NHK Midoriyama Studio.
Prop warehouse.
It was like a sleeping armory.
Dim shelves were piled with “murder weapons” from every era.
From Sengoku-era jumonji yari to late-Edo Shinsengumi uchi-gatana, the air carried the distinctive smell of rust-preventive oil mixed with old leather.
Shin stood in front of a rack of hanging swords.
Ten minutes earlier, while working out blocking for the next scene, he had noticed that the tsuba — the handguard — on his prop sword was slightly loose.
If he were an ordinary extra, he probably would have just wrapped it with tape or pretended not to notice.
After all, in a wide shot, no one would pay attention to whether a sword’s handguard wobbled.
But Shin couldn’t do that.
As someone with decades of experience as an “old soul,” even a small flaw in feel would seriously disrupt his drawing rhythm.
In a taiga drama that obsessed over details, if the blade rattled and made noise, the sound recordist would call cut on the spot.
Better to fix the problem himself before he got scolded halfway through the take.
“Excuse me, Sasaki-san.
The tsuba on this sword is loose.
Could you either replace it or fix it for me?” Shin held the prop sword with both hands and spoke to the prop master who was repairing armor in the corner.
Prop master Sasaki was a grumpy old man who usually hated actors making extra requests.
But when he looked up and saw it was Shin — the newcomer who had recently been praised by Ohara Reiko — his expression softened slightly.
“Leave it there.
I’ll find you a new one,” Sasaki muttered and disappeared into the deeper shelves.
Shin stood waiting.
His gaze drifted to a pile of discarded items in the corner.
Broken spear shafts, worn-out straw sandals, and a cardboard box full of scrap wood.
A piece of white, broken wood caught his attention.
It was a broken practice bokken made of high-quality white oak.
Though it had been snapped in two and the surface was covered in countless dents from repeated strikes, the grip was still polished smooth and shiny from use.
A faint hum vibrated through him.
[Equippable Item Discovered (Common · Damaged)] [Item Name: Broken Practice Bokken (White)] [Original Owner: A deceased legendary NHK sword fight choreographer who once used this bokken to train countless Showa-era stars] [Slot: Hand / Weapon] [Status: Damaged (Spirit Remains)] [Base Attribute: +15% accuracy in basic kenjutsu movements] [Special Entry: Zanshin (Passive)] Note: This bokken witnessed countless hours of rigorous sword practice.
Once equipped, your iaijutsu draw, swing, and sheathing movements will automatically correct to the most textbook form.
Especially the “zanshin” — the poised, vigilant stance after an action — will carry a strong classical beauty.
“Movement correction?” Shin felt a spark of excitement.
Although he had performed in domestic period dramas before, those flashy routines were completely different from real kenjutsu.
Taiga drama fight choreography (tate) was extremely demanding.
Any sloppiness would be laughed at by insiders.
He crouched down and picked up the broken grip, weighing it in his hand.
A heavy, guiding sensation — as if someone were directing the force in his wrist — spread through his body.
“What are you doing?
That’s trash.” Sasaki returned with a repaired prop sword and looked at the broken wood in Shin’s hand with mild confusion.
“Ah, the wood looked decent.
I was thinking of taking it back… to use as a paperweight,” Shin made up an excuse on the spot and stood up with a smile.
“Whatever.” Sasaki tossed him the new sword.
“This one’s center of gravity has been adjusted.
Don’t break it again.” “Thank you.” Shin slipped the broken bokken handle into the wide sleeve of his costume and accepted the new sword.
His fingers rested on the hilt.
In that moment, the sword in his hand felt like a natural extension of his arm.
… Three o’clock in the afternoon.
Studio 2.
Today’s scene was an action sequence.
Plot: Late at night, an assassin sneaks into the residence to kill Kasuga no Tsubone.
Inaba Masasada (Shin), who has been guarding the door, instantly draws his sword, kills the assassin with one strike, and protects his mother.
Tatami had been laid out.
The fight choreographer was explaining the scene to the stunt performer playing the assassin.
“Kitahara-kun, your part is simple.” The choreographer was a burly middle-aged man.
He demonstrated the moves.
“The assassin charges.
You draw, cut horizontally, and he falls.
The key is the final part — you have to sheathe the sword cleanly.
If you’re not confident, we can cut the shot or use a double for the hand close-up.” Sheathing the sword (nōtō) was one of the hardest moves to look cool in period dramas.
Many young actors couldn’t even find the mouth of the scabbard.
They often had to fumble off-camera or look down, which completely broke the image of a master swordsman.
“I’ll try doing it myself first,” Shin said as he tightened the straps and adjusted his breathing.
“All right.
Let’s run it once,” the director called.
“Action!” At the cue, the stunt performer playing the assassin let out a shout and charged with his sword raised.
Shin stood his ground, lowering his center of gravity slightly.
[Equip Activated: +15% accuracy in basic kenjutsu movements] In that instant, his mind went blank.
He didn’t need to think.
His body reacted faster than his mind.
His right hand flashed to the hilt.
His left thumb pushed the koi-guchi (the opening of the scabbard) open.
Shing—!
A silver flash cut through the dim set.
Fast.
Precise.
Lethal.
The blade stopped exactly five centimeters from the assassin’s neck.
The wind from the swing made the man instinctively close his eyes.
The assassin played dead and collapsed.
Then came the most critical moment.
Shin didn’t sheathe the sword right away.
He held the post-strike posture, eyes locked coldly on the fallen assassin.
This was zanshin — the unwavering vigilance that remained even after the strike, refusing to relax until the enemy was confirmed dead.
Three seconds later.
Once he confirmed it was safe, his right wrist flicked, spinning the blade in a clean flourish to shake off the “blood.” Then his left hand gripped the mouth of the scabbard while his right held the sword.
Without ever looking down, he drew the blade back along the edge of his left hand in one smooth motion.
His gaze stayed fixed straight ahead, sharp as an eagle’s.
Click.
The tip found the scabbard mouth perfectly.
Zzz— The blade slid home smoothly.
Clack.
The final sound — tsuba meeting the scabbard mouth — rang out crisp and satisfying.
The entire sequence flowed like water, filled with mechanical precision and a chilling killing intent.
The studio fell silent.
The director, who had been about to call for a cutaway shot, stood with his mouth open, forgetting to speak.
The stunt performer who had been ready to double for the hand close-up quietly lowered his own sword.
“Cut!
Good!” The director slapped his thigh in excitement.
“That was beautiful!
That sheathing was textbook perfect!” The choreographer walked over, staring at Shin in surprise.
“Kitahara-kun, have you practiced iaijutsu?
That blind sheathing technique doesn’t come without three to five years of serious training.” “I practiced a little for previous roles,” Shin answered humbly, face completely straight.
“This isn’t something you get from ‘a little’ practice.” The choreographer patted his shoulder approvingly and turned to the cameraman.
“Did you get that hand close-up?
If not, let’s do another take!
Those hands are too steady — we can’t lose that shot!” “We got it!
Crystal clear!” the cameraman gave an OK sign.
Shin released his grip on the sword.
His palm was slightly damp with sweat.
The broken bokken’s effect was truly powerful.
In that moment, he had felt like he truly became a battle-hardened warrior.
He walked over to the monitor to watch the playback.
On screen, the young samurai sheathed his sword with cold eyes and elegant precision.
That distinctive “flavor” found only in old-school period drama actors had been brought to life perfectly.
“Looks like you’re getting that thirty-thousand-yen technical allowance again,” Producer Ishida said with a teasing smile as he walked past.
Shin gave a small smile and bowed in thanks.
In a world where you ate based on skill, every beautiful move was another step up the ladder.
And he was steadily planting his feet on each one.