InsomniaWL
patreon
586 – So This Is All Hojou Kyousuke Amounts To
🕑 Added 2025-10-13 16:26:44 +0000 UTCThe dojo had its own reception room, of course — and someone as meticulous as Kisaki would never make the mistake of neglecting it.
Yet Mr. Arisugawa, a police superintendent, refused to chat there.
Instead, he sat cross-legged right in the middle of the main training hall, casually asking Hojou Kyousuke to gather representatives from several schools for a talk.
Except for Mikiyo Ryuushi from Kaihin High, who seemed a little nervous, both the Higashi and Kaihin members looked completely at ease.
This was their turf, after all! What was one police superintendent to them?
If their boss so much as dropped his cup, they’d have this Arisugawa guy buried in the backyard before the tea cooled.
Scratching his head, Mikiyo suddenly found himself missing Tamatsuna from the student council.
If that guy were here, he’d probably handle this much better.
Thinking that, Mikiyo’s eyes drifted to the man sitting right below Superintendent Arisugawa — Hojou Kyousuke.
The same man who had looked like a demon god in the kendo hall now wore a calm, springlike smile.
He answered the superintendent’s questions politely, filled in gaps when others faltered, and kept the whole atmosphere light.
Thanks to Hojou’s presence, even someone like Mikiyo — who normally froze in these situations — didn’t end up embarrassing himself.
‘He’s incredible,’ Mikiyo thought.
‘He looks completely on the same level as the superintendent himself.’
No, that wasn’t quite right.
That calm confidence — it was the same feeling Mikiyo had sensed during their kendo sparring.
Hojou Kyousuke wasn’t just calm; he was operating on an entirely different level.
‘Is he really a high school student like us?’
Mikiyo wasn’t the only one thinking that.
Even the officers accompanying Superintendent Arisugawa were visibly impressed.
They’d met plenty of talented young people, but someone who could talk this naturally with their superior — even making the superintendent laugh heartily — was another story altogether.
Yes, kendo practitioners often had stronger mental discipline since they faced real strikes every day.
But when it came to authority? That was another matter.
After all, who among them would dare bow two degrees less than perfect to their superior — even though any one of them could take that same superior down with a single strike?
The two carefree troublemakers sitting nearby didn’t count; they were a little unhinged to begin with.
Mikiyo, on the other hand, acted exactly as a normal person should — aware of the weight of the superintendent’s title, smiling nervously, choosing his words carefully.
Not like Hojou Kyousuke, who by now had somehow taken control of the entire conversation.
Astonishing.
Before arriving, they’d heard that this was the boy who had won over Miss Arisugawa’s heart — but none of them had expected this level of charm and composure.
“…Honestly, before today, I imagined you’d be the kind of young man who only thinks about kendo,” Superintendent Arisugawa said with a good-natured chuckle. “Didn’t expect chatting with you to be so enjoyable.”
“Heh, I’m flattered. I didn’t think our little event would attract your attention, sir. I guess I got a bit too excited,” Kyousuke replied with an easy, modest smile.
“Right, Arisugawa-san — weren’t you here to give us some coaching?” asked Toyama Mitsutoshi from Kaihin High. “Who’s—”
‘Smack!’
Before he could finish, Kyousuke chopped him sharply on the head.
“Use honorifics, you idiot!”
Then he turned to the superintendent with an apologetic bow.
“Ah, sorry about that,” Toyama stammered. “Our teachers never really taught us polite speech. They’re so chill — half the time we just yell ‘Hey!’ and they already know it’s time to end class.”
“Haha, no harm done,” Arisugawa said, smiling without missing a beat. “Those who devote themselves to kendo often don’t bother with formalities.”
Then he turned his head slightly to the right.
“Chiba, go change. I want you to give our young friends a proper demonstration.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chiba Kenichi bowed, then turned to Toyama with a small apologetic grin before heading off.
“I’ll show you the way,” Kisaki offered, standing to follow him.
————————————————————————
In the Changing Room
“Why the sudden change?” Ishibashi Masahisa asked as he pulled out protective gear to help his colleague suit up. “Didn’t the superintendent say I was supposed to demonstrate?”
“Good thing we’re about the same size,” he added. “Otherwise you’d be suffering right now.”
“Who knows,” Chiba replied casually — though he knew perfectly well why. The superintendent wanted him to teach that rude kid a lesson.
“You want the tare flipped over?” Ishibashi asked, referring to the hanging waist guard that protected the groin area and displayed the wearer’s organization and surname.
For example, Hojou Kyousuke’s tare had “Soubu” written horizontally on top, and “Hojou” written vertically below.
In team tournaments representing a region, the top would read “Tokyo” instead.
Having one’s name displayed right at the groin might sound odd, but on reflection, it had a certain poetic irony.
At least, Hojou Kyousuke’s conscience liked to think so — though desire might’ve been the more honest word.
“No need,” Chiba said. “I’ll wear it normally.”
“Then from now on, you’re ‘Ishibashi,’” his friend joked.
“If anyone notices, I’ll just say my gear broke at the last minute.”
“Fair enough. But go easy on that Hojou kid, alright? If you hurt him, the young lady’s gonna lose her mind.”
“Do I need you to remind me?”
Once they were fully geared up, the two men stepped back into the main hall. The students quickly gathered into a circle, sitting neatly around the edge.
“Ahh, brings back memories,” one of the officers muttered. “Good old high school days.”
“Yeah,” the other sighed. “Why didn’t we have this many cute girls back then?”
As they whispered among themselves, Chiba Kenichi stepped into the center of the ring and introduced himself — name, rank, and position — before giving a short speech about interschool police guidance programs.
Meanwhile, Superintendent Arisugawa was proudly introducing Chiba’s career to Hojou Kyousuke and the others.
“Kenichi-kun graduated from Meiji University. At just thirty-two, he’s already a Renshi sixth-dan.”
“Sixth-dan Renshi!?” Mikiyo gasped softly.
“Renshi” wasn’t a rank but a title — one that could only be applied for after attaining sixth-dan.
Kendo’s ranks weren’t like levels in a game that rose automatically with strength.
Each advancement required years of training before being eligible for the next test.
Some people hit their limit early.
When they’d already reached the highest level possible for their age — and spent their free time earning teaching titles instead.
It helped with promotions, too.
You could teach at police academies, instruct recruits, or even live a pretty relaxed life as a dojo instructor at headquarters.
“Kenichi-kun’s team once won the National Police Kendo Tournament,” Arisugawa continued with a proud smile.
“He also placed third individually, represented Japan in the World Championships, competed in the All-Japan Kendo Championships, and even fought in the East–West All-Japan Duel.”
It was clear that the superintendent took pride in this subordinate — reciting his achievements like a proud father.
And to be fair, with credentials like that, anyone without the Arisugawa family’s political clout would’ve had this man poached long ago.
The police chief had brought along such a skilled swordsman because of something his daughter had said earlier—something that honestly startled him.
From how passionately she spoke, it sounded as if she had witnessed the reincarnation of Miyamoto Musashi himself.
In her words, Hojou Kyousuke was the shining hope of modern kendo—peerless, unbeatable, and unmatched in all of Japan.
While the young man indeed seemed outstanding after their earlier interaction, as a father, the chief knew all too well how dangerous blind admiration could be.
‘A girl shouldn’t lower herself like that,’ he thought.
So, to cool her head a little, he brought along Chiba Kenichi—a seasoned police kendo champion—to give Hojou a “reality check.”
Let her see what a real swordsman looked like.
But when Hojou Kyousuke quietly listened to the man’s accomplishments, he found them… rather unimpressive.
Winning a team championship at the national police tournament sounded great, sure—but that could easily be carried by strong teammates.
Individually, the guy only ever ranked third.
And as for participating in the All-Japan Kendo Championship?
Just having an entry slot didn’t mean much.
Even Naito Akifumi, who annoyed Hojou daily with his constant challenges, had actually placed in the nationals—not just appeared and vanished like a background extra.
Still, Hojou Kyousuke politely gasped and exclaimed in awe, putting on a perfect show of admiration.
Beside him, Miyamizu Mitsuha bit her lip, trying to hold back laughter.
But the corners of her mouth still curled upward before she hastily covered it up by blurting out a few “Amazing!”s herself.
No one knew Hojou’s true swordsmanship better than she did.
Whatever those flashy records sounded like, they meant nothing compared to him.
Against Hojou Kyousuke, those achievements were a paper shield before a storm.
‘You’re such a menace, Kyousuke,’ Mitsuha thought, half amused.
Seeing everyone’s impressed reactions, Mr. Arisugawa’s smile grew even brighter as he eagerly began sharing more about Chiba’s training background.
How he’d studied under a master from Kagoshima, how he’d refined his technique after joining the police, and so on.
Watching the chief’s enthusiasm, Hojou secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
Luckily, he had ordered the Kaihin and Higashi delinquents to leave before the gathering.
If those idiots were here, they would’ve shouted something like:
“What? That third-rate wannabe dares to compare himself to our boss? Please! Our boss could slice that guy into eight pieces with a single swing!”
That would’ve been… difficult to explain.
The seating arrangement was as follows:
Mr. Arisugawa sat on the left, with his daughter Ren Arisugawa and other upper-class girls like Himeno Seiko seated behind him.
On the right sat Hojou Kyousuke, with Miyamizu Mitsuha and Makki Hojou beside him.
Ishibashi Masahisa and Kisaki Tetta acted as referees on the floor, while the chief’s other subordinate, Chiba Kenichi, prepared in the center.
For the fourth judge, the chief deliberately chose Mikiyo Ryuushi, saying it’d be “good for his observational skills.”
In truth, the boy’s wide-eyed reaction earlier had thoroughly satisfied the man’s sense of pride.
“Hojou-kun,” the police chief said, giving the young man a generous smile. “Would you like to decide the match order?”
“Of course,” Kyousuke replied smoothly.
Although Chiba Kenichi’s skill wasn’t on Hojou’s level, his footwork and stance showed that none of Kyousuke’s subordinates could beat him in a fair match.
“Hatake Gorou, you’re up first,” Hojou ordered calmly. “Make sure you learn something from Mr. Chiba.”
He immediately sent his top fighter into the fray—to lose, most likely.
But that was fine.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger—a principle that applied perfectly to kendo.
The reason Hojou could train two nationally dominant teams in such a short time was because he personally beat that lesson into them every single day.
After surviving him, any opponent seemed far less terrifying.
“OSU!”
Hatake Gorou slammed his fists together, the sound of his gloves cracking like thunder, before stepping forward.
“Hatake Gorou is my team’s vice-captain,” Kyousuke began, mimicking the chief’s earlier tone as he introduced him. “Third-dan in kendo. In junior high, he won two national team titles and once placed second in the individual division.”
But then he realized that compared to Chiba’s long, glittering résumé, his subordinate’s record sounded… a little bare.
What else could he add?
He briefly considered the truth—like how Hatake had knocked out three bikers during the Haruna Mountain Gang Suppression, or fought Yakuza during the Yamazakura Group Raid, or helped clean up after the Toman Incident.
…Yeah, no. Maybe not the best crowd for those details.
After a pause, Kyousuke finally said, with a straight face, “Hatake is the kind of man completely devoted to kendo. He cares for nothing else. He’s never even been in a relationship.”
That, at least, was technically true.
And that kind of single-minded devotion had its appeal.
Companies loved it, too.
HR managers would look at a resume like that and go:
“So, you’ve done nothing but kendo your whole life? Excellent! We love your perseverance. You’ll fit right in.”
It wasn’t a joke—just the way things worked here.
Meanwhile, Eikichi Onizuka—if he ever applied for a teaching job—could probably boast,
“I’ll raise students who are as tough and fearless as I am!”
And the principal might actually hire him for it.
See, being a delinquent had no future.
You got into fights, paid your own hospital bills, and gained nothing.
But in the dojo—if you lost, cute cheerleaders comforted you; if you won, you got scholarships and fame.
Even with an empty head, you could still make good money.
“Hahaha! I can tell—he’s a fine young man,” Chief Arisugawa said with a hearty laugh.
Clearly, he was familiar with this type of swordsman.
Police academies were full of them—kendo recruits who couldn’t recite the law to save their lives but sure knew how to swing a shinai.
“Please, teach me well!” Hatake shouted, bowing deeply.
The first match was about to begin.
