K SIDE:BLUE

CHAPTER 1: FENCING PRACTICE

PART 1In a corner of the Scepter 4 headquarters, nicknamed “The Camellia Gate,” was a partially forgotten file room. The tens of file shelves lined up within the room were reminiscent of a walled maze, or cliffs exposed from layers of dirt. They were the rejected and heavy accumulated deposits of history. Beyond this pressure and weaving through the rows of dusty shelves was a lone man at the single desk by the window. He was around his mid-thirties. His huge musculature was set, hunched slightly over an old computer. It was almost like he was a fossil buried in the layers of documents — no, upon closer inspection, his hand was moving leisurely on the dirtied keyboard. His typing was slow, and sometimes stopped in hesitation. He used only the fingers on his right hand. This was because he had no left arm. The left sleeve of the internal affairs division uniform covering his massive body was knotted carelessly in the area above his elbow and dangled down. The one-armed man shifted his reading glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. There was a large, old scar that ran from the ridge of his nose to his left cheek. Rubbing that scar with his finger he made a stern expression, then gave a big sigh and turned to the monitor once again. He was no good at typing, and he was even worse at operating machines. His job of simply inputting the small amount of written reports into the computer once a day was the biggest task of his — of Zenjoh Goki’s

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daily routine. When his rough right hand began to hover, searching for the key he wanted to hit– A cherry blossom petal landed softly on the back of his hand. It was probably carried in on the spring wind from the rows of cherry trees planted on the outside of headquarters. As though being invited by the petal, he turned his gaze outside the open window. On the grounds surrounded by trees, he could see a uniformed group forming a line. The pink of the flurry of falling cherry blossoms and the blue of the uniforms glowed vividly in the afternoon sun. The sight of the lined troops, their posture carrying a supple power, was a sight to behold. Part of that must have depended on the weight of the sabers worn on their waist. These swordsmen division troops were the core of the superpowered-response organization Scepter 4, but also could conceptually be called Scepter 4 itself. With swords at their waist, they were also the very “Sword of the King” itself. That was the foundation of their existence. “Men, draw!” The command, dominating the grounds and carrying all the way to the barracks, belonged to the lieutenant of Scepter 4, Awashima Seri. Though she was a woman, her dignified vigor completely controlled almost a hundred men. The troops all drew their sabers at once and held them in front at salute. The group of blades pointed to the sky looked like a pinholder from far away. “Row formation!” The troops pulled their sabers to their side and changed formation, from eight lines to four rows, with a trot. Space was kept between the rows while the troops were rather close to each other – the “wall” formation. “Fencing method, first form! Begin!” The troops moved their blades to the front and lunged. “One!” “Two!” “Three!” “Four!” With each command, a hundred blades pointed in each direction, followed through and then once again pointed forward. Every single movement was completely synchronized. The fencing method was Western swordsmanship arranged for group action and then simplified, but there were points that were definitely different from what is called “swordsmanship.” The first is that they were not assuming that their enemy would have a sword like them. And right now, they were not aiming to cause damage with their sword. The members of the swordsmen division all had high-level superpowers. Just with the inclination field that they created, they were able to repel bullets and knock down enemies several meters away. The sword as a weapon and swordsmanship were both essentially unnecessary. Then... If it wasn’t a weapon, what was it? What was a “sword” to them? It was most likely something like a “symbol,” or a “guide.” Give a formless power the image of a sword, and then control it. Specifically, the drawing motion was the trigger that released their power, then they concentrated on the image of a blade and used their powers with the movement of the sword. The sabers worn by the troops of of Scepter 4 were the very symbol of “controlled power.” The very ideal of the Blue King, Munakata Reisi. “–Serrate formation!” Every other member in each row advanced, or perhaps retreated, taking the shape of a jagged line. “Fencing method, second form! Begin!” The back row covered the gap created by the front row’s attack. Then, the front row defended as they retreated, switching with the back row – almost one hundred troops were moving systematically and without hesitation, like a complicated machine made of cog wheels. They were beautiful movements, reminiscent of a group dance. — How dazzling. The reason Zenjoh narrowed his eyes was not just because the reflection of the sun off the blades was bright. Like a hard, transparent mineral crystal, it was complete beauty that rejected all impurity. There was no room in there for such a foreign thing as himself. That didn’t mean he was unhappy. Much like his habit of touching his scar, it was just that realizing everything that he lacked with every little thing was something he’d been doing for many years. He rubbed his eyes, dazzled by the sight outside, and turned back to the monitor. Then– “Hey, watch it!” “Ah, I’m sorry!” One member made a mistake in his movements, and seemed as though his blade had grazed another. Luckily, neither seemed to be injured, but– “Kusuhara!” “Yes ma’am!” The one that lowered his head in apology, Kusuhara jumped up straight at Awashima’s sharp voice. “Ten laps!” “Yes ma’am!” Kusuhara hurriedly put his saber back into its sheath and ran off. “Watch yourself!” “Yes sir!” The member that got hit by the saber called out to Kusuhara as he passed, but– “Hidaka, you too!” “Wha!?” Then, as the two troop members began to run side-by-side, still uniformed with sword at their side, “–Third form, from the top! Begin!” The lesson continued with Awashima’s command. It wasn’t long before the two, ejected from the ranks, came around in front of Zenjoh along the inner edge of the grounds and happened to hear their conversation. “...Dammit, I don’t get it... I wish that woman’d make her huge tits the joke, yeah?” Hidaka was taller and seemed to be older. He was speaking in a rude manner to Kusuhara at his side. “I’m a victim!” “Huh? ...Ah, huh.” Kusuhara, on the other hand, was smaller than average. His face also looked a bit like a boy’s. “Isn’t that where I say something like, ‘you couldn’t avoid it and that’s slacking too?’” “You’re in no position to say that. Know your place!” Hidaka stuck out his elbow and poked Kusuhara’s shoulder. “Ah, ow, I’m sorry, that hurts... Wah!” Kusuhara raised his voice. His eyes met with Zenjoh’s beyond the window, almost ten meters away. “What are you making weird voices for?” “Oh, there was someone... I heard that over there was storage, so...” “Hah? There’s at least someone in charge of it.” “No, I thought it was a monster.” “You a kid?” “Ow!” When Hidaka hit the back of Kusuhara’s head, “Hidaka! Kusuhara! What are you fooling around for!?” Awashima’s sharp voice interrupted them. “Five more laps!” “Ueeei!?” Hidaka made a strange sound and increased his pace. “Ah... hello,” Kusuhara stopped for a moment and gave Zenjoh a small bow, then once again followed after Hidaka. Zenjoh gave a wry smile as he nodded back, and watched as Kusuhara ran off. A few minutes later when they came around the track again Kushara nodded his head to him, and on the next time around he passed without paying any mind to him. And then– –Yet again, there are no more special notes from today. Zenjoh finished typing up the brief report after a long time and when he lifted his head, Kusuhara and Hidaka were still running. They had at some point removed their uniforms and sabers and just had on their inner shirt. The other troops were nowhere to be seen. They had finished their scheduled lessons and seemed were already done for the day. Neither of them were saying a word, and were now just mindlessly driving their bodies forward. A distant scene that reminded him of two animals running across a field. Zenjoh, gazing on this, was also mindless. As he caught a glimpse of a radiant time that he would no longer step foot in, his rough hand was just barely touching the scar on his cheek.†“The point is, your tempo was off.” On their regular parting, Hidaka laughed and smacked Kusuhara on the back. Moody Hidaka was quick to anger, but it washed away just as quickly. “Think about what you did! Think about it!” “Ah, I’m sorry. I will do just that.” Kusuhara, scratching the back of his head with a wry smile, actually thought that there might be something off about himself. The one who would fail to sing together in a chorus, or the one who would somehow end up on the opposite leg in a march. Now that he thought about it, he was that kid. His athletics weren’t bad, but qualities such as a sense of rhythm and precise movement were things he was born without. And though he had decided that he would never do work that involved singing or dancing, he had been careless about one last thing. There were marches and lines in the riot squad which he used to work in, and he was pulled from there and switched to Scepter 4, which also required group movement. Especially the fencing methods, where everyone wields actual drawn swords – if one messes up the timing, that could cause injury to coworkers in the area. It wasn’t something one could get by with being bad at. That was the reason why he thought about practicing on his own after lights out. Kusuhara left the dorms in his tracksuit, and with a bamboo sword in place of his saber in hand, wandered around the premises of headquarters for a place he could swing it around to his heart’s content. Inside a building he would probably hit a wall or a window, and in the middle of the grounds... would kind of make him stand out a lot. After he thought of several locations, he headed toward the dojo at the edge of headquarters. It was a rather normal association that if you use a bamboo sword, it’s in a dojo. If the dojo was open for night training, then he’d at least ask for a corner to practice swinging. As he thought this, he went to the front of the building. ...But. For some reason, he got a strange feeling. The lights of the dojo were off, but the entrance and windows were all wide open. Because of its old fashioned and open structure, the separations inside were few and the night air just entered. And, inside– — There’s something scary in there, Kusuhara thought. A savage beast that lurked in a dark brush, or a demon that lived in the attic of a deserted house – Kusuhara shook his head and chased out the images that appeared in his head. His instinct has always been sharp, but he didn’t think there was any way a bear or a boar would be in the middle of the city, and he wasn’t the age to be actually afraid of monsters. If something was actually there it was most likely human, and most logically a member of Scepter 4 like himself. Though he did wonder what they were doing with the lights off... Kusuhara gave a slight peek through the door and into the dojo. Then, Wham! — The sudden blast of wind that blew from inside the dojo – no, something like the shock of a huge taiko drum being struck in front of him hit Kusuhara in the face. More precisely, it wasn’t actual wind or sound at all. It was some sort of unseeable presence. “...Who’s there?” A low, calm man’s voice asked him who he was, and he reflexively fixed his posture. “H-Hello! Um...!” Ah Kusuhara became flustered, the owner of the voice appeared from the darkness within the dojo. It was a huge man. He could tell from over his training uniform that his over-190 centimeter body was covered in bunches of thick muscle. He had his left hand in his pocket... no, it seemed as though that arm only went to the elbow. And in his right hand he held an unsheathed odachi, long enough to drag. It was an exposed, lethal weapon that radiated a dangerous aura incomparable to the regular sabers. — Is he going to kill me!? Kusuhara reflexively pulled himself back and held his bamboo sword at the ready in front of him. A moment later, a faint blue light appeared on the part of the blade. A spectral phenomenon produced as a result of the inclination field. Since his appointment to Scepter 4 six months ago, his special powers had grown remarkably. By the connection of his power and the draw of his sword, a certain invocation and control became possible – like the other troops, he was taking lessons like that. To put it in Hidaka’s words, “the beam swords you see in manga.” The blue phosphorescent blade was pointed at the armed giant. “Mm? ...Ah, no.” The man, after observing Kusuhara, turned his back to him and once again made his way inside, picking up something long off the floor. His eyes just getting used to the darkness, Kusuhara could tell that it was a huge sheath. The man held it under his left arm and put away the weapon with one hand, then took it back with his right hand and returned to him. “Sorry for scaring you. I was practicing my iai.” “Ah, no...” Seeing the blade put away, he was finally able to relax. On a closer look, the man’s demeanor was rather proper. The large scar on his left cheek stood out, but the eyes behind the glasses were smiling softly. “And you are?” “Um... Kusuhara Takeru, Swordsmen Division Troops, Fourth Squad.” Kusuhara relaxed his stance, and the blue light disappeared from the bamboo sword. “The sword troops... Ahh, from this afternoon.” The man scratched his left cheek with the back of the hand gripping the longsword. “This afternoon...?” Kusuhara tilted his head, and the man gave his name. “Zenjoh Goki. ‘The person in charge of storage.’ I’m not a monster.” “...Ah–” He was the person who had been watching them from the window in the barracks when they were running their punishment laps during the day’s lesson. Kusuhara realized that person was the man in front of him, and he flushed. “...I see, and you’re practicing on your own. Um... If I’m in your way, I’ll come back later.” Kusuhara said without explanation to Zenjoh, who had easily grasped the situation, half out of awkwardness. But– “Nah. You have admirable intentions, Kusuhara-kun.” The old scar cutting across his cheek moved, and he gave a half-smile. Then– First he asked if he needed light or not, but he could see his feet by the light from the window. Zenjoh himself had said that his senses were sharper in the dark. Then they took their places on practically opposite ends of the dojo and started training on their own. Imitating the sheathed saber, Kusuhara held the bamboo sword against his waist as in the fencing method. From the first form draw, he held it at the ready, followed through, and changed his feet – as he did so, he glanced over at Zenjoh. He had said that since he was using a real sword it was dangerous and had put a large distance between them, but Zenjoh was sitting perfectly still, facing the small altar further inside the dojo, longsword placed at his side. — Still, that’s an incredible sword. Kusuhara recalled the sight of the naked odachi he had seen with his own eyes earlier. A thick blade holding a glittering light. Something that could probably cut even a human, vertically or horizontally, easily in two. — But something that big is probably hard to use. — And one-handed, even... How does he draw? I want to see that. Kusuhara had forgotten the reason he had come here in the first place, and his interest had already moved to Zenjoh. — Since he’s practicing alone in the middle of the night that probably means he doesn’t want others to see. I’ll finish up here quickly, then peek in through the window... “–Kusuhara-kun. Your focus is all over the place.” Zenjoh said, his back still turned to Kusuhara. “Eh...!? Ah, right, I’m sorry!” Kusuhara hurriedly fixed his posture and bowed. Zenjoh continued to speak without laughing at or scolding him. “It’s good that you’re paying attention to your surroundings, but dropping your form for that isn’t.” “Okay, I’ll be more careful!” Kusuhara responded, posture still stiff. “And... your beat is inconsistent.” “Hah... my beat?” Kusuhara tilted his head, “...Ah–” And he realized. — This is that thing about “tempo.” “An ‘inconsistent beat’... isn’t good, right?” Kusuhara asked curiously, and Zenjoh’s appearance wavered slightly. “In this case, no... but it’s right for swordsmanship.” — Not good, but right. They were words almost like a riddle, but to Kusuhara he felt they grasped the core of something. “Um, do you think... you could explain a little more about that please?” When he involuntarily took a step towards Zenjoh– Boom–! With an attack that was like piercing his chest, the point of the huge sword was pointed at his throat. “...!?” Kusuhara jumped back reflexively and gripped his bamboo sword. But– As before, they were on opposite sides of the dojo. They were apart by 30 or so meters. The point he had seen was an illusion his body created when he had felt the frightening energy. Zenjoh was on one knee, his longsword drawn. Kusuhara didn’t see the moment when he had drawn it or how he did it at all. The blade that was the very extension of his single arm was filled with vigor, and his face looked like that of a terrible demon. The tip of the demon was pointing to Kusuhara’s throat– no, to the doorway over his shoulder. “My, what an impressive draw. It chills me.” He heard a smiling voice from behind him. “Heheh... That’s no good for a body just out of the bath. You’ll probably get sick.” He turned around, and a tall man stepped lightly through the door. His image was a bit different, due to his yukata and just-washed hair, but– “...Director?

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