Chapter 15: Nino Kitagawa
Kendo Club
Akari Hojo sat on the long wooden bench lining the edge of the training hall, her posture straight yet tense, her gaze locked onto the two figures clashing in the center of the dojo.
The sharp crack of bamboo striking bamboo echoed through the wide hall, rebounding off polished floors and high ceilings. The sound came again and again, clean and brutal, each impact vibrating faintly through the soles of her shoes.
Hojo didn’t understand kendo. She knew none of its rules, none of its ranks or techniques. Still, even with her limited knowledge, she could tell instantly that the match was completely one-sided.
The fighter wearing the white ribbon moved with frightening speed. Every step was firm, grounded, yet fluid, as though her feet barely touched the floor. Her movements carried no wasted motion, no hesitation. It was all ruthless efficiency.
Hojo couldn’t even follow the arc of the shinai properly. She caught only fleeting afterimages, pale streaks slicing through the air faster than her eyes could process.
“Men!”
The shout rang out sharp and clear.
In the next instant, the white fighter’s shinai slammed down onto her opponent’s head with such force that the bamboo visibly bent on impact. The red fighter crumpled, knees buckling as her body gave out beneath her.
Yet the victor didn’t relax, not even for a heartbeat. She sprang backward immediately, light on her feet, retreating like a startled hare, weapon still poised, eyes alert.
Zanshin.
The word surfaced unbidden in Hojo’s mind.
She remembered Alan explaining it once, back when he still spoke casually about kendo.
After striking a vital point, you withdraw instantly, never lowering your guard, prepared for a final desperate counterattack. He’d called it the embodiment of a mindset:
Give everything, and remain consistent until the very end.
She couldn’t remember the rest of the rules he’d mentioned that day. But that concept had stuck.
The two fighters bowed to each other. The one in white reached up and removed her helmet.
A flushed face emerged, vivid, proud, striking in its intensity. Sweat clung to her skin, her breath steady despite the exertion.
She shook her head once, sharply. A cascade of black hair spilled free, scattering through the air like a dark waterfall before settling around her shoulders. Under the bright dojo lights, the smooth oval of her face seemed almost to glow.
Hojo felt her heart give a heavy, unwelcome thump.
Even she had to admit it.
Nino Kitagawa—her first love’s ex—was astonishingly beautiful.
Back when Alan had begun dating Hojo, she’d barely exchanged a handful of words with Nino. At the time, Alan had seemed devoted, attentive in a way that left little room for doubt. Hojo had seen no reason to pry into his past.
Now, a bitter thought rose uninvited.
I was such a fool.
A kendo beauty with a presence strong enough to rival her own, why would he ever let someone like that go unless the fault was unforgivable?
Alan… just what on earth did you do?
Helmet tucked under one arm and shinai held loosely in the other hand, Nino spoke briefly with the coach. She nodded once, then glanced around the hall.
Her eyes swept past the benches, the other students, and finally locked onto Hojo.
Without hesitation, she strode over.
Hojo stood as well, rising a little too quickly. In the span of a breath, Nino was right in front of her.
Nino wore tabi on her feet. Even barefoot, she was nearly the same height as Hojo, who wore sneakers. The proximity felt oddly oppressive.
Hojo opened her mouth to speak, but the words lodged in her throat when their eyes met.
Nino’s gaze was clear and pure, bright as polished obsidian. It reminded Hojo of black pearls dropped into a lake veiled in snow.
“Akari Hojo?”
The crisp, straightforward voice snapped Hojo back to herself.
She forced a small smile. “Yeah. Sorry for dropping by uninvited. Do you have a minute to talk?”
Nino tilted her head slightly and looked past her, as if searching for someone.
When she didn’t find who she was looking for, a flicker of disappointment crossed her eyes.
Looking back at Hojo, she asked quietly, “Is Alan all right?”
Hojo’s fingers curled tightly into her palm, nails biting into skin.
Still hung up on him, huh…
Wearing a smile that never reached her eyes, Hojo answered lightly, “Alan? He’s probably in Tokyo right now. On a date with his girlfriend.”
“Eh?”
The reaction was immediate. Ripples disturbed the previously placid surface of Nino’s gaze.
“You two broke up?”
“……”
The words stabbed deeper than Hojo expected.
She bit her lip, her expression crumpling for just a moment before she let out a long breath. “Yeah. Dumped. Same as you.”
With Alan absent, Hojo dropped the pretense. Some ugly part of her wanted Nino to feel that sting too.
But Nino replied calmly, without the slightest tremor. “I didn’t break up with Alan.”
“…What?”
Hojo’s expression darkened. “What do you mean, you didn’t?”
“I mean exactly that. We’re still together. There’s nothing more to explain.”
“Wait here a moment.”
Nino turned and walked toward the changing room without another word.
Hojo stood frozen, emotions flashing across her mind like storm clouds.
If they never broke up… then while he was dating me…
Does that make me the other woman?
He was sharing his affection while we were together?
Maybe I really should lock you away, Alan.
A hollow ache opened in her chest, resentment seeping through it like slow poison.
When Nino reappeared, she’d changed into track pants and a loose hoodie. Hojo straightened, forcing her composure back into place.
“What did you mean earlier,” Hojo asked, voice tight, “when you said you didn’t break up?”
Nino looked at her as though she were being asked something painfully obvious. “Don’t singers have to pass Japanese class?”
She blinked, genuinely puzzled.
Hojo swallowed her irritation. “When Alan and I were dating, was he still seeing you? Did he ever tell you it was over?”
“He did,” Nino said simply. “I just didn’t accept it.”
She sat down beside Hojo, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small plastic bag. Inside were two rice balls wrapped neatly in nori.
Unwrapping them, she paused before taking a bite and offered one to Hojo. “Want one?”
“……”
Staring into Nino’s utterly guileless eyes, Hojo realized with a jolt that the girl wasn’t taunting her.
She was just… wired differently.
A total airhead?
If refusing to accept a breakup means it never happened, then technically I’m still with Alan too… What kind of moral victory is that?
Hojo waved the rice ball away and pressed on. “After he ‘broke up’ with you, did you two still meet often?”
Seeing the refusal, Nino tucked the rice ball back, glanced briefly at Hojo’s chest, and muttered, “How do they get so big without eating?”
She looked down at her own with faint disappointment before biting angrily into her rice ball.
A few mouthfuls later, it was gone.
Licking her lips, she said, “He used to come cheer for my matches. Almost never missed one. After dating you, though… hardly ever. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Her voice dipped at the end, and she took another fierce bite.
Listening to the dejection in Nino’s tone, Hojo felt a flicker of sympathy, until the details finally clicked into place.
“You said he cheered for your matches,” Hojo asked slowly. “Back in middle school?”
“Mm.”
“First year?”
“Mm.”
“Second year?”
“Mm.”
Nino answered like a wind-up doll, responding only when prompted. Anyone would think the author was padding word count.
The sympathy evaporated.
That bastard had been stringing his ex along while dating me, cheering for her tournaments behind my back…
Once I get Alan back, we’re settling this.
While Hojo plotted darkly, Nino finished her first rice ball and licked her lips again.
“It’ll all be better next month,” she said. “I’m heading back to Tokyo then. I’ll finally see Alan.”
“…?”
Hojo’s eyelid twitched. “Aren’t you enrolled in Kyoto?”
“Of course not.” Nino looked at her as though she’d said something ridiculous. “Alan’s in Tokyo. If I stay in Kyoto, I can’t see him.”
She shrugged. “I only came along with Coach to help out here. I’ll head back in a couple of days.”
A small smile slipped across her face at the thought, her eyes bright once more.
Hojo felt an irrational stab of jealousy, but something about Nino’s story didn’t sit right.
“So when you’re in Tokyo,” Hojo pressed, “he’ll actually meet you? You’re still in touch?”
“Not really.”
Nino shook her head, swallowed the last bite, folded the wrapper neatly, and met Hojo’s gaze.
“Have you heard of the Assassin?”
“…Huh?”
Hojo frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to protect Alan for the rest of my life,” Nino said seriously. “So I can’t just appear everywhere. Otherwise the danger can’t be eliminated.”
Seeing Hojo’s blank stare, Nino sighed. “You’re hopeless. Are all singers this dense?”
“……”
What did any of that have to do with assassins?
This girl is stupid.
Following her personal rule of never arguing with the delusional, Hojo swallowed her irritation and asked her final question.
“What exactly did Alan say when he broke up with you?”
***
“Miss Fukada, you can drop me off at the next intersection.”
Inside the sedan, Akari Hojo tapped lightly against the window.
“Understood.”
Fukada answered, glancing at Hojo through the rear-view mirror. Hesitating, she asked, “Are you sure you’ll be all right, Miss Akari?”
Hojo lifted her head and smiled faintly. “It’s fine. I haven’t been back to Kyoto in a long time. I’d like to walk a bit.”
“All right. Please call me anytime.”
“Thank you for everything.”
The car rolled to a stop. Hojo stepped out and drew a long breath, letting the frustration she’d packed away in the back seat slowly dissipate.
She put on a mask, slid her hands into her coat pockets, and strolled down the familiar streets at an unhurried pace. Every step echoed with memories of Alan she couldn’t quite shake.
Friends had warned her never to revisit old haunts after a breakup—but every time she walked this route, she felt strangely healed rather than hurt.
She passed the corner crêperie, then paused outside a milk-tea shop.
Crowds clustered at the counter. Hojo’s lips curved into a nostalgic smile, longing shimmering in her eyes.
Back in middle school, every week after voice practice, Alan would buy her a cup as a reward.
“I really shouldn’t,” she’d protest. “I’ll gain weight.”
Alan would push the cup into her hands anyway, fixing her with that serious expression.
“Hojo, you have no idea how charming you are.”
“What if I do get fat?” she’d ask. “Will you stop liking me?”
“Not a chance. One cup of milk tea won’t change you. And even if it did, I wouldn’t stop loving you.”
“Then… will you stay with me forever?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
