Only after Tōyama and the others had completely disappeared did O-Saki and O-Fuku dare hurry forward and ask about Ogata’s injury.
Ogata pulled open the left side of his dark blue kimono and examined his chest.
A dark bruise marked the place where Tōyama had struck him during their first match.
He pressed it gingerly.
It hurt, but the injury was not serious, and no bone appeared to be broken.
“O-Fuku, help Ogata-sama into Nagareya!” O-Saki ordered urgently.
“I’ll fetch medicine.”
She hurried inside.
O-Fuku obediently moved to support Ogata.
His injury was nowhere near severe enough to prevent him from walking, and he did not truly need assistance.
Yet O-Fuku was only trying to help, and he could hardly reject her kindness.
He allowed her to guide him back into the izakaya.
Too many unexpected incidents had occurred that night, so O-Saki announced that Nagareya was closing early.
By the time O-Fuku helped Ogata into the now-empty room, O-Saki had returned from the rear with medicine.
She offered to apply it herself, but Ogata refused without hesitation.
The injury was on his chest.
Having a widow rub medicine there would make him unavoidably self-conscious.
After politely declining, he accepted the ointment and treated the bruise himself.
As he spread the salve across it, his thoughts drifted back to the match.
There was no system notification…
I gained no experience at all.
But that is only natural.
We never determined a victor, so of course there was no reward.
Tōyama truly is strong.
I spent three general skill points and three style-exclusive points, and all I managed was a draw.
Ogata had to admit that Tōyama deserved his reputation as the strongest disciple of the Ishikawa Dojo.
He silently reviewed both matches and considered the lessons they had taught him.
The greatest was simple: when the moment came to spend skill points, he must spend them.
Even now, remembering it left him frightened.
He was fortunate they had used bokken rather than true swords.
Had their blades been real, Tōyama would already have opened a hole in his chest.
By the time that happened, it would be much too late to spend anything.
The next time I face an enemy that powerful, I must assign my points before the battle begins.
Waiting until the fighting starts may already be too late.
After firmly acknowledging his mistake in the first match, he turned his attention to the second—and discovered that he had erred there as well.
He had still been too stingy with his points.
If he had spent all five general points and all three Sakakibara Ittō-ryū points at once, perhaps he could have defeated Tōyama.
But when the time came, he had hesitated.
The belief that skill points could not be squandered—that they would become increasingly difficult to earn and every single one had to be preserved—had rooted itself deeply in his mind.
That was why he had not dared to spend them all.
He used six and kept two in reserve.
On further reflection, however, even spending everything might not have guaranteed victory.
Tōyama’s demonstrated ability was simply too great.
“Sigh…”
Ogata exhaled so softly that only he could hear it.
“Assigning skill points is far more troublesome than I expected. If I save them, I may encounter a crisis where I have no time to use them. If I spend every point the moment I earn it, I may find myself desperate for them later…”
“…Hm?”
A new idea suddenly surfaced.
Skill points are valuable, and I cannot use them carelessly.
But what if I simply ensure that none of them are ever wasted?
At this stage, the safest investment may be to put everything into my personal attributes.
A man with overwhelming physical ability holds every advantage in battle.
Strengthening my body first cannot be wrong.
If I devote every point to my attributes and turn myself into a superhuman, I could defeat anyone even if the levels of my sword techniques remained low.
No matter how brilliant a swordsman is, could he defeat a superhuman with the strength to lift a hundred bronze cauldrons?
With power like that, even an ordinary cut would be enough.
The levels of my techniques would no longer matter, so long as my attributes were high enough.
The thought—spend every skill point on personal attributes and become superhuman—settled stubbornly into Ogata’s mind and refused to leave. New chapters come out on g.com first.
* * *
Several days later—
May 20, Kansei 1 (1789).
This was a special day for Ogata—or, more accurately, for every storehouse official in the Hirose Domain.
Their daimyō and lord, Matsudaira Gennai, was scheduled to inspect the domain’s principal storehouses.
Early that morning, every storehouse official dressed in kamishimo and reported to his assigned station.
The kamishimo was a samurai’s formal attire, worn only for special occasions such as appearing before one’s lord.
Ogata disliked wearing it.
He was unaccustomed to the garment and found it terribly awkward.
More importantly, he thought it astonishingly ugly.
He could not appreciate this particular piece of samurai fashion.
Its silhouette reminded him strongly of the battle armor worn by the Saiyans in the famous manga Dragon Ball, which he had read in his previous life on modern Earth.
The Hirose Domain maintained numerous storehouses, each with a different purpose.
Some held weapons, others rice, others salt, and still others various necessities.
The officials were divided into groups and stationed at each one so that, wherever Matsudaira Gennai went, someone would be present to explain the condition and quantity of its stores.
Ogata was assigned to the salt storehouse, together with four colleagues and a superior named Inoue.
Ogata’s own duties were very simple.
His rank was among the lowest of all the storehouse officials; an insignificant man like him would never receive an important responsibility.
When Matsudaira Gennai arrived, Ogata and his four colleagues needed only to kneel and welcome their lord.
The troublesome work—guiding Gennai through the salt storehouse and explaining its inventories and condition—belonged entirely to Inoue.
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