“This rope capture technique is harder than I imagined,” said Okita, who had been carefully observing and analyzing Aoto’s movements, letting out a low exclamation of surprise. “You have to control both hands while wrapping the rope around… Hmm? Tachibana-san? What’s wrong? Why are you spacing out?”

Okita looked at Aoto with puzzled eyes as the young man seemed to be in a daze. Startled back to reality by Okita’s voice, Aoto laughed awkwardly before explaining:

“I’m fine. I just thought I saw a strange-looking bug crawling on the wall and was trying to find it.”

“A bug? Where?”

“Couldn’t find it. Must have been my eyes playing tricks on me.”

After brushing off Okita with this white lie, Aoto quickly opened his system interface:

[Name: Tachibana Aoto]

[Current Talents:]

[Night Vision, Sword Prodigy]

The talent list now clearly showed “Sword Prodigy” appearing after “Night Vision.”

—Demonstrating the rope capture technique for Okita… That counts as having fought with him?

Aoto carefully recalled his earlier playful interactions with Okita. The duration of their mock battle had indeed exceeded 10 seconds, meeting the system’s requirement for talent replication mentioned in the instructions.

At this moment, Aoto suddenly realized: the system’s definition of “combat” was far broader than he had imagined. What he considered mere playful interaction had been registered by the system as an actual fight.

When focusing attention on a talent entry in the list, a virtual screen displaying details about that talent would automatically appear. Unable to believe what he had just heard from the system, Aoto immediately focused on the “Sword Prodigy” entry.

[Sword Prodigy: Sword talent amplified to 50 times the average person’s level]

Reading the content on the virtual screen, Aoto first stared in disbelief before uncontrollable joy welled up from his chest. This was exactly the type of talent he currently desired—one that could help him grow stronger quickly.

After the initial joy came shock.

—This person… actually possesses such an incredible talent?

He couldn’t help but cast an astonished look at Okita standing before him.

At the same moment Aoto was staring at Okita in amazement, Kondō’s booming voice came from the dojo entrance:

“Hmm? Soji, what are you doing there?”

Kondō walked back into the dojo carrying a new set of kendo armor.

“Tachibana-san was just demonstrating their rope capture technique to me!” Okita bounced over to Kondō and cheerfully explained what had happened.

After understanding the situation, Kondō raised his hand and gave Okita a moderate knock on the forehead, producing a “thunk” sound.

“Ow! What was that for?” Okita’s handsome eyebrows shot up.

“Heh… this rope capture technique sure is convenient… even you couldn’t fight back, Soji.” With a mischievous grin, Kondō raised his hand to knock Okita’s forehead again.

Thunk.

“Ah! Just you wait!” Okita twitched his arms frantically like someone having a seizure, trying to free his bound hands. But the knots Aoto had tied were specifically designed for restraining criminals—without proper technique, they wouldn’t come loose easily.

Thunk.

“Ow ow!”

After receiving a third forehead flick from Kondō, Okita gave up on freeing his hands in frustration. Instead, he lowered his head like a charging bull and butted Kondō in the lower back with his forehead while making angry noises.

Watching Kondō and Okita’s interaction, Aoto couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You two seem very close,” he remarked.

“Sorry for the unseemly display,” Kondō said, rubbing Okita’s smooth forehead where he had landed three consecutive flicks. “Alright, I apologize, okay?”

Seeing Kondō admit fault, Okita stopped pursuing the matter, though he continued glaring at Kondō with resentful eyes.

After placating Okita, Kondō placed the armor he had been carrying on the floor in front of them. “Here, Aoto, try this armor on and see if it fits. If it does, we can begin training immediately.”

In his past life, Aoto had never seen Japanese kendo armor in person. The original Tachibana Aoto had never visited a sword school either, so his memories contained no knowledge about wearing such equipment.

Kondō proved considerate, immediately stepping forward to help when he noticed Aoto’s unfamiliarity with the armor. The set Kondō brought was brand new, free of unpleasant odors and fitting perfectly.

Seeing no issues with the armor, Kondō nodded in satisfaction: “Excellent! Now then…”

Before Kondō could finish speaking, scattered footsteps suddenly came from the dojo entrance.

“Good morning, young master. We’ve come to practice.”

“Morning, young master.”

…

Four young men appeared at the entrance. They must be other students of this sword school, Aoto concluded internally.

Kondō’s next words confirmed Aoto’s assumption.

“Ah, you’ve come to train,” Kondō smiled at the four. “Let me introduce you. This is your new junior—Tachibana Aoto.”

After briefly explaining Aoto’s situation, Kondō suddenly asked:

“Tachibana-san, you mentioned earlier that you learned some swordsmanship from your father, correct?”

“Yes,” Aoto nodded. “Just some basic skills.”

“Good. I’d like to assess your current level to determine appropriate instruction. Later, you’ll have a simple sparring match with one of your seniors. Don’t be nervous—treat it as a game.”

This “skill assessment” was standard practice in martial arts schools, so Aoto had no objections. In fact, he welcomed the opportunity to spar, immediately nodding: “Sure! No problem!”

After Aoto’s agreement, Kondō turned to a tall youth among the four newcomers:

“Suzuki-kun, go put on your armor. You’ll be sparring with Tachibana-san.”

…

…

The tall youth named Suzuki donned his armor with swift, practiced movements.

He and Aoto positioned their bamboo swords at their left waists, crouched at opposite sides of the dojo, bowed to each other, then mimicked drawing their swords before slowly rising. This completed the full set of pre-sparring courtesies observed in dojos.

With formalities concluded, the match could begin.

Suzuki initiated the first attack.

“Yah—!”

With a strange shout, Suzuki swung his sword toward Aoto’s head. This wasn’t an ordinary yell—it had a technical name: “Kiai.” Essentially, it involved channeling energy from the diaphragm to produce a powerful shout that aided striking power while intimidating opponents.

Though unfamiliar with swordsmanship, Aoto’s training in barehanded combat and police baton techniques had given him solid footwork fundamentals and ample sparring experience. With such background, he naturally didn’t falter against Suzuki.

Aoto calmly retreated a step, easily dodging Suzuki’s strike.

Kondō, Okita, and the three other students who had arrived with Suzuki now sat along the dojo’s edge, attentively observing the match.

Suzuki belonged to the “attack is the best defense” school of thought. He launched relentless, consecutive strikes at Aoto—all of which Aoto evaded with practiced footwork.

Watching Aoto dodge another of Suzuki’s attacks, Okita lowered his voice to a volume only he and Kondō could hear:

“Kondō-san, Tachibana-san wasn’t exaggerating when he said he’s skilled in hand-to-hand combat and jutte techniques. In terms of footwork, many of our Shieikan’s veterans probably can’t match him.”

Kondō didn’t respond verbally, merely nodding silently before refocusing on the match.

This was an assessment of Aoto’s current abilities. Aoto understood that continuously defending and dodging wouldn’t satisfy Kondō—his instructor would want to evaluate offensive capabilities too. If he didn’t start attacking soon, the match would continue indefinitely.

Therefore, after evading another of Suzuki’s strikes, Aoto seized the moment when Suzuki’s sword was extended and not yet retracted to launch his own attack at Suzuki’s head.

However—while skilled in offense, Suzuki proved no slouch in defense either. He quickly retreated while pulling his sword inward to parry Aoto’s strike.

Undeterred, Aoto followed with two more strikes.

Thwack! Thwack!

Two sharp sounds of bamboo swords colliding rang out.

Suzuki blocked both attacks, and after deflecting the second, he advanced rapidly, capitalizing on Aoto’s exposed stance to deliver a solid strike to Aoto’s chest.

At this moment, the three students who had come with Suzuki couldn’t help but smile as if witnessing something amusing. One even let out a quiet chuckle.

To these trained swordsmen, Aoto’s strikes appeared utterly unskilled—like watching a child swing a sword—so poor it provoked laughter.

Noticing their amusement, Okita immediately shot them a fierce glare that quickly wiped the smiles from their faces.

While Okita silenced the smirking students, Kondō remained expressionless, internally assessing:

—I’ve roughly gauged Tachibana-san’s level…

After observing the exchange, Kondō had formed his evaluation: passable footwork, but sword skills barely superior to a complete novice.

—His sword fundamentals need work. We’ll have to start from the basics.

—Overall… just an ordinary person with decent footwork foundation.

—That’s enough observation.

Deeming further sparring unnecessary, Kondō slowly raised his hand to stop the match.

But at that very moment—

“Hmm?” Kondō’s eyes widened slightly as he fixed his gaze intently on Aoto in the dojo.

Okita mirrored this reaction almost simultaneously, his eyes also widening as he stared at Aoto. Growing astonishment gradually filled both their expressions.

…

…

What Kondō and Okita couldn’t see was the “high-speed projector” currently running in Aoto’s mind, replaying every moment of his match with Suzuki frame by frame.

Aoto found himself compulsively studying these mental replays. In reality, his grip on the sword loosened slightly, and his left heel raised a fraction.

—I think… I was gripping too tightly earlier… my center of gravity was too far back…

In the system’s talent list, the “Sword Prodigy” entry began radiating brilliant golden light!

*******

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep