“Welcome him home?
He actually has to make it back alive first.”
Jigoro’s smile vanished instantly.
Before Kaigaku could react, a walking stick swept across his legs.
The impact knocked him to the ground, and a second later, the stick struck his body without mercy.
He was an elderly man with a disability, but Jigoro showed no signs of age.
A flawless display of the Beating Technique had Kaigaku yelping in pain.
However, since he still needed Kaigaku to carry things, the old man held back, ending the punishment after a brief flurry.
Otherwise, he would have beaten him until his backside was bruised and battered.
“If I hear you say that sort of thing again, you won’t get off so easily.
Do you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
Kaigaku answered with extreme reluctance, but added a line in his mind:
‘You will absolutely never hear it again.’
Looking at Kaigaku, who still refused to yield, Jigoro wanted to say something, but ultimately let out a sigh.
How could he not see the difference between Kaigaku and the other children?
He just felt that Kaigaku’s current personality might be tied to the past he refused to share.
Since Kaigaku did not want to talk about it, Jigoro never forced him to speak.
He knew Kaigaku had his own unspeakable hardships, so Jigoro always hoped that through his dedicated guidance, he could reach him and eventually set him on the right path.
After leaving Mt.
Fujikasane, Hajime headed straight for Mt.
Momoyama.
Despite managing to reach Mt.
Fujikasane on foot, Hajime wasn’t about to drag his exhausted body all the way back that way.
He used the money his master gave him to hire a horse-drawn cart at a village along the way, paying the driver to take him to Mt.
Momoyama.
The dirt roads in the wilderness were uneven, and the cart was built for hauling cargo, not passengers, comfort was an afterthought, but it was still far better than walking.
A few days later, the silhouette of Mt.
Momoyama came into view.
He was finally back.
Hajime climbed down from the cart, paid the fare, and made his way up the mountain.
Bright and early the next morning, Jigoro got up and woke Kaigaku as well.
He did not have him practice swinging the sword.
Instead, he made him help out as an assistant.
In the old man’s words, they were “pressed for time and burdened with heavy tasks.”
Kaigaku couldn’t see what was so troublesome about making a single meal.
He quickly realized how wrong he was.
They labored until a full table of dishes was finally prepared.
But Hajime had not returned.
Jigoro was on edge.
Leaning on his walking stick, he stood in front of the wooden cabin, staring down the mountain path, eyes strained from waiting.
Kaigaku lacked his master’s anxiety.
He felt his master was too sentimental, unfitting of a Hashira.
It was the Final Selection, after all.
Deaths were normal.
The senpai from a year and a half ago probably lacked skill, so dying on Mt.
Fujikasane was no surprise.
However, having just been on the receiving end of the Beating Technique yesterday, he did not dare push his luck today.
He could only grumble to himself mentally.
Footsteps rang out, and a youth appeared on the mountain path.
“Master, I’m back.
I missed the peaches.”
“It’s good you’re back, it’s good you’re back.” Jigoro’s hand trembled around his walking stick, and tears welled in his eyes.
“Kaigaku, Kaigaku, come here and meet your Senpai.”
Kaigaku had no choice but to walk over, bowing his head.
“Hello, Senpai.”
Hajime looked at Kaigaku.
Two months together wasn’t long, but Hajime knew this cockroach was an extremely selfish egoist.
People were inherently selfish.
Extreme selfishness, the mindset that everything others did for you was deserved, while never considering what you should do for them, well, that was a different story.
Even though Kaigaku tried his best to be polite, Hajime could still see his reluctance, and…
Pure malice.
Hajime pretended not to notice and patted Kaigaku on the shoulder.
A certain thought quietly took root in his mind.
Inside the wooden cabin, Hajime sat cross-legged on the floor with Jigoro and Kaigaku, a low table before each of them.
The tables bore a lavish spread: tomato beef stew, spicy chicken, spicy ribs, braised pork, chicken and mushroom stew…
A year and a half of living together had taught Jigoro that his first disciple’s tastes differed from others.
So he had gone down the mountain a day early, traveling over ten miles to a town just to carefully buy these ingredients.
The old man smiled warmly.
“You must be hungry.
Eat up.
There’s more if you want.”
Hajime nodded and grabbed a piece of braised pork, stuffing it into his mouth.
He used to find braised pork too fatty, too greasy, bad for the body.
But now…
Damn, this is good.
His master’s cooking fell short of the flavors in his memories, wasn’t quite as perfect as he’d imagined.
Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Why ask for more?
Hajime ate with relish, bowl and chopsticks never stopping.
Jigoro watched with a beaming smile.
“Slow down.
Don’t choke.
No one is fighting you for it.”
He barely touched his own chopsticks.
At his age, his digestion couldn’t keep pace with a young man’s.
Still, seeing his first disciple eat so well felt like he’d enjoyed a feast himself.
Beside him, Kaigaku had barely touched his chopsticks either.
His reluctance stemmed from two reasons.
First was his disdain for Jigoro’s attitude toward Hajime.
In his eyes, the Final Selection was merely the most basic requirement for becoming a swordsman.
He couldn’t understand why Jigoro was so thrilled, going to such lengths to set all this up, making him miss his own training time, dragging him along to buy ingredients.
This was hardly befitting of a Hashira.
The Hashira stood above everyone else.
Even if a disciple they trained passed the Final Selection, it was nothing more than expected.
With that in mind, Kaigaku turned his head toward the kindly face.
Right now, Jigoro looked like nothing more than an ordinary old man.
‘He’s gotten old and lost his mind.’
Aside from that, none of the dishes suited his palate.
The spicy ones were too spicy, the sweet ones too sweet.
Could this even be called cooking?
What Kaigaku didn’t realize was that his own mindset was messing with him.
Because he had already taken a dislike to Hajime, his resentment spilled over onto the food itself.
In the days that followed, Hajime remained on Mt.
Momoyama, waiting for his very own Nichirin blade to be delivered.
He didn’t sit around idly.
He woke early every morning to train in Total Concentration: Constant.
Total Concentration: Constant was a higher level of Total Concentration Breathing.
Under normal circumstances, ordinary swordsmen couldn’t maintain it at all times.
Forcing the body to sustain it caused intense physical discomfort.
Hashira could do it, though.
Even while asleep, they maintained unwavering focus.
Reaching this level was the minimum requirement to become a Hashira.
Hajime vaguely recalled that the training method involved blowing into a tough special gourd, once you could blow it apart, the skill would develop naturally.
Unfortunately, there were no gourds on Mt.
Momoyama.
So for now, he relied on the most basic method: extending how long he maintained Total Concentration Breathing each day.
Once the swordsmiths delivered his Nichirin blade, he would head to a larger town to have a special gourd custom made.
While Hajime trained, Kaigaku worked at it as well.
However, his routine was exactly the same as it had been two months ago.
Every day consisted of physical conditioning drills and practicing sword swings.
Swing after swing, endless repetition.
Rather than gaining any insight, Kaigaku grew increasingly frustrated.
Hajime caught him stewing in resentment.
Hajime wanted to point out that Kaigaku had it wrong from the start.
Jigoro was not singling him out, everything he did was for Kaigaku’s own good.
When Jigoro had taken Hajime in, he had gone through the exact same routine.
It started with basic physical conditioning, building up the body, improving stamina, honing nerve response and physique.
Then came sword swings, using the motion to build muscle memory and deepen the bond between wielder and blade.
It all came down to feel.
Everything had a feel to it.
Shooting hoops had a feel.
Playing games had a feel.
Everything required a gradual progression.
Trying to run before learning to walk was impossible.
But given Kaigaku’s attitude, he would never understand Jigoro’s painstaking efforts.
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