This system spoils its host far too much.

As Yokoyama Kenichiro roared, the atmosphere began to spiral out of control.

All thirty-odd pairs of eyes converged on the same point.

Sandwiched between the two men, Suzune Sakura subtly tugged at Matsudaira Shimizu’s palm, signaling for him to hold his tongue.

But Matsudaira Shimizu paid her no mind, keeping his gaze fixed on Yokoyama Kenichiro. After a moment, he sighed lightly and delivered that classic, biting line from Soseki Natsume:

“The face before me is like unsold stock from the nineteenth century—left over and devalued in the twentieth…”

Yokoyama Kenichiro was stunned for several seconds before he registered the insult.

Such venom! he seethed inwardly. Oh, Amaterasu above, could you not strike down all these handsome men at once?

Having crossed into personal attacks, it was clear that this confrontation would not end peacefully. Staring at Matsudaira Shimizu, Yokoyama Kenichiro’s lips quivered. “You… you… I—”

Perhaps from sheer anger, his voice caught in his throat.

The other kendo club members remained silent, finding it hard to believe that this gentle, distant-looking freshman could stand up so forcefully to a senior. Some of the boys even thought his attitude completely disrespectful. Sure, the upperclassman was being a bit overbearing, but he only meant to offer some guidance, not actually beat him up. If you refused the senior’s goodwill, so be it—but how could you hurl insults in return?

Noticing all eyes on him—some surprised, some confused, some openly hostile—Matsudaira Shimizu quickly pieced things together. In Japan, deference to seniority is deeply ingrained. Whether in the workplace or at school, everyone abides by this code: a senior’s demands, even if excessive, are to be endured, and to offend them is to be branded socially inept.

Right now, Matsudaira Shimizu was the very picture of social ineptitude.

“You… you… hmph!” Yokoyama Kenichiro finally managed to spit out, “If you’re a man, stop hiding behind a woman—come face me in a match!”

“Oh no, please, don’t—” Suzune Sakura continued her melodramatic act.

The kendo club members all turned to Matsudaira Shimizu, curious to see what he would do. If he accepted, he’d get a beating from Yokoyama Kenichiro. If he refused, word would spread, and he’d be marked a coward for good.

Truth be told, Matsudaira Shimizu was tempted. After all, his soul was Chinese—he’d always had a secret fondness for blades and swords. Unfortunately, he lacked the strength and knew nothing of swordsmanship. All he could do now was rely on his [Leader] tag to give those present a taste of some Germanic awe.

“What’s going on here?!”

Suddenly, a crisp, commanding voice shattered the tense atmosphere.

Everyone turned to look.

A tall girl entered, dressed in the traditional white jacket and black trousers of kendo. Her face was delicate, framed by a high ponytail tied with a white band, her slender lips glistening faintly. She stood about 165 centimeters, slim and well-proportioned, her skin a warm, healthy tone. She gripped a bamboo sword in one hand, her gaze sweeping over the kendo club.

Her eyes were sharp, her bearing fierce, and her presence so imposing that everyone instinctively bowed their heads.

Matsudaira Shimizu recognized her. She was his best friend’s older sister, Fumino Murakami—a woman with an artistic heart who had somehow ended up as the captain of the kendo club.

Fumino Murakami had met Matsudaira Shimizu several times and thought well of him. After hearing her brother’s account that afternoon, she’d made a note of it, and hadn’t expected trouble to break out right after school. She had been in the club advisor’s office applying for funding when she learned of the incident and hurried back immediately.

“Are you alright?” Fumino Murakami asked as she approached Matsudaira Shimizu.

“I’m fine,” he replied, shaking his head. “I only exchanged a few words while standing here—nothing even happened.”

“Good,” she said, relieved. She glanced at Suzune Sakura, her eyes expressionless.

Suzune Sakura, unsettled by the look, instinctively shrank behind Matsudaira Shimizu.

Without pausing, Fumino Murakami turned her attention to Yokoyama Kenichiro and demanded coldly, “Yokoyama, what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Yokoyama Kenichiro, who had just been posturing as the big boss, immediately tucked his tail between his legs and replied politely, “It’s nothing, all a misunderstanding. I just wanted to spar with Matsudaira, no ill intentions whatsoever…”

“A third-year picking a match with a freshman—how shameless!”

Yokoyama Kenichiro dared not speak another word.

The rest of the kendo club, seeing this display, knew the show was over for today.

Fumino Murakami sternly rebuked Yokoyama Kenichiro, then turned to Matsudaira Shimizu. “Sorry you had to see this. It’s a failure of our club’s discipline. I’ll make sure to straighten them out. You should head home for now—I’ll have them come to your club next Monday and apologize in person.”

“You’re too kind, Murakami-senpai,” Matsudaira Shimizu replied. He felt a pang of regret at his lack of kendo skills, but could only let the matter drop.

Just as he was about to turn and leave—

[ding]

A system notification popped up.

[Detected host’s emotional state]
[Current desire: to fulfill your dream of becoming a swordsman]
[Mission automatically matched]

“Ask and you shall receive—this system really does spoil its host…” Matsudaira Shimizu thought, delighted.

[After school on campus, you step into the kendo club. Watching the boys practicing with sweat and spirit, you, who yearn for vigor and a healthy body, suddenly wish to become like them…]

[Mission: Engage in a kendo match with Yokoyama Kenichiro]
[Reward: Common tag: Kendo Expert]
[Note: Due to the significant disparity in strength, the tag ‘Kendo Expert’ has been temporarily extracted from Yokoyama Kenichiro for your use.]

As the mission appeared, Matsudaira Shimizu’s tag list gained a new entry: [Kendo Expert (Limited Time)].

To make the tag permanent, he would have to defeat Yokoyama Kenichiro.

The problem was, since the tag was copied from Yokoyama Kenichiro, it meant his opponent genuinely possessed that level of skill. Though Matsudaira Shimizu now had the same ability, he was still at a disadvantage in terms of experience and strength. Even with equal skills, he was unlikely to win.

Should he give up?

He rather coveted the [Kendo Expert] tag. As the only man in the Matsudaira family, responsible for protecting his mother and sister, he felt he ought to possess some martial ability. He might not need to use it—but he couldn’t afford to be without it.

Now that the opportunity had arisen, to give up without trying would be a shame.

But how could he win?

In the span of a few seconds, countless thoughts raced through Matsudaira Shimizu’s mind. After weighing their respective strengths and mindsets, he decided to give it a shot!

“But, Murakami-senpai…”

“Yes?” Fumino Murakami looked at him, puzzled. Was there more to come?

All eyes in the club snapped back to Matsudaira Shimizu.

With the attention of over thirty people, Matsudaira Shimizu’s heart pounded and his ears rang, but he clenched his fists, his voice calm yet resolute. “I’d actually like to have a match with Yokoyama-senpai.”

Silence fell over the room.

Many regarded him as if he were mad. Someone had offered him a way out, and instead of taking it, he insisted on marching up to disgrace himself?

Even Yokoyama Kenichiro was stunned.

“Shimizu, this isn’t a game,” Fumino Murakami said, her brow furrowing.

Even with bamboo swords and protective gear, if the opponent wanted to teach him a lesson, it would be all too easy.

“Thank you for your concern, senpai. I know what I’m doing. Please, could I borrow a set of armor?”