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587 — Not as Good as Boss
🕑 Added 2025-10-14 15:39:57 +0000 UTC“Don’t be nervous. I’ll go along with you.”
On the mat, Kenichi Chiba smiled and nodded at the student across from him.
He knew full well that anyone facing someone like him—someone whose physical strength and kendo skill were on another level—would be trembling inside.
Just as he expected, Hatake Gorou was gripping his shinai far tighter than usual.
Although his boss hadn’t said it out loud, naming Gorou to go out first made the situation plain enough.
Back when he was at Higashi Middle School, whenever Gorou or their strategist judged the opposing team to be strong.
They’d put Gorou out first—send him up to crush the opponent’s confidence so the rest of the team wouldn’t be caught off guard.
It was a tactic: blunt, effective, reassuring.
He heard Chief Arisugawa’s voice from the sideline as well.
With a résumé that shining, apart from Boss he was probably the most formidable person Gorou had ever seen—someone you simply had to give it your all for.
“Oi!” Gorou called loudly, and the two of them bowed together toward Chief Arisugawa and Hojou Kyousuke.
The referee waved the flags: match start.
Both combatants snapped into focus.
Behind his kendo mask, Gorou gritted his teeth and bared his teeth.
His eyes widened like a bull’s. Boss had taught him this:
“If you’re scared, make yourself look fierce—even if it’s only for show. Don’t let the opponent see your fear. Don’t let them think you’re easy prey.”
That lesson had come during Gorou’s first sparring session with his brother after joining Higashi’s kendo club.
Back then, Boss had said he wouldn’t attack first, but simply standing there.
Those eyes half-hidden beneath the horizontal brow plate—was enough to freeze Gorou in place.
He couldn’t even twitch his toes.
It felt like if he raised his shinai, he’d be killed on the spot.
Courage wouldn’t come.
He knew he was wearing armor.
He knew it was an illusion.
He was still terrified.
Only then did Gorou finally understand what his elementary kendo teacher had meant when he said, “When you cross swords, you should give your opponent the feeling that you’re going to cut them down.”
At first Gorou thought his teacher was exaggerating—a little theatricality to push students, maybe a kind kindness so no one would cry at the dojo and their parents would complain.
Even when he’d sparred with classmates who’d smashed each other in fights—sometimes ending up with five stitches in the head.
He’d never felt that murderous “I’m going to cut you down” presence.
Those sparring matches got so wild that teachers and assistants often had to pull them apart, but Gorou remembered only feeling sweat and spit on his face, and that awful, drying-stink of blood and saliva afterwards.
Was he the only one who actually wanted to kill the other person?
That thought made him a little ashamed.
He was the kind of kid who immediately apologized once he realized he’d crossed a line—though before apologizing he wanted to make sure.
“Hey, when we were sparring, did you feel like I wanted to kill you?”
“Huh? What dumb question. Of course I did—’cause I wanted to kill you too!”
So of course the other guy had wanted to kill him.
Why hadn’t he felt it?
The apology slid away unresolved.
Gorou went to the dojo and begged his kendo teacher to show him that “killer spirit.”
The teacher looked at his eager pupil and thought.
This kid’s got potential—maybe someday he’ll be famous and make the teacher famous by association—so he showed Gorou the honed, drilled intensity of a lifetime of practice.
Gorou was disappointed.
The teacher didn’t want to kill him either.
Over time Gorou’s physique improved and he got better and better at fighting—no more need to smash bricks to settle things; he beat people fair and square.
Yet despite holding the intent to “kill” every opponent, none of his peers seemed afraid.
They’d still sneak off and pick fights when his back was turned.
Damn it—if I had that murderous presence, they’d be terrified.
That confusion followed Gorou right up until he entered Higashi and met Hojou Kyousuke.
This man—his boss actually wanted to kill him.
Under the face guard Gorou’s expression drained white.
Sweat blurred his vision.
The sound of his heartbeat matched his heavy breathing.
‘Thud-thud—thud-thud—'
It was over—his heart was going to explode, he’d be dead.
Then the brother lowered his shinai and smiled, gentle and teasing.
“Oi, boys can’t be such cowards.”
Gorou—whose scalp had been stitched at least twenty times—forced out a silly laugh, finally realizing just how much of a coward he’d been.
“If you’re scared, look fierce—even if it’s only for show. Don’t let the opponent see your weakness. Don’t let them know you’re easy to mess with.”
Boss said it again, and even pulled up a few pictures of masks on his phone for Gorou to copy, telling him to pick one and practice the expression.
Still, when the referee called “Start!” and boss tightened his grip and readied himself, Gorou was shaking.
Boss couldn’t stand it—he tossed his shinai aside and told Gorou to strike with everything he had.
That did it.
Gorou summoned his courage and swung.
Smack—the shinai jammed between Boss’s palms and wouldn’t budge.
Before he knew it, the shinai had been taken from him.
“Do you mean…that you could kill me whether I had a sword or not?” Gorou said, miserable.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m the coward here—so I…” boss chuckled awkwardly and handed the shinai back.
Ah—so boss was a coward too.
Too scared to die, he’d trained himself to mastery.
So scared that he had to be capable of cutting down anyone who threatened him.
Gorou understood.
From then on, every time he sparred with his boss, he swung with everything he had—holding that “I’ll cut you down” spirit.
You learn how to take a hit before you learn how to dish one out—that principle applies to any competitive sport, kendo included.
Feel the swordpoint’s lethal intent, overcome the fear that wants to make you step back.
Every resolute strike is not only an offensive move, but an inner forging.
‘If I can cut down someone as strong as boss, then no one will ever be able to hurt me again.’
With that conviction burning in his chest, Hatake Gorou’s skill grew by leaps and bounds.
He quickly surpassed his seniors, becoming one of the five regular starters—and even earned the position of vice-captain.
But soon, a new question began to haunt him.
When he and the others teamed up to gang up on Boss, it was fun.
Even getting sent flying by Boss’s counterattack was… also kind of fun.
But whenever it was just the two of them—face to face—whenever boss got even a little serious, Gorou’s hands and feet would still turn ice cold.
The longer he trained under him, the more Gorou realized just how incredible boss really was.
It wasn’t just his strength—his insight was terrifying.
Somehow, with one look, he’d seen straight through him.
‘So I really am a timid, gentle, soft-hearted guy, huh?’
He chuckled to himself, oddly proud of that discovery.
When vacation came, Gorou went back home—and as usual, went to pick a fight with his old rival.
But this time, something strange happened.
The other boy, faced with Gorou holding a baseball bat, screamed, stumbled backward on his butt, and started bawling—begging him not to kill him.
“Huh? What’s with you?” Gorou frowned. “Didn’t I tell you ages ago I wanted to cut you down?”
“I—I didn’t think you actually meant it this time!”
Utterly confused, Gorou lowered the bat.
He didn’t see that boy again for the rest of the break.
Then it hit him.
‘Ah… I get it now!’
The problem wasn’t that his teachers or his classmates never had that killing intent.
It was that their resolve, their spirit, their strength—were all too weak.
Like a tiny mouse trying to trip an elephant.
Boss… maybe he’s never once felt any real killing intent from me either.
Now standing before him was Officer Kenichi Chiba—a well-known police officer, maybe even someone who’d taken down serial killers.
Surely, this guy’s spirit must be formidable!
That thought hardened Gorou’s expression.
His eyes bulged wide, the veins at his temples throbbing. He looked utterly feral.
‘What’s with this kid? Does he actually want to kill me?’
Chiba’s brow twitched.
It wasn’t that he was nervous—but the student’s expression was so damn scary that, if not for the protective mask, he might’ve thought the boy would leap over and bite him.
Their eyes locked for a tense moment.
Behind Gorou’s fierce glare, his thoughts spun in confusion.
‘Why am I not afraid at all? I don’t feel his killing intent at all!’
‘Could it be… this Chiba guy is even stronger than boss? So strong that my brain just shuts down in front of him?’
He gulped hard.
There was no more time to think—he had to attack now!
Even if it was just one strike, he had to land it!
“RAAAH—MEN!”
With a guttural yell, Gorou stepped forward and swung his shinai with all his might.
‘Whoa, not bad—good speed, solid pressure.’
Chiba was honestly impressed.
His body rotated smoothly as he parried the blow aside, sending Gorou’s strike off course.
‘Are high schoolers these good nowadays?’ He thought with mild surprise.
But even then, it wasn’t that impressive compared to what he’d seen.
After all, he’d sparred with police legends—the youngest ever eighth-dan, the so-called “Modern Musashi,” the strongest swordsman Miyazaki Shohei himself.
Sure, he’d only been the practice dummy during a demo class, but still—it counted.
Lost in that nostalgic pride, Chiba decided to wrap up this first exchange with a clean men strike—show them what a real adult could do before going easier next round.
The students needed to see the gap in level, after all.
He was just about to get serious when another fierce shout rang out:
“Kote!” (Hand!)
‘What—?!’
He’d heard plenty of loud kendo yells before, but this one was so intense it rattled his eardrums.
Turning his head, he saw that same crazed-looking student had freed his shinai from under his block—and was now swinging straight for his hand!
Chiba—sixth-dan master—actually flinched.
He hurriedly shifted his stance and barely managed to intercept the strike.
‘You little brat—are you trying to break my hand!?’
The impact made his palms throb.
The force behind this swing was even stronger than the first one aimed at his head!
He’d nearly underestimated him—and almost paid for it.
Chiba pushed the shinai away with force and stepped back.
‘Alright. I gave him one opening. Time to show these kids what a grown man can really do.’
With a deep shout—“Dō!” (Torso!)—he lunged forward and landed a clean strike on Gorou’s side.
All three referees raised their flags.
A perfect, textbook point—no debate at all.
‘See that, kid?’
‘Even if I slipped once, you still can’t match me. Keep training if you want to reach my level someday.’
Chiba flipped his shinai and bowed politely toward his opponent.
Gorou, still smiling like an idiot, mirrored the bow.
‘So if we were both unarmored… he’d cut me once, and I’d cut him once. At worst, we’d both die together.’
‘Still… he’s nowhere near boss.’
Applause broke out. Chief Arisugawa clapped and turned toward Hojou Kyousuke.
“Excellent level! No wonder he once dominated the national middle school championship.”
“Not at all,” Kyousuke replied humbly. “Chiba-san was just holding back. The difference between sixth-dan and third-dan is enormous.”
Before anyone could even mourn Gorou’s defeat, the next fighter stepped up—
Mitsuha Miyamizu’s personally chosen designated punching bag: Eikichi Onizuka.
‘Miyamizu-san’s so kind,’ he thought proudly. ‘She knew I’ve been itching to hit a cop for ages.’
Standing tall in the arena, Onizuka’s excitement was palpable.
As a biker, whenever he saw the flashing lights of patrol cars, the only option was to run.
The chases were thrilling, sure—but this? This was the dream.
He was already imagining the bragging rights he’d have later:
‘A Tokyo police big shot—beaten so hard he called me “Boss.” After that, no cop will ever dare chase me again.’
In the ring, Onizuka actually stood a bit taller than Chiba—though not as solidly built.
‘What’s going on with these kids? None of them are scared of me?’
Chiba frowned, bewildered.
The last kid looked like a rabid dog, and this one…
This one looked like he was holding a baseball bat, not a shinai.
The referee waved the flags—match start!
Without hesitation, Onizuka raised his shinai one-handed high above his head and charged straight in.
‘One hand? Above the head?’
‘What kind of punk move is that?!’
Chiba’s temper flared. He’d been planning to go easy this round—
Now that’d have to wait until the third.
“MEN!” He roared, lunging forward in perfect form, his shinai raised even higher than Onizuka’s, moving with frightening speed.
Before Onizuka’s swing could even come down, Chiba’s strike smashed directly onto his head guard.
‘WHAM!’
All three referees raised their flags. Another clean point—Chiba’s win.
‘Wait, what the hell? How come Gorou could at least hold his own, but I get one-shotted?’
Onizuka’s head was spinning as he stumbled back to his seat, face twisted in disbelief.
Seeing him flattened so fast, Mitsuha Miyamizu burst out laughing.
The other members of the Rampaging Angels gang laughed even harder.
Once Kyousuke confirmed everyone had a healthy respect for Chiba’s skill, he began sending out the weaker members one by one—purely to get beaten up for “experience.”
Meanwhile, Chiba himself was getting puzzled.
Why were all these kids aiming for his hands?
No matter whether they started with men or dō, they’d all switch mid-swing and target his wrists.
And the precision and force of those hand strikes were way beyond the rest of their techniques.
‘It’s all the same points!’ he thought, exasperated.
‘Since when did aiming the hands become so popular? Aren’t kids supposed to go for the head? That’s the flashy one!’
