He entered the court to replace the previous player, bending his knees and standing on his toes. This is a posture called 'squatting', which both players adopt before and after a match. Even before their bamboo swords touched, he felt Ishizaka's pressure all too well. He felt as if he was being pinned down by Ishizaka's gaze, like an insect in a specimen impaled by a pin.

"beginning"

He stood up as the referee announced.

From the first blow, the two men's energy clashed violently. Ishizaka rose to his feet and quickly closed the distance. Resisting the urge to strike, he held down Ishizaka's shinai with the tip of his sword. The shinai was then forcefully swept away, and Ishizaka leaped towards his kote. Ishizaka turned the swept shinai around and hurled it at his men, but his opponent had already closed in at high speed. The base of the shinai hit Ishizaka's face, but it was too close and did not count as a point.

He carefully kept his distance from the sword and aimed for the Hikimen, but was dodged by his opponent's neck. As he extended his arm to hit the Hikimen, his Kote was left wide open. Ishizaka hit the Kote hard, but this too was slightly off, so no flag was raised.

He quickly retreated to create some distance, but Ishizaka closed the gap even faster. Waiting for the moment he stopped at the edge of the court, he leaped towards him, bending his body like a spring. He responded by aiming for the opposing opponent's face, but his left foot wasn't strong enough.

By the time he tried to raise his shinai, Ishizaka's shinai had already hit his men. The sound of the shinai hitting the men echoed through the gymnasium, and three flags went up in unison.

"With face"

As I returned to the starting line, I adjusted the shinai's naka-tsui (middle knot). It was a habit I'd adopted when my opponent had won the first match. I felt my father's gaze on me from behind. I absolutely would not lose. My father might want me to lose, but I absolutely would not lose.

I can't get impatient now. The match hadn't even been going for a minute yet. I told myself this over and over again as I readied my bamboo sword.

Ishizaka's gaze, peering through the gaps in his mask, is as unwavering as it was before the match. An unwavering gaze that can only be afforded to someone who has absolute confidence in their kendo.

After hesitating for a few moments, he decided to stick to the strategy he had laid out before the match. If he gave up and changed his strategy at this point, it would be playing into his opponent's hands. In this match, he was determined to force Ishizaka to hit him in the men and then aim for a return strike to the do. There were about three minutes left in the match.

As soon as he readied his bamboo sword, the referee made his announcement.

"Second one"

To successfully execute the Kaeshi Do, he first needed to divert Ishizaka's attention to another part of his body. Deciding this, he closed the distance and jumped onto Men. However, this Men was merely a setup for Do.

I thought Ishizaka would simply parry the attack with his bamboo sword, but my guess was wrong. Ishizaka stepped in a split second faster than my men and quickly came out with his kote. Ishizaka's dekote hit home, with a soft pop. One of the assistant referees raised his flag. My heart sank, making a sound like scraping glass. But the other two referees didn't raise their flags. Unless more than two referees raised their flags, it wouldn't be a point. My heart relaxed.

In the midst of a sword-lock, he was trying to read the situation somehow. Up until this point, Ishizaka had been building the match around his kote. However, wasn't this a kote intended to hit the men? Just as I was hitting the men as a prelude to hitting the do, Ishizaka might not have been particularly interested in fighting with kote. In fact, it was the men that had been taken just now.

Ishizaka is going for the men, so aiming for the do is the right move.

In order to avoid him realizing he was aiming for the torso, he struck the men thoroughly. A pull-men, a kote-men from a distance, a pull-men again. Suppressing his impatience, he waited for Ishizaka's men. Jump quickly to the men. He was ready to return the torso. Quickly to the men.

With one minute left in the match, Ishizaka, who had been moving carefully, suddenly closed the distance. He attacked even deeper between the blades. The moment Ishizaka's sword tip rose, I was sure.

It's the men. It's finally here. I quickly raise my hand to block Ishizaka's men. After receiving the men, all I have to do is strike the torso. This makes it an evenly matched one-on-one. From here on, it's a single-point match with no limit.

However, Ishizaka did not jump for the men. The bamboo sword that was meant to hit the men went straight for the throat. The trajectory was strange for a hit to the men. Surely this was a thrust? By the time he realized this, Ishizaka's bamboo sword had already struck the throat from above the tsukitare. Ishizaka had pretended to hit the men, inviting the throat to open up. He was taken in by the temptation.

"Tsuki"

Thrusts are a dangerous technique that targets the throat, so they are prohibited for junior high school students and younger. If a beginner who has just entered high school thrusts with all their might, even if they hit the target, the person who is thrust will be so painful that they will be unable to stop coughing. On the other hand, a thrust by a master will cause no pain at all, and the person will not even notice that they have been thrust.

That was exactly what happened with Ishizaka's thrust. I felt the tip of the sword lightly touch my throat, but I didn't feel any pain. I looked around and saw that all three referees had raised their flags. Cheers and applause erupted from the stands.

It's the same as last year.

In the end, he had lost two matches. He crouched down, put away his bamboo sword, and sighed.

Last year, I was winning steadily until the fourth round when I faced Fujinami. I was in good shape last year and today too. I thought I could do it. Perhaps that complacency led to my loss this year as well.

As I left the court and turned around, my father nodded. Without saying a word, I took off my protective gear in the corner of the gym. I carefully put my shinai back into its bag and my protective gear back into its bag, then changed from my gi and hakama into my school uniform in the hallway. There was no one else in the hallway except me. I took more time than usual to fold my gi and hakama neatly.

No tears flowed. However, sweat dripped from my forehead and soaked into my hakama. Tokyo's summer was strangely and uncomfortably hot.

The summer of my third year of high school has come to an end.

***

To be honest, I was hoping that Kensuke would lose right up until the match. Kensuke is a conscientious person, so I'm sure he wouldn't quit kendo if he didn't make it to the top eight. I wanted Kensuke to continue with kendo, even if it meant going in one way or another.

However, once the match began, he couldn't bring himself to pray for Kensuke to lose. He couldn't help but wish for his son to win.

The coach couldn't speak to the players during the game. He sat silently on the tatami mat, motionless, desperately picturing Kensuke winning. Win. Win.

Unfortunately, his wish was not granted. After leaving the court, my son took his time to put away his protective gear and fold up his judo uniform and hakama. Kensuke's Inter-High School Championships were over.

While absentmindedly watching the other matches, I decided to stop clinging to kendo. Perhaps the reason I was forcing my son to learn kendo was to get back at my father. You showed no interest in my kendo, but I'm doing so much for my son. I have a son who will carry on my kendo...

Now that my father is dead, I'll put an end to this rebellion. I'll let Kensuke do whatever he wants, including painting.

I approached Kensuke, who was sitting at the edge of the hallway. Sensing my presence, Kensuke looked up and smiled brightly.

"I lost so badly."

That night, they went to eat yakiniku for dinner. Kensuke had requested yakiniku as it was what he wanted to eat most at the time. It wasn't a cheap restaurant, but they ordered everything on the menu that caught their eye. Kensuke kept saying "delicious" as he stuffed his face with the meat and rice. Not to be outdone, he grilled the meat and ate it.

"What about beer?"

In response to Kensuke's question, he replied, "You can't drink alcohol, so I'm holding back."

"I'm considerate of strange things."

Kensuke muttered this quietly.

Once my stomach had settled down, I started talking.

"Is it bad to paint while doing kendo?"

Kensuke's eyebrows moved, furrowing. When he made that expression, he looked a lot like me.

"Just because you lost in the third round doesn't mean I have any intention of forcing you to continue practicing kendo. But is it really okay for you to stop now? Isn't it fine if you can balance drawing and kendo?"

I became a social studies teacher because I didn't want to be called a kendo fanatic. It was the rebellious spirit of my youth that made me want to become someone who could only do kendo. I chose social studies only because I had a slight interest in Japanese history. However, now that I've been a teacher for nearly 30 years, if I look at myself objectively, I see that I've become a typical kendo fanatic.

When I heard that Kensuke had won a painting contest in junior high school, I was incredibly proud of my son. I was happy to discover that he had talents other than kendo. However, praising my son so much at just 15 years old was against my educational policy. I wanted to raise Kensuke without spoiling him, just like my father had done.

"That's the plan."

Kensuke was staring at the edge of the desk and didn't look depressed.

"I lost, so I'll continue kendo. But I'll also draw."

"I see."

I was glad that he said he would continue with kendo. If he continued with kendo, he could draw as much as he wanted. If that was what Kensuke wanted to do.

"Kensuke, what are you going to do until the day after tomorrow?"

I had booked my flight back to Kagoshima for the day after tomorrow, the final day of the tournament, and my hotel room was booked until tomorrow, because I had to attend the closing ceremony the day after.

"Do you want to go to the Ueno Art Museum?"

I don't remember ever being to an art museum, but I do remember that it was in Ueno. I don't know what kind of museum it was. Kensuke immediately said, "No, it's fine."

"I want to watch the game."

As he spoke, Kensuke's eyes were those of a kendo athlete. He finished his oolong tea and continued.

"It's frustrating to lose."

I looked up. It felt like it had been a long time since I last made eye contact with Kensuke without his mask on.

"The moment I want to paint is when I truly cherish that moment."

Kensuke looked away. His profile resembled both his own and his father's.

Is there anything you want to draw now?

"That's true..."

Kensuke thought for a few seconds before answering.

"Fireworks, I guess."

I realized that Kensuke probably had almost no memories of summer. Every day of summer vacation was spent practicing and going on trips, and the last time I took him to a fireworks festival was so long ago that he couldn't even remember it.

I was too embarrassed to say, "Let's go see the fireworks next time." Even if I can't say it now, I'll definitely say, "Let's go see the fireworks" when I get back to Kagoshima.

I looked out the window of the yakiniku restaurant. Tokyo is filled with neon lights at night. I'm sure the fireworks will be more beautiful in Kagoshima than in Tokyo.

***

The painting that won him a gold medal when he was in junior high school is still hanging in his room.

The white areas are noticeably yellowed and the paint has faded.

The scene was a kendo hall. There was a single person drawn in the center. The person was wearing a kendo uniform and hakama, and was brandishing a bamboo sword. His face was stern as he looked at me, but he also looked a little lonely.

The title of the painting is "My Master."