Chapter Thirty-One: The Poison Island Style

Takesuke Zae eventually understood the reason for Hikaru Narushima's call through his forcibly polite words, despite the irritation he was trying to suppress.

He was simply looking for Brother Hakudo.

Stepping out of the dim equipment room, Takesuke closed the door with a creak. Even in the sunlight, he could recall the hysterical roar echoing from Hikaru Narushima's call.

"I have to find that guy with glasses! I have to defeat that guy with glasses! I will never allow—never allow anyone in this world to be stronger than me!!!"

That was what the voice on the phone had shouted. Thinking back on it, Takesuke couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh, even as he carried the heavy kendo armor in his arms.

"Pfft—Narushima, no, Hikaru... If you want to be the strongest in the world, you don’t even have the slightest grasp of what ‘strength’ actually means!"

After his laughter faded, he tightened his grip on the armor and wooden sword, ready to find Saeko or Brother Hakudo.

Though Takesuke Zae was a delinquent only days ago, he had still helped out at the Yagami Detective Agency. He was keenly aware that he was now in inexplicable danger, and that Brother Haito’s friend had brought him here for his own protection.

That was why, even though Hikaru Narushima was an old acquaintance, whether or not to reveal the location of this dojo should be left to the master or mistress to decide.

But just as Takesuke hung up the phone—

In a Tokyo café, a silver-haired youth ignored the fearful glances of the other patrons. Rage twisted his otherwise handsome features.

"How dare he... How dare he hang up on me! Takesuke Zae! Kousuke! Did you find out his location?!"

Hikaru Narushima barked at the bespectacled young man tapping away at a laptop beside him, his phone creaking in his fist.

Kousuke Asari, his loyal companion, adjusted his glasses, sweat beading on his brow as his fingers flew over the keys of the second-hand, ill-gotten laptop.

"I found it, but, Hikaru, tracking someone’s phone is illegal, and—"

"Don’t worry! This is my obsession, not yours! Just do as I say!"

"...Alright," Kousuke sighed in resignation, turning the laptop screen toward Hikaru under his urging gaze.

"Remember this address!"

Seizing a pen and paper from the table, the silver-haired youth hastily jotted down the address on the screen, then nearly crashed through the café’s glass door as he stormed outside to flag down a taxi.

He yanked the car door open.

"This address. Quickly!"

The driver, poised to complain about the outburst, fell silent after glancing at the note, starting the car without another word.

But the nervous glances in the rearview mirror and the cold sweat trickling down his neck betrayed his fear.

On the back seat, the silver-haired youth’s expression was a grotesque mix of euphoria and fury—

A truly twisted, terrifying sight!

~~~~~~

Saeko, gripping her wooden sword, had changed into her kendo training uniform and now stood in the dojo’s main hall. After digging out some rarely used gear for Takesuke Zae, it was time for her own daily practice.

In her eyes, Hakudo Kyou—who steadily grew stronger with each underground fight yet seemed to neglect daily training—was an unprecedented genius.

If she wanted to continue “playing” with such a genius as she had over the past year, there was only one thing an ordinary person like her could do: practice with unwavering diligence.

She exhaled, closing her eyes to guide her spirit to tranquility.

With a deep inhalation, her eyes opened just a sliver, a sharp gaze flashing out like an illusion.

Then came the sword swing, the culmination of breath and focus.

The Busujima style, evolved from the Shinkage school, was unique in that Saeko’s ancestor had, during the Edo period, abandoned the Shinkage treatises "The Sword That Gives Life" and "The Book of No Sword," rejecting the core principle of "not killing, victory through not being killed." Instead, he honed the "Sword That Takes Life," transforming it into a classical art of killing.

As Saeko’s footwork shifted, her wooden sword fluttered through the air like drifting willow catkins—restrained yet brimming with murderous intent, like a bud about to bloom.

Her sword speed increased, the air howling in its wake—a sign of her entering the flow state in her daily practice.

Once the sword reached its peak speed, the howl of the tip would become low and steady: the moment when killing intent was at its zenith. At this critical point, according to Busujima tradition, she was to immediately rein in her blade, suppressing her killing intent at its height, letting it echo within like a tide held back, her outward expression as placid as a still lake—thus tempering her mind and will.

But today, Saeko’s practice was abruptly interrupted before she could reach her peak.

The dojo doors were suddenly kicked open with a thunderous bang!

The metal-bound door was blasted clear off its frame, and the sign bearing "Busujima Style" was hurled into the courtyard between the hall and the entrance.

Seeing this, Saeko’s brows knit tightly, a phantom red gleam flickering in her eyes.

The killing intent she’d built up nearly unleashed her inner demon.

Her delicate hand clenched the wooden sword’s hilt until it groaned under the pressure.

"Is this the place? Takesuke Zae! Glasses guy! Get out here, both of you!"

In the courtyard stood a burly, silver-haired youth, his face twisted with mingled rage and ecstasy.

Rage—for the last time he had faced his opponent, he’d fled in terror like a whipped dog.

Ecstasy—because finally, finally, he had found someone he could fight with all his might, by any means necessary!

Just then, the blond youth carrying armor entered from the back, intending to ask Saeko about donning the kendo gear. Hearing the commotion at the door, he rushed over and witnessed the scene.

"Narushima?! You...!"

Do you even understand what you’re up against?! Takesuke wanted to shout at his old delinquent acquaintance.

But beside him, Saeko’s smile—radiant, yet laced with killing intent—made him tremble and swallow his words.

"Oh? So you know each other?" The violet-haired beauty smiled invitingly, though the veins bulging on the back of her hand gripping the sword belied her calm.

Narushima Hikaru, barging in, immediately spotted the beauty with the wooden sword. Her voluptuous, athletic figure could not be concealed by her kendo attire, and the sword in her hand only added to her formidable presence.

But at that moment, Hikaru paid her no mind—he was here to fight!

To him, a female swordsman—no matter how alluring—was a weak, boring distraction.

—Utter trash!

His gaze locked onto Takesuke, who clutched the armor.

A savage grin split Hikaru’s lips as he charged, his burly frame a white blur as he sprinted, launching a flying kick square at Takesuke’s chest!

He saw Takesuke’s panicked figure reflected in his eyes, a flash of delight crossing his mind.

Just a pitiful worm, a loser who couldn’t even make the grade as a thug! And now you dare hang up on me?!

It must be because that guy with glasses is protecting you, isn’t it? That’s why you’re so cocky!

Well, I’ll take you out right now. If I can’t find him, I’ll make him come to me...!

But before he could even process what happened, the world spun violently and he crashed face-first from midair onto the wooden dojo floor.

Blood gushed from his nose, streaming down his chest, his pants, and pooling on the floor as he staggered to his feet, dazed.

"I asked—‘do you two know each other?’"

Behind him, the violet-haired beauty rested her wooden sword on his shoulder, repeating her question with a smile—her killing intent palpable.