Kazuma was aiming to finish this quickly. After all, there was still a whole group of thugs downstairs—temporarily incapacitated by the canister of pepper spray.
But who knew how long a single canister would hold them off?
Of course, it was also possible those guys were intimidated after seeing Kazuma take down two of their officers in a row.
That was how yakuza worked—once the bosses were beaten, how much cohesion or fighting spirit the remaining small fry had was always questionable.
Kazuma closed in on Tsuda Masaaki at high speed, thrusting out with what should have been a decisive strike—
But at the moment of impact, Tsuda countered with a seemingly wild, unstructured attack. No—not just seemingly—it really was wild and unstructured. Both the angle and speed of the strike were sloppy by kendo standards.
And yet—this strike radiated real danger.
Kazuma instinctively leapt back, abandoning his plan to drive the blade through Tsuda entirely.
The tip of Tsuda's Bizen Osafune Ichimonji Masamune brushed past Kazuma's chest, slicing through the fabric.
His kendo uniform split with a ripping sound, and the cloth bundle carrying his wooden swords snapped—sending the bokken clattering across the floor.
As Kazuma landed and readied himself again, a thin line of blood appeared along the cut in his uniform.
At first it was just a faint thread of red. Then, one by one, beads of blood began to well up.
Tsuda burst out laughing. "You've never seen a real sword fight, have you? You can hit me a hundred times and it won't matter. I just have to land one blow, and you're done."
Kazuma felt his body flooding with adrenaline. The nearness of death set every nerve on fire.
Tsuda went on smugly, "Killing you is such a hassle—disposing of the body, finding a cement drum, hiring cleaners to deal with the blood. The cops just brought in some new tech that can detect blood traces anywhere, or so they claim. Probably just hot air—but what if it's real? Now, if you get down and lick my shoes, maybe I'll reconsider…"
Kazuma suddenly kicked over a nearby cabinet, sending it crashing down the stairwell. Then he began booting every loose object in the room down the stairs.
If this was going to turn into a drawn-out fight, blocking the path was a good first step.
Tsuda just laughed. "You don't seriously think you can win, do you?"
Resting his blade across his shoulder like a staff—resembling Sun Wukong with his golden cudgel—Tsuda sauntered toward Kazuma with exaggerated swagger.
Clearly, he thought the fight was already his.
Calmly, Kazuma used his foot to flick a chair up into his left hand, while reversing the last wooden sword in his right.
Now the wooden sword was a makeshift mace, and the chair a small round shield.
Sword and shield mode—complete!
Tsuda guffawed. "You think that'll work? Mastering sword and shield takes years of practice. You can't just copy it from some Western knight movie!"
Kazuma smiled. "I know."
In addition to kendo, he'd also practiced HEMA. Sword and buckler—or in this case, buckler and flail—was standard HEMA kit.
Kazuma let out a battle cry and charged forward.
Tsuda swung his sword—clang!—and the chair absorbed the blow.
The chair even had a backrest—perfect for catching the blade.
With the sword deflected, Kazuma smashed the wooden sword's hilt into Tsuda's face.
But it wasn't effective enough.
Holding the weapon one-handed in sword-and-shield stance, Kazuma couldn't generate the same power as a two-handed grip.
The bokken also felt too light.
He followed up with a shield bash to Tsuda's face, forcing him back—then decided it was time for a weapon swap.
A metal baseball bat on the floor caught his eye.
As Kazuma stooped to grab it, Tsuda shifted into an upper-stance guard.
Despite his bravado, Tsuda did have some kendo training.
Kazuma guessed his plan—he was going to come down with a vertical slash and try to cleave through the chair and Kazuma's arm in one blow.
Tsuda's eyes gleamed with murderous intent. He stepped forward to strike!
At that moment, an idea sparked in Kazuma's mind.
Though the chair was wooden, breaking it wouldn't be easy. If he angled it just right to redirect some of the force, Tsuda's sword could get caught in the chair.
Risky, of course—if he misjudged, he'd lose an arm along with the chair.
And Tsuda was clearly going all-out. This strike would be no joke.
But Kazuma didn't hesitate for a second.
He'd already accepted the risk of death. No point in hesitation now.
He charged forward, raising the chair high.
Tsuda let out a shrill yell and unleashed his overhead slash!
Lightning flashed outside, the room lights flickered wildly, and the blade traced a jagged arc through the air.
Thunk!
The sword embedded itself in the chair, piercing through to the other side—then stopped.
The protruding tip grazed Kazuma's skin, a thin trail of blood trickling down the blade.
Kazuma's metal bat slammed into Tsuda's skull.
Stunned, Tsuda released the sword and staggered backward.
Kazuma tossed aside the chair—still impaled on the blade—grabbed the bat in both hands, and charged after him, ready to bash his skull in.
At this point, Detective Shiratori's earlier warning—"as long as there's no death, the cops will turn a blind eye"—was the last thing on his mind.
To hell with that! I'll take him down if it kills me!
Just then—CRASH!—a small side door burst open behind the office.
Kazuma hadn't noticed it before, focused entirely on Tsuda. Subconsciously, he'd probably assumed it was just a bathroom.
Now, a soaking-wet mob of thugs and delinquent teens came pouring in, brandishing bats, pipes, and knives.
The leader, sporting a yakuza crest, took one look at the scene and shouted, "Protect the boss! Surround that bastard!"
Kazuma was stunned. There were more of them now than all the guys he'd seen on the first and second floors combined.
Wait... didn't Shin'nosuke say he'd called for reinforcements?
In an instant, the new arrivals surged between Kazuma and Tsuda.
Tsuda burst out laughing. "See this? This is how a tanuki wins! You brainless brawlers will never beat me! Boys!"
Just as he was about to issue orders—CRACK!—a bolt of lightning split the sky outside, thunder booming in its wake.
And then—the entire third floor went dark. The lights failed completely.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Tsuda shouted, "Don't panic! It's just a blown fuse! Surround him—don't let him escape in the dark!"
Then—he heard a faint sound.
A soft metallic shing, like a blade being drawn from wood.
Moments later, a high, thin metallic hum tickled his ears.
Tsuda's heart froze.
He remembered something Chairman Shiramine of the Shiramine-kai had once told him over drinks—
When a famed sword meets a worthy wielder, it sings with a resonant hum.
Impossible… Tsuda whispered.
Lightning flashed again.
In that brief burst of light, a lone figure stood illuminated.
Clad in a kimono, sword gleaming in hand, the figure looked like a master swordsman stepped straight out of a period drama.
For one breathless instant, Tsuda's gaze met the swordsman's.
And in those eyes—unhidden, unrestrained—was pure killing intent.
Sweat poured from Tsuda's body like rain.
The lightning faded. Darkness returned.
But one spot remained lit—
The Bizen Osafune Ichimonji Masamune, glowing faintly in the dark, reflecting a mysterious light from some unseen source.
Its clear outline shone like a guiding moon.
(End of Chapter)