Kazuma's first instinct was that the hand pointing at him didn't belong to someone who practiced kendo. The fingers were too slender, and the calluses looked more like those from playing an instrument.
Probably someone from the school band.
As he looked up, his gaze rose to the noticeably tight school uniform blouse.
That's... some chest development. Almost Schwarzenegger-tier.
Next, he noticed a thick braided pigtail draped from the left side of her neck across her chest, a chin with a small beauty mark, a tall, straight nose, and large-framed glasses perched on it.
Kazuma remembered now—this was the class rep. In Japan, they called them "iinchō," but whenever he heard that, he couldn't help imagining her ordering, "Duty student, wipe the blackboard and shift it five centimeters to the left."
So he stuck with calling her "class rep."
"What is it, class rep?"
"You still haven't turned in your post-graduation pathway survey. You're the last one in the class."
"Oh, I filled it out already. Forgot to turn it in."
Kazuma hurriedly rummaged through his bag and pulled out the completed survey.
In Japan, high school was the highest level of education for most people. Even in the grade-focused and advancement-obsessed year of 1980, many students chose to start working after graduation.
Among those who pursued further studies, many went to "junior colleges"—technically called universities, but more like vocational schools.
By Japanese standards, high schools were obligated to provide guidance on students' future plans. Some schools conducted these surveys as early as first year, and teachers used them to offer tailored counseling.
In small-town schools, where everyone knew everyone, teachers sometimes even arranged jobs for students who didn't plan to attend university.
But in a big city like Tokyo, there was no such luxury. Teachers simply provided guidance, and once you graduated, you were on your own.
As a third-year student, Kazuma naturally had to submit the survey and receive counseling.
The class rep took his form, adjusted her glasses, and skimmed it—
Then looked up at him in confusion.
"You're serious?"
"Of course," Kazuma nodded solemnly.
"Please take this seriously. If I submit a survey that's obviously filled out carelessly, the teacher will call me in and scold me for being irresponsible."
Kazuma snatched the form back with a grin. "How about this? You turn in the others first. I'll pretend I missed you and hand mine in separately."
The class rep stared at him for a few seconds, then sighed.
"If you're serious... I'll submit it as is. And I'll do my best to convince the teacher that you're serious too."
She had just finished speaking when their classmate, Yamada Yōichi, suddenly snatched Kazuma's survey from behind with a dramatic flourish.
Then he loudly announced, "Whoa! Kiryu wants to apply to Tokyo University! Tokyo U! Our class underachiever aiming for Tokyo U!"
Everyone turned to look, and soon the whole class was jeering along.
Kazuma hadn't expected this turn of events.
If this were post-1990, sports club members in Japanese schools would be at the top of the social pyramid. Even if Yamada was a top student, he wouldn't dare mock a kendo club regular like Kiryu Kazuma.
But this was 1980. Academic achievers still held the highest status, with sports clubs one tier below.
Also, Yamada likely hadn't heard the recent news—communication wasn't exactly fast in this era. No one in class seemed to know that Kazuma had beaten a yakuza boss.
If they did, Yamada probably wouldn't be so bold.
But none of that mattered right now. The Kiryu Kazuma who had defeated Nishiyama Heita was being ridiculed by his classmates over grades and future plans.
Kazuma was seething. Just wait. I haven't even taken an exam yet since I came here. Not even a quiz.
When test scores come out, we'll see who's laughing.
He was about to snatch the form back when he heard the class rep take a deep breath.
It was an impressively long breath. As someone with martial arts training, Kazuma instinctively looked at the top of her head—he'd been too distracted by her impressive chest and braided hair earlier to notice.
But the class rep didn't practice any martial arts.
Then she roared,
"YAMADA! Give it BACK—NOW—NOW—NOW—NOW!"
Her shout had all the force of Zhang Fei's legendary roar at Changban Bridge.
Even Kazuma jumped in surprise.
The entire classroom fell silent. Students from the neighboring class even peeked in to watch.
Yamada Yōichi froze on the spot, unable to move.
The class rep marched over and reclaimed Kazuma's survey.
"Sorry, I let that get out of hand," she said.
Kazuma replied, "That was some lion's roar… I mean, nice shout."
The class rep smiled. "I play tuba in the band. Can't play it without good breath control."
With that, she gathered the class's surveys and briskly left the room.
Right after, the warning bell rang. The day's lessons were about to begin.
**
While Kazuma was in class, over in a quiet little bar in Kabukichō—
At this hour, well before sunset, the bar wasn't open to the public.
But for certain "regulars," that didn't matter.
The sign outside still read CLOSED, yet Nishiyama Heita sat at the counter, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and sipping it slowly.
No bartender was in sight—likely preparing for the evening in the back.
On the top shelf behind the counter sat a small color TV, playing a live concert of the latest hit songs.
1980 marked Japan's first idol boom. This generation of idols prided themselves on perfection: sweet smiles, powerful voices, and the refined poise of the yamato nadeshiko.
It was said that these Showa-era idols could do anything—even fix a broken door with a drill if needed.
The current top idol was singing a bright, energetic song on TV.
Nishiyama Heita didn't spare the screen a glance, quietly sipping his drink.
Just then, the door opened with a chime.
He didn't bother looking.
Normally, anyone ignoring the CLOSED sign and seeing Nishiyama Heita at the bar would immediately leave.
No one wanted to sit drinking beside a yakuza.
If someone stayed, it meant they were just as much a regular as he was.
The newcomer sat casually beside him, picked up Nishiyama's whiskey bottle, flipped over an empty glass from the counter, and poured a drink.
"Drinking on duty now, Detective from the MPD?" Nishiyama asked, glancing at the man.
Detective Shiratori smiled. "Alcohol's part of the investigative process. The higher-ups wouldn't understand."
He downed the drink in one go, then poured another.
"I hear you got beaten by Kiryu Kazuma?"
"Hmph. News travels fast, doesn't it, eternal Assistant Inspector-san."
"The Tsuda-gumi boys have been spreading the word all over—gathering info on Kiryu Kazuma. Anyone can guess what happened at the dojo. You… held back?"
Nishiyama shook his head. "You won't believe it—none of the young guys in my group do. But I didn't hold back. I drew every blade I had… even had killing intent at the end."
"And you still lost?" Shiratori's tone was surprised, but his expression remained calm.
"So another fierce fighter will be rising in the Kanto Union soon?"
Nishiyama shook his head. "I did want to recruit him. But he told me plainly—yakuza rise to the bottom of the barrel. He wants to get into Tokyo University, then join the MPD."
This time, Shiratori's surprise was genuine.
"Tokyo U? Even if he could pass the exam, where would he get the money? Even for a national university, the Kiryu family can't afford it right now."
"Unless he sells the dojo for a good price," Nishiyama replied.
Shiratori sighed.
"That kid probably doesn't realize… walking the right path is ten thousand times harder than walking the crooked one.
Guys like me, even after graduating from the police academy and working the field for years, still end up as eternal Assistant Inspectors. Promotion to Inspector only comes if someone retires or if you get a one-time merit promotion right before retirement…"
Nishiyama added,
"Isn't there still the special promotion route? Straight to Superintendent."
"Spare me. I've got aging parents and kids to raise."
Special promotion basically meant dying in the line of duty and getting posthumously promoted two ranks.
They chatted idly about other things for a while.
Then Nishiyama asked, "You didn't come here alone in broad daylight just to make small talk, did you?"
"Of course not. I heard Tsuda Masaaki is officially taking over that dojo project, so I came to confirm."
"Then I can tell you with certainty—yes."
"I see. So the dojo won't be saved. And it won't sell for a good price, either?"
In response, Nishiyama merely sipped his drink in silence.
Some things in this world didn't need to be spelled out.
It had always been this way.
(End of Chapter)