Teaching Kendo in Tokyo 1980

After that, Kazuma walked Nanjo-san through a series of breakdown movements—the same ones he had demonstrated to Mikako.

Nanjo-san didn't look entirely convinced that this method could produce the kind of thrusting speed Kazuma had shown, but she still followed along obediently, step by step.

When Kazuma corrected her form by hand, he caught a faint scent wafting from her.

Is that… white plum blossom? he guessed to himself.

When it came to the fragrance of a yamato nadeshiko, the first thing that popped into his mind was white plum blossom. He'd always been fond of Yukishiro Tomoe from Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal, and the anime often mentioned her carrying a subtle plum blossom scent.

Nanjo-san looked surprised. "You… ah, yes. I'm using a white plum blossom fragrance today. Normally I don't wear perfume, but when practicing kendo, I spray a little to mask sweat odor. I did get permission from the school for it!"

Etsukawa Girls' was a very strict ojō-sama school—cosmetics were forbidden, and even shampoos were required to be lightly scented.

Kazuma had heard all about this from Chiyoko.

That Nanjo-san had gone so far as to get permission from the board of directors just to use perfume—well, that was pure ojō-sama behavior.

Mikako, standing nearby, was now anxiously sniffing her own uniform for any odors.

Kazuma adjusted Nanjo-san's hand position, then stepped back and said casually, "It's a shame it didn't rain today. The scent of plum blossom in the rain is the most enchanting."

Nanjo-san smiled gently. "The rainy season is just around the corner. Soon every day will be perfect for white plum blossom."

Mikako drew a sharp breath beside them, clearly shaken by this high-level exchange.

At that moment, Chiyoko chimed in to break the mood. "Bro, since when did you get so poetic? You couldn't even write a rhyming couplet before!"

Kazuma quipped, "How bad do you have to be to mess up a simple couplet?"

"And yet that was you," Chiyoko said, scratching her head. "Still… I like this version of you better."

If the real Kazuma knew, he'd be crying in his grave, Kazuma thought wryly. Oh well—if I've already NTR'd my way into this, it just proves the original was too weak. Being weak is the original sin.

He refocused on teaching. "Alright, Nanjo-san, try a full-speed sequence."

"Understood." Nanjo-san returned to her starting stance and launched into a thrust.

Kazuma could instantly tell her form had drifted.

His cheat skill ensured that as long as his stance and force direction were correct, his movements would never warp—a massive advantage.

After all, mature sword techniques were refined through countless iterations. They represented the optimal solution.

If a technique didn't produce the expected effect, it usually meant the movement had deformed.

When people claimed kata were useless, it was often because they hadn't mastered them—their movements always deviated.

Being able to perform a technique with perfect form every time was an impressive feat.

Nanjo-san wasn't there yet. To reach Kazuma's level of consistency would take an enormous amount of practice.

"Stop!" Kazuma called out, stepping forward to correct her posture.

Once again, that plum blossom scent drifted into his nose.

Smells amazing.

For a fleeting moment, Kazuma had the urge to hug her tightly and bury his face in her clothes to savor the fragrance.

But he immediately forced the thought away.

A man who once dismantled an entire yakuza group alone won't lose to such trivial temptation.

No one could tell he'd even hesitated.

Maintaining perfect composure, Kazuma finished his instruction like a gentleman and stepped back. "Again."

The practice continued for over an hour. Kazuma taught Nanjo-san the basics of the thrust and also introduced both her and Mikako to some fundamental Hokushin Ittō-ryū techniques.

Before they knew it, it was noon.

Chiyoko glanced at the clock in the dojo. "Bro, that's probably enough for this morning. Let's eat."

Mikako immediately raised her hand. "I brought a bento! A carefully prepared one! You can eat it cold!"

"I also brought snacks for the patient," Nanjo-san added quickly. "They can serve as lunch too."

Kazuma nodded. "Alright, let's eat in the courtyard. The weather's perfect—we can catch the last of the cherry blossoms."

The great cherry tree in the courtyard was still in full bloom. Though the fallen petals already formed a thick carpet on the ground, the blossoms showed no sign of stopping.

But its season was nearly over. No matter how robust the tree, nature would take its course—in a few more days, a single rainstorm would likely bring the petals down.

Kazuma led the way to the engawa between the dojo and the courtyard.

The Kiryu family's old engawa was broad and perfect for a small group to sit together, enjoy the view, and have a meal.

Kazuma plopped down on the wooden floorboards, legs dangling over the edge, gazing up at the blooming tree.

The three girls quickly brought out the bentos and other items, setting them up.

In Japan, these tasks were generally left to the women, and none of them seemed to mind Kazuma taking it easy.

Mikako opened her bento with great enthusiasm. "Ta-da! What do you think? Looks good, right?"

Kazuma glanced at it and smirked. "Hmph. It's not glowing—pretty average."

"What do you mean glowing?! You want me to add fluorescent dye?!" Mikako protested loudly, giving his shoulder a light smack.

Nanjo-san laughed. "Do you two always interact like this? Like a comedy duo?"

"Mhm." Kazuma nodded.

"How lovely," Nanjo-san said, sounding genuinely envious.

Mikako glanced at her, then leaned in to sniff her fragrance.

Nanjo-san said, "You can buy white plum blossom perfume at regular drugstores. But mine is a custom blend from an artisan."

"Ugh, I hate rich people!" Mikako cried dramatically, her expression straight out of a comedy routine.

In post-student-movement Japan, statements like that weren't unusual.

Kazuma ignored the cheerful banter, picking up his chopsticks and popping a piece of tempura into his mouth.

He had to admit—whether it was Mikako or her mother who made it—the tempura was excellent. Crispy on the outside, tender inside. Just right.

Kazuma was about to grab another when the doorbell rang.

He stopped Chiyoko, who was about to get up, and went to fetch a wooden sword from the dojo before heading straight for the entrance.

He flung the door open with a menacing air—only to find officers from the Keishichō Forensics Department standing there.

"Are you Kiryu Kazuma-san? We're here to return the items you left at the scene." The officer stepped inside—at this hour, the courtyard gate wasn't locked.

One officer carried a clear plastic box filled with wooden swords, setting it on the ground.

Another placed a straw hat and a long sword atop the box.

"Please verify the items and sign here." The first officer handed Kazuma a clipboard with an inventory sheet attached.

Kazuma nodded and reached for the longsword first. The familiar weight and the distinctive ichimonji pattern on the hilt confirmed it—this was indeed the Bizen Osafune Ichimonji Masamune.

He shifted to a hip-carry stance, thumb pressing the guard to slightly draw the blade.

A crisp sound echoed as the guard separated from the scabbard, revealing a sliver of the gleaming blade.

With a graceful motion, Kazuma fully drew the sword, letting its brilliance catch the noon sunlight.

Just then, a breeze swept through the street.

Petals danced across the blade.

As the wind passed, the petals fluttered to the ground—cleanly sliced in half.

"K-Kiryu Kazuma-san?"

The officer's voice snapped Kazuma out of his trance. Only then did he realize the officers had instinctively stepped several paces back.

Kazuma sheathed the sword with a smooth motion, took the clipboard, and quickly signed his name.

"You're not going to check the item count?" the officer asked.

"No need," Kazuma said with a smile, returning the clipboard. "As a good citizen, I trust the police."

(End of Chapter)