“Fight me one-on-one,” Ogata told the samurai who had molested O-Fuku.
“You are a disciple of the Ishikawa Dojo, and I am a disciple of the Sakakibara Dojo.
“Since both of us practice the sword, let our swords speak.
“If I win, you will apologize to the young lady you harassed.”
“And if you lose?” the samurai asked darkly.
“Heh.”
A mocking curve appeared at the corner of Ogata’s mouth.
“Ask me after you prove capable of defeating me.”
The arrogant answer turned the samurai’s face a dark, ugly crimson.
Without another word, the man drew out a tasuki and began tying back his sleeves.
Ogata produced his own tasuki and bound both sleeves out of the way.
Shing…
Ogata slowly drew his uchigatana.
He placed the naked blade on the ground beside him, then removed the empty saya.
“What are you doing?” his opponent asked, still securing his sleeves.
“If we fight with real blades and one of us dies, it will create enormous trouble for both of us.
You know how serious the consequences would be if a mere match ended in death.
“To avoid that problem, we will fight with our saya instead.”
Ogata raised the uchigatana’s saya in both hands and assumed chūdan-no-kamae.
“Whether we use naked steel or empty scabbards, a skilled swordsman remains skilled, and a weak one remains weak.”
“…Hmph.”
The samurai drew his uchigatana and handed the weapon to one of his companions.
He kept the empty saya, gripped it like a sword, and adopted chūdan-no-kamae opposite Ogata.
“Itagaki Shichigorō, at your service.”
“Ogata Issei, at your service.”
* * *
A considerable crowd had gathered around them, composed mostly of the patrons who had been eating and drinking inside Nagareya.
The moment they learned that Ogata would duel the man named Itagaki, everyone abandoned their refreshments and hurried outside.
A one-on-one match between samurai was a rare spectacle.
Most watched with open excitement, instinctively forming a wide circle to give the contestants room.
Only two spectators wore worried expressions: O-Saki and O-Fuku.
Ogata and Itagaki might be using saya instead of true swords, but a solid scabbard could still inflict serious injury.
Yet both fighters had already assumed their stances, and the duel was beginning.
She feared a sudden cry might distract Ogata.
She pressed her lips tightly together, slowed even her breathing, and watched the tense field without daring to make a sound.
* * *
Itagaki attacked first.
He might have been a degenerate who molested women, but Ogata had to admit that his swordsmanship possessed genuine substance.
After only several exchanges, Ogata judged that Itagaki was a capable fighter—far stronger than Makino.
The Ishikawa Dojo taught the renowned Katori Shintō-ryū.
Naturally, that was the school of swordsmanship Itagaki employed.
Ogata had little experience fighting practitioners of Katori Shintō-ryū.
Nearly every opponent he had faced so far was another disciple of the Sakakibara Dojo.
He possessed abundant experience against Sakakibara Ittō-ryū, but almost none against Katori Shintō-ryū.
That lack of familiarity did not prevent him from defeating his opponent.
The taunting words Ogata had spoken before the match were not merely an attempt to enjoy a moment of verbal superiority.
He had begun preparing for victory before their weapons ever met.
Every insult had served one purpose: to disturb Itagaki’s heart.
Ogata wanted his opponent agitated and incapable of maintaining the calm required for a sword match.
The strategy succeeded.
Provoked by Ogata’s ridicule, Itagaki had plainly lost his composure.
He could no longer patiently select the proper moment, method, and angle for an attack.
In raw ability, Ogata estimated that the two of them were fairly close.
Had both remained calm, the outcome would have been uncertain.
But Itagaki’s heart was already in disorder.
Who held the advantage was obvious.
* * *
Itagaki lifted his saya high and brought it down toward Ogata’s shoulder.
Ogata calmly retreated half a step, moving just far enough for the blow to miss.
He did not counterattack.
Instead, he continued blocking or avoiding Itagaki’s strikes.
Itagaki had been agitated from the beginning.
As frustration took hold, his attacks gradually lost all order.
Ogata defended and evaded, steadily consuming his opponent’s stamina while driving his emotions further out of control.
When a man’s strength declined and his mind became unstable, openings inevitably appeared.
An opening appeared now.
After another downward blow, perhaps because his arm had grown sore or his entire body was exhausted, Itagaki’s firmly planted feet wavered.
Ogata had been waiting for precisely that instant.
He regulated his breath, stepped in, closed the distance, lowered and extended his upper body, and swept the saya upward from below.
Every movement joined the next in one smooth, unbroken flow.
The technique was Sakakibara Ittō-ryū’s Ascending Tower.
The rising tip of the saya struck Itagaki’s right shoulder with perfect accuracy.
Ogata intended only to punish the man for molesting O-Fuku and force him to apologize.
He did not want to cripple or kill him.
He therefore restrained the strength behind Ascending Tower and carefully controlled its direction.
The difference between teaching a lesson and causing a tragedy depended upon that control.
Had Ogata wished, he could have aimed directly at Itagaki’s jaw and struck with full force.
Such a blow might have killed him or left him gravely injured.
Instead, Ogata targeted the shoulder and pulled his strength, inflicting pain without serious harm.
“Ugh!”
Itagaki cried out, staggered backward several steps, and crashed heavily to the ground.
The instant he fell, the system began speaking inside Ogata’s mind.
The match had ended exactly as Ogata intended: Itagaki was defeated, O-Fuku’s honor had been defended, and no one had suffered an injury serious enough to turn the contest into a matter for the authorities.
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