The Dance of the Blade

"Another round of beer and three plates of Yakitori!" Hiroshi shouted, raising his arm in a noisy Izakaya in Shinjuku. "On the house! Or rather, on Renji's bets!"

Renji sat in the corner of the table, drinking Oolong tea. He looked at the mountain of chicken skewers Hiroshi had ordered.

"You're going to spend all the profit before I even step into the ring," Renji warned.

"Investment in team morale!" Hiroshi retorted, his face already red from the alcohol. He pointed a skewer at Kaori, who sat across the table. "And our technical consultant needs protein. Look at how she eats! Like a shredder."

Kaori ignored him. She was devouring the food with frightening efficiency, without losing her elegance. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked at Renji with that intense gaze that seemed to dissect his soul.

"Ignore the clown," Kaori said. "How's the weight?"

"On the limit," Renji replied. "And the mind?"

"Focused on Shinji. He's fast."

Kaori smiled, a sharp smile. "Good. Because you need to see something different. So far, you've only won because you're abnormally tough. Your style is... barbaric. You eat damage to return damage. Against Shinji, that won't work."

Renji agreed silently. She didn't know about the "Iron Skin"; she just thought he had inhuman pain tolerance. Better that way.

"And what is the expert's suggestion?" Renji asked.

"Observation," Kaori said, checking her watch. "The 'Underground Queens' circuit has an event tomorrow night in Shibuya. I'm fighting the main event."

She stood up, grabbing her leather jacket. "Hiroshi already bought the VIP tickets (with your money, of course). I want you to go. I want you to see what real speed and pure technique look like, without this mania of yours of being a human punching bag."

Renji raised an eyebrow. "Is this an invitation for a date?"

Kaori laughed, dryly. "It's homework. Be there at eight. Don't be late."

The next day, the venue in Shibuya was vibrating. It was an old warehouse converted into a nightclub. Electronic music thumped in the chest like a second heart. The ring was in the center, lit by purple and white spotlights, surrounded by a crowd mixing yakuza, university students, and lost tourists.

Renji and Hiroshi stood in the VIP box, leaning over the railing.

"She's popular," Renji commented, seeing the posters with Kaori's face. "THE BLADE OF TOKYO."

"She's scary," Hiroshi corrected, eating popcorn nervously. "I bet 50,000 yen on her. Victory in the second round. If she loses, I'm back behind the store counter tomorrow."

The lights went out. A beat of tribal drums began to play.

Kaori entered. She didn't run to the ring like the amateurs. She walked. Her gaze was focused, void of emotion, as if she were going to buy milk and not entering a cage to fight. She wore her usual neon pink shorts, and her body looked tense as a violin string about to snap.

The opponent was a foreigner named Vanessa, a Jiu-Jitsu specialist with broad shoulders and a fierce expression.

The gong sounded.

Renji leaned forward, activating his analytical vision out of habit. He wanted to see what Kaori called "pure technique."

Vanessa advanced immediately, trying to close the distance to take the fight to the ground, where she would have the advantage.

Kaori didn't retreat. She pivoted.

It was a tiny movement. Kaori pivoted on her left foot and launched a low kick that sounded like a cracking whip.

SMACK!

Vanessa's leg buckled. Kaori didn't stop. Jab, cross, elbow.

The sequence was so fluid it looked choreographed. Kaori's elbow opened a cut on the opponent's brow.

"Do you see that?" Renji murmured, eyes fixed on Kaori's feet.

"The blood? Yeah, I see it," Hiroshi said, covering his eyes.

"No. The balance." Renji was fascinated. "She is never out of position. Whenever she attacks, she is already preparing the defense. She doesn't waste a millimeter of movement."

Vanessa, desperate and bleeding, attempted a tackle at Kaori's legs.

That was when Renji saw it again. The "tick" he had noticed at the gym during her training sessions, but was never sure if it was real.

Before throwing the counter knee, Kaori slightly lifted her support heel. A fraction of a second of instability. A tiny telegraph.

If Vanessa were an elite striker, she could have swept that foot. But Vanessa was a grappler and was blinded by blood.

Kaori fired the knee. It hit Vanessa's chin with surgical precision. The fighter fell onto her back, eyes glazed over.

The referee didn't even count.

"Victory in the first round!" the announcer declared.

Hiroshi cursed, throwing popcorn into the air. "Shit! I bet on the second round! She's too fast!"

Renji said nothing. He was absorbing the image. Kaori raised her arms, smiling at the crowd, but her eyes immediately sought the box where they were standing. She pointed at Renji and then at her own eyes.

Did you see that? the gesture seemed to say.

Half an hour later, they met at the back exit of the club. Kaori had ice on her fist and a towel around her neck, but she looked fresh, adrenaline still making her voice vibrate.

"So?" she asked, leaning against the brick wall. "What did you think? Learn anything about not being a static target?"

"Impressive," Renji admitted. "Your elbow is invisible. And that final knee was perfect."

Kaori smiled, vainly running a hand through her hair. "I told you. Technique beats brute force. That's why I win and you get beaten up."

"But you lifted your heel," Renji said.

Kaori's smile faltered. The air grew tense. "What?"

"On the final strike. Before the knee. Your support foot left the ground three millimeters. If Vanessa had kicked low instead of trying to grab, you would have fallen face-first."

Kaori looked at him, eyes narrowing. The silence lasted five seconds. Hiroshi looked from one to the other, nervous, expecting her to punch Renji.

Instead, Kaori started laughing. A laugh of genuine surprise. "My coach has been telling me that for three years and I never believed it because no one could see it in real-time. You saw that from up there?"

"I have good eyes," Renji said, touching his own temple. "It's the only thing that works well on me."

Kaori shook her head, putting the ice back in her bag. "You are a waste, Renji Sato. You have the eyes of a world champion and the body of a weekend amateur. It's the most frustrating combination I've ever seen."

She stepped closer to him, turning serious. The yellow street light illuminated her sweaty face.

"Soon it's your turn against Shinji. He's fast. Not as technical as me, but he has reach. You said you were going to be 'agile'."

"And I will be."

"I hope so," Kaori gave him a light punch on the shoulder (the good one). "Because it would be a shame if the only guy who can see my flaws got eliminated in the first round of the Top 32."

She turned and started walking toward the subway station. "Focus on the fight! I want my seat in the front row! And tell Hiroshi to stop betting against me in the wrong rounds!"

Hiroshi sighed in relief. "I think she likes you. Or wants to kill you. With her, the line is very thin."

Renji watched Kaori's back as she walked away. "She wants to see if I'm a fraud, Hiroshi. She knows there's something strange, she just doesn't know what."

"And are you a fraud?" his friend asked.

Renji touched his backpack, where the insulated box with the "Wind Demon" seal rested, ready to be used the next day.

"Soon we'll find out."

They walked together through the Tokyo night. Renji felt strangely calm. Seeing Kaori fight had ignited something in him. Not the hunger for the Master's magic, but the hunger for human excellence.

He would use the demon, yes. But he would use the eyes Kaori praised to guide the demon.