Аннотация: Yuto leaves for Noihara. Rinka goes to the dojo for kendo classes.
Chapter 5. Noihara Trip
6.
One day off! ALONE! If it weren't for that, my life would be a raspberry... Well, until the age of sixteen. I had to wait for the holidays to go to Noihara. It seems that we have a clan library. It seems to be "useless" - the GH from the manga did not even manage to stick his nose into it. "Techniques are passed down by word of mouth." Yeah, yeah, and the description of the strategic weapon, the demon cats, just lies in the house. I don't think so.
The Amakawa took a deliberately advantageous path - recruiting strong units in the enemy's camp (not everyone needed to be defeated, some did not mind cooperating themselves), and then - support in battle. I wonder what motivated these energy substances to fight? Is it really only the safety of living next to people? It sounds like nonsense.
True, Noihara is now just the "home" enclave of the "sworn in," but it seems to me that most of them have fled with the death of their grandfather and parents. Or was it released on purpose while there is no support? In a certain sense, spirits are vulnerable. In order to somehow influence the world of people, they have to partially materialize.... Damn, the physicist in me is writhing and demanding Einstein's blood, but I have to admit that I didn't turn out to be much of a physicist. A materialized spirit can be killed with ordinary weapons. However, these bastards, even the weakest ones, are very fast. But not faster than a bullet, here Kim's Harald Potter is absolutely right. We should think about where a nine-year-old child can get an AKM or UZI. Do you think I'm joking?"
pov Rinko's.
Life is gradually turning into a routine. Prepare breakfast and bento. Should I wake up Yuto, who is sitting at the computer, and what is he reading in English? And in what's-his-name Russian. And how does he know it?
Although Yuto goes to the library for manga, he prefers to read English or Russian literature, he says he does not want to forget the language. It's strange, I hadn't noticed his craving for foreign literature before. Although he did say that his parents traveled a lot abroad.
7.
I overestimated myself a bit. I haven't been nine years old for a long time! My legs get tired. You sit for 10 minutes and it's all gone. One minute I'm thirsty, the next I'm hungry. I've already eaten an ekiben in a small box, I try to drink the mineral water little by little - you can't buy it here. I've been climbing the mountain for two hours now. Rough.
Going to the clan house of relatives who died in bose is a bit fast: according to the manga, Ayakashi is a vampire (what's her name? I don't remember) my companions are waiting for me right here. But logically, the bloodsucker set up an ambush only after the heir of Amakawa appeared to the world, but for now I'm kind of gone. I wonder if my amulet only protects me from the "glow" of delicious magical energy, or does it completely cut me off from the spirit world? To go to the "holy places", I remember, the "water god" who stuck to Yuto was an ordinary water spirit. If "ordinary" can be called a creature comparable in strength to the one-tailed jinchuriki from Naruto, only a watery one, not a sandy one. Yes, analogies with anime about a moron from the Uzumaki clan come to my mind more and more often. Only here I'm more of a hybrid of two GH: Sasuke and Naruto. Yes, I don't have red eyes, but I think having such a kekkei genkai, that is, an "improved genome", it's not a problem to get them. As I said, the "farry of light" can be applied to yourself. I feel like a Konoha genie, but Danzo is not here. Wait, or is there?
Yuto was climbing a narrow path that wound through low but steep slopes. The stones crumbled slightly under his soles, and each time he took a short pause so as not to slip. The air here was denser than in the city: it smelled of damp earth and moss. With every step, Noihara was getting closer-not just a dot on the horizon, but a real home that seemed to be waiting for him to return.
He was a little out of breath, but he wasn't in a hurry. Down in the valley, there was a noisy world full of other people's voices and haste. But here, among these hills, time seemed to pass more slowly. Yuto stopped for a moment, rested his palm on the warm stone, and looked ahead, where the roofs of the houses were already peeking out from around the bend. And suddenly I thought: "I wonder if Rinko is sitting somewhere in the sun and eating onigiri?" The thought made him feel a little better, and he stepped forward again, more confidently, as if the road itself were whispering: "You're almost home."
Rinko's pov.
Yuto went to Grandpa Gen's clan house to see what kind of house was in Noihara. He said he wants to see what's in the clan library. The city immediately became boring without him. I hope he makes a good trip and there won't be any problems on the road.
Cso, it's all about smarty, okay, she goes to the kendo club just to take a closer look at boken. He may ask you to show him a few strokes. Rinko saw him off at the train station, put another candy bar in her backpack ("In case there's no proper food there"), and a bottle of mineral water. She waved until the train disappeared around the bend, and then stood there for another minute, as if waiting for him to lean out the window and shout, "Don't do anything here!"
But the windows were silent, the platform was emptying, and the city suddenly became too big and too quiet. Rinko shivered, pulled on her cap from the scorching September sun and went home, listening to her own footsteps pounding loudly on the asphalt, as if to prove: She's here, she's not gone anywhere.
By evening, the silence began to oppress. Without Yuto, who grumbled, corrected her crazy ideas and put everything on the shelves, even an ordinary house seemed alien. Rinko was flipping through the manga-the one with the laconic cover "Silence before a lunge"-but the lines were floating in front of her eyes. She closed the book, tapped her fingers on the table, then abruptly stood up.
"Okay," she muttered to herself. "If I have nothing to break, I'll go see how others break themselves."
***
The dojo was not what she had imagined. No gloomy romance: just a neat room with a wooden floor, white walls and the smell of fresh wood. At the entrance, she was met by a woman in dogi, strict but not cold.
"The trial session for beginners is today at six. If you want, stay. We'll give you a uniform, and so will Sinai. The main thing is not to try to defeat everyone at once.
Rinko chuckled:
"I'm not winning. I... just wanted to see if it would suit me. I only held a stick in my hands about two years ago."
The woman raised an eyebrow slightly, as if she had heard this every day:
"That's what everyone says. And then they stay."
Rinko was given great danes, shown how to tie a belt, and how to hold a shinai-a light, springy sword that looked nothing like the heavy sword from the manga. And on the stick that her dad handed her, who decided to introduce her to family traditions. But he couldn't show his stances and punches properly, he said that he had already forgotten that his grandfather had shown him swearing at him as a child.
"Kihon first," the mentor said calmly. "Basic strikes, stances, moves. No drama. Only precision."
And that's when Rinko suddenly felt something snap inside.
Desk. The distance. The angle of impact.
It was like those conversations with Yuto about leverage: not "stronger", but "more accurate". Not "faster", but "at the right moment". Each blow was decomposed into simple elements: step, body rotation, blade direction, exhalation.
"The point of application of force. The center of balance. Timing," these words seemed to pop up in her head, as if she wasn't in the dojo, but was sitting next to Yuto again and listening to him explain physics on his fingers.
"On the very first exercise, she almost tripped over her own feet." Shinai seemed to be too heavy, too light, and the rhythm that the mentor set did not match the way Rinko was used to moving.
"Take your time," the woman repeated calmly, coming closer and gently adjusting her grip. "Kendo is not about speed. It's about making sure that every step you take is necessary." Rinko clenched her teeth, exhaled, and tried again. And more. And more.
By the end of the class, she was drenched in sweat, and her shoulders were buzzing as if she were carrying bags. But when she put the shinai on the shelf and took off her gloves, a smile appeared on her face-tired, but real.
"Well," the teacher asked, watching Rinko try to fold the dogs neatly, although her hands were shaking from fatigue. "Will you come again?"
Rinko thought for a moment, as if she was weighing not "yes or no", but what this word would mean for her next.
"Yes," she said finally. "I... want to understand how it works."
On the way home, she took out her phone and typed a short message:
"I went to kendo. I didn't break anything. But I almost broke my shoulders. But I think I like the way things work out there. It's like they're your levers, just in motion. Text me when you get there normally."
She sent it and put the phone back in her pocket, not expecting Yuto to answer right now. It was enough for her to just know that there was someone to tell.
Rinko woke up the next morning and realized one simple thing: she couldn't raise her hand properly to pour herself a glass of water. Her shoulders, back, even her wrists ached as if she hadn't learned how to hold a light bamboo shinai yesterday, but was carrying bags of cement.
"Well, that's it," she muttered, carefully setting the cup down on the table so as not to touch the edge with her sore hand. "And I also thought that everything in manga was exaggerated."
She still forced herself to go outside-not for the sake of training, but just to walk to the store and buy something that she could eat with one hand. On the way, she found herself walking with her shoulders slightly hunched, trying not to move her shoulders once more. And that made her angry.
"Hey," she muttered to herself, straightening her back, though it sent a new wave of pain through her shoulder blades. "You didn't stand on the tatami yesterday and listen to the "center of gravity" so that you could walk like an old lady today."
The girl walked slowly along the shelves of the combine, as if each movement cost her a little more effort than usual. After training, Rinko's shoulders ached, his knees felt strange, and her back quietly reminded her: "No feats today." At home, she had a kitchen, pots, and favorite recipes waiting for her - she loved to cook something herself, put everything on plates, and feel how comfort was born from simple things. But today, this feat was clearly not for her. She stopped at a display of onigiri, tilted her head, looking at the neat triangles. She didn't want anything sharp or heavy, just something simple and familiar that would settle inside and give her strength. Almost without thinking, she put a banana next to it - it is convenient to hold it with one hand, and her mother always said that it helps after exertion.
At the cash register, she picked up a bottle of cold mugiti. The salesman, an elderly man with kind eyes, paused for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but only nodded gently:
"Are you tired?"
The girl smiled a little and nodded:
"After training. Everything hurts."
"Then here, take this one," he placed a small package of soft rice crackers without spices on top. "To crunch when you sit down. And take your time."
The bag with the handle turned out to be unexpectedly comfortable: it hung smoothly in one hand, did not pull, and you could walk slowly, without hurrying anywhere. She went outside, where the evening air was no longer scorching, but gently touching her skin, and thought that sometimes the right adventure after a hard day is just to walk to the bench, open the onigiri and allow herself not to be either a heroine or a cook, but just a girl who needs a little peace today.
She sat on a bench outside the store, exposing her face to the autumn sun. The warm rays seemed to slowly take away this thick, heavy fatigue that had stuck after the workout. The package was on my lap, and I didn't want to open it right now-I just wanted to breathe and feel the day getting quieter.
Rinko unscrewed the lid of the mugitya bottle and took a sip. The drink was cool, with that cozy bitterness that she loved: as if the smell of toasted barley grains and the autumn wind was hidden in it. She smiled to herself.: such a simple, familiar taste, and it immediately made you feel calmer, as if the day was slowly settling into place.
Rinko was sitting on a bench, exposing her face to the autumn sun. The warm, no longer hot rays gently fell on the skin, and from this all the tension of today seemed to melt away. She was holding an onigiri with tuna in her hand, a neat triangle in a transparent Cling film. She slowly unwrapped the package and inhaled the familiar smell of rice and slightly spicy tuna with mayonnaise. The first bite was exactly what it should be after a hard day: simple, satisfying, without surprises.
She took another bite and looked into the distance, where Noihara lay beyond the mountains. Yuto was there right now. Rinko didn't know exactly what he was doing at that very moment. They hadn't agreed to write to each other every day, but now she suddenly really wanted to know that he was okay.
"I wonder if he's tired today, too?" thought Rinko, looking at the thin strip of clouds above the distant roofs. She wanted Yuto's day to be easier than hers. So that he doesn't have to pretend to be cheerful when his whole body is asking him to just lie down and not move.
She finished her third onigiri, carefully folded the film into a small square and put it in her pocket - then she would throw it into the trash. The sun was slowly sinking lower, and the air was getting cooler, but there was still this quiet warmth on the bench. Rinko sat for a while longer, as if holding this calm moment, and then said softly out loud, as if the words could reach Noihara:
"May everything be fine with you, Yuto."
And with that thought, she got up, adjusted the strap of her backpack and went home - it wasn't so hard anymore, as if eating onigiri and a couple of hours in the sun had given her a little strength back. Then, when the sun dropped a little lower and a light cool breeze ran over her skin, she slowly trudged home. The steps were unhurried, as if the legs themselves knew: there was no need to hurry today. On the way, she mechanically took a bite of a banana- sweet, soft, very simple - and it became a little easier to walk.
At home, she took off her sneakers, did not put them neatly in a row, as usual, and went into the room. There was a manga page open on the table with some funny moment that she hadn't finished reading last week. The girl reached for it, but suddenly realized that even holding a book now was too much effort. Instead, she just lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket up to her, and closed her eyes.
I could still see the movements from the training, some of the teacher's remarks, but they quickly blurred and became unimportant. Only the quiet remained: "I'm not a hero today. I'm just resting today." And it was the right thing to do, the most necessary thing.
Evening was slowly falling on the city, and the room was getting darker. Rinko stirred, opened her eyes slightly, and suddenly her nose caught something that immediately made her feel warm and calm. The smell of mushroom soup. Her beloved.
She smiled without opening her eyes yet, as if this smell was the most reliable promise: the day was over, all the bad things were left outside, and they were waiting at home and remembering what was delicious to her. Slowly, as if every movement was still a little harder than usual, Rinko crawled out of bed, threw a soft cardigan over her T-shirt - the house already smelled of autumn - and trudged into the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Mom was standing at the stove, head slightly bowed, stirring soup with a wooden spoon. When she heard footsteps, she turned around and smiled:
"You're just in time. The soup has been infused, it has become quite tasty."
Rinko came over, nuzzled into her mom's side for a second, and then climbed onto her favorite chair.
"I couldn't do anything today. She didn't even cook."
Mom laughed softly as she poured the soup into a small bowl:
"I wasn't expecting it. You spent so much effort yesterday. Let someone else be the hero today."
The soup was exactly what Rinko liked: thick but not heavy, with thin slices of mushrooms, a pinch of green onions and a couple of pieces of tofu. She ate slowly, feeling the warmth creep up her arms, down her stomach, and slowly release the ache in her muscles. Next to her on the table was her banana from the store and a bag of crackers-she didn't want to touch them yet, as if all she needed right now was this soup, just this evening.
It was already getting dark outside, the lanterns were turning on one by one, and the kitchen was bright and quiet. Rinko finished her meal, put the bowl on the table and sighed - not tiredly, but as if with relief.
"Thanks, Mom."
Mom stroked her hair:
"Now you can finish reading the manga. Or just lie down. You deserve every option today."
***
On the second day, the pain became different: not acute, but dull, familiar. Rinko could already move her arms normally, although her shoulders still felt heavy. In the evening, she texted Yuto:
"I understood why Sensei doesn't immediately chase us into sparring. The body gets angry. It says, "We did something weird yesterday, don't do it again." But I'm not going tomorrow. Sensei said that it's better for beginners after two days, so that the muscles don't clog and I don't start doing everything by force. So I have time to just remember how it should feel. And don't forget about the levers. Even when nothing hurts, it's easy to start doing "what's easier" rather than "what's right.""
Yuto answered almost immediately, as if he was sitting and waiting for a message:
"It sounds like normal physiology. The main thing is not to try to "put the squeeze on" the technique through the pain. If the body screams "stop", listen to it. It's smarter than manga."
Rinko chuckled, but her chest felt warmer. "It's smarter than manga." Yes. And that's why she's going to the dojo not tomorrow, but the day after tomorrow. Let your shoulders rest, but your head will sort everything out.
***
And when she entered the dojo again on the third day, Sensei nodded at her without surprise, as if she knew that this would happen:
"It's a good thing you didn't come yesterday. Yesterday you would have just reinforced the tension. Today we will clean up the excess."
Rinko took a stance. The pain remained somewhere in the background, but now she wasn't afraid of it. She knew that this was not an enemy, but just traces of a past lesson.
Akira came over, looked at her grip, the way she held her body, and suddenly smiled out of the corner of his lips:
"You haven't forgotten. I see that I didn't try to redo everything at home. I just let my body get used to it. That's smart."
He didn't immediately adjust it with his hands. Instead, he stood in front of her and slowly, almost lazily, delivered the same punch as last time:
"Look how the shoulder goes away. It does not rise, it seems to flow down, freeing the way of energy. Try not to hit, but... let the blow happen."
Rinko inhaled. She remembered about her "low center", about how her hips work differently. And instead of reaching for a wide, beautiful movement, she made it tight. Short. Mine.
The Shinai clicked in the air-not loudly, but very clearly.
Takumi, who was watching from the side, nodded approvingly:
Now you're not fighting the pain. You use what you have.
After training, when she took off her armor again, her shoulders no longer seemed alien. The pain was slowly going away, giving way to a feeling as if the muscles had finally realized what was wanted of them. Rinko carefully put the shinai back in its place, lingered for a second, looking at it as if it were an old acquaintance.
The phone rang softly. Yuto:
"Well, did you break anything today?"
Rinko smiled and typed:
"no. But today I wasn't trying to be stronger than I am. I was trying to be more precise. And you know... I think it's working."
***
Yuto is coming from Noihara today, she will meet him and go to kendo again.
Rinko stood up in kamae again, but this time Takumi did not adjust her shoulders with the usual movement. He froze, cocking his head slightly, as if he saw something unfamiliar in her stance, not a mistake.
"Wait... don't move."
Rinko froze, feeling a chill creep down her spine: now they will say that she will not succeed at all, that she is not suitable for kendo, where everything is measured to the millimeter.
Takumi slowly walked around her, not taking his eyes off her body, the way her hips fit, the way her feet are turned slightly differently than everyone else's.
"You don't move the way we teach newbies." Finally, he said, and there was no reproach in his voice, but... curiosity. "Your center is slightly lower, and your body is slightly more tightly assembled. It's like you're used to keeping your balance on uneven ground instead of on a smooth floor."
Rinko swallowed. She didn't know how to explain it without sounding like an excuse.
"My great-grandfather used to swear at my father." She said softly. "He said that he was even ashamed to give him a stick in his hand. My father was peaceful, not a fighter at all. But he showed me a couple of racks, as clumsily as he could. And now I realize that they're... not exactly wrong. They just fit my body."
Akira, who was standing nearby, suddenly chuckled and exchanged glances with Takumi.
"Yeah. That's it. So, you don't have to break it for the sake of the standard. We need to understand how it works."
He came up without touching her, and began to talk not about "stand up straight," but about the physics of her movements:
"Look: your blow doesn't come from the shoulder, but from the hips, and the amplitude is smaller. It's not a bad thing. That means you're saving traffic. If we slightly twist the angle of the elbow and make the exhale shorter, your blow will not be weaker, but faster. And it will be more natural for your body."
They didn't force her to become "like everyone else." Instead, Akira began to take apart her ligament by bone, by joints, by force vectors:
"The first step: do not stretch your toe forward, but roll over from the heel so that the hips immediately turn on. Second: turn the body slightly before the arm starts moving. That's how you use your body's inertia, not just your muscles."
Takumi nodded, adding details:
"And don't try to take a wide swing. Your mechanics are different: your strength is in density. The less space you occupy with movement, the harder it is to read you."
Rinko listened, and it clicked in her head: these were the "levers" that Yuto had talked about, only now they weren't hanging in the air like formulas, but lived in her muscles. She tried again, and suddenly she felt how the movement felt different: not like someone else's mask, but like her own skin.
The impact wasn't loud or sweeping, but it was as clear as a click. Sinai cut the air briefly and clearly.
Akira raised an eyebrow slightly, as if he was surprised himself:
"Here. Now it's yours. Not a copy. Not "almost right." Namely yours."
Takumi nodded:
"Kendo values more than just strength and speed. They appreciate the sincerity of the movement. If the technique comes from your body and your understanding, it's real."
Rinko exhaled, and for the first time in training, her smile turned out not to be strained, but real.
"Thank you," she said softly, almost in a whisper, because her voice was suddenly hoarse from tension and from something else that looked like pride. "I was afraid that I would have to forget everything. That's what my father showed me."
Akira shrugged his shoulders as if it was the most common thing:
"Do not forget. Just make it stronger. Let it not be "shameful clumsiness", but your style."