Dojo Master's Scrutiny and Bedroom Trap
I'd hoped my human soul could arrive in perfect condition if possible. But thanks to the Zashiki-warashi staring down at me from the ceiling with its pitch-black hole-like eyes in the middle of the night, I barely got any sleep. And that very morning, Manatsu—who I'd jogged with—called me out, forcing me to head to the dojo after school. I couldn't exactly make excuses about a creepy house guardian spirit pranking me and keeping me up.
Changing into the training clothes I'd packed ahead of time—the ones I wore while running errands for Hanasaki—I knelt in one corner of the dojo, waiting for Manatsu's father... well, Aoba's father. I'd never worn a dobok before, and if this was some kind of test or check, I figured my work clothes were appropriate. Anyway, unlike Aoba's soft, rounded features, the man who entered the dojo with her was a sharp-faced middle-aged guy. As you could tell from her mother suffering the family illness, he was the son-in-law. He'd married the dojo master's daughter thanks to his skills and good character... but after Aoba's hyper-macho biological grandfather—his father-in-law—passed from illness, and his wife ended up in long-term hospitalization with the same disease, he'd endured a lot. That must've made him come off as pretty irritable.
Hmm. This was Japan in the era when teachers still smacked kids around at school, and I dealt with evil spirits often enough, but there was a different kind of pressure from a physically perfected martial artist eyeing me sharply.
"Hello, sir."
"Your posture's straight, and it's clear you've trained for a while."
"I've been running steadily since elementary school."
"Any reason?"
"...I'm a coward, so I had to train my body to feel secure."
I mixed in about half the truth. Back when I thought this was just some ability-battle world, it was a mindset for preparing for some future incident. But once I started seeing evil spirits for real, it became an effort to survive. My answer seemed unexpected but to his liking—his piercing gaze softened and rounded a bit. Just that slight change in expression made his compact features remind me of his daughter. Aoba—who'd been watching her dad nervously—also looked relieved.
"Doesn't seem like you got into it for show."
"At first, yeah, there was a bit of that. But once I realized how big the world is, this vague anxiety hit me..."
"Hmm."
Seemed like I'd passed the Q&A without lying. As I sighed inwardly in relief, he approached, extended a hand, and said,
"Mind showing me your hand?"
"Sure."
"Looks like you've lifted something heavy recently, or gripped something tight."
"Ah, a wooden sword a bit."
"A wooden sword? You don't seem to have trained in any martial arts."
"Recently, it was like a gift. They told me to carry it and get used to it."
"Then why not learn from them?"
"The one who gave it to me is a shrine maiden from Shinamori Shrine. She just handed over the sword without any teaching."
"Hmm. Come to think of it, she's the same age as you. She's not one to give special treatment, so that's unusual."
Hanasaki worked with the police too, which showed she was treated like the reliable head of a trusted family around here. More like a landowner, maybe. He looked puzzled for a moment but must've decided it wasn't his business, because he changed the subject right away.
"Maybe handling a sword suits you better. What do you think?"
"I know Aoba—what I mean is Manatsu—trains in bare-handed martial arts."
"This style's combat-based, so bare hands, daggers, short swords, nodachi. We teach hidden weapons and throwing techniques internally, but not outside. If you're not planning to learn everything, focusing on one path isn't bad."
"In that case, please teach me that way."
"I won't teach you how to kill people, though."
If he could teach it but won't, that means it's passed down in the family, and Aoba—who's trained longer—already knows a bit. I imagined her, way more flexible, agile, and fast than me, with strength close to mine, coming at me with a weapon. No way to win came to mind, so I decided not to upset Aoba if possible. What if I rejected her confession? Nah, no way. Probably not. Right?
"Well, you're the first one my daughter brought herself, and I trust Aoba's eyes."
"Yes, sir."
"No funny thoughts during training."
"Of course."
Aoba's cheeks puffed out at that. Don't expect middle-schooler events from me. I'm struggling to keep my own urges in check too. Whether he knew his daughter was having naughty thoughts or not, the master seemed ready to wrap up.
"Bring that wooden sword next time."
"Yes, Father—er, sir."
"...Call me Master."
"Yes, Master. What about clothes or gear?"
"Whatever's comfortable. No other students right now, so wear what suits you best."
Maybe because back in the day, when the Manatsu family had spiritual power, this was a yokai-slaying art. Felt like it could be used anytime, anywhere, in any state.
"I'll demonstrate techniques I won't formally teach."
"Pardon?"
He didn't even wait for my reply, heading to the inner door of the dojo, waving a hand behind him as he vanished. Wait, no martial art form lets you skip basics entirely, right? Nah. As the dojo operator, he'd never do that. Just nominally not teaching—watch and copy. Confused, I glanced at Aoba, but she quickly averted her eyes. You little... what did you tell him? Teaching 'external secrets' means I'm 'internal' now. Where did my escape route get blocked first?
"Hehe."
"Sigh. Fine."
"That means OK, right?"
Aoba grabbed my hand lightly and tugged me along. At this point, I'd half-given up, so instead of protesting, I just followed. Out the back door into the Manatsu family yard—definitely an old lineage, way more antique and spacious than my place. Hit home how she was from a thriving family. Without the illness, it'd be way more relaxed and welcoming. Made me want to help fast.
Half-willing, half-dragged by her hand, we entered the house, up to the second floor, and reached Aoba's room.
"My room!"
"Figures."
"No impressions?"
"You decorated it cute."
Not satisfied with my reaction, she poked my side with her finger. Honestly, I was a bit surprised. No event in the original story took you to Manatsu Aoba's room. That kind of stuff mostly happened secretly at the protagonist's house or key spots like the hospital. So I'd only vaguely imagined based on her image, but as the perpetual sporty-kouhai type, picturing something girly wasn't easy. She had cute sides, but she wasn't the type to love cutesy stuff. Training gear was neatly tucked in a corner, and the overall vibe was girlish. Amid the decorations, the meticulously arranged equipment—knowing it didn't fit—hinted at her diligent sadness.
"You could spend more time on hobbies."
"Can I talk about what I wanna do now?"
"...Don't."
Her overflowing energy meant she never stopped. Unlike Inuyama, who circled me at school without much physical contact, Aoba was the total opposite—tough to handle sometimes. I mean, I'm a healthy high schooler too.
"Always saying what I wanna hear but keeping distance. Sneaky."
"You can show fondness between people without that."
"Oppa likes weird people. You're close with that Shinamori shrine maiden too."
"Doesn't feel like that..."
"Really? No vibe at all?"
Scary. And thinking back, the underground atmosphere wasn't totally innocent, so I couldn't flatly deny it. Wait. Why am I even defending my innocence? Feeling wronged, I met Aoba's eyes—saw that sticky glint—and looked away quick. Using her dad so blatantly today to block my exits and drag me here... all calculated? With my guilt over straddling two—maybe three—girls, using affection to defuse felt iffy, but Aoba's patience running out was worse.
"Hngh."
"Aoba. Wait a bit with this for now?"
I hugged her from the front, whispered in her ear with the softest voice I'd ever used in either life. Childish method, but it worked—she trembled in my arms and nodded. Gently prying her shoulders apart, the unease was gone, but now she had that predatory beast face, like she might rampage differently. I hastily wrapped up, greeted, and bolted outside.
On the way out, I passed the master—his subtly pained expression suggested he knew the gist. If you know, rein in your daughter, impossible as that seems. More than that, knowing her personality meant... maybe from her mom's side? I figured out how he became son-in-law. That guy definitely sped things up.