There's No Such Thing as "Absolute"
My childhood dream of creating the ultimate magic swordsmanship, Mugajibo. I could see that romance alive and well right here in modern Japan. When people truly passionate about swordsmanship gather by the tens and hundreds, and those form generations, they can evolve it to this level. That was my brief impression after watching Katsuhata Emika's match back then.
But now, in that very Japan, they were showing massive interest in my unique magic. It felt embarrassingly awkward.
"Is it really true that you created that incredible spell, NoName?"
Right before the spar began, Emika asked me sidelong.
"It's not that incredible."
"Not incredible? A 1st Circle spell with that kind of power is something you couldn't find anywhere in the world even if you searched high and low! And the idea of using the Arhen and Hypriet runes in a 1st Circle spell? Pure genius."
They'd analyzed it thoroughly. Sure, developing any unique magic involves finding the right runes, which always gave me headaches. But the difference between "discovering" and "inventing" magic depends on perspective. Generally, arranging runes first and finding a matching spell is called "discovery"—like Akashic Record or Alchemist. That's why they exist across eras, in my past life and this one.
In contrast, "invention" means designing a spell's logical structure for a specific goal and fitting runes to it. Lower-circle spells have less flexibility, so big-syllable runes rarely work.
In that sense, finding Arhen and Hypriet for Adella was just luck on my part.
"I'm not here to fight you, NoName. If we could just develop Adella even further together—"
"I thought you were the quiet type, Katsuhata, but you sure talk a lot. Is that how you just ran your mouth and lost to that European?"
I tossed out a provocative jab, and in an instant, a murderous glint flickered in Emika's eyes. As expected of a kid—she was still weak to such low-level taunts.
"I joined the Katsuhata school at four, but it wasn't until I was ten that Master finally let me hold a sword. You get what that means, right, smart NoName?"
Emika stepped forward with her left foot, lifting her heel slightly off the floor. She bent her knees into a slanted stance and raised both arms horizontally above her waist.
Karate, huh.
Six years of training without a sword—she was saying she could beat someone like me with her eyes closed. I pulled a coin from my pocket and balanced it on my thumb. Perfect for a starting signal without a ref.
"Katsuhata Emika, I've always wanted to spar with geniuses who work as hard as you do, sis."
"...?"
"I'm really curious how others handle problems that neither effort nor talent can solve."
* * *
Ting—
The coin I flicked sliced through the air, spinning rapidly before gravity pulled the metal lump toward the cold floor.
Ting—
As the crisp second sound echoed softly, I wrapped my whole body in aura and shot toward Emika like a beam of light.
The distance closed in a flash.
"That stings!"
I put my full rushing speed into a left kick. Such an obvious trick won't work.
But Emika's eyes tracking my movement were no joke either. Her solid guard stance blocked my kick with her left arm. Worse, she grabbed my ankle in a kick catch.
Now yank the leg, collapse her balance, and follow with pounding—
Real combat is just practice extended. Emika moved to replicate her machine-like responses honed by countless experiences.
"Not paying attention?"
Her thoughts shattered as my voice pierced through midway.
"Huh?"
My body spun rapidly in midair. Resistance vanished from the leg she held—my center of gravity had shifted. Her decision to cling to the ankle to the end was a mistake.
Then her vision filled with the sole of my slipper.
Kwajijijijik—!
A chaotic noise exploded through the auditorium. The sound of her aura barrier shattering under excessive impact.
"What...?"
Maybe because she'd lowered her stance so much—my free right foot nailed her forehead dead-on. An irregular midair spinning back kick.
In that split second, I'd abandoned recovering my leg and instead thrust the opposite one into the assault. Emika's body tilted backward.
Shwaaak—
Before her back could hit the floor, I grabbed her collar and slammed her down.
Bam—!
"Hngh!"
A solid impact jolted her back, drawing a groan from Emika.
"Oops, my bad... Instinct made me slam you. You okay?"
I hurriedly released her collar, brushed off my hands, and stood up leisurely. Emika lay sprawled on the floor, blinking her wide, sparkling eyes.
I lost my balance and got hit once, just like that?
Without a sword, you can roll on the floor as much as you want mid-spar. But with one, you must maintain posture no matter what. That's why in Japan, they drill lower-body training for five, ten years from childhood.
It wasn't a surprise attack. Emika hadn't let her guard down.
She staggered to her feet.
"How's that? Time to draw your sword, right?"
I grinned, my laugh lines crinkling under my eyes. But Emika couldn't draw. Raising her sword against a six-years-younger opponent was shameful in itself. Plus, it'd mean admitting that instant defeat—her pride wouldn't allow it.
"I get why you lost despite your amazing talent, sis."
"Not enough practice?"
"No. Too much practice."
"...?"
Even in the post-loss press conference, her master and instructors all blamed insufficient practice. Too much practice? What kind of nonsense was that?
I shrugged and explained.
"You think you'd have won if you'd predicted my attack, right?"
"Of course..."
Balancing on one leg is hard enough—lift both feet off the ground, and you can't move anymore. I recreated the technique, demonstrating the next move.
"You still have two arms left. Why assume you'd only defend with your legs?"
Even if she hadn't released the leg after taking a skull-cracking kick, I'd have planted both hands on the floor and kept attacking.
"Sword wielders are all the same, past and present... Who'd you mostly practice with, sis?"
"Seniors and instructors, obviously... Ah."
"All sword users, right."
Even at equal skill, a left-handed ping-pong player has the edge. Real fights aren't decided by raw stats like strength or agility.
"That's why prejudice is scary. You unconsciously thought it was your turn once my attack ended. Can't be helped with a sword—you have to recover it—but our bodies aren't that simple."
Actually, because she'd trained assuming opponents were swordsmen, she couldn't fully unleash her talent.
"Victory is 50% knowing yourself, 50% knowing your opponent. You're at like 90-10, sis."
"NoName... Are you really a genius?"
"This isn't genius stuff. You just... pick it up from... uh, diverse experiences."
I glanced around and spotted the bokken she'd worn at her waist on entry. A practice wooden sword, yet sheathed in an ornate scabbard. I swallowed my exasperation and spoke.
"Mind if I borrow it a sec? I can use it however, right?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"See, this sword thing. They've probably told you to treat it like an extension of yourself or whatever."
"The Katsuhata school is based on the idea that 'the sword is the self.'"
"Oh boy, that's even worse. That's straight-up arrogance. In a life-or-death fight, you die if you drop your sword? Sure, 99% chance you do, so treasure it—but reality isn't that absolute. What if it breaks mid-spar?"
"My sword will never break."
"Just suppose."
"No 'supposes,' NoName."
"Haa..."
I let out a deep, undisguised sigh of frustration.
I'm trying to give advice here, why's she so stubborn?
I infused aura into the bokken. The wood looked ancient.
"Sis. There's no such thing as 'absolute' in this world. Let me show you."
All objects have an aura capacity limit. Humans evolved Aura Hearts because other organs couldn't hold the aura we generate. Exceed the limit, and aura gains color, radiating or exploding outward—that's what people call "sword aura."
But cram in even more?
Overdense potential energy causes "contradictions." I planned to shatter it by pouring in all my aura. Not quantity—intensity matters. Ten times capacity in a split second would do.
My golden aura filled the bokken. The thick density widened Emika's eyes. She could sense the color, the heat, even a lavender scent.
Why isn't it breaking?
I was the panicked one. I'd never concentrated aura like this before. The bokken greedily devoured it without a hint of bursting.
That sparked my stubbornness. If I can't break this, I won't sleep from shame tonight.
After bragging to Emika, failing on a mere practice bokken would be ultimate humiliation.
Green sparks crackled, wrapping the bokken.
Unable to break it with raw aura, I'd alter some inside to clash opposing auras. Handling two types at once made sweat trickle from my forehead.
"Hup! Now!"
Fwoom—!
"Kyaaak!"
Wood shards flew everywhere, even toward the watching kids nearby.
"Hey, you kids okay?"
"Yeah! The bang scared us!"
Thankfully, fragments fell at their feet—no injuries. The bokken was obliterated beyond recognition.
"Nooo!"
Emika collapsed to the floor, face crumpling.
"See? No absolutes. If your sword shatters mid-match like this, what then—"
"Our heirloom!"
"Huh?"
"What did you do, NoName?!"
"I didn't..."
"This was Master's gift—the Katsuhata school's Mugajibo!"
Tears streamed from iron-willed Emika's eyes. I'd shattered not the bokken, but her spirit.
* * *
Clack—
The old man set down his steaming teacup.
"We're grateful you so readily allowed the visit, but honestly, we're still uneasy, former Principal Gu."
Gu On-yu refilled his cup with black tea from her seat opposite.
"Nonsense. The era of hoarding talent is over. I just hope the kids gain broader experiences through交流."
"Broader experiences..."
The old man's white eyebrows curved. Koizumi Yoshihiro—Katsuhata elder and Emika's personal master.
Emika's Korea trip, born of her stubbornness, was abrupt. Despite the council's opposition, she'd declared she'd visit the academy during break. Intruding on another's school could seem rude, but luckily, Gu On-yu was open-minded.
"I heard Katsuhata hit a wall recently."
Gu On-yu alluded to the national exchange tournament, making Koizumi's hand tremble slightly.
"Heh... Seems everyone knows. Quite embarrassing."
"No need for shame. Geniuses who hit walls early are better off—they always overcome. Adults just need to trust and wait. I hope she gains something from our NoName this time."
"If I'm not mistaken, NoName is only eight this year...?"
"Yes, but?"
Gu On-yu smiled brightly. Koizumi noticed she was treating NoName and Emika as equals. He couldn't stand her belittling Emika by comparing to a six-year-younger child.
"I heard NoName has no formal sparring experience."
"Right. Too short for this year's rules... Her fist smacks could humble seniors, such a shame."
"Haha, yes, a shame..."
Unlike Kyoto folk used to circumlocution, Gu On-yu's words were hard to read as sincere or not. As Koizumi's mind raced, she stated clearly.
"We have a saying: Even an eighty-year-old can learn from a three-year-old. Assuming Katsuhata gains nothing from young NoName would be a grave mistake."
"No intent to belittle NoName—sorry."
"Of course, I hope NoName feels the world's high walls through Katsuhata too. She's still young. Locked in a capsule young, her real social experience is barely over a year. That's why I allowed this—to keep her from being trapped in our little academy pond."
Gu On-yu had recent reports from the homeroom teacher: NoName had the class wrapped around her finger, teaching magic and aura at lunch. Some parents grumbled, but since kids chose "autonomously," teachers stayed out. Still, NoName was getting arrogant lately—could turn toxic.
"I hear young Japanese magic swordsmen use Western magic alongside swordsmanship now... NoName's a total expert there. Does Katsuhata still oppose it?"
"Of course! It's just a hindrance to sword mastery."
"Haha, got it. Age gap aside, talking will lead to insights. Wanna bet?"
"You've always had sharp insight, Principal. No more tea, thanks."
Emika had left an hour ago to meet NoName briefly. As the tedious chat dragged, her bodyguard knocked.
Koizumi, arm over his chair, turned to see the disheveled guard—clearly run here.
"Master! Master! Big trouble! You need to come quick!"
"What? What's the big deal?"
"The heirloom...! The treasure for Katsuhata heirs only...!"
"Heirloom? The Sacred Succession Sword?"
"Yes! It's... shattered...!"
"Shattered? How?!"
Koizumi doubted his ears. A sword handed down from the 1800s to now—shattered?
He turned to Gu On-yu, who frowned in undisguised shock.
"Just blinked, and the kids tussled..."
"Tussled? How does tussling shatter a Sacred Succession Sword! Lead the way!"