From Sailor Moon Flash!
| Featuring: | Kenrou, Chikara |
| IC Date: | March 2002 |
| Status: | Completed |
| Summary: | Amakusa Kenrou has been given an introduction to Kogarashi Samuke at his most honorable and respectable dojo; Kogarashi-sensei's ranking student, Ishino Chikara, is assigned to convince the wealthy scion of the venerable Amakusa family to throw his money at Kogarashi. Except that's not what happens. At all. |
Kenrou looked up at the dojo's front. Unbidden, the thought came to him that even haha-ue would approve of this place: it was obviously a place of tradition and respect for that tradition. He slotted the thought away. Haha-ue was usually right in general, but he preferred her opinions to stay distant from his chosen pursuits.
He entered and murmured the traditional words for a first visit to a place of art.
Inside, there was the usual arrangement: front room for gawkers and droppers-by, the dojo proper screened off to the rear. Kenrou blinked as he took in how much space there was. Kogarashi was larger than Mifune Tatsumi, by several dozen mats' worth. Not surprising; Mifune Tatsumi boasted but four students -- including Kenrou himself -- while he could see nearly two dozen beyond the screen.
He removed his shoes and quietly entered the dojo towards the back, seeking out Kogarashi-sensei. Mifune-sensei had said that the dojo's head would expect him near the end of the evening session.
At the front of the room, a large scroll proclaimed a kendou motto. Kenrou half-smiled as he read it: "heiho niwa heiho." A favorite.
Beneath the motto sat a tall man, evidently Kogarashi-sensei. He watched the students perform their kata, occasionally pointing out errors or correctness. The student leader, a lean woman with hair that glinted deep copper, was currently dealing with a pair who seemed to be treating the exercises with the respect they deserved. Kenrou nearly frowned; just beyond the dark-haired student was a group of teen boys who did not appear to have the proper attitude. Kogarashi-sensei brought the student leader's attention to this, and glanced up to see Kenrou. Kenrou bowed, and consequently did not see what action the student leader chose to take towards the miscreants; he did notice, with complete approval, that by the time he had straightened from his bow the youths had snapped to attention, one or two with looks of suddenly-intense desire to perfect their form.
The Master made his way to the back of the room; Kenrou bowed again, more deeply. The dojo being one of the few places that the meishi had no place, Kenrou introduced himself in the old formal manner: "Sensei, I apologize for the imposition. This one is Amakusa Kenrou, student of Mifune Mineo of Mifune Tatsumi." He absently considered the two alternate words he might have used in place of "imposition" and resolved to use them the next time he was in a place where he might rhyme "tekiyou" with "sonchou".
He received a bow in return, and the formal response. "Welcome. There is no imposition; I am glad to have an opportunity to relieve my debt to Mifune-sensei."
They spoke for a few moments of their mutual acquaintance with Kenrou's teacher. Kenrou was pleased; anyone who thought well of Mifune-sensei was obviously a person of great nobility and sense. Surely this was a fine school, as both its reputation and its head's attitudes attested. He glanced over to the floor again, where the students were beginning to disperse, and noticed again the boys who had been rowdy earlier. They had quietened considerably since their chastisement. One of them was even snaking furtive, amazed looks over at the student leader -- who, Kenrou belatedly noticed, was the one beckoned by Kogarashi-sensei.
Chikara was never really entirely sure if she loved leading class or she hated it. To be sure, the Saturday evening classes were always the worst because the age level was so spread out -- there were the children just learning how to handle a bokken all the way through to the adults preparing their chi for the focus of the next dan, and it tended toward group exercise in general kendo rather than the personal instruction of the zen iaido that was her passion. It certainly didn't help that on these days, she tended to be the ranking student, leading her fellow kendoka carefully through kata.
After approximately the seventh time taking a bark from Kogarashi-sensei for losing focus on one of the more unruly groups of teenagers, Chikara thought longingly of the new Muromachi Compendium she'd left forlornly on her egg-crate coffee table, a new notebook and her favorite fountain pen beside it just waiting to give and receive meticulous notes on the Takauji shogunate. Alas, her date with Ashikaga Yoshimitsu was not to be; her students needed her, and if she were ever to prove the balance of her chi enough to qualify for the remarkable rank of Gondan, she needed them, too.
At least she could content herself with knowing that class would soon be over; the main room that doubled as registration and storefront, the one with the exit to the Asakusa street outside, was beginning to fill with parents waiting to claim their unruly beasts of children, and the traditional class observers were starting to disperse. It was then, finishing the last of the evening's practice movements and wandering among the students, that she noticed that Kogarashi-sensei was no longer in his customary place at the head of the room overseeing instruction; instead, he was by the back wall, deep in conversation with a tall man she'd never seen before.
Looking up was a mistake; Sensei, having an almost preternatural sense for such things, noticed the look -- perhaps she'd accidentally looked curious, she thought, and would have to work on that -- and beckoned her forward. Chikara slid her bokken into her obi and approached as directed; she would never keep a Master waiting.
"Ishino-san," Sensei bowed, and Chikara, even as she reflexively bowed back, knew something strange was up. "Allow me to introduce Amakusa Kenrou-san, a student of Koryu. Amakusa-san, Ishino Chikara, one of Kogarashi's more promising students."
Chikara looked up -- and up -- at the stranger who had so successfully captured the Master's attention, and found herself suddenly suppressing a strange, disquieting feeling of self-consciousness at her post-workout semi-disheveled state. That was when she knew she was in trouble.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," she offered with the utmost politesse.
He stared at her as she approached, startled that he could have overlooked her for even a second, even more startled that she was so ... short. Looking at her out in her element, he had thought her to be at least as tall as himself, for some reason.
He suffered another brief not-quite-shock when she straightened from her respectful bow to her sensei, and he saw her eyes. For the same reason he hadn't perceived her to be as small of stature as she actually was, he had assumed that her eyes would be as overwhelming as her determination in kata; he had not expected her gaze to be the equivalent of a sword-stroke. He couldn't decide if she made him uneasy or not, which in itself made him uneasy. He shook himself. He was Amakusa Kenrou; We the August Kenrou are sufficient unto any and all with which We are presented.
Kogarashi-sensei introduced her as Ishino Chikara. Kenrou instantly appreciated the rightness of the name - "power of will"; her honored parents must have been prescient. He firmly squelched the impulse to repeat her name as a triple-layered poem-in-minor about power deriving from one's soul.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," she'd said.
The point at which Kenrou knew that he was in trouble was when he found that he absolutely could not remember the right words to say back to this.
"Ah. ... The honor," he said gravely, at last, "is mine."
Chikara found herself committing the unforgivable sin of being distracted enough by her new acquaintance that she was having difficulty focusing on the Master's words. The rudeness of her own behavior horrified her, and she desperately hoped it didn't show on her face.
"Amakusa-san comes to us from Mifune-sensei," the esteemed Master Kogarashi was saying, having continued once ample time had been given for the societal pleasantries of introduction. "He is interested in learning the history of our institution, and I humbly request that you guide him through our humble traditions so that he might determine whether he finds this one worthy of his instruction."
Again Chikara's thoughts flashed fleetingly to the thrilling night she'd had planned, curled up on her sofa reading about fourteenth century revolutions -- but these thoughts were contrasted starkly with what she believed was her earlier rudeness, and obviously playing tour guide was to be her divine retribution for such poor behavior. Written works on the Shogunate could wait; the Master could, of course, not be refused. "It would be my honor, sensei," she answered in humble tones with another perfunctory bow. Besides, she had determined with another sidelong glance at the Master's tall guest that there were certainly worse fates.
Master Kogarashi smiled benignly, and after the remaining requisite social graces he prepared to take his leave. "Your willingness to speak for Kogarashi is a fine thing, Ishino-san. Our gratitude." And with that, quick for an old man, he'd gone.
It was important to Chikara to honor her master and present her school in the best possible light, and so fell back on the tools use used when guiding patrons through the museum: impress them with the weight of history. As an ancient school, Kogarashi maintained the tradition of recording every student, past and present, on the far wall along with portraits of its founders and beautiful scrolls of the Ten Precepts of Kendo. "Might I respectfully suggest that we begin with a discussion of the high wall, Amakusa-san?"
Kenrou brightened at the suggestion, and bowed, indicating that she might lead; he would follow. It was, after all, her dojo.
He glanced up at the high wall and smiled a bit more. He would always have a soft spot for any place that combined his passions so neatly, the pen and the sword.
They walked slowly, appreciating in silence for a moment the shibumi of the high wall, and then Ishino-san turned to him with an expression that was -- Kenrou groped for words, and found them, as he always managed to do. Ishino-san's rapt look on poised features fell exactly halfway between haha-ue laying forth laws, and Sensei demonstrating the best method of newaza shi.
Ishino-san pointed out some of the more distinguished students of the school. In almost every other school Kenrou had entered, this was merely a listing of names. Not so with Ishino-san. It was very nearly as if she had been each and every person's best friend, biographer, and stirrup-holder. Kenrou briefly wondered how his mother would reconcile her admonition that a well-bred young lady never demonstrated enthusiasm for anything with Ishino-san's passion for her subject and aura of utmost propriety.
Haha-ue, decided Kenrou at last, had probably never calculated for Ishino-san in her most august worldview.
He said politely, at one pause, "And your name, Ishino-san? Where is that on the wall?" He smiled, and bowed slightly. "Surely it is as a precious stone among river rocks."
To say that Chikara was a bit daunted by the man's stubborn refusal to be crushed by the weight of history was something of an understatement; she was, in fact, quite daunted by not only his stubborn earnestness to appreciate history but also to continue conversation in the same tone. "My name, Amakusa-san? Oh -- " She took a pause to survey the wall, but she really didn't need to; she could find her place blindfolded. It was three blocks from the right corner, and seven from the bottom. "It's there."
She had assumed that this was some wealthy benefactor who was considering funding the dojo; this would have explained Kogarashi-sensei's utmost propriety. Usually when such men toured the school with her, they were distracted by her formality and attention to detail, and threw money at the Master as quickly as possible. It was an arrangement that worked well for all parties concerned.
Why was this one different? This confused her, and Chikara didn't like to be confused. "It's because your presence is intoxicating," she thought to herself.
A millisecond later, she realized to her abject horror and humiliation that she'd actually spoken aloud.
Kenrou stared at Ishino-san with some confusion, certain he had misheard. He did not like to think that he had misperformed anything, but on the other hand, perhaps it would be politic as well as polite to pretend that he had.
Yes. Kenrou seized on the idea with great thankfulness - maintain tatemae, save face for all concerned. (Had she actually said "your presence is intoxicating"? Had she actually read his mind? Anyone with eyes as deep and as piercing as hers might very well do just that.)
He attempted to focus his concentration on her name-kanji (yes, very straightforwardly beautiful; just like her), and decided that tatemae might be preserved if he ventured an observation on the students and his impression of them. (Had she said intoxicating? Had this well-named lovely charming young lady actually said intoxicating at him?)
"You ... " -- are the most singularly perfect person in this August Kenrou's entire experience of all the best of Japan's treasures. "-- handle the students quite well, Ishino-san, apparently in physical instruction as well as ensuring that they are aware of the mental aspects of the arts." Yes, a wonderful thing to think of: the muga-mushin of no-self, the Zen discipline of iaijutsu. Certainly not of an ego circling around that "intoxicating" and wanting it to have been exactly what Ishino Chikara-san had said. Egolessness is what to strive for.
This in mind, Kenrou took a deep breath and asked, "If this one were to be accepted at this school, perhaps you would not mind occasionally going through the forms together, Ishino-san."
He was so relieved that he had not said anything involving the word "intoxicating" that he quite failed to notice for a few seconds that he had in fact said "going out to dinner" instead.
In hindsight, Chikara could say quite firmly and honestly that she was completely and totally unprepared for the onslaught of Amakusa Kenrou's ... Amakusa Kenrou-ness. She had never in her life behaved like a giggly schoolgirl -- even when she was a giggly schoolgirl -- so why this man should make her so intimately conscious of the rumpled state of her gi and the straggly state of her hair she had no idea.
Other than the intoxicating. Which she hadn't said. She hadn't. She would go to the afterlife still continuing to deny that she, Ishino Chikara, yondan iaidouka of the prestigious Kogarashi Dojo, would ever have let something so base and obviously personal slip to an honored guest so soon after making his acquaintance.
Except that she had, and by the look on his face she knew that he'd heard it, too. It was all so horribly unfair; she deserved a chance to show him the honorable politesse that her position required. She decided, there at the high wall, to cut her losses, and pretend that it had never been said. "I would be honored to participate in forms with you, Amakusa-san."
She tried very hard not to notice that what she'd actually said was "Pick me up at seven."
Kenrou reflected that on the whole this was not going as he had expected. He had thought to come in and arrange for a further meeting with Kogarashi-sensei, to make certain that Kogarashi Dojo and Amakusa Kenrou were suitable each for the other; he had not expected anything like ... like...
He gave in and used the appropriate thought. He had not expected this, yes, intoxicating Ishino Chikara-san.
He bowed slightly to her, and turned away from the high wall, trying to collect his thoughts. He was horrified at the disruption of his focus -- perhaps simply staring at the trappings of the dojo would help him recall his purpose. Ishino-san was wearing the trappings of the dojoshi -- no.
She was in possession of a bokken; surely if he had caused her discomfort or made her to feel as if she had lost face she would have used it. Yes, and she had not, which indicated that she had not felt a loss of kao, which meant that everything was progressing smoothly and in fact purpose and focus both were served and no party had suffered insult.
There was a logical step missing from this process, but it was un-Japanese to rely overmuch on logic, in any case; what mattered was that he was to pick up the charming young lady at seven o'clock the next night.
"Thank you, Ishino-san, you do me too much honor," he murmured, and made one last brief attempt at recapturing his original mission. "Perhaps we might speak more of your interests in history?" A happy thought occurred to him, a non-insulting, perfectly traditional thought. She was a student here herself, of course, and it was his duty to learn as much as he might about anyone with whom he associated on these grounds; the batsu of the dojo was a sacred brother -- association. He owed it to himself and giri to learn everything of Ishino Chikara, for the sake of the dojo, of course, and not simply because he wanted to learn about her, herself.
Kenrou smiled his relief and asked where he might pick her up for their dinner for the sake of together honoring heiho traditions.
Saved at the last moment from another perhaps humiliating discourse on the extremely distracting way he had of moving like an artist's brush on parchment, Chikara seized on his suggestion with her whole face alight. Yes! History! They could talk of history and she would not be forced to make an embarrassingly personal blunder, even though his practiced, poetic speech drove all notions of proper behavior completely out of her head.
"I studied at Toudai," she began, careful to couch this very impressive pedigree in tones of matter-of-fact ease, since she couldn't quite manage modesty. "My focus was pre-Tokugawa history, most especially the Heian to Muromachi periods." She paced a little; two steps to one side and then two steps to the other. She knew it could be considered rude, but keeping still was making her nervous. At least, she told herself that it was the keeping still -- better that than merely the focused attention of Amakusa Kenrou.
It was several long moments later that she realized that she was babbling perhaps a little incoherently, interjecting her personal beliefs in parallelism between the Romanov and Heian dynasties. And then it occurred to her: she was trying to impress him with the sheer force of her studies, piling names and dates and justifications without an opportunity for him to get a word in edgewise. And then, a second realization, even more shocking than the first: the miserable feeling of her extreme rudeness was being buried by the delight that, judging by the look on his face, it was working.
Finally, she was saved by the time; she had no concept of how long she'd been babbling, but all of the other students had left and so it was time for her to gather her things and make her own exit. "Oh, a thousand apologies for keeping you so long, Amakusa-san," Chikara said with a deep and respectful bow, perhaps deeper than the situation warranted. But it never hurt to be safe. "I am afraid that I must take my leave now -- " so as to make offerings at the temple in thanks for allowing us to meet -- "And. Well." It was now or never. Her last chance to cut things cleanly and pretend the horrible social faux pas of the evening had never occurred. "The Asakusa View apartments. I'll be waiting in the lobby."
The words had come out unbidden, and she tried not to look entirely too horrified at her own boldness. "Good evening, Amakusa-san. It has been a very pleasant evening." She bowed again, and committed the unforgivable sin of not allowing him to offer his own pleasantries.
Because that was when she ran, as quickly as decorum would allow.
"Boss? HEY. BOSS. I got your reservations at Sasa no Yuki at 7:30."
Yoshinaga Tsurian paused, and narrowed her eyes. "Which got me to thinking. The last time you went to Sasa no Yuki was when you were talking to the assistant editor of Asahi. And last time you didn't need me to call your father and ask if you could borrow his car and driver. So, this means to me that you're meeting some president or something, and you can't deny it because you're wearing the suit that makes you look forty."
Amakusa Kenrou smiled his most iron-reinforced gentle smile, and said mildly, "Your ideas are very interesting, Tsurian-kun. I have it on good authority that I am nothing less than ancient and of the ages of the Meiji in this particular suit."
He wasn't going to give an inch. Tsurian glared. "Boss, it makes me nervous when you make appointments with important people without telling me. What if I have to schedule follow-ups? What if I have to talk to more than four levels of assistants and managers? What if I have to call your father again and get your mother on the line?"
"We will of course give you hazard pay for every heartbeat spent dealing with my venerable mother, Tsurian-kun. Please try not to be ridiculous."
"Booooooss. I haven't even had to do any prep for this meeting. You didn't even make me do anything except get a map of Asakusa. And you've been all distracted all day and making horrible puns about stones and goodness, and weird old dead people. What's going on?"
For just one minute, Tsurian knew she'd overstepped; Kenrou's expression got focused. On her. She backpedaled and said hastily, "Although I wouldn't dream of trying to pry."
"If you must know, Tsurian-kun," Kenrou said, "I am going to a second meeting with a representative of Kogarashi Dojo, and We would not dream of showing anything less than perfect respect to someone so ... ... eminently worthy."
Tsurian made a noise that she hoped conveyed her incredulity. Boss usually thought that proper respect meant that he showed up and was himself, without any trimmings or going to the trouble of getting someone to drive him through two districts.
Her boss just smiled the We Are Indulging You smile, and she gave up. Every now and then, Boss was really hideously August; most of the time, she liked to think that she was inured to it, but then he'd look up, his eyes would glint, and she'd shut her mouth with no further fuss because the Wall of August had been slammed down.
So Tsurian sighed, performed the ritual of putting the jade brooch in Boss's queue, and began plotting of ways to unravel this.
Ishino Chikara was never nervous. She repeated that phrase over and over to herself like a mantra, going through all of the stressful situations she'd encountered thus far in her life. Sitting the entrance exams for Toudai? Ishino Chikara was not nervous. Presenting a new exhibit on ukiyo-e to visiting dignitaries -- in English, no less? Ishino Chikara was not nervous. Interviewing with the board for her position at Chuo? Ishino Chikara was not nervous.
Going out for dinner with Kogarashi-sensei's new student? Ishino Chikara was not... at all able to complete her mantra. She was so afflicted with a feeling so otherwise alien to her that she thought perhaps some archetypal beast of social deformity was preparing to spring fully-formed from her forehead like a Western goddess.
She wasn't entirely sure why she was so nervous, either; he obviously wasn't going to show up; someone of his bearing would never be caught dead in Asakusa after dark. No. She would wait in the lobby in her dress, and then perhaps flowers would appear, probably orchids, complete with several gracefully poetic lines about how unfortunate it had been that Something Had Come Up.
It was this thought that suppressed her nervousness enough to allow her to finish getting dressed. Not usually the sort of woman who spent any amount of time preparing her appearance for an outing, Chikara had selected and discarded fully half of her closet before selecting the ochre-yellow dress her mother had once bought her for a holiday long ago and far away, one that flattered her shape and coloring while being neither too casual nor too formal.
Then she realized that she was worrying about selecting clothing that would flatter her shape and coloring, and she was all nervous again.
She gathered her things when it was nearly seven, trying to budget the time required for the creaky elevator to make it up to the twelfth floor and back down again, and tried once more to lose herself in the comfortable realization that no one was going to show up anyway. Except that was when she discovered, to her chagrin, that she would actually be very disappointed if there was no disconcertingly intoxicating man waiting to sweep her away once she hit the lobby.
By the time the elevator doors opened on the lobby floor, Chikara had convinced herself that this would be nothing more than a business dinner, and she had no reason to be nervous. Except somehow, that convincing didn't really help.
Kenrou glanced up at the Asakusa Views building and nodded. He had been expecting something considerably more palatial to house Ishino Chikara-san. It didn't matter; she was undoubtedly the pride of the neighborhood and the distinction amidst the students who lived here.
He opened the lobby door and looked around. He was a few minutes early, but this was all right. Ishino-san did not seem the sort to delay.
He paused. What did she do all day? While it was certainly not inconceivable that princes and world leaders would pay the gross national product of their respective countries to be permitted to gaze upon her and hear her boundless knowledge, Kenrou had to admit that it did not seem likely that she would settle for such an inert existence. There was far too much energy in her to sit and be admired, greatly though it might uplift the soul of an onlooker in her presence.
Kenrou shook his head. Even to his well-trained ego and justifications, that sounded suspiciously like personal admiration of Ishino Chikara-san and not like due and proper camaraderie for a fellow armsman of the sword. He might well be in trouble, even though he had spent the entire day convincing himself otherwise.
He glanced at the elevator, thinking that he had heard its creaking. He tensed, and then forced himself to relax. Ishino-san was a polite and charming young woman, a sterling exemplar of Kogarashi Dojo, and he was absolutely not nervous about her memory for the dinner, her liking of the thank-you-for-the-honor gift he had brought, or her likely effect on his focus and self-discipline. He was not; he was the August Kenrou and not even haha-ue in her fullest righteous fury could daunt him.
And then the elevator doors opened, and she stepped out in a dress of imperial yellow, and Kenrou bit his tongue in astonishment that his ego could defy his edicts.
"Ishino-san," he said, after three heartbeats, walking forward to bow to her. He was fairly sure that it did not sound strangled. Not very strangled. He was definitely in trouble. "Good evening."
Before giving her time to reply in kind, he straightened from his bow and held out the small box he had brought. "Otsumaranai mono wo uketotte kudasai, Ishino-san." He fervently hoped that the traditional "thing of small value" met with her approval, but there would be no way to know until their next meeting.
... their next meeting; he was definitely in trouble.
Chikara had to almost physically suppress the infantile desire to tear into the box he gave her like a toddler on her birthday, and it was only that severe self-restraint that allowed her to place the small box in the clutch-purse she'd brought, there to remain safe until she could open it in the privacy of her own home.
Once again, she had to fumble for words; after her mistakes of the day before, she was going to be excruciatingly careful to think through every word that entered her consciousness before speaking. "A thousand gratitudes for the honor of this occasion, Amakusa-san." She tried very hard to keep the active relief out of her voice, and tried equally hard to hate that it was indeed a true statement that she would have been terribly disappointed if he hadn't been there after all.
When he escorted her out to the waiting car, all noblesse oblige of having the driver -- oh my word, he has a driver -- open the door for her and whisk them off to their mystery destination, she battled with an increasing feeling of panic and the desperate sensation that she was in over her head. She would have been completely unsurprised to discover that he was actually some lost scion of the Tokugawa or something equally similar, and the urge to run and hide was only overcome through the shocking realization that she would miss him if he were gone.
It occurred to her after some time had passed on the drive that she had absolutely no idea what she'd been saying, and hoped fervently that they'd only been discussing the inane platitudes of traffic or the weather and not that she owned black underwear and would perhaps like to show him someday.
The car stopped, and after the driver had opened the door Amakusa-san was there to offer her his hand like the gentlemen his posture and speech patterns had already proven him to be, and when she caught herself holding onto that hand half a second longer than required to regain her feet on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, she knew she had gone from trouble to doom.
Kenrou's first impulse was to clasp the small hand to his heart, but this would, of course, have been inexcusable and Ishino-san would have thought him unmannerly. He felt that he would rather face anything in the world, up to the judge's panel of Bukuteki-kai and haha-ue's glassy calm upon being informed of her daughter wedding a gaijin, rather than incur Ishino-san's poor opinion of him.
He tried very hard not to think of how remarkably quickly Ishino-san's opinions on everything had ascended to the top of his list of priorities. This was far too presumptuous on her responsibility to him and moreover ... felt entirely too right.
He realized that Ishino-san was giving him a questioning look; he bowed to cover any hesitation and escorted her to the foyer.
"This is the oldest restaurant in Tokyo; I thought it might have been mentioned once or twice in your studies," he said, nodding to the kimono-garbed woman in front. She smiled and gestured him over to his father's usual table. Kenrou smiled his thanks at her, only to switch it to a very thoughtful smile at the waiter who apparently thought he might be permitted to hold Ishino-san's chair for her. He seated Ishino-san, who took her seat with the grace of a princess assuming a throne, and sat down on the other side of the table.
In passing he noticed that Ishino-san's chair faced the beauty alcove of this side of the room; he scarcely minded, as he felt that in facing her, he had much the better view.
She had been silent ever since entering; he felt a sudden twinge of doubt. "Ishino-san? Is there anything amiss?"
She drank in the ancient atmosphere with reverence, marveling that even in his western suit the place suited him, and he it. For the first time in her life, Chikara felt terribly small and lost, and contented herself with appreciating the wonder of her experience in silence.
When he spoke, it shocked her fiercely out of her reverie. "Amiss?" she answered in confusion. "Oh, not at all, Amakusa-san." She paused, and carefully metered out each word. "It's just --" That you are as beautiful and refined as Sensei's three hundred year-old master blade. That I would like to wrestle you under the table and do horribly inappropriate and terribly forward things to you. "That your aura completes my Zen." Oh, for all the ten thousand hells.
She backpedaled furiously and went on before giving him a chance to answer. "You are -- very distracting, Amakusa-san. This one finds it difficult to concentrate when you look at her." She used the most vaguely polite language she could manage, trying to fall back on archaic tone to convey meaning for which she couldn't find the words.
Then she realized that perhaps even that wasn't making her meaning clear, and she feared for a moment that he might take her at her word and never look her way again. "Not -- that you should not, just that... oh, for goodness sake." Unconsciously, she'd removed the fancy linen from the jade ring that held it and worked the fabric through her hands, crumpling and twisting. "Who are you, that I can lose myself in your eyes?" she finally murmured, throwing etiquette aside and relying on a very non-Japanese directness. "Some spirit, fashioned just for me?"
Kenrou, who had been about to take a sip of water, nearly choked.
On the one hand, this undoubtedly made him look silly; on the other hand, who on earth cared for appearances when one is handed a query like that from a woman who outshone a dojo full of swordsmen, and who would have undoubtedly outshone a palace full of Heian court ladies?
He put down his glass and considered his options, quickly, because hesitation (option the first) was not only potentially fatal but enormously rude -- nearly as rude as option the second, which was to try to ignore Ishino-san's offer to drop tatemae, instead continuing to hold up the facade of intricate courtesies.
Which led neatly into option the third: reciprocal honesty. This appealed most to honor and inclination, but Kenrou rather felt that perhaps full honesty in this case might get him slapped. While it would have been completely honest to confess that he felt that if she wanted to be close enough to be lost in his eyes his lap was in fact currently empty, it would not, perhaps, be quite ... appropriate.
Talk, hurry; one does not keep a lady waiting, especially a lady who has just given a signal honor! Especially not a lady who is evidently mad with courage; especially not a lady who has found the exact question that had been bothering him ever since they had met. Who is she, that she disrupts my focus and makes me value her thoughts as much as -- more than -- my own?
He took a deep breath. "Ishino-san, for nearly the first time in ...I cannot remember how long, We the August Kenrou feel ... unworthy."
At which point he realized that he had actually slipped and used the self-deprecatingly grandiose personal pronoun in front of this eminently august woman, and there was a waiter standing at his elbow, in a piece of shockingly poor timing.
Kenrou turned, and -- with an effort -- maintained his smile; however, something in his eyes must have betrayed his irritation, because the waiter blinked hard and stepped back as if the fact that Kenrou did not actually hold a sword was somehow irrelevant.
At the absurd pronoun use, Chikara did the most inexplicably extraordinary thing: she laughed.
It was like all of the tenseness melted out of her with each peal, and the sudden change in mood threw the poor waiter for another loop. He poured ice water into their waiting glasses, then murmured the requisite politenesses for I Shall Check Back Later Then. All the while, Chikara continued to laugh; eventually, she rested her face in her hands to force herself back to composure.
She realized, perhaps too late, that he was staring at her with an expression that probably counted as shock. For a few long moments, she wasn't entirely sure how to explain. "It helps," she started slowly, "To know that you are really human." Because then I am neither cursed nor incurably insane. "I'd thought perhaps that you weren't, before."
Knowing that she wasn't dealing with a deific figure had helped her sense of loss and confusion immensely. Of course, she considered, when only a godlike being had the ability to affect you on a personal, emotional level, it was only natural to be confused when faced with a person who was both godlike and still just a man.
Well, no; Amakusa Kenrou, she was certain, was never just anything.
There was still the matter of all of the terribly embarrassing things she'd said, and she was intent on setting them right. "Knowing that -- look, would it upset you terribly if we started over?" She couched her language in a question, eminently polite, but she wasn't intending to accept no for an answer. "I am Ishino Chikara. I teach history. It's a great pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Kenrou bowed, slightly, from the waist. His initial surprise at her laughter had quickly turned to intrigued delight; there was too obviously no malice in her, and it had been ridiculous of him. Watching her laugh, her eyes glimmering, had restored his own sense of humor and equilibrium both. It was a bit difficult to be nervous around someone who had graciously pointed out when one was being a bit too full of oneself, even if that one was Amakusa Kenrou.
He had still been puzzling over "really human" -- well, of course he was -- with a faintly bemused smile on his lips when Ishino-san sat up straight and gave him a determined look. Her suggestion of starting over was ... both a relief and a disappointment; of course he would not mind re-impressing himself on her thoughts with a better beginning, but then he would have to see if he could make her say "intoxicating" again. Barring that, he would endeavour merely to cause her to smile at him, like a poem made flesh.
"Ishino Chikara-san," he repeated, as if meeting her for the first time. "Teacher of history. Iaidouka, student at Kogarashi Dojo." He bowed again, a bit more deeply. A teacher -- that was exactly right. If she succeeded in imparting even a fraction of her fire into her students, Nihon would be enriched considerably. He wondered where she taught -- surely she was still in school herself?
"I am pleased to meet you, Ishino-san. I am Amakusa Kenrou. I am a shodousha. I am honored that you would meet with me to discuss you -- your dojo's history and traditions."
Part of her must have been half-expecting his quick pronoun change, because when it happened Chikara found herself horribly egocentrically disappointed that he would rather turn the conversation to the dojo. For what was probably the first time in her life, she found she had absolutely no desire to discuss her swordsmanship, unless it was in reference to a new and exciting game the pair of them could play during which an article of clothing would be removed for every point scored.
No, his attempt to change the subject simply would not do, because she had discovered that what she wanted more than anything was to learn more about this enigmatic man who made her all dizzy and befuddled inside -- and the rules of honorable discourse dictated that she, as the seeker, would have to make her own information available first. Except she couldn't offer it if he changed the subject.
In a flash of brilliance she was sure she would still be mentally congratulating herself for in years to come, she knew what had to be done. "For such an ancient and honorable institution, its true character can be found in its students. Is it not true that the character of the master is reflected more in that he creates than that which he shapes himself?"
It was a perfect trap, and she almost wished she could laugh out loud with the delight of it without spoiling the effect. She leaned forward against the table, resting her chin in her upraised hand, and smiled at him: the slow, dangerous smile that meant the game was afoot, almost daring him to ignore her very pointed invitation.
Kenrou was startled into one of his own rare laughs. She was quick with more than the sword, obviously. Of course she was. He was beginning to get the feeling that he was going to enjoy fencing with her as much as merely sitting and drinking in her presence, watching her blaze, admiring the sweep of her throat as she leaned forward.
He composed himself and looked back at her, very seriously. "This is so, Ishino-san," he said blandly. "This being the case, please enlighten me as to yourself, than which there is surely no finer student in the school. Please, paint for me the portrait of a student of the most respectable Kogarashi Dojo." He smiled at her, metaphorically displaying half an inch of blade with a bow and a flourish.
He laughed. He laughed and it was a sound like bells, the huge copper bells that rang in the dawn at Asakusa Kannon; Chikara thought she might die -- die, right there on the table -- with the sheer delight of hearing it. He laughed, and he played her game; she felt herself falling as though it were a physical thing.
"This student has been with Kogarashi since she was ten; it was a very great honor for my family when the Master made the offer." She smiled again, remembering. "His most honored nephew and my father are close friends. He offered to teach me as a favor, since Father had no sons, and I -- needed activity, it could be said." She'd begun twisting the napkin in her hands again; she didn't even notice. "My parents have always been busy people; they're scholars, both. That's how they met, studying Uji. Have you ever been there? It's in Kyoto, just to the east, and everything there is so old -- the ancient land cradled an ancient people." It was obvious she loved her home; much like the way she fiddled with things to keep her hands moving, she didn't even notice the way her reverence was written all over her face. "In any event, I used to get underfoot often when Mother's professorship moved us to Tokyo and I didn't have moldy ruins to wander, and kendo kept me both out of trouble and out of my parents' studies. It's been with me ever since, through school to Toudai and now to teaching at Chuo."
Kenrou leaned forward without being consciously aware of it; he wondered if she had any idea how infectious her passions were. He had been mildly interested in Kyoto and its environs when he had visited, as a small child; now, seeing the love that Ishino-san bore for her ancient birth-city, he resolved to send Tsurian out for every book on the subject possible. Fleetingly he wondered at which point of his acquaintance with Ishino-san would it be permissible to suggest a shared trip.
He paused, as something else occurred to him. "Both of your parents are scholars? And your honored mother is a professor at Tokyo -" Then he stopped, as the music of her words finally sank in. "You teach at Chuo?"
Kenrou could not believe it. His own high school, which he passed every day, had contained Ishino-san and he had been unaware of it? Impossible. Surely the aura of her permeated the entire neighborhood. No wonder his ridiculous nephew had been improved of mood as of late; of course the mere presence of Ishino-san within fifty miles must have sunk into even the thickest of skulls.
"You teach at Chuo?" he repeated, smiling even more widely. "This is fortunate, Ishino-san; we are closely linked, you see. This Kenrou had been a student there, ten years ago. We may claim friendship of the school, if it would please you."
Chikara bravely fought the urge to tell him that he could claim whatever he wanted, because the waiter had only just served the first of the four tofu courses and she was already prepared to drag her companion outside and fling modesty to the wind.
Luckily, he'd played her game and even given her the opening she needed; it was her turn to question. "I teach history -- first year, class 1-2. This is my first full term there. But -- you were a student at Chuo? Ah, so my eminently remarkable companion is a native of this fine city?"
He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, that she had neatly turned him back. He couldn't imagine why she would want to waste time talking about him when she might be sharing the glories of her dreams and thoughts and ambitions. -- Particularly ambitions; he wished to know exactly what she wanted from the future so he might arrange to be there and present it for her on a lacquered tray suitable to her beauty and drive.
Nevertheless, she had asked; he obliged. "Yes. This Kenrou was born in Tokyo, as were his parents and ancestors unto the furthest generation." He smiled mirthlessly. "Indeed, haha-ue would have it that there have been Tanagora and Amakusa presences in Yedo since before the Tokugawa claimed it." He shrugged, and glanced at her. If he thought that she would be at all interested in what little family history he knew, he would tell her of it. Kenrou shuddered at the sudden thought that haha-ue could fill her in, very likely since the dawn of time. There were certain ideas too dreadful to contemplate, and one of them was a woman as purely exquisite as Ishino-san being wilted by the iron of his mother.
"I attended Chuo, as did all of my sisters -- you have no siblings, Ishino-san?" He almost hoped not; his own sisters had been blighted by their failure to be him. Any siblings of hers would have been crushed by Ishino-san's brilliant shadow.
"Neither brothers nor sisters, Amakusa-san," Chikara answered, distracted for a moment by the way his every movement was art, like long-practiced kata. Even something simple, like flipping his table linen aside, was a motion she could find herself watching again and again. "Which is a remarkable service to my parents; if you have ever known a scholar, imagine yourself in a house with three of them. We are all fine people, my mother and father and I, but I couldn't say that we know each other well."
Again he had deftly turned the onus of discovery to her, and again she nodded and mentally awarded him another point in their spar-with-words. It was thrilling in a way beyond description to have met someone so very much her match in every way, and she was enjoying herself more than she thought possible. Now, though, it was time for the return volley. "But what portrait would you paint for Kogarashi-sensei, Amakusa-san? He will not teach your family, only you."
Kenrou paused before answering, and looked at her very thoughtfully. She had asked, before, if he had been a spirit-gift made especially for her, and while the slate had been wiped clean as courtesy demanded, this was still not a question that was easily set aside. Now, though, he felt that it was more appropriately directed towards her: she seemed, with every further facet displayed, to be made to correspond point-to-point with Kenrou's mental image of the perfect person. This latest display of cleverness, of refusing to be turned aside from her path, struck a chord in him.
It seemed so horribly unfair that such a blazing quest for perfection was embodied in a tiny and exquisite frame, and expressed through such captivating eyes; there was no resisting Ishino-san's thrust to her target.
"What is a man save the product of his family, Ishino-san?" he answered, smiling. "This one was fortunate to be given to the way of the sword at the age of five, although the path of iaijutsu did not call until later. I attended Chuo Gakuen, and from there to the University of Waseda." He watched her face, admiring the never-ending play of light over her cheekbones, wanting nothing more than to have her entire attention focused on him for the rest of eternity. "Waseda was very kind; they were generous enough to give a home to my first collection of shoudou pieces after I was accepted to Bokuteki-kai." He shrugged, debated mentioning the secret pride of his heart hanging in a remote wing of a Tokyo museum, let it lie. Surely Ishino-san would reject boasting; unJapanese, imperfect. Only perfection was worthy of her time and attention.
"That is this Kenrou," he concluded, unable to stifle a hopeful thought that this Kenrou would find favor in her eyes. "Surely Kogarashi-sensei would forgive that my first skill is in the word, and not the sword; surely he does not need a second martial prodigy, when the flower among his students is Ishino Chikara-san, who teaches and who inspires by her flawless example."
Chikara decided that she could spend the rest of her life quite happily just listening to him speak. She was so captivated by such seemingly small things -- the way the line of his jaw chiseled like a blade with every word, the way he brushed back his hair, the way the light shone in his eyes like stars in the night sky -- that when he stopped talking and directed the conversation back toward her, the suddenness of it hit her like a wall.
She had to take a few moments to shake it off, like waking from a dream. Having been so focused on his words, she had all but missed the change from second course to third; she was almost unhappy with herself for not appreciating the gift of an experience like Sasa-no-Yuki, but all other concerns seemed so small compared to the driving need of maintaining This Kenrou's interest.
He had played a fine match, and Chikara decided that it would not be socially remiss to reward him with a compliment. "I am sure that Sensei could wish no greater student than one such as yourself. Would that every swordsman had the soul of a poet." And how dazzling that such a poet and artist could be willing to share such things with her.
"Though I must say -- " She had let him win the first match; the second game would not be so easy. "I cannot believe that you asked me here only to discuss Kogarashi." She permitted just a hint of her predatory nature into a smile -- already she was sure this point would be hers.
She couldn't remember any time she'd ever had this much fun. In fact, she couldn't really remember 'fun' at all.
He smiled back, trying not to laugh in self-mockery; he had been congratulating himself on pinning her into a corner -- he firmly shunted away sudden ideas of what he might do if he actually did pin Ishino-san into a corner -- and then she blazed forth with a perfect trap like this. Her phrasing had been a statement of belief; her sweet tone had suggested a question.
Kenrou glanced down at his plate to buy time, and was startled to see that there had actually been food there at some point. He usually paid no attention to eating, but in the glow of Ishino-san's regard he had literally no memory of food at all.
He glanced back up at her and found himself pinned by her smile: the smile of a victor. He recognized it from mirrors, from the confidence of someone who had so far never failed to win anything he chose to contest. He was absolutely certain that she, like himself, had never lost anything she truly wanted.
Ishino Chikara-san, you deserve far better than an easy victory; surely you recognize in me as I have in you how well matched we are.
"Of course not," he replied, and smiled brilliantly. "We are sure that you have already divined the reason We sought the honor of your companionship, august kenyou-san."
Chikara wasn't entirely certain when she had ever felt so flattered; she'd always had a high opinion of her own skills, certainly, but to have been named a heroine with a sword was something to which she had never aspired. Obviously he'd not meant for this to be an easy game, either -- she strengthened her resolve to best this master of words... or at least make him struggle and force him to use more meltingly wonderful words like 'kenyou.'
"Oh, I could never bear to presume to speak for the August Amakusa Kenrou-san," she demurred with a modesty that was deliberately, patently false. She knew that returning his own play with language was a risky move, but was at least moderately sure that if he were to take offense, she could successfully throw herself on his mercies to make amends. In either case, this man deserved her best game, and pulling her punches would be doing him a grave disservice. "Please, enlighten me."
"Ishino-san," he returned, "how could this one possibly enlighten you when your own light is already overwhelming?" Overwhelming was quite possibly the best word he had thought of yet, as far as encapsulating the aura of Ishino-san; if he found it difficult to breathe when she smiled, how did ordinary mortals stand it?
She smiled now, demurely, at the compliment, but the set of her mouth and the glint in her eyes made it clear that she did not consider this in itself to be a sufficient enlightenment.
Very well, if she thought it was unworthy then that was what it was. Kenrou strove to remember what had first struck him about her, even before he had noticed the beauty and force of her eyes, or the glimmer of charisma that surrounded her, and found it in his memory: the very first impression he had had of this extraordinary woman was her firm guidance of the lesser students, as a still center of a rippling pond.
"The most august Ishino Chikara-san is a bringer of order to chaos," he said, leaning forward, striving to keep his tone light enough to match their previous banter. "She polishes imperfections of others, and hones them to their utmost. This one has always yearned for perfection; how then could I neglect an opportunity to -" Bring you somewhere more private. Attempt to focus your intoxicating attention entirely on me. Court you.
He hesitated. None of the phrases that leapt to his mind seemed quite ... appropriate.
"-- to make your acquaintance in more than passing," he finished, and hoped devoutly that she might forgive him this presumption.
Chikara listened quietly, her elbows propped on the table and her chin resting on interlaced fingers, a posture that was doing scandalous things to her neckline. She tried her best to look her most relaxed and nonchalant, because she'd realized that she had absolutely no idea who was winning this round, but she was actually pretty sure it wasn't her.
"This one is honored and humbled by your kindnesses, Amakusa-san," she finally stammered out, completely unable to find any other words that could perhaps even begin to compare with the courtesy he had just done her. Oh yes, she was losing. "You fascinate me, with your artistry and your poetry and your sword, and -- I would be honored to," Oh, so many things to say. "...make your acquaintance in more than passing."
Yes, that definitively decided: she'd lost.
She'd never been more pleased to have done so.
He had asked her if she would enjoy studying the forms of the sword with him, and she agreed readily; an opportunity to exhibit martial prowess was always a fine occasion. They'd decided to meet two days later at Kogarashi's larger practice hall, and explore each other's teachings.
Those two days were, in a word, torture. Every second ticked by with painful slowness, no matter whether she was lecturing in class or working in the museum, and Chikara lost count of the number of times she had started to call the number he'd given her but hung up before the dialing was finished. She tried to pretend that she wasn't hurt that he hadn't called her, that he'd said two days and two days it would be, but she worried a little in the back of her mind that maybe he'd wanted space for other reasons.
Even so, she found herself unable to concentrate on anything in the entire space of passing time. Well, no -- she could concentrate, but not on her work, or her studies, or even the news -- only on a certain pair of eyes and the way they stared right into her, or the feel of a hand on hers. It was lucky, she finally decided, that he'd chosen only two days; if she'd had to wait any longer, she was sure she would have marched to -- to wherever he was, and done something completely scandalous.
She discovered when tying off her gi that night that her hands were shaking.
Two days had finally passed. Finally. Kenrou did not remember a single thing about them, but he found a note to himself by his door to give Tsurian-kun a bonus for the incident with the brushes. Apparently two days had been over the limit of his patience. Obviously. He had never felt so short-tempered in his life, with everything and anything that was not Ishino Chikara. He kept running the words "two days, two entire days" through his mind on the way to Asakusa, in varying tones of incredulity.
Kogarashi Dojo was quiet, and only a few students were in the front area; he moved through them without really seeing any of them and let himself into the larger practice hall. At first he thought it was empty, and his heart sank. Of course it had all been a delusion; what she had actually said had been that she was appalled at his lack of propriety and she never wished to come within miles of him aga --
She was there, kneeling quietly in meditation, her eyes closed and her hair bound neatly at the nape of her neck. He noticed that her eyes were closed principally because it was the first thing on his mind that he did not want her to see him suddenly sink to his knees, as his legs seemed to have turned to water.
Chikara had buried herself in Buddhist meditation, trying feebly to channel her chi into some kind -- any kind -- of focus. The strangest thing about the way she'd been feeling, she decided, was that while it was indeed disquieting that she was having so much difficulty functioning at all, she wasn't entirely sure that it was entirely bad. There were worse things. She could name several, were she asked, and foremost among those would be never having felt this way at all.
If she hadn't been concentrating on her focus, she wouldn't have heard the steps that notified her that she was no longer alone in the hall. She bowed, still on her knees, first to the swords, then to the wall, and then, finally opened her eyes to bow to her so worthy opponent. "Amakusa-san, it is very good to see you again."
Kenrou made his obeisances in return, grateful as never before that he had had the kata ground into him bone-deep for so long that he could be sure that he was performing them correctly without having to think about anything more than the color of her eyes.
"Chikara-sama," he said. One day he would have to write her honored parents a letter thanking them for having gifted their glorious daughter with the most beautiful name in existence. "I am honored that you would say so. I am pleased that you could grant me your time this evening."
Two entire days, he thought again, amazed. And he had actually chosen that amount of time, and had thought it a reasonable period. Clearly he had been an idiot; he had missed her to the point of being unable to process rational thoughts.
"I hope that you have been well since I have seen you last," he said, searching her face for some evidence that she had missed him at least a little.
It seemed like she couldn't even breathe for several moments, she was so struck by his presence. She wondered for a moment whether perhaps seeing him might not be healthy, if the rapid heartbeat and difficulty breathing were the results of coming face-to-face after two days apart. Then she discarded that thought, realizing that even if this were true, she could avoid it by simply not going a whole day without seeing him.
That settled, she was much relieved.
"Whether I was well or not then I can't entirely recall," she answered with a wry twist of a smile. "But that doesn't much matter, because now that you are here, I know I am well." She got to her feet in an easy motion, the practice sword tucked into her obi. "How shall we begin, Amakusa-san? I have very much looked forward to seeing your swordsmanship."
He rose, mirroring her, bokken in hand. It had been a while since he had seen any school since his own; he realized he didn't know quite what Chikara-sama would do in her own daily kata, or how he might be able to anticipate any real differences between them.
"Perhaps we might begin with the standing forms," he said cautiously, going through the forms in his mind. Tatsumi koryuu tended to concentrate on attacks to the neck, armpit, wrist, groin, and thigh -- the worst of the vulnerable spots, those uncovered by armor during the Warring States period. He did not look forward to pressing a strike to Chikara-sama's delicate wrist or neck, even with a bokken rather than live steel. He was sure that she was likely quicker than he, but by the same token he was stronger, and had the longer reach; if he did not keep precise control over the strike, she might not be able to block. If he hurt her he would never forgive himself.
"The standing forms," he repeated, settling on one he felt would probably give him a good gauge on how far he might press her. "Jodan kama-e, first slash diagonal to the midsection."
She was certain that he would be skilled; that went without saying. Even just taking walking steps he was graceful, and his reach far exceeded her own. That said, she also knew that she would be the faster fighter. Her speed had always been her advantage, and she intended to pursue that here.
She wondered if he knew how well hakama suited him.
"Jodan kama-e," she repeated, bowing again. She planted her feet apart on the mat in the proper stance, flexed her hands, and then performed the kesagiri, a single-handed sweeping draw into a lightning-flash single-handed cross-cut.
There are generally three options when one has a sword on a trajectory with one's vitals: one can block, one can take the blow, or one can abandon dignity and perform a half-block, half-dodge while wide-eyed with shock.
Amakusa Kenrou, for the first time in his life or tenure as a swordsman, neglected to employ the first option, in favor of the second and third. His only consolation was that he had instinctively raised his own practice sword -albeit not quite quickly enough to block the strike entirely -- without having to think or suffer the distraction of being stunned at how quick she was. Her every motion outside the dojo was precise and graceful, but there had been nothing to indicate this level of speed.
He would have spoken to apologize for his terrible terrible mistake, or possibly first to praise her in honest, if stunned, admiration, but first he would have to do something about having had the wind knocked out of him by both her practice sword and his absorbing hers.
For a brief, terrible moment, Chikara was afraid that her strike had caused irreparable harm, and tried to find a way to stave off a flash of sudden panic. "Did you think I was kidding?" she asked, incredulous. He'd had the power to take her strike, indeed, but his block had been almost offensively sloppy. "I didn't break anything, did I?" Well, that had been a point scored for her, but she wasn't pleased with the effort, and hoped he would retaliate when he caught his breath and took his strike.
Kenrou took a deep breath, relieved to find that he was again capable of it.
"I am ... firstly, I am unbroken," he said, almost sure that it was true. He'd never been injured a day in his life, and wasn't certain what, for example, broken ribs might feel like. "The only thing hurt is my pride." With considerable effort, he retrieved his smile and straightened up.
"Very well. That was unworthy of both of us." He glanced at her. She did not look pleased. He could not blame her; that had been ... disappointing. Later, when he could breathe properly without thinking about it, he would be humiliated; at the moment, he was too busy trying to think of how to retrieve himself in her eyes.
Obviously, the way to start was to assume that there was nothing he could do that she could not match. He threw out his original plan of holding back, and assumed chudan, blade pointed to the right.
His mouth quirked. It had worked last time -- "Perhaps I might convince you to erase the first strike from existence, and we might begin again?"
Chikara returned her bokken to its starting position in her obi and burst into laughter. "I suppose it is only fair, since you've done me the same courtesy." She bowed again, marvelling for a moment that while she had very much enjoyed looking at him before, seeing him move with a sword was breathtakingly attractive. She gamely fought the urge to wrestle him to the mat, and with bright-eyed, confident smile she slid forward in a second kesagiri.
This time Kenrou knew what he was facing; this time he caught the strike in the sliding parry. He came out of it with the transition to go-no-sen, the counterblow. He had almost convinced himself that, bruises and possibly-broken ribs nonewithstanding, he ought to pull the strike at half an inch from her waist, when her sword was there, and performed the same sliding parry, which ought to have been impossible.
At that moment he felt he could die happy. She matched him. He had not pulled the strike and she matched him.
It not being an accepted technique in any school of any form of budou to take one's opponent by the waist and pin her against the wall with a kiss, he settled for focusing his chi, determined to be worthy of her.
After so many years of study, Chikara was used to the adrenaline rush that came with a truly remarkable match; this feeling, however, was markedly different. She was almost lightheaded with sheer, unadulterated joy, and laughed delightedly when she managed to spin out of the way of his truly powerful two-handed central thrust. It was more wonderful than any dance, and when he smiled at her it was better than any praise she had ever received.
Etiquette dictated that the next strike was hers, and she had planned for this: the sanpogiri was a single-hand stroke in three directions, a movement in which her speed was specially advantageous. Instead of striking, though, she used each cut as a feint: her attack wasn't powerful enough to provide for a successful parry, which meant he dodged all three rather than performing the counterattack.
He wasn't altogether off-balance by the third dodge, but she was faster, and followed with a quickness that seemed not altogether human. Seized by the moment, she reached up with her free hand, grabbed him by the haori and pulled his face downward, kissing him hard. "Point for me," she murmured, and then spun away.
He reached up and touched his mouth, disbelieving.
After a second, his mouth curved into a challenging smile, and he assumed jodan again; it was his turn to begin. "Now, does this escalate?" he inquired. "For instance, were this Kenrou to correctly mirror Chikara-kenyou-sama's ma-ai for four passes, would this be four kisses? Or could that be considered prize-mindedness?"
Chikara settled into defensive posture with a laugh that rang through the hall in delight. "If you can come and get your kisses, my most esteemed and honorable opponent, you may come and claim them."
Kenrou bowed slightly, pleased that she did not reject further use of her unique scoring system. "'Honorable', you say, kenyou-sama," he murmured. "I fear I will have to live up to that, although you cannot know how far I would be willing to press honor, considering what is at stake."
Tatsumi koryuu had some ... unorthodox draws and cuts developed over the years; there were reasons why it was the favored combat school of not only the kenjutsu-minded of the Tokugawa household retainers, but even the modern-day Tokyo Police. He settled on one that he thought most thoroughly covered the three points of being unlikely to be immediately recognizeable to Chikara-sama, suited for his greater strength, and able to negate her advantage of speed.
Put that way, it seemed like a daunting task, but he still had considerable ground to make up before he would be able to forgive himself for so humiliating a mistake, earlier. Besides, she had as much as promised an interesting reward could he but prove himself worthy of claiming it.
He gauged her confident, relaxed stance, decided that sengan-no-kiri was very likely to see him redeemed for the first disastrous strike, and drew.
Chikara recognized that in technique, he had the advantage; while Kogarashi's Eishin Ryu did practice paired kata, the focus was more strongly on individual demonstration and speed, whereas the koryuu that his posture envisaged was much more suited to traditional combat. She tried to guess where he'd be moving next and realized she could not -- while most of Eishin Ryu's iaikata were repeated among schools and thus he'd be prepared for her more traditional stances, she'd never studied any of Tatsumi Ryu and so the challenge of the unknown heightened her excitement fiercely.
Kenrou had no doubt that she'd be able to block the first motion, which was too obviously a feint; sengan-no-kiri's true advantage lay in the fact that the sweep of that first stroke left him with no fewer than four possible following strokes -- with the dull edge of the blade to the neck, to the top of the shoulder, to the exposed side, or to the wrist. Any defender, no matter how quick, would have a split-second of vulnerability for any of those spots along her right side; Chikara-sama would undoubtedly read this and have to read his own ma-ai to try to determine where he was going, because a wrong guess had the potential for fatalities or terrible injury.
Not that he intended taking the second stroke; by that time he would be in place to claim the first of his points. One of the advantages of Tatsumi koryuu was its greater flexibility in terms of outright cheating.
She had already shown him her talent in quickness; unfortunately -- or perhaps more fortunately for the sake of such an interesting contest -- this meant the he was prepared to counter her speed with his power in ways she could not retaliate. It was amazing the way they so perfectly complimented each other: together, with her speed and his force, they would be an unstoppable pair.
Briefly, while she tried to parry aside his strike, she pondered the idea of losing on purpose just to see what he'd do with his victory spoils.
He was in place, and much to his mingled annoyance and delight, she was already moving to block the next stroke even as she met the first feint. There was no help for it. He was going to have to abandon any pretense of holding to the forms.
Kenrou reached out with his right hand, up to the place where the swords crossed, and in a move he was really rather pleased with, caught and held them just before Chikara-sama managed to withdraw hers for the counter.
That taken care of, he leaned down and brushed his lips across her brow. "One," he said. Then below her left eye, on her cheekbone. "Two." The same spot to the other side. "Three."
He stepped back, still keeping his hold on the crossed bokken. He was not entirely sure that she would approve, now that he had time to think about it; even after their agreement of honesty, even after she had graciously permitted him to erase the first bout from history, even after she had agreed to prizes. It had been ... very untraditional. "Have I title to the fourth, Chikara-sama?"
On the one hand, Chikara did not like to lose.
On the other hand, she wasn't entirely sure that this situation could be considered "losing."
She realized with a shock that this was the first time in their acquaintance that he had made the move for closeness, and that thought almost made her dizzy. In fact, his very presence made her dizzy, her face flushed and her breath coming in ragged gasps. She also realized that she wanted to make him work for his victory. "You," she said with a laugh, "Are cheating."
He slowly let go of the crossed blades, now that he was sure that she -- probably -- wasn't going to likewise abandon the forms and thwack him across the midsection with the flat.
He smiled down at her, brought his fingertips to his lips, and touched them to the hollow of her throat, where he was pleased to see that her pulse was jumping as quickly as his own. He wondered how that delicate skin would feel under his mouth; how it would taste. "Four," he answered, "gained by -- ah -- a slightly untraditional method. I am wounded and shocked by this accusation of cheating, Chikara-sama."
He paused, and stepped back, resheathing. "On the other hand, it is of course your school, kenyou-sama, and so it is your place to dictate rules. Shall we cede you the points, instead?" He bowed. "This would require that I return the stolen points, would it not, so that you may claim your own."
"Oh, you call that nontraditional," Chikara said with a laugh. When he stepped away, she was both grateful for the reprieve as well as rather shockingly disappointed that he'd pulled back. She marvelled briefly at her ability to be afflicted with these two mutually exclusive concepts, and slid her blade back under her obi. "How exactly do you intend to return those points, Amakusa-san? Can such a thing, once taken, be successfully returned?"
He raised an eyebrow, and reached out to take her hand. He went to one knee, looking up at her, and placed her fingertips on his brow, at the spot where he had taken the first of his points. "We will have to see, Chikara-sama; do as you see fit."
Chikara raised an eyebrow and regarded him with a half-quirked smile, looking much like a regal benefactor about to bestow a royal boon upon a loyal companion. "I'm not certain it's entirely fair of me to claim points on an unarmed man," she murmured after tilting her face down and brushing her lips against his forehead. "Perhaps," she continued in a low voice, "I might let your ... nontraditional ... form stand successfully."
"You are as fair as you are fair," he said, keeping his hand in hers and his other hand at his side, nobly resisting the urge to reach up and pull her down. Kenrou was not entirely sure he could stand up again, now; he had failed to consider how the soft touch would affect him. Oddly, he felt honored as well as completely conquered -- no, not oddly. She carried herself like a true regal hero-of-the-sword, someone entirely fit to bestow honors.
"Nevertheless," he said, "I think that the match goes to you, Chikara-sama. I will have to save my own victories for another time, after I have considered how best to counter you." He dropped the easy words of normal conversation for a moment -- it was hard, abandoning even the default level of built-in distance-by-courtesy; nearly as difficult and tiring as speaking English -- and spoke as one kendouka to another. "You are extremely challenging as a partner, Chikara-sama, and probably the finest I have ever faced. Thank you."
Chikara solemnly reclaimed two more of her stolen points, leaving soft kisses on each of his cheekbones like a benediction. "You are truly an amazing man. Did you know that?" Of course he knew that. It was silly to imply that he could not be aware of his own magnificence. "I will leave you the last point and consider our match a draw on one condition: take me to dinner tonight. And then after, if you're willing, I would love to see your work."
"Well," he said solemnly, gazing up at her, "We the August Kenrou are on occasion surprisingly well-suited to amazement." He rose, keeping her hand in his. "Thank you," he said again, and meant it. "I would be honored to escort you to dinner tonight; I am extremely flattered that you would want to see my work. Shall I pick you up at seven again?"
At seven. Already that seemed like another two days.
