In the second round, he also successfully lured his opponent into a move. Nomura was a head taller and took the upper position. Even with a normal jump, his bamboo sword would not reach his opponent's small hand. In order to land a strike, he needed to come up with some kind of strategy.

One standard strategy against an upper-level opponent is to attack with a thrust and lure the opponent's kote back, but I intuitively felt uneasy about this approach. This was because Nomura's thrust felt farther away than the actual distance. I decided to stop trying to lure him with a thrust and let him hit my men.

He positioned himself so that Nomura's kote was on the extension of the tip of his sword and fired up. Nomura first showed his men, then quickly changed course and aimed for his kote. He calmly blocked this with his shinai and returned with his sword, striking Nomura's men. He thought maybe he'd landed, but not a single flag went up.

However, this aspect also serves as a foreshadowing.

"It's better to aim for the men from a distance than to hit the kote from close range."

Thinking this, Nomura suddenly became cautious. He gauged the timing to aim for the men from a distance, waiting for the other to get impatient and jump for the kote. Just when it seemed the match was about to end, he swung the tip of his sword wildly. The moment Nomura reflexively struck the men, the bamboo sword struck Nomura's left kote sharply. Nomura may have thought he was impatient, but it turned out that it was Nomura who was impatient.

"There is a small hand"

With just a few seconds left, he managed to fend off his opponent's fierce attack and won by submission.

***

Having advanced to the third round, Kensuke's chances of making it to the top eight suddenly look more realistic. If he wins two more matches, he'll quit kendo.

Kensuke was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the hallway, his head down as he listened to music coming from his earphones. Ever since he became a high school student, he had gotten into the habit of listening to music to concentrate before a match. Mamoru didn't know what kind of music he was listening to.

As I was standing there feeling lost, a familiar face spoke to me. It was Hirasawa, the coach at a high school in Fukuoka.

"Kikuchi-sensei, it's been a while."

Hirasawa gave a refreshing smile. He was a teacher about a decade younger than me. He spoke clearly and articulately, as befitting a physical education teacher.

"Oh, thank you very much. I couldn't even say hello at the Kyushu tournament though."

"Not at all. You're strong, Kensuke."

Hirasawa glanced at Kensuke, who was standing a short distance away, unaware that he was the subject of conversation.

"It's his last year of high school, so he must be really motivated."

"I envy you, Professor Kikuchi."

I was surprised when Hirasawa suddenly said something like that.

"What do you mean?"

"I hope my son continues practicing kendo."

"Well, that's true," I answered, but couldn't help but smile wryly.

"My son ended up playing basketball in junior high school. As a parent, I want my son to do what he likes, but even so, I was a little disappointed."

The arms sticking out from Hirasawa's shirt were his father's, thick and strong. As I nodded, I secretly compared them with my own.

"My daughter doesn't even pay any attention to kendo. I feel lonely."

"My daughter too. But, you know, my students are like my sons."

"That's true. I guess when you teach someone for a long time, you start to feel affection for them."

One of Hirasawa's students also competed in the individual competition, and that athlete, Fujinami, had advanced to the third round.

Kensuke took the earphones off his ears, stood up, and began doing some stretches.

"Well, it's about time."

"Oh, sorry to interrupt."

After a quick greeting, I parted ways with Hirasawa.

If Kensuke and Fujinami continued to advance, they would meet in the finals. I didn't want to see their match. If Kensuke advanced to the finals, it would mean that Kensuke would have to quit kendo. I was disgusted with myself for thinking that.

When Kensuke was four years old, the four of them spent New Year's Eve at his father's parents' house. His mother was still alive, and the two were living in Kagoshima City.

On New Year's night, after the relatives had left, Kensuke and his father went out drinking together. Kensuke had already gone to bed, his mother was cleaning up after the party, and his wife had put their one-year-old daughter to bed.

"Are you going to make Kensuke do kendo too?"

"That's what I meant," she replied to her father's question. As she sat in the kotatsu and sipped her hot sake, she heard her daughter crying from the other side of the sliding door. She picked up some pickled daikon radish from the bento box and put it in her mouth. The distinctive sourness of pickled daikon radish made it a poor match for sake.

"Does Kensuke say he wants to do it?"

The sour taste spread even more in my mouth.

"You're too old to decide whether you want to do it or not."

"Well, why don't you wait until you reach that age?"

"There's no need for that. If you're going to start, it's better to start as early as one year old."

My father began by saying, "He's your son, so raise him however you like," and then said this.

"If Akisuke says he wants to quit, then he should just quit."

I nodded silently, but in truth, I didn't take my father's words seriously.

"I'll take some medicine."

With that, my father stood up from the kotatsu. As I watched him pour water into a glass in the kitchen, I wondered how many more times I would be able to visit his parents' house.

***

When I took off my earphones, the singing that had been covering my ears disappeared, and I was enveloped in the silence that is unique to pre-game situations. I stood up to shake off my nervousness and did some stretching exercises. My father, who had been talking with the coach of another school, approached me.

"Should we go now?"

Without saying a word, he grabbed his protective gear and bamboo sword and stepped into the match venue. His opponent was already on the second court. He knelt on the floor and began preparing for the match.

His opponent in the third round is Sho Ishizaka from Osaka, the previous year's winner.

Last year, Ishizaka defeated his senior classmates to advance to the tournament, winning the final with two straight wins. However, in his winner's interview, there was no smile on Ishizaka's face. In fact, he said in the interview, "I'm not happy." This has earned him the displeasure of some of his coaches.

At some point, Ishizaka was nicknamed "Kendo Cyborg."

It was my first time fighting Ishizaka in an official match, but we had sparred several times during practice. I vividly remember that his steps were incredibly fast, and his face strikes were especially fast. He was on a different level from the opponents I had faced up until the second round.

When fighting Ishizaka, I decided to aim for the men-gaeshi do as my finishing move. Ishizaka's kendo is built around the men, which are as fast as an arrow. It is precisely because of the men that the kote and do are effective. When facing Ishizaka, it is best not to be half-fearful. So I came up with a strategy of letting Ishizaka hit my men, and then responding by hitting my do.

He donned the tare and do, then put on the mask. He tightened the men's strings, checked the condition of the kote, and stood up. Ishizaka, who was sitting across the court from him, hadn't put on his mask yet. His eyes showed no hesitation, and he stared intently at his hands.

Ishizaka's hair was a lush, 5-rin (approx. 1.5 cm) shorn crop. He stroked his head with the palm of his hand, which he had been watching, and then put on the mask. Watching this, I felt an indescribable sense of unease.

For just a moment, I thought I might lose.

As if to chase away any fear, I tried stomping my feet in the crowded venue. A girl who appeared to be a manager from another school, standing next to me, flinched and shook her shoulders.

That day, for the first time, he decided to play a game just for himself. Until then, he had played for his teammates, for the people who came to support him, and most of all, for his father. But today was different. He was playing a game just for himself, to decide the path he wanted to take.