Chapter 2: Chapter 1 - FENCING PRACTICE

CHAPTER 1: FENCING PRACTICEPART 1In a corner of the Scepter 4 headquarters, nicknamed “The Camellia Gate,” was a partially forgotten file room. The tens of file shelves lined up within the room were reminiscent of a walled maze, or cliffs exposed from layers of dirt. They were the rejected and heavy accumulated deposits of history. Beyond this pressure and weaving through the rows of dusty shelves was a lone man at the single desk by the window. He was around his mid-thirties. His huge musculature was set, hunched slightly over an old computer. It was almost like he was a fossil buried in the layers of documents — no, upon closer inspection, his hand was moving leisurely on the dirtied keyboard. His typing was slow, and sometimes stopped in hesitation. He used only the fingers on his right hand. This was because he had no left arm. The left sleeve of the internal affairs division uniform covering his massive body was knotted carelessly in the area above his elbow and dangled down. The one-armed man shifted his reading glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. There was a large, old scar that ran from the ridge of his nose to his left cheek. Rubbing that scar with his finger he made a stern expression, then gave a big sigh and turned to the monitor once again. He was no good at typing, and he was even worse at operating machines. His job of simply inputting the small amount of written reports into the computer once a day was the biggest task of his — of Zenjoh Goki’s[1] daily routine. When his rough right hand began to hover, searching for the key he wanted to hit– A cherry blossom petal landed softly on the back of his hand. It was probably carried in on the spring wind from the rows of cherry trees planted on the outside of headquarters. As though being invited by the petal, he turned his gaze outside the open window. On the grounds surrounded by trees, he could see a uniformed group forming a line. The pink of the flurry of falling cherry blossoms and the blue of the uniforms glowed vividly in the afternoon sun. The sight of the lined troops, their posture carrying a supple power, was a sight to behold. Part of that must have depended on the weight of the sabers worn on their waist. These swordsmen division troops were the core of the superpowered-response organization Scepter 4, but also could conceptually be called Scepter 4 itself. With swords at their waist, they were also the very “Sword of the King” itself. That was the foundation of their existence. “Men, draw!” The command, dominating the grounds and carrying all the way to the barracks, belonged to the lieutenant of Scepter 4, Awashima Seri. Though she was a woman, her dignified vigor completely controlled almost a hundred men. The troops all drew their sabers at once and held them in front at salute. The group of blades pointed to the sky looked like a pinholder from far away. “Row formation!” The troops pulled their sabers to their side and changed formation, from eight lines to four rows, with a trot. Space was kept between the rows while the troops were rather close to each other – the “wall” formation. “Fencing method, first form! Begin!” The troops moved their blades to the front and lunged. “One!” “Two!” “Three!” “Four!” With each command, a hundred blades pointed in each direction, followed through and then once again pointed forward. Every single movement was completely synchronized. The fencing method was Western swordsmanship arranged for group action and then simplified, but there were points that were definitely different from what is called “swordsmanship.” The first is that they were not assuming that their enemy would have a sword like them. And right now, they were not aiming to cause damage with their sword. The members of the swordsmen division all had high-level superpowers. Just with the inclination field that they created, they were able to repel bullets and knock down enemies several meters away. The sword as a weapon and swordsmanship were both essentially unnecessary. Then... If it wasn’t a weapon, what was it? What was a “sword” to them? It was most likely something like a “symbol,” or a “guide.” Give a formless power the image of a sword, and then control it. Specifically, the drawing motion was the trigger that released their power, then they concentrated on the image of a blade and used their powers with the movement of the sword. The sabers worn by the troops of of Scepter 4 were the very symbol of “controlled power.” The very ideal of the Blue King, Munakata Reisi. “–Serrate formation!” Every other member in each row advanced, or perhaps retreated, taking the shape of a jagged line. “Fencing method, second form! Begin!” The back row covered the gap created by the front row’s attack. Then, the front row defended as they retreated, switching with the back row – almost one hundred troops were moving systematically and without hesitation, like a complicated machine made of cog wheels. They were beautiful movements, reminiscent of a group dance. — How dazzling. The reason Zenjoh narrowed his eyes was not just because the reflection of the sun off the blades was bright. Like a hard, transparent mineral crystal, it was complete beauty that rejected all impurity. There was no room in there for such a foreign thing as himself. That didn’t mean he was unhappy. Much like his habit of touching his scar, it was just that realizing everything that he lacked with every little thing was something he’d been doing for many years. He rubbed his eyes, dazzled by the sight outside, and turned back to the monitor. Then– “Hey, watch it!” “Ah, I’m sorry!” One member made a mistake in his movements, and seemed as though his blade had grazed another. Luckily, neither seemed to be injured, but– “Kusuhara!” “Yes ma’am!” The one that lowered his head in apology, Kusuhara jumped up straight at Awashima’s sharp voice. “Ten laps!” “Yes ma’am!” Kusuhara hurriedly put his saber back into its sheath and ran off. “Watch yourself!” “Yes sir!” The member that got hit by the saber called out to Kusuhara as he passed, but– “Hidaka, you too!” “Wha!?” Then, as the two troop members began to run side-by-side, still uniformed with sword at their side, “–Third form, from the top! Begin!” The lesson continued with Awashima’s command. It wasn’t long before the two, ejected from the ranks, came around in front of Zenjoh along the inner edge of the grounds and happened to hear their conversation. “...Dammit, I don’t get it... I wish that woman’d make her huge tits the joke, yeah?” Hidaka was taller and seemed to be older. He was speaking in a rude manner to Kusuhara at his side. “I’m a victim!” “Huh? ...Ah, huh.” Kusuhara, on the other hand, was smaller than average. His face also looked a bit like a boy’s. “Isn’t that where I say something like, ‘you couldn’t avoid it and that’s slacking too?’” “You’re in no position to say that. Know your place!” Hidaka stuck out his elbow and poked Kusuhara’s shoulder. “Ah, ow, I’m sorry, that hurts... Wah!” Kusuhara raised his voice. His eyes met with Zenjoh’s beyond the window, almost ten meters away. “What are you making weird voices for?” “Oh, there was someone... I heard that over there was storage, so...” “Hah? There’s at least someone in charge of it.” “No, I thought it was a monster.” “You a kid?” “Ow!” When Hidaka hit the back of Kusuhara’s head, “Hidaka! Kusuhara! What are you fooling around for!?” Awashima’s sharp voice interrupted them. “Five more laps!” “Ueeei!?” Hidaka made a strange sound and increased his pace. “Ah... hello,” Kusuhara stopped for a moment and gave Zenjoh a small bow, then once again followed after Hidaka. Zenjoh gave a wry smile as he nodded back, and watched as Kusuhara ran off. A few minutes later when they came around the track again Kushara nodded his head to him, and on the next time around he passed without paying any mind to him. And then– –Yet again, there are no more special notes from today. Zenjoh finished typing up the brief report after a long time and when he lifted his head, Kusuhara and Hidaka were still running. They had at some point removed their uniforms and sabers and just had on their inner shirt. The other troops were nowhere to be seen. They had finished their scheduled lessons and seemed were already done for the day. Neither of them were saying a word, and were now just mindlessly driving their bodies forward. A distant scene that reminded him of two animals running across a field. Zenjoh, gazing on this, was also mindless. As he caught a glimpse of a radiant time that he would no longer step foot in, his rough hand was just barely touching the scar on his cheek.†“The point is, your tempo was off.” On their regular parting, Hidaka laughed and smacked Kusuhara on the back. Moody Hidaka was quick to anger, but it washed away just as quickly. “Think about what you did! Think about it!” “Ah, I’m sorry. I will do just that.” Kusuhara, scratching the back of his head with a wry smile, actually thought that there might be something off about himself. The one who would fail to sing together in a chorus, or the one who would somehow end up on the opposite leg in a march. Now that he thought about it, he was that kid. His athletics weren’t bad, but qualities such as a sense of rhythm and precise movement were things he was born without. And though he had decided that he would never do work that involved singing or dancing, he had been careless about one last thing. There were marches and lines in the riot squad which he used to work in, and he was pulled from there and switched to Scepter 4, which also required group movement. Especially the fencing methods, where everyone wields actual drawn swords – if one messes up the timing, that could cause injury to coworkers in the area. It wasn’t something one could get by with being bad at. That was the reason why he thought about practicing on his own after lights out. Kusuhara left the dorms in his tracksuit, and with a bamboo sword in place of his saber in hand, wandered around the premises of headquarters for a place he could swing it around to his heart’s content. Inside a building he would probably hit a wall or a window, and in the middle of the grounds... would kind of make him stand out a lot. After he thought of several locations, he headed toward the dojo at the edge of headquarters. It was a rather normal association that if you use a bamboo sword, it’s in a dojo. If the dojo was open for night training, then he’d at least ask for a corner to practice swinging. As he thought this, he went to the front of the building. ...But. For some reason, he got a strange feeling. The lights of the dojo were off, but the entrance and windows were all wide open. Because of its old fashioned and open structure, the separations inside were few and the night air just entered. And, inside– — There’s something scary in there, Kusuhara thought. A savage beast that lurked in a dark brush, or a demon that lived in the attic of a deserted house – Kusuhara shook his head and chased out the images that appeared in his head. His instinct has always been sharp, but he didn’t think there was any way a bear or a boar would be in the middle of the city, and he wasn’t the age to be actually afraid of monsters. If something was actually there it was most likely human, and most logically a member of Scepter 4 like himself. Though he did wonder what they were doing with the lights off... Kusuhara gave a slight peek through the door and into the dojo. Then, Wham! — The sudden blast of wind that blew from inside the dojo – no, something like the shock of a huge taiko drum being struck in front of him hit Kusuhara in the face. More precisely, it wasn’t actual wind or sound at all. It was some sort of unseeable presence. “...Who’s there?” A low, calm man’s voice asked him who he was, and he reflexively fixed his posture. “H-Hello! Um...!” Ah Kusuhara became flustered, the owner of the voice appeared from the darkness within the dojo. It was a huge man. He could tell from over his training uniform that his over-190 centimeter body was covered in bunches of thick muscle. He had his left hand in his pocket... no, it seemed as though that arm only went to the elbow. And in his right hand he held an unsheathed odachi, long enough to drag. It was an exposed, lethal weapon that radiated a dangerous aura incomparable to the regular sabers. — Is he going to kill me!? Kusuhara reflexively pulled himself back and held his bamboo sword at the ready in front of him. A moment later, a faint blue light appeared on the part of the blade. A spectral phenomenon produced as a result of the inclination field. Since his appointment to Scepter 4 six months ago, his special powers had grown remarkably. By the connection of his power and the draw of his sword, a certain invocation and control became possible – like the other troops, he was taking lessons like that. To put it in Hidaka’s words, “the beam swords you see in manga.” The blue phosphorescent blade was pointed at the armed giant. “Mm? ...Ah, no.” The man, after observing Kusuhara, turned his back to him and once again made his way inside, picking up something long off the floor. His eyes just getting used to the darkness, Kusuhara could tell that it was a huge sheath. The man held it under his left arm and put away the weapon with one hand, then took it back with his right hand and returned to him. “Sorry for scaring you. I was practicing my iai.” “Ah, no...” Seeing the blade put away, he was finally able to relax. On a closer look, the man’s demeanor was rather proper. The large scar on his left cheek stood out, but the eyes behind the glasses were smiling softly. “And you are?” “Um... Kusuhara Takeru, Swordsmen Division Troops, Fourth Squad.” Kusuhara relaxed his stance, and the blue light disappeared from the bamboo sword. “The sword troops... Ahh, from this afternoon.” The man scratched his left cheek with the back of the hand gripping the longsword. “This afternoon...?” Kusuhara tilted his head, and the man gave his name. “Zenjoh Goki. ‘The person in charge of storage.’ I’m not a monster.” “...Ah–” He was the person who had been watching them from the window in the barracks when they were running their punishment laps during the day’s lesson. Kusuhara realized that person was the man in front of him, and he flushed. “...I see, and you’re practicing on your own. Um... If I’m in your way, I’ll come back later.” Kusuhara said without explanation to Zenjoh, who had easily grasped the situation, half out of awkwardness. But– “Nah. You have admirable intentions, Kusuhara-kun.” The old scar cutting across his cheek moved, and he gave a half-smile. Then– First he asked if he needed light or not, but he could see his feet by the light from the window. Zenjoh himself had said that his senses were sharper in the dark. Then they took their places on practically opposite ends of the dojo and started training on their own. Imitating the sheathed saber, Kusuhara held the bamboo sword against his waist as in the fencing method. From the first form draw, he held it at the ready, followed through, and changed his feet – as he did so, he glanced over at Zenjoh. He had said that since he was using a real sword it was dangerous and had put a large distance between them, but Zenjoh was sitting perfectly still, facing the small altar further inside the dojo, longsword placed at his side. — Still, that’s an incredible sword. Kusuhara recalled the sight of the naked odachi he had seen with his own eyes earlier. A thick blade holding a glittering light. Something that could probably cut even a human, vertically or horizontally, easily in two. — But something that big is probably hard to use. — And one-handed, even... How does he draw? I want to see that. Kusuhara had forgotten the reason he had come here in the first place, and his interest had already moved to Zenjoh. — Since he’s practicing alone in the middle of the night that probably means he doesn’t want others to see. I’ll finish up here quickly, then peek in through the window... “–Kusuhara-kun. Your focus is all over the place.” Zenjoh said, his back still turned to Kusuhara. “Eh...!? Ah, right, I’m sorry!” Kusuhara hurriedly fixed his posture and bowed. Zenjoh continued to speak without laughing at or scolding him. “It’s good that you’re paying attention to your surroundings, but dropping your form for that isn’t.” “Okay, I’ll be more careful!” Kusuhara responded, posture still stiff. “And... your beat is inconsistent.” “Hah... my beat?” Kusuhara tilted his head, “...Ah–” And he realized. — This is that thing about “tempo.” “An ‘inconsistent beat’... isn’t good, right?” Kusuhara asked curiously, and Zenjoh’s appearance wavered slightly. “In this case, no... but it’s right for swordsmanship.” — Not good, but right. They were words almost like a riddle, but to Kusuhara he felt they grasped the core of something. “Um, do you think... you could explain a little more about that please?” When he involuntarily took a step towards Zenjoh– Boom–! With an attack that was like piercing his chest, the point of the huge sword was pointed at his throat. “...!?” Kusuhara jumped back reflexively and gripped his bamboo sword. But– As before, they were on opposite sides of the dojo. They were apart by 30 or so meters. The point he had seen was an illusion his body created when he had felt the frightening energy. Zenjoh was on one knee, his longsword drawn. Kusuhara didn’t see the moment when he had drawn it or how he did it at all. The blade that was the very extension of his single arm was filled with vigor, and his face looked like that of a terrible demon. The tip of the demon was pointing to Kusuhara’s throat– no, to the doorway over his shoulder. “My, what an impressive draw. It chills me.” He heard a smiling voice from behind him. “Heheh... That’s no good for a body just out of the bath. You’ll probably get sick.” He turned around, and a tall man stepped lightly through the door. His image was a bit different, due to his yukata and just-washed hair, but– “...Director?[2]

” “Good evening, Kusuhara-kun. It seems you were having quite the enjoyable conversation.” The man said Kusuhara’s name, but wasn’t paying any mind to his existence. The “Director” was the Blue King, Munakata Reisi. His eyes were fixated on the devilish swordsman who was pointing his blade at him. Munakata pushed up his glasses with his finger, and gave a faint smile. “‘Zenjoh the Demon,’ fencing master–do you mind doing me a favor?”†— I’m surrounded by scary people. Kusuhara froze, bamboo sword still grasped in his hand. He couldn’t make a single movement, much like he was being pressed on both sides by walls. Munakata Reisi and Zenjoh Goki. They were both men with overwhelming presences, but their impressions were strikingly different. Zenjoh’s scariness – the oppressiveness of his bare weapon – was familiar in a way. The vigor of a fanged beast that a kendo master or a higher officer in the riot squad had. Something that fundamentally existed in that extension. Size, speed and strength from decades of simply training body and technique to the utmost. Like one would be eaten in one bite if they carelessly got too close – an easy to understand “scariness.” On the other hand, Munakata was unlike anyone Kusuhara knew. His age was most likely around 23 or 24. He could say his age was roughly the same as his own. He was too young to be the top of an organization that held more authority and combat strength than the regular police... That’s what one would think looking at the number alone. But those thoughts vanish when seeing Munakata himself. Though Zenjoh’s intent was pointed squarely at him, this man was not moving. He was even smiling faintly. Another huge presence, directly facing a huge and explosive power. But this was more like an iceberg beneath the water, an unknown magnitude. ...Or rather, what showed the entirety of his power was probably that. What Kusuhara once saw in the summer sky. A huge sword whose tip pointed to the ground, above Munakata’s head, far above in the sky – The Sword of Damocles. Munakata was hiding that giant mass of energy within his deep, bottomless shadows. Though he seemed unarmed at first, he was more strongly equipped than anyone. So even if he was confronted with a sword, no, even perhaps attacked by a gun or missiles, he would most likely remain composed. Zenjoh, his long blade unsheathed, and Munakata, hiding a huge “sword.” Their confrontation lasted for tens of seconds in the strained atmosphere. ...No, it was most likely only a few seconds. That felt so much longer to nervous Kusuhara. Finally, “...You must be kidding.” Zenjoh relaxed his shoulders and let down his blade. Munakata didn’t answer. He still had a faint smile on his lips. Zenjoh picked up his his scabbard and sheathed his sword, then stood and approached. “Kusuhara-kun.” “Yes...!?” Kusuhara jumped aside to clear the way and Zenjoh passed slowly in front of him, like a large beast. “Sorry. I said too much.” “Yes! ...Ah, I mean, not at all!” Zenjoh bowed to Munakata who was standing in the doorway, then turned back to the entire dojo and bowed again, and just walked away. It felt as though the pressure inside the dojo lessened as the huge figure vanished from sight. But Kusuhara continued staring in the direction that Zenjoh left, still tense. Because– When Zenjoh left, Munakata’s attention was directed at him. He felt that, and his entire body froze. Undoubtedly a frog being watched by a snake. — This has gotten even scarier. What was Director Munakata thinking right now? How was he feeling? He had no idea. This unknowable, gigantic existence was peering at him from the corner of his vision. “...There’s no need to be so nervous, Kusuhara-kun.” “Y–... Huh? Ah–” Prompted by Munakata’s actions he looked at his hands, and the blade of his bamboo sword was bathed in a blue light. His cautiousness had unconsciously shown itself. “Sir, my apologies!” Kusuhara stood at attention. He lowered the tip of his bamboo sword and the light on the blade quickly weakened, then disappeared. Munakata gave a faint smile and gazed away from Kusuhara, looking toward the direction Zenjoh left. “It seems as though Mister Zenjoh hates us.” “Huh? Me too?” Kusuhara responded reflexively. — There shouldn’t be a like or dislike to him when it comes to someone small like me. That’s what he thought, but– Munakata’s eyebrow moved slightly. “...!” Kusuhara involuntarily straightened his back and looked away from Munakata. He was usually the type to just say what he was thinking. His for better or for worse, honest personality had never really caused any problems until now, but... only today seemed to be fatal. “Um... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” And again there was a long, scary silence when, “...Hm.” Munakata gave a small sigh. Unlike the sharp, calm smile he had been wearing before, it was one that surfaced from the depths of his body. “Apologies. It’s as you say.” As though it was a habit when he talked, he adjusted his glasses with his finger as he spoke. “That man hates me.” “...Hah.” Kusuhara gave a vague response and peeked at Munakata. The expression partially hidden by his hand showed he was worried about the situation, or that he was ironically enjoying it. His gaze out the door and relaxed smile was much more human than before, but– — He really isn’t someone I understand, after all... Kusuhara thought. Finally– “Please lock up.” Munakata said and then also left the dojo, leaving Kusuhara alone. Finally, he could practice calmly. Within the empty space, dimly lit by the moonlight, Kusuhara repeated the standard motions two, three times. Though the two giants had left, their impressions had left there some sort of a lingering scent. Even now he wondered, would a metal edge come flying out of the darkness? Or at this instant, would a cool gaze see straight through him? When he thought that, he felt something invisible go through his behavior. A bit of his tension rose through his feet, through his center of gravity and up his spine and lit his bamboo sword in a faint blue light, then radiated around him from the movements and watch at the end of it. In the dim light filled with potential dangers, Kusuhara almost mindlessly checked the range of his perception and weapon, and then– His own breath. The weight of the bamboo sword, the sound of it slicing the air. His toenails brushing the floor, the feeling of it creaking as he stepped. The dim light. The movement of the air. The sounds of the nighttime bugs. All of that soaked into his body, or probably his own existence melted into the space around him. Only he was in this space right now. No, the space was him. When he happened to look at his hands, the blue phosphorescence within his wooden sword was still spreading faintly. The floor at his feet, too, was giving off a faint ring of light. “Ah... This is...” Kusuhara was bewildered, and then– “–If you hold on to your will strongly, everything within reach of your sword will become the sanctuary your will controls–” Those were the mysterious words that Munakata had once said. That he had recalled, with a feeling he couldn’t put into words, he suddenly understood them. — Okay. Kusuhara took a deep breath and strengthened the grip on his bamboo sword. Then, he imagined transmitting that strength from his hands to the sword, then to the entire space of a strike. And then, on the floor, with Kusuhara in the center, a circle of light about two meters in radius appeared. The space his own will, the “invisible sword” controlled– — So this is that “sanctuary” thing... Kusuhara continued the fencing methods with the sanctuary still spread. While the circle of light – no, even the half sphere of space above it was filled with Kusuhara’s will, or rather was strengthening his own power, stabilized in that condition. The complete power he didn’t used to have was stretching into the space beyond himself. — This is awesome. He didn’t think he was a strong person. He almost never thought about competing with others with power. But now, in this space, in this instant, he didn’t feel as though he would lose no matter who he fought. No matter how strong his opponent was. No matter how strong their weapon was– — No, that’s definitely saying too much. For example, if he was up against Zenjoh’s iai, he’d probably be cut down before he even had the chance to ready his weapon. Or if he was against Munakata, he would probably be crushed along with his sanctuary. Of course, he felt the need to become stronger as a member of a fighting organization, but, — Well, I do have my limits. Kusuhara let slip a single wry smile, and then with the movements of his technique worked on stabilizing his own small sanctuary. However– Kusuhara was now, by his own scale, putting himself with the men he had only vaguely recognized as giants until just a few minutes ago. This is what it meant to have his own “sanctuary.” Kusuhara hadn’t realized that truth yet. Right now he was just swinging his bamboo sword, creating small circles of light in the dimness–PART 2The following day, lunch break. Kusuhara made his way to the old file room. He was going to return the dojo key. There had been a key hanging by the side of the entrance, and after he had locked up he kept it for a night. And this morning, he went to the general affairs division before the beginning of work, but– “Oh, this is Zenjoh-san’s key.” The clerk, a middle-aged woman, told him. When he asked, he learned that in addition to the regular dojo key that this division kept, Zenjoh had his own copy. They made an exception and let him have it since he often trained at night. “It’s the, uh... Storage? File room? At the end of the first floor in the west building. Yeah, the one that’s not being used... He’s there during the day. Go give it to him.” “Ah, yes. Alright... Thank you.” — So he’s a part of internal affairs... Kusuhara thought as he nodded his head to the clerk. Yesterday he had called himself “the person in charge of storage,” but he had thought it was most certainly a joke he had made for the conversation. In the fighting organization of Scepter 4, there were the combat troops that he was a part of, as well as the internal divisions that focused on support work. It was easy to tell what division someone belonged to with a single glance. One could say that their type was completely different. The fearless young people walking around with swords at their uniformed waists and chests puffed out were the former. The women and middle aged men who seemed more like regular citizens were the latter. No matter how he looked at it, the man he had met yesterday looked like he belonged to this side – he seemed to have much more of a militant presence than a new recruit like himself. So then why was he in internal affairs? — It’s probably because of his arm. He lost an arm in a battle in the past and pulled back a line – that sort of thinking made sense. But– Even if he was one-armed, he was so strong that he wouldn’t lose even if he was surrounded. No, his strength probably far surpassed even that of the top class of the sword troops, and was almost close enough to that of Director Munakata’s. — Why was someone like him put in internal affairs? Maybe it has something to do with his will? Like, “I’ve had enough of this ruffianism!” Or something... But he was actually training... Well, that may have just been practice, but... Those questions were tucked away in a corner of his mind during morning practice. Then, when it came time for noon break, Kusuhara took the key from his locker and headed towards the file room in question. Since he had seen him through the window yesterday he had a general idea of the location, but as they kept building onto the barracks there were some maze-like hallways, and he wandered around quite a bit in confusion. If he didn’t finish fast, he might not be able to have lunch. Finally, at the end of a dark hallway in need of repairs, Kusuhara knocked on a door marked by an old plate that had “file room” handwritten on it. “Hello?” He called into the room and took a step back, bracing himself. — He’s not going to suddenly cut me down or something, is he...? After a while, the door opened, and Zenjoh poked his head out. “...Come in.” — Huh? Body still braced, Kusuhara made a disappointed face. — Was he always this small? No, he definitely wasn’t small. The stature and breadth of this man’s shoulders almost seemed like they would get caught in the door frame – a physique almost as large as a door. From a regular perspective, he was nothing but a giant. But when he saw him last night, he definitely thought he was much bigger. His intimidating air was vivid in his memory. Even when he was sitting, it was almost as if he had to look up to see him... — No, no, that’s not possible. That would almost be like a giant Buddha statue. Kusuhara shook his head lightly, correcting himself. Since he’d felt Zenjoh’s drive last night while he was practicing in a relatively empty dojo, a “big” and “strong” impression had thoughtlessly engraved itself into his heart – that was probably what it was. “Ah, you’re... Kusuhara-kun, from yesterday.” “Yes. Kusuhara Takeru.” Kusuhara straightened himself and bowed. Zenjoh gave a pleasant smile and bowed back, and he took out the key from his pocket. “Um... This is the dojo key. I was told to return this to you, Zenjoh-san.” Zenjoh-san. He wasn’t sure of his rank or work and wasn’t sure what to call him, so he asked general affairs ahead of time. Formally, he’s the “director” of the “general affairs division file room,”[1] but in Scepter 4 a “director” would mean Director Munakata. That gets complicated, so everyone just calls him Zenjoh-san without the title. But– — Nevermind people that know him already, I hope a newbie like me isn’t offending him by suddenly being familiar with him and calling him “-san.”Kusuhara thought, peeking a bit nervously at Zenjoh. “Ah, thanks. Sorry for having you do this.” As a half-smile appeared on his cheeks, Zenjoh held out his right hand. His palm was like a stone, with hardened, scraggy blisters. — Wow, what an incredible hand... He was unwittingly staring as he placed the key in his palm, and– “It’s dirty, huh?” Zenjoh gave a wry smile, putting the key away into his pocket. “Ah, no, I’m sorry... Goodbye.” Kusuhara bowed and turned to leave, but– “Oh, Kusuhara-kun.” The voice from behind stopped him. “Yes?” He turned around, “...Kusuhara-kun, do you have a moment?”†“The computer’s been acting up since this morning... I was wondering if you could take a look at it?” said Zenjoh, who seemed to somehow shrink a little. “Hah, a... computer?” “No?” Zenjoh became another size smaller. “Since you’re young, I figured you’d be pretty good with machines, but...” “No, I’m not that good, but ...a PC, right?” Kusuhara scratched his head, but– — If he’s acting this way... Then maybe I’m better for this than him, he thought. Even in the sword troops they had a lot of work that used computers, and he also had his own personal one, though it was cheap. “I’ll take a look... Where is it?” “Yeah, thanks.” Zenjoh relaxed his shoulders a little bit. And then – the back of Zenjoh leading him, and the wall of lockers on both sides. These three things filling his vision, Kusuhara was led further into the file room. It actually only lasted a few seconds, but it felt terribly long to him. It seemed that whenever this person was in front of him, not only his sense of size, but his sense of time was warped, too. Zenjoh suddenly stepped to the side, and the front of him grew bright. Next to the opened window was a single desk, buried under the piles of documents. But there was nothing that looked like a PC on the desk or even on the cabinets around it. When Kusuhara looked around, Zenjoh pointed to the top of the desk with his right hand. “This is it...” “Eh... This is the PC?” What was in front of him differed greatly from the “PC” he had imagined. Basically it wasn’t a thin, folding kind of laptop– On top of a big, flat box-shaped CPU was a cathode-ray tube monitor almost the size of a small TV. And then, a full size corded keyboard. They both seemed to originally be a cream color, but were now sooted by the sun and heavy use. “...Ah, one of these...” Kusuhara said without thinking, and Zenjoh responded with a gentle expression. “Yeah. It seems to be pretty old...” “...It’s making some sort of weird noise.” “Yeah.” They held their breath and listened closely. The old computer CPU was making agitating boop boop, krrk krrk noises. “It’s been like this ever since I turned it on this morning. I can’t do anything.” “Hah...” A blurred line of white letters was displayed on black. Kusuhara drew his face closer to the monitor. “Umm... Ope...ra...tion?” Then, Zenjoh turned around and, “...It says something like, ‘Unable to find OS,’ doesn’t it?” “I wonder what that is?” “Eh?” Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really know. Looking up at the ceiling, Kusuhara spoke. “Um... Some sort of really important thing that’s in the computer’s program... or something.” “Important, huh?” “Yes... I think.” “And we’re in trouble without it?” “...Yes.” “Hm...” Zenjoh gave a stern look and scratched his chin. “...What should we do?” They froze just like that, like statues. After an awkward two or three seconds passed– “...Um, I can go get someone who might know.” “...Please.” Zenjoh said without moving an inch, when– “Heeey! Takeee! Takeruuu!” A loud voice interrupted them from outside the window. He saw a group of troops in blue gathering on the grounds. The voice belonged to Hidaka, who was waving both his saber and sheath over his head. “The hell are you lazing around over there for? Afternoon lesson’s starting!” “Ah!! R-Right!” Kusuhara looked around in a flustered manner at the window, the monitor, then back to Zenjoh. “...Sorry. Go on.” Zenjoh said, and pointed to the huge window where he could exit directly onto the grounds, but... it seemed rather unreliable. “Excuse me!” Kusuhara bowed his head and ran off, turning back to the window. “I’ll come back after dismissal!”†Since he had missed out on lunch, afternoon practice was tough, but he somehow managed to finish alright. When they were cutting across the grounds bathed in dusk, the west building became a dark wall that blocked the setting sun. The light wasn’t on in the first floor general affairs file room. Zenjoh might have already left for the day. — Of course. He could’ve asked someone else, not me. But upon closer inspection, the window facing the grounds was open. As he neared, he thought he might’ve gone home without locking up for the day like he did yesterday at the dojo, but– “–Wah! He’s still there!” Kusuhara raised his voice. In the dim room, Zenjoh sat unmoving at the desk by the window, staring at the PC making strange noises. “Mm... Oh, Kusuhara-kun. You’ve come.” Zenjoh lifted his head. It seemed that he’d been waiting for Kusuhara the entire time. — He should’ve called for someone else... It was hard to say that now, so he decided not to and– “I’m sorry I’m late.” Kushara nodded his head. “...Um, I’ve brought someone who might know.” Two troop members stepped forward from behind him. First, a young man in glasses who had his long hair tied at the nape of his neck stood up straight and bowed. “Enomoto Tatsuya, swordsmen division troops, fourth squad.” And then, “Same, Hidaka! Div four!” Hidaka gave a big wave of his hand over his head. Then they entered the room through the window, and, “–Oohhh!?” When Enomoto, who had been calm up until this moment, saw the computer in question, he gave a shriek. “A P7... This is a PCRX-78! It’s a machine from about twenty years ago. This is a legacy... No, this is a vintage now!” Kusuhara flinched at Enomoto, who rushed to the CPU and watched it intimately, and Hidaka hit his back. “Didn’t I tell you? This guy’s a nerd.” Enomoto pretended not to hear and stuck his head behind the monitor, and checked the wiring and model number. “Oh!! It’s even a G3 type! The drive shaft on this has magnetic coating!” “Uh huh... I see.” Zenjoh responded, overwhelmed. “I dunno man, whatever.” Hidaka waved it off lightly. “...So? Can you fix it or not?” Enomoto lifted his head. “Eh, fix...? Oh, this cranking sound? This is... look.” He operated a button and lever on the CPU, and pulled out a square board about the size of his palm. And then, the strange noises simply stopped. With a short electronic sound the PC restarted, and the startup processes began to be displayed on the screen. “...You fixed it.” Zenjoh murmured. “Eh... What did you just do?” Kusuhara asked. “This wasn’t a malfunction or anything like that–” Enomoto answered with a smile and faced Zenjoh, waving the board he had just pulled out. “Zenjoh-san. Did you forget to take this floppy out?” “Hm... Perhaps.” Zenjoh nodded meekly. “If you turn it on with a floppy in the A drive, the machine recognizes it as the startup disk and tries to bring up the OS. So if it’s just a regular data disk, it’ll keep looking for a nonexistent OS. Well, for machines from that time, it’s a typical problem.” Enomoto explained. “Oh, I see. The OS, huh.” Zenjoh nodded again. “I don’t really understand, but... I thought it was completely broken.” “Yes, I’m glad it wasn’t anything major.” When he said that, Kusuhara’s stomach growled. “Ah, I’m sorry...” He blushed, and Hidaka hit his back. “Hahah, his stomach’s been growling like crazy since noon! ...Eno! Hey, Eno! That’s enough!” “...Mm... Just a little longer.” Enomoto gave a noncommittal response as he played with the PC, and Hidaka hit the back of his head. “Let’s go get food. Food!” And– “Ah, I haven’t eaten lunch yet, either.” Zenjoh slowly stepped further into the room. “If it’s all right... I can go put on some soba.” “Ah... soba?” Kusuhara looked at Hidaka and Enomoto, and– “Oh, yeah! That sounds great!” Hidaka raised his hand up high.†It was unclear as to what it used to be used for, but there was a small kitchen in the general affairs file room. So Zenjoh wouldn’t go to the cafeteria, but would often make simple meals here. “I can really only boil water... But I like soba, so I make it a lot.” There wasn’t a decent table in the room, and after putting the platter[2] of soba, condiments and Zenjoh’s small cup on it, it was practically full. There weren’t enough dishes, so Kusuhara and the others used soup bowls and mugs for the dipping sauce. Other than Zenjoh’s proper chair, there was one folding chair. Hidaka snagged that one, and Kusuhara and Enomoto ate standing. “Mm! It’s good! This is really good! Is it high quality stuff?” “Nah, it’s stuff I got from the nearby grocery store...” “I see, it’s great!” he said lightly. As he messily took soba from the platter, Enomoto said to him, “Hidaka... Restrain yourself.” “Idiot, the fastest gets the most. Take that!” “Ah!” Hidaka had already taken all his noodles, and Enomoto bowed his head to Zenjoh. “I apologize, he was raised with brothers, and... I’m really sorry.” He, for some reason, kept apologizing for Hidaka’s behavior. “I love spring onions. They’re delicious.” Hidaka filled his bowl with them, and vigorously slurped his soba. As he watched the scene, Zenjoh’s face relaxed slightly. “Yeah, today’s spring onions are good.” “Today’s...?” Kusuhara tilted his head, and with the wrist where he was holding his chopsticks, Zenjoh pointed to his left shoulder. “It’s because of this hand.” “...Ahh.” Kusuhara understood. Since he couldn’t use his left hand, Zenjoh couldn’t cut spring onion in small pieces with a knife. Since Kusuhara had offered to help cut the onions, it was the first time in a long while that they actually seemed like condiments... or something like that. “Do you want more soba?” Zenjoh stood. “Oh, yeah please!” “...Thank you.” Hidaka and Enomoto bowed their heads. “And spring onions?” “Yeah!” Kusuhara followed after Zenjoh and headed to the kitchen with a jog. Watching him, Hidaka sighed, “Hey Eno... he’s cute, isn’t he?” “Gak!” “Hey...! What are you choking for!? I don’t mean anything weird!” Enomoto coughed two, three times at the flustered Hidaka. “Eh, what’s wrong?” Kusuhara looked back. “Nothing! Cut your onions!” “Hah...” Kusuhara tilted his head, and with the heavy thud of a knife started to cut the spring onions again. Enomoto’s coughs finally turned into a smile. “Ahem... no, I know. I get you. Kusuhara-kun’s like a little brother, or a puppy... He’s charming.” “–I see. Charming, is it?” “Yeah, that’s it! Charm! That’s what I wanted to sa– Woah!!” Hidaka turned around, and standing on the other side of the open window was Director Munakata Reisi. His almond-shaped eyes were directed towards the inside of the room, and showed a hint of a smile. “Hello, Zenjoh-san. Excuse me for interrupting again.” “Good afternoon!” Enomoto stood straight, still holding his chopsticks and bowl. “Hey, Takeru! Make a seat! A seat! “Eh, a seat? –Uwa!” As the young troop members ran around in a fuss, Munakata entered the room through the window. And finally– Everyone holding their breath, they watched Munakata sitting in a chair in front of the second platter of soba, holding the dish they had prepared for him. — He eats soba... grocery store soba... Kusuhara thought this plainly ordinary thing was incredibly unexpected. What was surprising was the image of Munakata normally eating a meal, which he couldn’t imagine before. He felt as though this man didn’t do things that regular people did, like eating or sleeping. He’d heard that he often did tea ceremony as a hobby, but for some reason thought he got his energy from ceremonial rites and meditation. Of course, that was nothing more than just his imagination. However, looking at Munakata’s demeanor now just strengthened that impression. His back was straightened naturally sitting in the chair. The way he used his chopsticks was also correct, and beautiful. He didn’t take too many or too few noodles, and with fluid movement dropped them into his small cup then brought them to his mouth. He barely made any noise. With soft slurping sounds and beautiful movements, the noodles disappeared like magic. It was an entirely different thing and entirely different movements from when they were making a ruckus as they ate their soba just moments earlier. Not just Kusuhara, but Hidaka and Enomoto also stood perfectly still, staring at him. Normal humans – no, normal animals should have a natural opposition to being watched during their defenseless moments of feeding. However, Munakata paid no mind to the gazes of the troops around him, calmly taking in the soba. It was even more like he was overwhelming those around him as he did so. “–Is something the matter? The soba will spoil.” “Ah! Yes!” “My apologies!” Kusuhara and Enomoto responded at attention. “Well... Thanks for the... soba.” Hidaka reached out uncomfortably, and in obligation took two or three noodles with his chopsticks. Then, as though avoiding the awkward moment, swished them around in the sauce a few times then took his time putting them in his mouth. He made his best effort not to make any sound. Munakata watched his series of movements with a smile. “Uh, um... It’s very, cooked very well...” Hidaka fumbled out some strange-sounding things, and then poked Enomoto in the ribs as he whispered into his ear, “Hey, Eno. You’re next.” “What do you mean, next.” They talked like they were pushing their turn for punishment onto each other. Actually, calmly eating soba while exposed to Munakata’s gaze was an act of stress itself. Enomoto, bewildered, glanced back at Kusuhara. — Eh, me!? He unwittingly gave a small shake of his head, and Enomoto made a face of despair. “Heh... Shall we decide the order with rock, paper, scissors?”[3] “No! We’re sorry!” As the three stood together at attention, Zenjoh passed slowly in front of them. In his hand he had a porcelain bowl filled with sauce. It seemed to be the replacement for the small soba cup he had been using earlier, which he had washed and gave to Munakata. “Pardon...” Zenjoh placed the porcelain bowl on the desk, and with a creak he sat in the folding chair in front of Munakata. He then grasped some noodles with his hands from the platter and casually placed them in his bowl. He sprinkled some spring onions on it with his hands again, then took his chopsticks and began to slurp the soba vigorously. Since he couldn’t hold the bowl with his left hand, he lowered his face close to it, eating like a dog. It wasn’t something about manners or anything, but in his behavior there was a strange dignity, like the actions of a large beast. “He looked like a tiger eating soba...” Hidaka had expressed later. Almost an entire handful of noodles disappeared into Zenjoh with just two mouthfuls. Kusuhara and the others were speechless, and he again took noodles from the platter then quickly ate it up. “Heheh... what a good way to eat. You’ve fascinated me.” Munakata smiled. “You belong in a painting.” “How embarrassing... The vulgarity stains me.” After finishing the platter in a blink, Zenjoh stood again. “...Shall I make tea, too?” “I’ll have tea. But it’s no use to try and chase me out.” Zenjoh’s movements stopped, and Kusuhara and the others held their breath. Munakata spoke, giving an enigmatic smile. “Zenjoh-san... Today I’ll have not just soba, but a favor of yours.”n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om