"I'll beat you this time, Master!"
"Easy, Takeo. Overconfidence leads to mistakes."
"Swordsmen, face each other."
The teenage boy and older man both place on their helmets and stand several feet apart, their sabers out and at the ready.
"En garde."
The two flex their sword arms in response.
"Pret."
The combatants gently touch blades, resulting in a slight ring.
"… Allez!"
Takeo advanced forward with his saber, aiming for a quick lunge. The master easily redirected it with a beat parry and stabbed at him. Takeo, realizing it, sidesteps, and beats the saber aside to allow another lunge. The other blocked with a seconde, and scored a hit against Takeo with a cut.
"Point to Masters," the referee says.
"I warned you," the older man says, removing his helmet. "You're letting the advanced skills go to your head, Takeo. Don't just start with an attack, think of possibilities that will allow you to expose you enemy's guard, and move for the strike."
The latter grunted in response, obviously annoyed by how fast the round ended.
"Jacob, begin the drill exercises. I want to speak with Takeo. Privately."
"Got it James," the referee replied. He stepped off the sparring platform and barks out to the students watching, "Everyone up! Get with your partner for the drills! When I call out the sequence, name the techniques used for that sequence when performing it!"
"Yes sir," everyone replied. Takeo and James, however, went into one of the back rooms of the building, which served as a business office for the school. In it were several posters, showing famous fencers and swordsmen of antiquity; everyone from Lucien Gaudin and George S. Patton to Pavel Kolobkov and Sada Jacobson. Three swords also rested on a case behind the office desk; an Afghan pulwar, a Patton Sabre, and a modern foil. Takeo caught sight of a helmet of some sort, definitely not a fencing one, but his line of sight was blocked by James stepping in the way.
"Takeo, I'm not the prying type, but you seem troubled."
"… It's nothing, sir."
"That isn't going to cut it, boy, now speak you mind!"
"… I've… been under fire from my school. It involves you."
"Oh? I assume it involves the Kendo Club," James infers, a twinkle in his eye.
Takeo's jaw dropped. "How did-"
"I, too, am under constant barrages about the fencing school. Many free schools here in Japan only practice Kenjitsu or Kendo. They weren't too happy about a French-styled fencing school being in the area." He sets his helmet on the desk and leans against it, his fighting saber resting within his arms. "For all I care, they can complain to the UN itself, but I'm not budging a single inch. You never persecute somebody for their interests, Takeo. Machiavelli the Advisor had taught us that it is better to be feared then loved. But there is a very distinct line between being feared, and being hated. This is a case of the latter."
"But why hate? I see no connection."
"Takeo, I'm a Chinese-American who just recently gained citizenship in Japan and operates a French-based fencing school. How many more lines do I need to draw for you?"
Takeo paused for a moment, considering all that James has said. "…Alright. I think I understand."
"The members of your school's Kendo club have every right to express their opinions. But, should they ever attempt to insult you honor, defend it with all that you have, and, if you want, insult theirs. An enraged opponent-"
"-is no better than an inexperienced one," Takeo completes.
"Alright, go on ahead and rejoin with Akira. I know about the two of you having a loose exchange."
Takeo gulped at hearing the last two words and left the office, now seeing the helmet behind James. "Hey is that-"
"A NerveGear? Yes, but it is not for you. Now, RETIRÉ, RETIRÉ," he barks at the boy, ushering him out. He pauses for a moment, looking at the helmet, before shutting off the lights and closing the door.