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590 – Sorry, I Couldn’t Make You Go All Out
🕑 Added 2025-10-16 00:37:20 +0000 UTCWhen Chief Arisugawa turned his head, he happened to see his daughter carefully helping Hojou Kyousuke put on his gloves.
‘Seriously?’ he thought. ‘Are young people these days so helpless they can’t even put on gloves by themselves?’
Even so, the old man still laughed heartily and praised his daughter for being thoughtful.
Arisugawa Ren lowered her head, not daring to speak.
Even getting this small chance—to help him put on gloves—had taken her a lot of effort.
Once fully dressed in his kendo armor, Kyousuke glanced at Mitsuha, smiled faintly, then stood and walked toward the center of the arena.
From behind, the only thing that stood out apart from his dark indigo armor was the towel wrapped around the back of his head.
Because kendo involves intense movement and heavy armor, fighters sweat a lot.
To keep the sweat from dripping into their eyes, they wrap their hair with a towel called a tenugui.
There are no color or pattern restrictions for tenugui, so in a sport where everyone’s uniform looks the same, it’s the one place a fighter can show some personality.
More reserved players usually go with plain white or simple designs—maybe a single kanji like “Courage” or “Valor.”
The flashy ones, though? They go wild.
Once, Eikichi Onizuka printed a bikini girl on his tenugui (it’s was a Japanese towel pattern like how you see in Demon Slayer).
The result wasn’t pretty—not because the judges kicked him out for indecency, but because his cheap print shop botched the job.
The ink melted in his sweat mid-match, turning his face into a colorful mess.
When he took off his helmet, his dazed opponent actually asked, “Wait… was I fighting a demon?”
The rest of the Rampaging Angels weren’t much better.
“Individuality above all” was their motto, and before every tournament.
Students from other schools would come just to check out their latest tenugui designs—like how girls browse fashion magazines for trends.
Kyousuke’s tenugui also had a bit of history.
Back in middle school, a publisher promoting One Punch Man gave him a towel printed with Saitama’s shiny bald head.
Big publishers knew how to do quality prints—it looked so crisp that you could barely tell which side was the front.
From a distance, it almost seemed like the bald head was Kyousuke’s real face.
He only got to wear it for one match before the referee asked him to change it—“distracting the other players,” they said.
Fair enough. After all, seeing a giant bald head charging at you could be… unsettling.
That tenugui later went on sale as official merch and sold surprisingly well—even people who’d never read the manga bought it, calling it “hip-hop spirit.”
Kyousuke didn’t get it, but he happily took the royalties.
Later, when Attack on Titan was running, he brought up the idea himself.
This time, he fought wearing a tenugui printed with the grinning face of the Colossal Titan.
Again, only one match before the ref told him to switch. Luckily, his overwhelming skill saved him from a rematch.
Kyousuke didn’t complain; he understood.
Otherwise, what was stopping someone from printing three massive “boob monsters” on their armor?
His opponent wouldn’t even focus on the fight—they’d think Earth was under alien invasion.
Naturally, that tenugui was also sold as merch, just in time for Halloween.
Soon, Shibuya’s streets were full of people dressed as Titans.
Walking billboard, easy money—nothing shameful about that.
Kyousuke’s fans even saw it as fan service: if he could wear something that ridiculous in an official match, surely they could wear it casually.
What used to be niche otaku merch suddenly turned into fashion.
A guy wearing anime prints to school would usually get mocked by girls—but with the “Kyousuke collab tenugui”? Girls were the ones asking where to buy it.
Fashion trends—always impossible to understand.
And of course, everyone in the Yui Dorm wasn’t about to miss such a thing.
“If Kyousuke wears my tenugui during a match, it’s like I’m fighting beside him!”
So now, whenever he went to a tournament, Kyousuke carried a small bundle full of tenugui made by Sakura, Shouko, and the others.
Since the towel had to be changed every time it got soaked, there was no need for the girls to fight over it.
This time, the one he was wearing was light blue, printed with a small green four-leaf clover.
It was Mitsuha’s gift.
The delicate design looked oddly elegant against his powerful frame.
Since Kyousuke hadn’t worn armor in his previous fights, this was the first time the girls from Kaihin High and the Roppongi heiress squad had seen his tenugui.
A small wave of chatter spread through the audience. In their minds, someone as strong as Hojou Kyousuke should’ve had something bold—like “Peerless Warrior” or an ukiyo-e print of a battle scene.
The Rampaging Angels, however, were long used to his quirks.
Not only did they keep quiet—they loudly praised how “the design perfectly matched their boss’s aura.”
“Hey, Ren,” whispered Himeno Seiko, “who do you think is stronger—Kyousuke or that Chiba guy?”
Seiko didn’t really understand kendo.
Sure, she’d seen Kyousuke take down an entire crowd on his own before, but Chiba—Chief Arisugawa’s subordinate—didn’t look weak either.
And he had all sorts of titles to his name. She honestly couldn’t tell.
“Well…” Arisugawa Ren hesitated.
Her father chuckled.
“Hojou-kun’s already among the best for his age. But he’s still growing, while Kenichi’s in his early thirties—physically at his peak, with decades of experience in real matches. No matter how talented the boy is, those two things are hard to overcome.”
“Hmm…” Seiko frowned, ready to argue—but before speaking, she glanced toward Miyamizu Mitsuha.
The priestess sat perfectly upright, her knees together, toes aligned, hands resting neatly on her lap.
Her pale neck was as elegant as a swan’s, and her posture exuded poise and grace.
‘Wow… she really looks like a noble lady,’ Seiko thought in awe.
Then, that graceful, composed girl spoke softly:
“Age might give him an advantage,” Mitsuha said with a serene smile, “but what’s truly hopeless… is the difference in talent.”
Her calm tone carried an almost terrifying confidence, the contrast between her ladylike appearance and her words making everyone shiver.
“Haha, I can agree with that,” Chief Arisugawa replied pleasantly. “But trust me, Kenichi’s no slouch in the talent department either.”
His tone was polite—mostly because when Mitsuha had introduced herself earlier.
She’d mentioned her father, that famously troublesome man who kept running away from home: the head of the Fire Department’s Special Disaster Response Division.
The chief’s secretary had just sent over his file a few minutes ago.
And what a file it was—Kyoto noble lineage, former folklorist, former priest, former politician.
A man with a résumé so impressive he could run for office and still have material left over for a drama series.
But most importantly, he was credited with evacuating an entire town during a major disaster—something no other bureaucrat in Japan could claim.
The kind of man who didn’t need to bow and apologize on live TV—he could stand tall at a press conference and shine.
Truly… one of a kind.
With that kind of background, impressive ability, and a bright political future, Miyamizu’s father was only a few steps away from becoming the Vice-Commissioner of the Fire Department—one of the top positions in the entire bureaucracy.
Out of respect for such a man, even the ever-serious and stone-faced Chief Arisugawa treated Miyamizu Mitsuha with unusual courtesy.
In fact, not even Hojou Kyousuke or Mitsuha herself knew just how influential her stubborn old man could be.
If she had realized, she probably would’ve begged her runaway father to fund the rebuilding of the Miyamizu Shrine ages ago.
But everyone was in the dark—except Kisaki Tetta, of course.
That sly strategist knew everything and made sure to show Mitsuha the highest level of respect.
Meanwhile, as Chief Arisugawa spoke, the Rindou brothers sitting nearby twitched their eyebrows, fighting the urge to jump up and shout, “Idiot! You have no idea how amazing our boss is! That Chiba guy’s not even in the same league!”
But since their gang’s base was right in Roppongi—Arisugawa’s jurisdiction—they decided to keep their mouths shut.
Better that than risk losing their beloved tonkatsu privileges later.
“Those with real talent,” Mitsuha said with her trademark elegant smile, her low, husky voice smooth as velvet, “are also the ones most aware of the gap between themselves and true geniuses.”
“…”
Arisugawa’s cheerful demeanor instantly vanished.
His face returned to its usual strict, disciplined look.
Well-mannered as ever, he didn’t dare talk back.
Himeno Seiko lowered her head, a little embarrassed.
‘Look at Miss Mitsuha—so confident in Kyousuke without a shred of doubt. I still have so much to learn.’
She started thinking about how to comfort Hojou Kyousuke later—just in case he loses.
In the arena, Kyousuke stood fully armored and ready.
Nearby, Ryuushi Mikiyo looked tense, worried she wouldn’t be able to follow the moves of two high-level fighters and might misjudge the match.
“Kyousuke, right? You practice Hokushin Ittō-ryū, don’t you?” said Chiba Kenichi with a friendly grin. “I realized it when I saw your stance and grip earlier. Superintendent Naitou mentioned you before.”
“You know Naitou-san?” Kyousuke asked, raising an eyebrow—not because he doubted they’d met, but because if Chiba had heard about him from Naitou Akifumi.
How did the man still have the courage to face him?
“Yeah, we met during a joint training seminar,” Chiba replied. “He mentioned you as one of Hokushin Ittō-ryū’s most talented juniors.”
Chiba couldn’t help but feel puzzled, though.
The kid didn’t even use honorifics when talking about Naitou.
No matter how close they were, that was not something a junior did.
Any other dojo would’ve beaten that kind of arrogance out of him—literally.
“I see. Yeah, Naitou-senpai looked out for me a lot at the dojo,” Kyousuke said casually, suddenly realizing what was going on.
So Naitou had probably bragged about him to others—the way an old mentor might flaunt his star pupil.
‘I can’t beat you, but my protégé will wipe the floor with you.’
No wonder the old man was always pestering him to “come back home” to the main dojo.
“Well then, shall we begin?” Chiba said with a grin, tightening his grip on the bamboo sword. “I won’t go easy on you, Hojou-kun. Give me everything you’ve got!”
“Sure…”
‘But I’m totally going to hold back,’ Kyousuke thought silently.
After all, the man was here to train his subordinates, not get humiliated.
It wouldn’t be right to flatten him like he did to Goro and Onizuka.
At the sideline, Kisaki raised the referee flag, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
‘Time to show them— even a national-level competitor can’t touch the boss’!
The flag dropped.
Match start.
And yet—neither of the two moved.
They just stood there, staring at each other through the slits in their face guards.
After ten long seconds, Kyousuke finally realized—ah, Chiba was giving him the courtesy of the first strike.
He wasn’t used to that.
Kyousuke always fought reactively—because if he struck first, his opponent rarely got a chance to strike at all.
‘Alright then, let’s go with… thirty percent power.’
He gripped his shinai and stepped forward. Based on his earlier observations, Chiba could probably handle one or two exchanges at most.
“Haaah!” he shouted as he lunged.
‘Fast!’
Chiba’s eyes widened.
Kyousuke was much faster than he’d expected.
He’d thought Makki Hojou was already terrifying—but this one was on another level entirely.
He let out his own battle cry and lifted his shinai to block—
‘Strong! So strong!’
The muscles in Chiba’s arms bulged as he gritted his teeth and pushed back with all his strength.
‘Huh? He’s not pushing back as hard as I thought.’
Kyousuke blinked in surprise.
‘Maybe he’s tired already?’
Thinking that, he loosened his force a bit to make it fairer.
That tiny mercy allowed Chiba to push him back slightly.
‘What power… this kid’s no joke!’
Chiba gasped for air, all traces of arrogance gone.
Just one exchange had completely changed his mindset—from ‘I’ll show off in front of the boss and the girls to please, God, don’t let me embarrass myself.’
If he didn’t go all out, he’d lose for sure.
He focused every bit of his concentration on the opponent in front of him.
And then—Kyousuke shouted again:
“Hyaaah—Kote!” (Wrist strike!)
Chiba clearly saw the attack line. It was familiar—half his students used the same move.
His brain told him what to do—block! counter!—
But his body couldn’t keep up.
‘SWISH!’
Pain flashed through his wrist.
Three referee flags shot up at once.
Guess I didn’t need to worry about misjudging after all, Mikiyo thought, cheeks flushed.
‘Even against someone like Chiba-san.’
‘Hojou-kun’s strikes are so sharp and precise… He’s amazing.’
‘Wait… I lost?’
Chiba stared blankly at his lowered shinai, disbelief written all over his face.
He hadn’t even managed to keep his zanshin—the composure after a strike.
Just like that… it was over.
