targeted his waist. In under 12 seconds, I landed 15 strikes on both sides of his wide torso—8 right, 7 left. The guy buckled at the knees. He felt the hits (I hadn't used full force), targeted spots that made his gut hurt enough to drop. Kneeling, out of breath, he dropped his bladian. I felt bad for overdoing it—maybe I was tense from the taunts. Though in my whole life, I'd heard the same crap from idiots like him.
"H-how...? How is this possible? Boss?"
The spiky blond stared in shock at Kanabe, who wouldn't lift his face. I sheathed my bladian and turned toward Kensuke.
"If you'd attacked him like that, you could've won. Don't fear the crowd. They look threatening, but they're just a bunch of yes-men."
I patted the rich kid's shoulder and walked through the crowd. But then I heard Kanabe's scream.
"Youuu! Wait! Who the hell are you, damn it?"
No one could speak. They were all stunned, whispering that Kanabe had lost to trash. His goons wouldn't even look at the guy who seemed ready to cry as he stood up.
"How...? I'm the highest level in this school and the whole area—level 37, dude! Only one other person here is higher, and he's my right-hand man. How could trash like you do this?"
On our bladian sheaths, the level shows—measured by wins vs. losses in any battle, official or not. Every ten wins without a loss, you level up. In three years of Kendoushi, I'd lost only once (outside training losses to my dad). I turned my sheath and showed the number 40 to everyone. They let out an "oh" of shock—but that's what I expected. This was an elite area; they had no idea what went on in poorer neighborhoods. They thought people there didn't even know Kendoushi. In reality, besides me, there were two other level 40s and four at 39 or 38.
I turned away without a word, but the kid shouted again.
"Just tell me your damn name! I won't forget this!"
"My name is Katsunaga Shin. Pleasure taking you down."