He wore headgear and protection around his torso. His opponent wielded not a wooden sword but a bamboo sword. No risk of injury. And yet he could not move. In the past, Otsuka, fourth dan,[4] had faced fifty opponents back-to-back in quick succession and won—twice. Nevertheless, this young man before him, in his basic seigan stance, was overwhelming him.
“What’s the matter?” Daigo called out. “It isn’t much of a match if you don’t attack. Come at me. If you don’t move, I will.”
Daigo waited a moment. When Otsuka did not come, he started to inch forward.
Otsuka stepped back.
“What are you doing, Otsuka?” someone yelled out from among the students who were observing the match. It was one of the Shitennô, Norizuki Ryôta, fourth dan.
“You’re embarrassing the Shitennô. Get him!” This was Nobi Shinsuke, fourth dan, also one of the Shitennô.
“Don’t fall back. Don’t retreat!” The fourth and last member was Daidôji Senkichi.
Daigo had already defeated him and the others, and Otsuka was the last Shitennô left. Nobi’s voice was so deep and hoarse because he had taken a thrust to the throat.
Otsuka’s back was nearly against the wall.
Maintaining the same distance, Daigo stopped.
“Otsuka!”
“Go!”
Encouraged by that voice, Otsuka attacked.
He raised his arms, aiming for the right side of Daigo’s head. He didn’t see Daigo move or his sword cut the air. Before he had time to be surprised, Otsuka was struck on top of the head with a mighty blow and fell down, unconscious.
Bowing, Daigo said, “Morning practice is over.”
As they watched him leave the dojo, the students were so completely shocked that they forgot to bow.
After changing, Daigo went out into the hall, where he was met by Chizuru, the daughter of the dojo head, Kashiwabara Isanosuke.
“My father wants to see you,” she said.
Chizuru led the way as she and Daigo crossed the hall and entered the magnificent Isanosuke residence.
After go-isshin, the art of the sword had become a relic of the Old World. However, around 1876, people began to recognize its usefulness for cultivating the mind and body, and so the discipline was renamed kendo and even incorporated into the new school curriculum. Even though swordsmanship had seen this modest revival, the number of dojos did not increase significantly. Few dojo owners enjoyed the kind of affluent lifestyle that the Renbei-jyuku head, Kashiwabara Isanosuke, did; he had earned a three thousand-koku salary during the shogun era. During the conflict between the shogun’s and emperor’s armies, he had cleverly escaped being attacked by either side. Finally, in the Meiji era, he had skillfully insinuated himself at the center of the new government. After rising quickly through its ranks, Isanosuke was now a member of the House of Peers.
At the same time, he had started Renbei-jyuku with the goal of training young men and women with bright futures. The dojo admitted not only children of government officials but also the children of those formerly loyal to the old government and ordinary citizens. The crack of bamboo and wooden swords echoed through the dojo night and day.
Chizuru led Daigo not into the salon but to Isanosuke’s private study. Such a reception was considered special.
Isanosuke was fifty-seven now; he was forty when Chizuru was born. Her older brother and sister, along with their mother, had been killed during the bloody days of the Restoration; so Chizuru had been raised almost entirely by a nurse.
“Chizuru was watching. It seems you did quite a job on the Shitennô.” He began the conversation with small talk. It was hard to believe that the enormous man, who was dressed in a kimono, wasn’t a successful merchant but instead a politician and a swordsman. But, in fact, Isanosuke was a master of the old-style Shinkage-ryû and his name had been renowned in martial arts circles during the last days of the Tokugawa shogunate.
As a maid brought some steaming drinks to the ebony table, Chizuru sat down.
“Coffee,” said Isanosuke, raising the green porcelain cup to his lips.
After a sip, he continued, “They are the best out of all the students I trained myself. You would be hard-pressed to find their equals in all Edo—I mean, Tokyo. Unless, of course, they are matched against you, a boy of seventeen. You treat them as if they were mere children. It makes me depressed.”
“All the same, a match in the dojo is still a serious match.” The sudden sharpness of Daigo’s voice made Chizuru sit up straighter.
“Indeed.” Isanosuke smiled broadly. Though he had become a member of the House of Peers, the blood of a swordsman still flowed in his veins.
“The Shitennô do not complain because they know that as well. Lesser men would have quit this dojo and started their own by now.” He paused. “Or they would have killed you.”
“As it should be for one who lives by the sword.”
This response, which came so quickly, silenced Isanosuke. The words resonated in his soul.
When I was young, a man who lived by the sword thought about nothing but defeating the enemy before him, no matter how many more enemies he might make in the process. Even in this modern age, this boy thinks in the same way.
Isanosuke coughed and began again, “Well, you are in a class by yourself. The students know that, but they also respect the Shitennô for who they are, as well… which brings me to…”
He came to the point of their conversation. Chizuru, who already knew what was coming, was nervous. Daigo did not so much as furrow his brow.
“I have something important to ask you. And I’d like you to say yes.”