Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [82]

So he really is a complete beginner…

Just one look at Kitahara Takeru’s sword grip and Tōchi Taku knew—he didn’t know a thing.

Kendō’s standard opening stances fell into five basic forms: jōdan (high), chūdan (middle), gedan (low), hassō (eight-phase), and waki (side). Together, they were known as the gogumi—the five forms.

Each was drawn from the philosophy of the five elements: jōdan was fire, representing confident aggression.
Chūdan was water, balanced in offense and defense.
Gedan was earth, defensive and reactive.

The first three were commonly used in competitive kendō. Hassō was suited for fighting multiple opponents, while waki—a stance with the sword hidden behind the body—was nearly impossible to predict, though slower to strike.

Takeru’s stance wasn’t any of them.

To put it plainly, it was nothing at all.

To Taku, Takeru looked like a walking pile of openings—head, throat, torso, hands—he could strike anywhere.

“Begin!”

Tōchi Rina stepped back from the center marker and slashed her arm downward to signal the match’s start.

“AAAAHHHHHHH!!”

The moment the call rang out, Taku lunged forward like a warrior charging to his death—his face beneath the men mask flushed, roaring with ferocity. With the pressure of someone fighting to the death, he stomped forward.

“Men!!!”

In kendō, scoring a point required more than a clean hit. The attacker had to shout the targeted area with full spirit, strike it precisely, and maintain zanshin—lingering awareness—afterward.

Taku had called men, which meant his bamboo sword had to land squarely between Takeru’s temples.

Maybe that’s why every Japanese special move had to be shouted.

No wonder this country leaned so hard into the chūnibyō.

The shinai came down at Takeru’s forehead—a perfectly executed men strike that could be used in textbooks.

Two hundred practice swings a day, ten years of discipline. This was Taku’s pride.

And yet, at the very instant Taku raised his sword, Takeru’s mind had already conjured over a hundred ways to counter and win in a single strike.

As if, in that moment, the two had already sparred hundreds of times.

It was then that Takeru truly understood how terrifying his [Sword Mastery] skill was.

It didn’t just give you the muscle memory of a lifelong kendō practitioner—it basically shoved a “Wang Yuyan” into your brain, feeding you optimal counters based on your opponent’s moves.

It was, bluntly, a cheat.

Takeru couldn’t even imagine how powerful he’d be in the Edo period.

As the shinai hurtled toward him, before his mind could even settle on a response, Takeru’s body moved on its own.

He leaned back slightly, tilting his head just enough to the side—cleanly dodging the blow.

“What?!”

Taku watched in disbelief as his strike missed—by millimeters.

He hadn’t expected such reflexes.

So this... is true movement technique.

If it weren’t so cringe, Takeru would’ve shouted it out loud.

[Master-Level Evasion] had become instinctual—muscle memory hardwired into his body.

Brain: Let me think about it.

Body: No need. Already moved.

The high stance, for all its offensive pressure, left openings if the attack missed.

And once that happened—

Wide open. Nothing but vulnerabilities!

Takeru’s eyes narrowed. His body shot forward like a coiled spring, thrusting the shinai straight ahead as he bellowed, “Tsuki!!!”

He still found it ridiculous—calling out where you were attacking. In any other fighting style, it would be comedy gold.

But that’s kendō for you—rules are rules.

From stillness to motion, then a sudden halt, followed by a full-force thrust—Takeru’s speed and angle were inhuman.

His thrust was clean, precise, no wasted motion.

For a moment, the essence of Japanese swordsmanship—one strike, life or death—was fully embodied in his movement.

The offense flipped too quickly. In that blink of an eye, Taku had no time to adjust. He could only watch as Takeru’s shinai drove straight for his throat.

Kendō armor included a thick resin throat plate attached beneath the men.

Even with protection, the force of a direct thrust would usually be punishing.

Taku braced for the pain—but it never came.

Takeru had pulled his strike at the last moment. The blow landed with just enough force to register, a gentle tap. No pain.

“Niisan!”

Rina’s face went ghost-white. Forgetting she was the referee, she rushed over.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Despite the usual bickering between them, the Tōchi siblings were like most siblings—no one else was allowed to mess with their own.

“I’m fine.”

Taku shook his head, then turned gratefully to Takeru.

“Thank you, Kitahara-kun.”

He knew—Takeru had held back. If he hadn’t, Taku wouldn’t be standing here unharmed.

“Senpai, no need to thank me.”

Takeru yanked off his helmet, fanning himself with both hands.

Taku hadn’t laid a finger on him, but Takeru had almost been killed—by the smell.

After hesitating a moment, Taku couldn’t help asking, “Kitahara-kun, if I may... who did you train under?”

“I don’t have a teacher,” Takeru answered honestly.

“If I’m not wrong, today was your first time holding a sword?”

Takeru paused, debating whether to lie.

After all, losing to someone on their first day could really shatter a man’s confidence.

“You don’t need to spare my feelings,” Taku said, catching that hesitation immediately. “I just want the truth.”

Takeru pressed his lips together, then gave a small nod.

“Yes, but I’ve watched a lot of kendō matches. Practiced with a stick in my free time.”

Rie rolled her eyes.

“A lot of matches” my ass. You literally just looked up the rules today.

“No way!”

A buzz-cut guy from the club shouted before Taku could say anything.

No way someone who had never held a sword could react like that—or pull off a textbook-perfect tsuki.

“I knew it.”

Taku gave a wry smile.

He didn’t doubt Takeru’s word.

When they’d first shaken hands, he’d felt it—those fingers were too smooth, that skin too fine. Like silk.

No calluses. No roughness from years of sword training.

“Wait, Captain... you mean everything he said is true?”

Shock rippled through the room. Every face showed disbelief, horror, and confusion.

Taku was the strongest in the club—he had to be, or he wouldn’t be the captain.

In high school sports clubs, especially ones like kendō, hierarchy was built on skill, not politics.

If Taku had only average technique, he would’ve never secured the top spot.

And yet... he’d lost to someone who had never even held a shinai before.

It was like losing a 1v1 to a friend who’d never touched the game—using your own main to beat you.

Unless you’ve lived through that kind of ego death, you can’t understand the pain.

“Yes.”

Taku nodded.

Unbelievable as it was, the facts didn’t lie.

There really were geniuses in the world.

Talent was real.

Just like how no matter how hard you studied, some kids who spent all day playing around still scored higher than you.

“Kitahara-kun, would you be interested in becoming the new club captain?”

Takeru’s insane reflexes and impeccable control during the final strike made one thing clear to Taku—they weren’t even on the same level.

Someone like Takeru deserved to lead.

Everyone looked around awkwardly. It felt weird, but no one objected.

In Japan, there were only two ways to rise: outlast your senpai—or crush everyone with sheer power.

Strength commanded respect. It was practically encoded in the culture.

“Senpai, I’m not interested in being captain. Just want my name on the roster.”

Takeru hadn’t come to lead. He just needed a place to test his new skill.

Outside a kendō club—or a private dojo—there weren’t many places where swinging a sword was socially acceptable.

“I see.”

Taku looked genuinely disappointed.

He’d hoped Takeru would take over.

He was in his final year. Graduation wasn’t far off, and someone had to take the reins.

Rina’s eyes sparkled. Clearly thinking of something, she beamed.

“Kitahara-kun, can I enter your name into the Yūryūki Championship?”

Taku stiffened.

Right.

If he and Takeru teamed up, they’d dominate this year’s tournament.

The mention of “Yūryūki” made everyone’s eyes light up.

How could they have forgotten?

The Yūryūki was a national high school kendō tournament held every summer in Fukuoka by the Western Japan News.

No qualifiers. Over 500 teams clashing in a brutal elimination bracket. In the group rounds, top players could even 1v5 entire teams.

Other tournaments existed, but none were as famous as the Yūryūki.

To kendō students, it was the Kōshien of swordsmanship.

And in Japan, high-level kendō could open real doors—especially in the police force.

Most of the All-Japan Kendō Championship finalists came from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police or prefectural departments.

Takeru nodded seriously. “That’s why I came.”

He honestly didn’t want to compete.

Most tournaments happened on weekends—his precious rest days.

But he had made a promise to Ryūtō Momo.

He’d crush that arrogant police chief’s son properly.

That’s why he challenged Taku today.

If he’d just joined as a normal member, he’d never be picked for the tournament team.

You could hide your strength—but not everything.

Sometimes you had to show your value, or no one would know you mattered.

“To restore Seijo’s kendō club to glory—is my duty.”

Takeru’s answer made Taku grin from ear to ear.

This year’s Yūryūki? Locked in.

Not just him—the entire club started buzzing with anticipation.

They could see hope.

Taku glanced at the “honor wall.”

It was spotless. Pristine. As empty as Tottenham’s trophy case.

But this year… maybe they’d finally add something.

Takeru scrubbed himself raw in the club’s showers, shedding every trace of the reeking kendō uniform.

At the club entrance, Kamikawa Rie was scrolling on her phone to pass the time.

When he came out, she put it away. The two walked out of the school together and split up at the gate.

There were no plans today—Takeru was heading home to rest.

On the way, he found himself wandering into a nearby convenience store.

“Senpai!”

Takeru turned—Shirogane Kei.

“You’re here?” he asked, surprised.

“I was waiting for you.”

Kei bit her lip, clearly nervous.

“Senpai, you said… you’d help me find some translation work.”

“You finished the book I gave you?” he raised a brow.

“No, but I can study as I go.”

Takeru thought of Kei’s home situation and nodded.

“Alright. Come with me.”

“Thank you, senpai.”

She bowed.

They headed to the shopping street nearby to meet with a few shop owners he’d already contacted.

“If Kitahara-san recommends her, we’re willing to give it a try.”

Though the owners were skeptical of someone as young as Kei, they trusted Takeru’s word.

After all, he ran a convenience store like clockwork. Never any major issues, always polite, even helped their kids with homework.

He was well-liked.

“Thank you.”

Takeru thanked them with a polite bow, then handed over his class notes, saying they might help with their kids’ studies.

The shopkeepers lit up with smiles.

As they left, Kei looked up at Takeru with a hint of awe in her eyes.

She hadn’t expected him to have this much influence among adults.

Originally, they’d all turned her down.

But once he said he’d take responsibility—they all agreed immediately.

He’s really amazing…

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This is a fan translation of 不是说只拿我当替身的吗？by 雪碧加冰. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!