Thursday, April 4th
Kyousuke was the third-to-last to wake up that morning, with the two usual suspects trailing behind him—Eriri and Kasumigaoka.
As he opened his door, the savory scent of fried eggs hit him.
On reflex, he gave a few knocks on the doors of the two reigning sleep champions.
It wasn't always Kyousuke who prepared breakfast.
This household ran on a rotating schedule managed by the girls themselves.
This morning, it was Shouko and Naoka's turn in the kitchen.
For those who weren't exactly culinary experts, they usually made up for it in other ways—bringing snacks, fruits, or the like.
While walking down the stairs, he could already hear Shouko softly humming a tune, the background melody provided by the sizzle of eggs meeting hot oil.
Ironically, the one who couldn't carry a tune back in elementary school was now the household's favorite and most skilled singer.
Since they were kids, Kyousuke had always made an effort to walk louder when approaching Shouko, unless someone was sleeping.
He didn't want to startle her by showing up out of nowhere.
"Morning, Shouko, Naoka," he greeted casually, accepting the warm milk Naoka handed him with a smile.
"Good morning, Kyousuke-kun~" Shouko chirped, turning around with a delighted smile, her face glowing like she'd spent all night just to greet him that way.
Clad in a blue apron and holding a spatula, she was a picture of domestic bliss.
Meanwhile, the noise from the living room caught the attention of someone—or rather, someones—out in the garden.
A girl and a dog.
Momotarou, shaking off Sakura's grip, scampered inside like a wobbly drunk, tail wagging and a goofy grin plastered on his face.
Watching the dog trot clumsily over, Kyousuke could almost hear him say, "Aniki, you're finally up!"
Of course, that was impossible.
The only ones who ever called him "aniki" were Kisaki's dumb underlings.
No way a dog could pick that up after just two visits, right?
Not with that IQ.
Even if Momotarou could say it, there's no way Kyousuke would understand him.
"You're finally up, lazybones. The sun's practically roasting your butt already," came Sakura's morning greeting as she followed the dog into the house.
"No way. I've got three layers of blackout curtains. Not a single ray's getting through," Kyousuke replied dryly.
Momotarou, who'd originally charged toward Kyousuke, started veering off course the moment he hit the living room, eventually wobbling his way into the kitchen instead.
The range hood fell silent.
A bleary-eyed Eriri stumbled downstairs in what could only be described as a sleepwalking state.
She usually stayed like that until Kasumigaoka dropped her signature sarcastic comment—that was what everyone called her "forced reboot."
Momotarou's doghouse still wasn't done, but Kyousuke had already made a fair decision.
Following both Eriri and Kasumigaoka's requests, he'd build the dog two separate homes—one for the garden and one indoors.
That way, Momotarou could be a truly blessed pup with a house for every occasion.
Starting today, the school clubs at Soubu High were officially kicking off their recruitment season.
After class, each club would set up their booths with handmade or freshly printed signage to attract newcomers.
On weekends, performance-based clubs like the drama club would even hold mini-shows to draw in new members.
As soon as classes ended, Kyousuke found himself surrounded by Kendo Club members and practically dragged to the clubroom before he could escape.
Before Kyousuke's enrollment, the Kendo Club had been pretty much ignored.
You'd only see people swinging shinai during P.E. classes.
Their practice room was a shared corner of the sports field, and they were often grumbled at for being "too loud" during training.
"Seriously, those basketball guys are just as loud, but they make it one round further in the district tournament and suddenly they think they're hot stuff," grumbled Aoto Tamaki, the club's former captain who was now a third-year.
But his indignation quickly turned smug.
"Well, now they're the ones crammed into the gym, while we're living large in our own spacious room!"
Their new practice room was impressively large—maybe not as extravagant as Higashi High's, but easily the size of two basketball courts.
From what Kyousuke knew, even the Hokushin Itto-ryu dojo in Suginami Ward wasn't this big.
The school had plenty of unused space, but typically wouldn't allow students to use it due to maintenance costs.
Now, with Kyousuke as their ace, the principal saw "potential results" waving at him and generously offered the room—along with a solid funding package.
"Whoa, all this gear's brand new!" Hikigaya Hachiman exclaimed as they opened the storage room.
His old school's kendo club had been just as neglected—everyone had to buy their own gear, and sparring always carried the risk of someone getting brained.
Despite having been "promoted" to captain practically at light speed, Kyousuke continued to treat the role the same way he had in middle school—hands-off.
The former captain, now his vice, still had one last shot at the nationals.
This summer would be his final chance, and he was clearly fired up.
He changed into his uniform like he wished he had Doraemon's instant change camera, shouting, "Hurry up, come on! Show me that fighting spirit!"
Thanks to a recent cleanup, the wooden floors were spotless.
Kyousuke let out a small breath of relief.
Kendo practice and matches were always done barefoot.
If someone complained, the organizers would just say, "Yeah, we know it's dirty. Deal with it."
Even though modern kendo was now a competitive sport, it still retained many traditions from actual sword duels.
Unlike anime, where characters charge into battle wearing wooden clogs or straw sandals, real-life matches were far more grounded.
In Japanese martial arts novels, it's common to see lines like, "He kicked off his shoes and charged forward." Maybe going barefoot had symbolic meaning too.
Everyone formed rows and sat down for warmups.
Even Kyousuke wasn't exempt—no matter how fit you were, skipping warmups was a great way to throw your back out.
Gripping his shinai at both ends, he stretched his body from every angle.
After stretching, no one jumped straight into training.
Instead, they gathered in the center, waiting for the new captain's opening speech.
As for new recruits? No rush.
Word had already gotten out that Kyousuke—the guy who caused a scene yesterday in the school building—was joining the Kendo Club and aiming for nationals.
"Join now and head to the Takemichi Arena!"
That was the bold slogan plastered on their recruitment booth.
The Takemichi Arena was the dream stage for aspiring pros.
Just from the name, it was obvious—it was a sports hall.
Whether it was kendo or judo, any major event held in Tokyo tried to book it.
This year, the national high school kendo tournament was being hosted in Tokyo.
Even the school's star soccer club didn't dare advertise that boldly.
Not that they were part of the national IH (Inter-High) circuit—they competed in a separate tournament.
Kisaki Tetta had officially stepped back from active training.
Unlike in junior high, where a team's ace could carry the whole squad through a deadly "last-man-standing" format, high school kendo used a best-of-five system.
Every match counted. Kisaki had realized that his talent had hit its ceiling.
So now, he handled a "manager" role—managing funds and logistics.
Kyousuke looked down at the eager eyes of his club members and sighed, already feeling a headache coming on.
Even with veterans like Goro Hatake, whom he had trained for three years, their current skill level still made him uneasy.
Even though Tokyo, as this year's host, had the privilege of sending two teams to Nationals, he wasn't confident they could even make it out of the regional preliminaries.
To qualify for Nationals, every school had to first pass the regional prelims, with 48 schools representing the 47 prefectures.
For years, Tokyo's representatives had always been the same—if there was one spot, it went to Higashi; if there were two, the second usually went to Ikubunkan High School.
But even then, Ikubunkan had never made it past the early rounds.
Their best result was always a short-lived spot in the round-robin stage, never once breaking through to the top 16.
On the results board of every Kendo championship, Higashi was the only school ever truly representing Tokyo.
Yes, this was Tokyo—Japan's capital—but it had never been a powerhouse in the world of Kendo.
Before Kyousuke became coach of the Higashi Kendo Club, the championship trophies always went to one school: Kyushu Academy.
In the individual matches too, the podium was practically reserved for them.
Kyousuke's own name, Makki Hojou, would be the lone outsider, awkwardly wedged among a trio of Kyushu students.
Kyushu Academy—the undisputed champions of high school Kendo.
The supposed future of Kendo in Japan.
Even in college and pro-level tournaments—like the National Championship and the Metropolitan Police Tournament—the top players always seemed to come from Kyushu.
Fortunately, because Higashi won last year's Nationals, they had a direct shot at qualifying this year and could skip the early elimination rounds.
That was probably the only good news they had.
"Captain Hojou, everyone's waiting for your speech," Tamaki Aonobu called out.
Still, Kyousuke said nothing.
These weren't the kind of kids who needed a motivational pep talk or empty slogans.
Even the dead-eyed loner in class, Hikigaya, had a gleam in his eyes now.
Honestly, the kid looked like he was ready to abandon his pride and sneak into the opposing team's break room to spike their water with laxatives, if that's what it took to win.
Weird as it was, Kyousuke could feel that determination from them.
But in sports, determination alone isn't enough.
"Vice-captain Tamaki has already declared our goal to the whole school—our target this year is the Takemichi-kan," Kyousuke finally said.
His voice rang clear through the empty dojo, echoing in everyone's ears.
Hikigaya stood at the front of the group, thanks to the height-based lineup.
He stared intently at the tall figure before him.
Maybe it was the imposing six-foot frame, or maybe it was admiration clouding his senses, but even in Kyousuke's calm, quiet tone, Hikigaya felt a surge of overwhelming strength.
"I see the hunger for victory in your eyes," Kyousuke continued. "And I believe you all have the will to fight for your goals."
Hikigaya nodded firmly.
'Yes, these dead-fish eyes of mine will transform into sharp, unwavering warrior's eyes before I graduate!'
'I'll train my "gaze strike" thirty times a day—make it so fierce it scares opponents even through the face mask!'
"But right now," Kyousuke's voice remained steady, "even if you put in a hundred and twenty million times the effort, there's no chance you'll make it out of preliminaries."
There was no shift in his tone, yet Hikigaya felt like something punched him in the chest.
The cold, harsh truth instantly extinguished his boiling blood.
Why had he thought things would magically change just because they had someone like Kyousuke leading them?
How arrogant. How utterly naive.
"I don't know what kind of past you all have. I don't know what you hope to change or gain through Kendo. But I only want one thing—victory."
"In this world, victory is everything. The winner's story is praised, the loser's story is erased."
Even as his words cast a shadow of despair, the team remained focused, the bitterness of past failures rising to the surface—until Kyousuke's voice suddenly thundered through the air like a bolt of lightning:
"We must win! No Tammatter who the opponent is, no matter what happens!"
Hikigaya's head snapped up.
That shout—it was filled with raw determination, the kind of burning will to fight even when standing alone against the world.
It was nothing like the Kyousuke they had seen these past few days.
It was like lightning striking a withered tree—setting it ablaze with life.
His so-called dead-fish eyes widened—not from fear, but from clarity.
Around him, many others clenched their fists. Goro Hatake and the others were visibly shaking, their frustration boiling over.
Then Kyousuke roared:
"My goal is to lead the Soubu High Kendo Club to dominate the Nationals—to become the number one team in Japan!"
The sheer force of his declaration left their minds reeling.
It echoed in their ears, resonating far louder than even the battle cries of the most elite Kendo warriors at national tournaments.
"Number one in Japan!"
Yoshiteru Zaimokuza, the flamboyant self-proclaimed swordmaster, was the first to regain his senses and shout in response.
Hikigaya looked over, raised his own fist, and joined in.
If even someone like Zaimokuza, who had never practiced Kendo a day in his life, could show such resolve—how could he give up?
The rest of the thirty-plus members erupted into cheers.
Tamaki Aonobu, who had poured heart and soul into the club for over two years, had tears in his eyes.
No one else knew better the crushing despair of falling in the early prelims again and again—of pouring everything into training, only to be outclassed every single time.
Just then, the clubroom door opened.
A new first-year student, recruited just earlier from the club fair, stepped in—and froze at the sight of the feverish scene before him.
He was about to retreat in shock when a senior behind him shoved him inside.
"Number one in Japan!"
The newcomer—still nameless and confused—shouted along as he was absorbed into the whirlwind of yelling.
Kyousuke watched them all and nodded in satisfaction. Motivational speeches, after all, always taste better when someone else is cooking them.
When the energy finally settled down, Kyousuke raised his bamboo sword and cut through the air with a sharp diagonal slash.
The whistle of the blade was so crisp that the front row flinched.
"Only when you acknowledge your own weakness can you begin the journey to mastery. So, line up—time to spar with me. Get a real taste of what a true expert feels like."
Sparring…
Goro Hatake, who had been itching for action, suddenly froze.
His fists relaxed, and his mouth twitched.
"As I said earlier, my only goal is victory—no matter who the opponent is. If you stand in the way of that goal…"
Kyousuke's words now carried an ominous weight, but the clueless first-years, including Hikigaya, responded with loud enthusiasm and eagerly formed a circle.
Ah yes. That terrifying presence… It's back. The demon has returned.
Unsurprisingly, the first to step up was none other than the scene-stealer himself—Hikigaya.
Since it was a proper sparring match, they all had to gear up.
Even Kyousuke put on his armor, despite knowing full well no one could land a hit on him.
But to make sure everyone could go all out, he followed the rules to the letter.
Hatake and Ryoma Mitsuhashi, both classmates, gave Hikigaya pitiful looks as they helped him gear up—then stepped aside to watch the carnage unfold.
In competitive kendo, there's no distinction between different schools or styles.
Everyone practices the same basic techniques—namely, the nine forms and thirteen strikes.
So if you ever see someone with a strange grip on their sword, don't jump to conclusions.
It's probably not some obscure ancient style—they're more likely just suffering from a bout of chuunibyou and made up their own flashy move.
It might look impressive, but it's useless in an actual match.
The tips of their bamboo swords touched lightly, and then the two stepped back to the regulation starting distance.
Through the narrow gap between the metal bars of his men (face guard), Hachiman Hikigaya cautiously watched his opponent—Hojou Kyousuke.
He knew the other guy wouldn't make the first move.
That was the courtesy of the strong.
They were both in chūdan-no-kamae stance, swords pointed straight at each other's eyes.
Hachiman observed. Then observed again. And again.
But no matter how many times he looked, he couldn't find a single opening to attack.
He could clearly see those dark eyes staring back at him.
They didn't flicker, didn't glance at his hands or feet—just stared unblinking into his own.
That overwhelming pressure bore down on him.
He'd watched countless matches and seen recordings of masters who'd earned the title of "sword saint," but nothing had prepared him for this.
Who knew just standing still could generate this much psychological pressure?
This wasn't a real match, so there was no countdown clock or attack timer.
But he couldn't afford to wait forever either.
The mental and physical strain of this standoff was intense.
In just a few seconds, he was already soaked in sweat and his body was twitching with tension.
On the other hand, Kyousuke hadn't moved an inch—he stood like a stone statue.
'An immovable fortress...'
Hachiman couldn't help the stray thought. He knew it wasn't the time for his mind to wander, but the term surfaced anyway.
Everyone on the sidelines held their breath.
People unfamiliar with kendo often found these matches confusing or boring.
To them, it looked like the two fighters were just standing there doing nothing for ages—then suddenly shouting and ending the match in a flash.
But those who understood the sport knew the truth: the psychological warfare before the clash was every bit as thrilling as the swordplay itself.
Hachiman cautiously shifted his right foot forward, barely lifting it more than two centimeters off the ground.
His eyes never left his opponent. But those black eyes remained cold, expressionless, and unyielding.
Then Kyousuke's shoulders sank slightly, his upper body taking on a rounded form.
Hachiman had read online that this was a sign of advanced technique in kendo, but he'd never truly understood what it meant—until now.
Unlike Hachiman, whose every little movement was telegraphed by his shoulders, Kyousuke could transition between stances—say, from gedan to jōdan—with barely any visible motion.
In a battle where both fighters are fixated on each other's eyes, that kind of control was a massive advantage.
Still seeing no opening, Hachiman realized he couldn't wait any longer.
He stepped in with his right foot, pushing off hard with his left.
He entered striking range just one step and one sword-length away and shouted:
"HAI!"
In his mind, he'd planned it all.
He would approach from Hojou's left—his omote side.
When the opponent lifted his shinai to block, Hachiman would press down hard, divert his sword, and shout "KOTE!" before striking the armored forearm for the point.
He'd practiced this countless times.
The shout was to drive away fear.
Knowing Hojou's legendary strength, he planned from the start to put every ounce of his body weight into that downward pressure, calling upon all sixteen years of accumulated body mass to accomplish his mission.
To his surprise, his shinai did manage to gain the upper position, just as he had imagined.
His heart soared.
He began to shift his weight forward with his left foot—
And then... it happened.
Hojou's shinai vanished.
No, not really—but it felt that way.
In an instant, it had reappeared above his own, coiling around it and flicking it upward.
The force behind it wasn't even that strong, but somehow Hachiman felt all the power he'd put into his strike come rebounding back into his wrists.
He lost his grip.
His shinai went flying.
He stumbled forward, unable to even get the word "KOTE!" out of his mouth.
BOOM— What just happened!?
The entire kendo club erupted.
Everyone jumped to their feet, applause thundering through the dojo.
The loudest cheer came from none other than Tokyo's third-ranked swordsman, the over-the-top general, Yoshiteru Zaimokuza.
"A transcendent technique that can return even the stars in the sky—The Cry of the Stars!"
Zaimokuza's booming voice easily cut through the ruckus, reaching every ear despite the chaos.
"The Cry of the Stars!"
Gorou Hatake had been about to offer a more grounded explanation, but the moment he heard that, he gave up and joined the chant.
The applause died down, replaced by what felt like some kind of bizarre religious ritual.
The entire club chanted in unison:
"The Cry of the Stars~~"
Kyousuke, now back in chūdan stance, was about to remove his men and explain what really happened.
But seeing this absurd scene unfold, he very nearly charged in and gave them all a reason to cry.
Fortunately, the vice-captain, Aone Tamaki, stepped forward and waved for everyone to quiet down.
Kyousuke felt a slight sense of relief—there were still sane people in the club.
"Hojou-buchou! Was that the legendary Three Killing Moves of Hokushin Ittō-ryū!?"
Once the room calmed down, Aone suddenly asked in a dramatic tone. Then, just as theatrically, he began explaining:
"To kill the sword, to kill the spirit, to kill the technique! Through mind-bending skill, suppress and destroy your opponent's attack from every angle!"
"That must've been the legendary 'Sword-Killing' move!"
His confident explanation immediately won over the crowd.
Just as they were about to launch into another round of chanting—this time for "Three Kills" and "Sword Kill"—Hojou Kyousuke quickly tore off his mask.
"Get serious, all of you! That was just a basic sword entanglement technique!"
He scowled.
He had put in a bit of extra effort to show them how strong future opponents could be—but that didn't mean he wanted to turn this into a fantasy novel.
'There's nothing simple about that!' Hatake Gorou cursed internally.
He'd been in countless matches, but not once had he ever seen anyone successfully score with that move.
Unless you were a kendoka specializing in chūdan-no-kamae (middle stance), you'd need to outclass your opponent by at least three dan ranks to even have a chance.
And even then, the best you could usually manage was to mess up their guard and land a strike on the kote (wrist armor).
But to launch someone's shinai four meters into the air like that? Come on—are we in an anime now?
"Captain, that wasn't like any makigei (sword entangling technique) I've seen," the vice-captain voiced what everyone else was thinking.
"His shinai was already being pressed down—how could you still roll it up and send it flying?"
Having retrieved his weapon, Hikigaya Hachiman stood at attention, ready to listen.
That moment replayed in his mind: he was certain his eyes had never left Hojou's upper body.
There was no shift in his gaze, no twitch of his shoulders—absolutely nothing.
It was like magic.
One second he was in control, the next he'd been completely disarmed.
Kyousuke placed his men (face mask) on the floor beside him.
"Before I explain, let's go through it again. Can you do the same move Hikigaya? I'll send your sword flying like before."
"Got it, Captain!" Hikigaya answered with force.
He wasn't hurt physically, but his pride had taken a serious hit.
He got into position again, middle stance.
This time, no overthinking. He poured all his strength into gripping the hilt.
'This time… I won't let go…!'
'Whoosh!'
His shinai flew through the air again, arching gracefully toward the ceiling.
Thankfully, the dojo's high roof could accommodate such ridiculous heights.
'A monster… there's no other word for it.' Hikigaya stared at his empty hands and thought quietly to himself. But he didn't let it crush him.
Losing to someone like that? Of course he did.
Hojou Kyousuke had deflected his full-force strike with nothing more than a flick of his wrist—and this time, Hachiman had been told exactly what was coming.
And he still couldn't see a damn thing.
"Did that help?" Hojou asked, holding his shinai casually in one hand, addressing the group.
'The Cry of the Stars…' Zaimokuza Yoshiteru muttered it only in his heart this time.
His brilliant mind warned him that saying it out loud would definitely get him hit—but he still believed a move this epic deserved a name just as dramatic.
Tamaki Aonobu, the vice-captain, lowered his head in shame.
He could tell that Hojou had slowed the motion deliberately—but even then, it was still far too fast and subtle for him to comprehend.
Normally, a kendoka would avoid repeating their techniques in succession, just to keep opponents from reading them.
But Hojou had done it again, slowly, like a replay.
And still, no one could figure it out.
"Hatake Gorou," Hojou called out, picking someone to answer.
"Uh… it's makigei, right?" Gorou rubbed his buzzed head with an awkward smile.
"You're up next. Hikigaya, take a break," Hojou ordered.
Then he turned back to the others.
"Stop watching the shinai. Look at my hands."
Back at Higashi High, Hojou had never taken the time to break things down like this.
It had always been endless sparring—because the students there already had a solid foundation.
But that method wouldn't cut it here.
Everyone focused intently on his hands.
Once again, the shinai launched into the air—just like before.
The movement felt like sleight of hand, like a magic trick.
'It's all in the tenouchi… the grip. Isn't that like, the most basic concept?'
His two hands and the shinai formed a lever. Without even moving his arms, he executed the entire technique.
———————————————————————
Daily Uploads!
Unlock bonus chapters by reaching specific milestones with [Power Stone] votes!
Go to p-atreon.com/InsomniaTL to access more than 50 advanced chapters.