Third person: Sho Ishizaka

I've been doing interviews in a hotel room for about four hours now. I'm exhausted from the repeated interviews. I suppress a yawn and stroke his short, shaved head. I feel a rough texture on my palm. My mind is fuzzy.

"Please tell us about your enthusiasm for this tournament."

"This is my last tournament, so I want to finish on a high note."

"Do you still see Fujinami as your biggest rival?"

"We all recognize each other as rivals."

"What do you keep in mind when playing a game?"

"I'm going into the match with the mindset that I want to win by attacking the midline."

As I continued to recite the same lines as always, I glanced sideways at Professor Ogata. He had his arms crossed and was staring at me. I wondered if this guy could lose his concentration.

The young male interviewer nodded and took notes intently. I wondered how many interviewers he had been to this tournament. I had already forgotten which journalist the man in front of me belonged to.

Was it "Kendo World" or "Kendo Journal"? Was it a reporter from a national newspaper or a local one? Judging from his unusually enthusiastic attitude, he might be an amateur reporter. He readily agreed to a request to interview him for publication on his website.

"Thank you very much. This will be a great article."

As the reporter stood up, he stood up from his chair and bowed politely.

"Thank you very much."

After the interviewer left the room, I sat down in my chair. Why is being interviewed so tiring, even though all I do is sit and talk?

Next to me, Professor Ogata was massaging his shoulders and talking on the phone with someone. If they were already bombarded with interviews just for making it to the top eight, then I'm sure they'll receive several times as many if they win. If that happens, even a professor like him will have to turn down some. I thought it would be helpful if he could turn down as many as possible.

It was Professor Ogata's policy not to turn down interview requests.

"Kendo is a minor sport, so you just need to promote it to the media yourself. Don't turn down interview requests."

The members are taught this during regular practice sessions.

Ogata sensei, who turns 60 this year, has been a kendo instructor for over 30 years. During that time, he has worked tirelessly to raise the profile of kendo. He has apparently undertaken a variety of jobs to help kendo gain recognition in the world. He has volunteered as a referee countless times at small tournaments, and when invited to give lectures, he has flown out, spending more than his honorarium. Apparently, when he was younger, he even competed in a kendo match against celebrities on television.

The first time I met Ogata sensei was at a kendo tournament for elementary school students in Hiroshima. He came all the way from Osaka to act as the chief judge and gave a short speech at the opening ceremony. I remember him talking about spreading kendo and concluding with the customary phrase, "I would like to spread kendo all over the world someday." The sensei then asked, "Does anyone have any questions?" and everyone immediately raised their hands.

"Why is Ogata Sensei working so hard to promote kendo?"

The teacher answered the children's questions with a serious face, without laughing or getting angry.

"To give back to kendo."

The teacher looked me in the eye and spoke clearly in a Kansai accent.

"Kendo is the only thing I can do. But I'm able to make a living as a teacher and instructor, and people call me sensei. I owe this all to kendo. So I'm promoting kendo as a way of giving back to it."

When Ogata Sensei talked about kendo, his eyes lit up. I knew instinctively that he loved kendo. It might be fun to practice kendo with him. I think that was the extent of my impression.

I've forgotten the details, but I won the individual championship at that tournament. I don't remember how many times I won. However, I do remember what happened after the closing ceremony.

At the closing ceremony, Professor Ogata placed the gold medal around my neck.

"Please continue to do your best."

After the closing ceremony, the teacher called out to me again.

"Ishizaka-kun, you're strong. You're especially good at men. You can easily land men even on opponents who are bigger than you."

"thank you"

"Where are you going to middle school?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Professor Ogata smiled and said, "I see, maybe it's still too early."

"You're not in sixth grade. You're in fifth grade?"

"Third year. Eight years old."

I will never forget the shocked look on my teacher's face when I answered that way.

From a young age, I was often told that I was a reliable child. I grew taller and faster, so it's no wonder I was mistaken.

"So that means... Ishizaka-kun will be a middle school student in four years."

The teacher's gentle personality was apparent from his tone.

"Ishizaka-kun, do you want to do kendo with me?"

When I answered "Yes," the teacher said, "Okay, I'll come again in a little while."

By the time he was in fifth grade, he had already decided to go on to Myoho Gakuen. Myoho Gakuen is a combined junior and senior high school, and Mr. Ogata is the head coach of the kendo club. It felt like it was destiny to practice kendo with Mr. Ogata.

At the time, I wrote an essay on my dreams for the future, and my mother would bring it up whenever the opportunity arose.

I will train as hard as I can, do kendo at Mr. Ogata's school in junior high, and in high school I will be taught kendo by my teacher and compete in the national championships. After graduating from high school, I will join the police, become a police officer, and become the best in Japan.

"He wrote, 'I want to be number one in Japan,' not 'I want to be number one in Japan,' but 'I will become number one in Japan,' so I thought, 'Oh, this kid is serious.' I remember that very well."

I've heard my mother tell that story many times.

Looking at it objectively, it's not surprising to think so, as he was a great performer. In fifth grade, he placed third in the national individual competition. In sixth grade, he captained the team that won the national championship. He also has fond memories of being scolded by the coach at the time for lifting him up in the air outside the gym.

Neither of his parents had any experience in kendo, and they only encouraged him to start it casually when he started elementary school.

"I was hoping he wouldn't quit so soon, but I never expected him to win the national championship."

It was my father who said this.

Both of his parents were against his going to Myoho Gakuen. There were strong kendo schools in Hiroshima as well. "If I was going to leave my parents' home, I wanted to at least start in high school," they said.

In the summer of my sixth year of elementary school, my mother suddenly told me, "Mr. Ogata from Myoho Gakuen will be coming next week."

"Really? Why?"

"This is your solicitation. How many times have you done this?"

The following week, I met with Professor Ogata for the first time in three years. Even though he was in his mid-fifties, his muscles were clearly visible even through his short-sleeved shirt. The four of us - my parents, the professor, and I - sat in the dining room of his home and talked.

The teacher began to persuade my parents to let me enroll. The teacher himself was in no mood to intervene, so he just stared at the profile of the three of them.

"Sho-kun will become a treasure in the kendo world. This is the first time I've met a child with such talent. Please let me teach Sho-kun."

Professor Ogata looked as if he was about to kneel down on the dining room floor. My father had his arms crossed. My mother was staring blankly at her hands. "To be honest with you," my father began.

"I've heard your pick-up lines more than enough since he was in fifth grade. I'm grateful that you want Sho to live with us. You're not the first person to come from outside the prefecture, either. But I have no intention of sending him to a school that's too far from home. I plan to send Sho to a public junior high school."

"Of course you may be worried. Our school will make sure that you go home and do not force you to practice. I promise that. There are many other students who have come from far away in the dormitory, so you can also learn how to live in a group."

"Next year, Sho will finally be in his first year of junior high school. If he goes to your school, he'll have to live in a dormitory for six years. We're worried about that too."

"I understand how you feel, but-"

I could hear Professor Ogata swallowing his saliva.

"Excuse me, but in my opinion, Sho-kun is too arrogant."

Ignoring the stiff expressions on his parents' faces, Professor Ogata continued.

"I can put Sho-kun's foot down and get him on the right path. There is no one else who can guide Ishizaka Sho other than me."

My father and mother exchanged glances, then called out, "Sho."

"Do you want to go to Myoho Academy?"

"yes"

"Does it have to be this teacher?"

"I want Professor Ogata to teach me."

My parents whispered something to each other for a while, then told me, "Sho, go back to your room for a bit." After the three of us talked for about an hour, Ogata-sensei left. I was called in to take his place, and when I entered the room, my mother was crying.

"You really want to go."

"i wanna go"

"I ended up quitting midway through, you know. I lived in the dorm for six years."

"I know."

The following month, my father called Myoho Gakuen, and my mother and I were standing by while he was on the phone.

"I'll leave Sho in the care of Ogata-sensei."

I remember this comment clearly. As my mother stroked my head, I was savoring the joy of being able to practice kendo at Mr. Ogata's school. In contrast, my mother was on the verge of tears again.

When I became a high school student, I asked my father why he had allowed me to go to Myoho Gakuen.

"Ogata-sensei was the only one who really delved into Sho's humanity."

It happened after dinner, when my mother wasn't there.

"All the other teachers only saw Sho as a machine for kendo. Rather than leaving him with a teacher like that, I thought it would be better to have him raised by someone who could raise him as a person, even if it was far away. His mother was against it, though."

My father smiled in the dining room where Professor Ogata had once bowed his head.