Keiya Iwai

Hokkaido UniversityGraduated from the Graduate School of Agriculture.2018He made his debut as a writer in 2013 with his novel "Proof of Eternity" and won the 9th Yasei Jidai Frontier Literature Award. He has now published his second novel, "Shadow of Summer." He began practicing kendo in the fifth grade of elementary school and is a fourth-degree black belt.

sequence

It was a hot summer.

Even in the hot weather, I put on my mask and protective gear and swung my bamboo sword with all my might. No one had told me to. I chose to do so myself.

I was still a third-year high school student. I didn't know anything, but I felt like I understood everything. I thought that what I could see was everything, and that what I believed was the right answer. What a huge mistake.

I will never forget that summer.

That summer completely changed the scenery before my eyes.

First person: Kensuke Kikuchi

I wonder if we'll all go to the Makurazaki fireworks festival tonight.

I was thinking about this during the opening ceremony, surrounded by over 600 athletes. In front of me were a row of tournament officials, with All Japan Kendo Federation officials and the tournament executive committee chairman taking turns giving speeches. As I listened to the long speeches, I somehow felt as if it was happening to someone else. In the front, a girl holding a placard that read "Kagoshima Prefecture" was shaking her head rhythmically.

I knew that the Makurazaki fireworks festival, held in early August, was the largest in southern Satsuma. I'd heard that at the end of the festival, a 3-shakudama firework, 90 centimeters in diameter, would be launched. It must be beautiful. It's a shame that I've never seen one, so I can only imagine. I casually looked up, but there were no spectacular fireworks, just the sterile ceiling of the gymnasium.

The day before yesterday, six of us third-year students gathered at a family restaurant for a send-off party. During the dinner, the vice-captain, Shinya, proudly said,

"Let's all go to Makurazaki the day after tomorrow. My brother said he'll bring his car."

After the practice the day before, the Satsuryo High School Kendo Club had handed over leadership to the second-year students. This meant that all of my classmates except for me had retired from the club. My classmates, who hadn't been able to compete in the Inter-High boys' team competition, had forgotten the tears they'd shed in the finals of the prefectural qualifying tournament and were excitedly discussing plans for the fireworks festival.

"Let's pick up girls, pick up girls."

"You say things like that and I'll never do it."

As the group got more and more excited, all I could do was sulk and eat my hamburger steak. As I was leaving for Tokyo alone in two days, I wasn't enjoying the conversation of planning outings. What was supposed to be a "Kensuke supporters' gathering" had suddenly turned into a simple meeting to plan a short trip.

"Please talk about that somewhere else."

"Ah, sorry."

When he was reprimanded, Shinya apologized slightly, but didn't seem particularly bothered.

Perhaps because they had officially retired and the weight had been lifted from their shoulders, everyone seemed a little more excited than usual. Perhaps feeling apologetic, another member of the club patted me on the shoulder as if to offer some reconciliation.

"Anyway, Kensuke, do your best for us."

"They're a favorite to win."

"Yo, the favorite to win."

His classmates all cheered him on.

I don't like being called a favorite to win, but none of my classmates noticed. They all silently ate the potato salad that came with the meal.

He started being called that after he was introduced in the magazine "Kendo World" as one of the candidates to win the men's individual kendo championship at the Inter-High School Championships. It wasn't the first time his photo had appeared in "Kendo World," but it was embarrassing to see him, who only made it to the top 16 last year, lined up alongside the other prizewinners.

Just being able to advance to the finals as a second-year student is something he should be proud of. He can confidently claim to be a top-class player in Kagoshima Prefecture. But Kyushu, let alone the national tournament, was a different story. Shinya and the others eating dinner with him had never been to the national tournament, so the words "contenders" carried no weight. They probably wouldn't understand how painful this is. Having crossed swords with a ferocious player last year, he knew firsthand how far away winning is.

And the goal this year is not to win.

To advance to the quarterfinals.

After the opening ceremony, the athletes lined up and left the stadium in the same formation as when they entered. As they left the stadium to applause, they returned to their belongings and took off their protective gear and uniforms. On this day, they were only allowed to wear their uniforms for the opening ceremony.

As I was folding my hakama in the hallway, the director came over. He approached me, his protruding belly swaying beneath his polo shirt, and looked almost imposing. However, I knew very well that this man was more timid than he appeared.

The director stood next to him and immediately began scolding him.

"You should stand up a little straighter. And don't look down when you're walking. I always tell you that."

He didn't even look up. The coach watched in silence for a while, then said, "You go upstairs first," and left. When I changed into my uniform, gathered my protective gear, and went to the entrance of the gym, the coach was smoking a cigarette next to a stand-up ashtray.

"No smoking there"

When I pointed to the wall, the coach said "Huh?" and looked in that direction. On the wall was a sign written in red magic marker that read "No smoking during the Inter-High School Championships." The coach hastily smothered his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Let's go."

He started walking forward as if nothing had happened.

I hated this insensitive side of my father.

"Isn't it annoying to have your dad as the coach?"

My classmates ask me this kind of question all the time. It's annoying, of course, but I always reply with a half-laugh, "I wonder." If I say it's annoying, it's bound to get back to them. It's easy to imagine that this would make the situation even more annoying.

Mamoru Kikuchi is a well-known kendo player. He currently holds the rank of 7th dan in kendo. He usually works as a social studies teacher at Satsuryo High School, and after school he coaches the kendo club members.

The teachers at Satsuryo High School were famous for their excellent teaching skills. Even the kendo club members, who were not particularly good at their grades, listened seriously to the lessons because they were interesting. There was a rumor going around among the students that "Satsuryo High School places a lot of emphasis on mock lessons in the recruitment exam, so applicants who find the lessons boring are rejected."

In this environment, Kikuchi Mamoru's classes were exceptionally boring. They were so boring that rumors spread that my father was the only one who didn't give a mock lesson during his employment exam. According to the rumor, since he was hired as the kendo club coach, his teaching skills didn't matter. It makes sense.

As a kendo practitioner, Kikuchi Mamoru has a long list of impressive achievements. During his high school years, he won the national championship as the vanguard at the National Athletic Meet. In college, he placed third in the individual national competition. After becoming a teacher, he defeated a police officer to compete in the All Japan Championships three times. As a coach, he has had his students compete in the national tournament once every two or three years. It was after his father was appointed to the school that Satsuryo High School became recognized nationwide as a strong school. He takes some pride in that.

I heard this story when I was in high school, and apparently even while I was still in my mother's womb, my father had been telling me every day, "You should become an 8th dan in the future." After I was born, the first name he suggested was "Kensuke," but my mother strongly opposed it, saying, "Don't give your child a name that will burden him," so they were forced to change the name to "Akisuke" by just changing the characters. When I hear stories like this, I can't help but frown.

I had no free choice whether to do kendo or not, and before I knew it, I was already holding a bamboo sword. I don't remember, but it seems that the first time I took a swing was on my third birthday.

My mother remembers that time well, and has told me several times that "Kensuke just swung his bamboo sword a little, and Dad was so happy he said, 'That's a good move.'"

He also tried to get his younger sister, who was two years younger than him, to try kendo, but every time he tried to get her to hold a bamboo sword, she would cry and scream and throw it away. He apparently tried several times, but each time he met with strong resistance, so he was finally forced to give up.