Chapter 54

Tokyo, Japan. 24 October.

Two days have passed since the uproar in the kendo club.

Calm is the default rhythm of life, but it never lasts—just as waves on a shore never rage forever; there is always a lull.

At noon, when Hasegawa Saori boarded the coach, thin rain trickled from the grey dome of sky.

Shiratori Kiyoya stood among the crowd, looking up as Saori waved goodbye from the window. When the coach lurched forward, rain streaked across the glass, sliding across her face like tears.

Yet she was smiling; Kiyoya could see the girl's bright grin clearly.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't really a farewell.

Saori probably never believed they were truly parting. From the night he carried her down a rain-soaked slope, their destinies had been braided together.

He watched until the coach vanished round the corner by the school gate. Before he could lower his gaze, a burst of relieved chatter rose behind him.

"Ah... thank goodness, she's finally gone."

The words weren't Fujiyama Takao's, but Kiyoya saw the captain's tense face slacken, shoulders dropping.

He hadn't spoken, yet his body spoke louder.

"All right, everyone—good work. Dismissed."

Applause scattered; the group broke apart in twos and threes, already debating lunch plans, weekend outings, or the latest gossip.

The gossip was, of course, about him: "two-timing scumbag," "dragging his girlfriend onto the dojo floor," "zero kendo spirit."

Some envied him too.

In short, he had become famous.

Kiyoya glanced at his watch, letting the noise wash through him. He had more important things to do.

He had taken only two steps when a hand settled on his shoulder. He tilted his head; Fujiyama Takao.

"Don't take it to heart. They're just bored; it'll blow over in a few days. If it gets bad, I'll talk to them—"

The captain smiled, honest square face making him impossible to dislike.

He still felt guilty for forcing Kiyoya to that match; in a way, he'd thrown his junior under the bus. The rumors weren't Kiyoya's fault.

He had to make amends—maybe not silence every whisper, but at least keep the gossip from swelling.

Kiyoya disliked being draped over. He shifted his shoulder, stepping half a pace aside, and shook his head.

"I don't care, Captain. No need to explain—the more you explain, the more they'll think you're covering up the truth."

Bias is a mountain lodged in the human heart; he was no Yu Gong, with no time to quarrel with mountains.

Fujiyama blinked, then nodded in understanding and sighed.

"You've got a great mindset. Still... I envy you."

"Envy?"

Kiyoya glanced at him, amused.

"Not jealousy?"

"Ah?" Fujiyama met his eyes, caught the implication, and waved both hands.

"No, no—envy, not jealousy. Do I look like the kind of guy who sees the surface and gets bitter without asking why? I'm not that shallow."

"To keep two girlfriends, you must've paid a heavy price, right?"

Kiyoya studied him a moment longer.

Before he could answer, Fujiyama cleared his throat.

"Cough. So, Shiratori-kun... any secret love techniques you can share?"

Ah, so that's what he's after...

Kiyoya almost laughed, but answered seriously.

"If there's a trick, it's sincerity. The right person will understand you; the wrong one isn't worth tricks."

"Sincerity?" Fujiyama's caterpillar brows knitted in thought.

Before he could puzzle it out, Kiyoya slipped past him.

"Hey, don't run off—lunch's on me."

"No thanks, Captain. I've got urgent business."

"Huh? It's Sunday—what could be urgent?"

"Making money."

"...Huh?"

...

After lunch, Kiyoya drove to the Aoyama Artist Training Institute.

Since promising Saori "three years," he had put Takahashi Mio's special training on the front burner.

In truth, the three-year buffer wasn't an impulsive whim.

It was both a test for Saori and a test for himself.

People change; no one can see the future. Whether Saori would still love him in three years remained an unknown.

Even if the odds looked eighty percent now, that remaining twenty percent could not be ignored.

Three years would also let him earn enough money.

Setting aside his own dream of becoming Japan's richest man, even if Saori were willing to live in poverty, he was not.

Looking at Saori's realistic career paths—PE teacher, police officer, university coach—only PE teacher felt safe to him.

His song royalties wouldn't last forever, and grinding kendo to LV5 for prize money was fantasy.

Saori's talent was S-rank, but raw talent plus hard work might still take decades.

True progress required elite sword-arts schools. He had scoured the internet—only to find scraps or fakes.

As for apprenticing under a master, the fees rivaled the system's prices, and there was no guarantee of receiving the real techniques.

In the end, exchanging through the system was faster, safer—and just as ruinously expensive.

One LV4 school cost five hundred million yen, and even then Saori might not reach LV5.

If she did, the system's reward of one billion yen left little after subtracting time and costs—barely enough for a house.

Selling system techniques was impossible; convincing buyers was another hurdle.

Kendo simply wasn't commercial enough—championship prizes couldn't cover the investment.

Running a dojo in Tokyo would likely operate at a loss... he had run these numbers long ago.

Therefore, the only viable plan was to pour all three years into Takahashi Mio and flip scripts once she hit LV5.

A tough gamble, yes—yet he had once guided Kitajo Shione to LV3 in eighteen months.

Three years for Mio to reach LV5? He had faith.