AN: "Y'all are reading, this I know / because my stats page tells me so!"

I think it's time this story had a few more reviews, don't you? :-)

Anyway, according to legend, for the Negima budokai, Ken Akamatsu rolled a bunch of dice to decide the matchups while his staff looked on in disbelief. I, um, just did it the old-fashioned way (i.e. coldblooded artifice).

(There only ended up being six "name" characters in the tournament, so I pulled two semihistorical figures from Yoshikawa's aforementioned novel to fill the roster. Who wants to bet they won't make it past the first round? :-) or maybe they will…)


7. Quarterfinals: Kaorin vs. Baiken

The sun dawned brilliant on the first day of Lord Magistrate Tanizaki's Daibudokai—"big fighting tournament." Kyoto's citizens were out in force. Although in high circles, Lord Tanizaki was criticized for her womanly excess and flippancy, the common people were quite fond of her largesse. The yearly celebrations at shrines were furnished with drums of sake courtesy of the Lord Magistrate; she herself took part in the Gion festival parades, assuming various disguises. Although the fighting tournament was meant for the participation of ronin and samurai, it served a purpose for others as well, entertaining them and providing an opportunity—like a festival—to come together and forget about daily cares.

The day before, the preliminaries had been fought in a dusty square in the artisan's district. The proceedings had taken from sunrise to sunset as groups of twenty men or more went at it, free-for-all, without rules or honor. It was a vicious, dirty business, and scores of ronin received serious injuries, some dying—but such were the matches that it became immediately obvious, in each group, which men were of skill. It sometimes happened that a promising fighter was brought down by a chance blow in the chaos, but more often a single man was able to fight off all the rabble in his group. Loud cheers greeted these exploits. At the end of the day, when the dust had cleared, eight victors presented themselves before the Lord Magistrate.

First was Shishido Baiken, a master who had traveled in from the provinces at word of the tournament. He was an uncouth, rumored to have been a bandit in his younger days, but now he was a feared and respected teacher of the sword, as well as new weapon—that he claimed, in fact, to have invented himself—called the kusarigama. This was a length of chain connecting a sickle, on one end, to an iron ball on the other, wielded so that it entangled an opponent's sword. In the preliminaries, Shishido had hung back so that he seemed a spectator; then when only several combatants remained, he moved in quickly and dispatched several with his sickle, trapped the sword of his final opponent and disarmed him.

Next was a ronin who had caused much excitement, known only by the name of Sakaki. She had hardly seemed to draw her sword—which was at any rate only a practice weapon—but all at once, as if blown by a powerful wind, more than five men at a time fell to the ground. Only one man managed to cross swords with her, and that only once; she struck his metal weapon at such an angle that it shattered. The crowd, on learning her name, had begun to chant it; seeming embarrassed, she left the arena quickly.

Another unknown ronin captured the next round. Fighting with two swords, a feat that required both incredible strength and presence of mind, she swept through the ranks of her opponents like a scythe mowing wheat, and the heavy bodies of men fell lightly. Several of them would not stand up again.

Kaori Sakamoto had faced some difficulty. Because of her fame, the other men in her round had turned on her as one, simply out of the desire to say they had defeated "that woman." They came at her in waves, but with the "unmovable sword" of the Kurosawa style she beat them back again and again, and one by one they fell. Finally in their desperation they began to turn on each other, and soon only Kaori was left standing.

A warrior monk of the Hozoin temple, Inshun, wielded a lance to victory in the next round. Then the new head of the Mizuhara school, Masaki Oyama, fought his way through one of the longest, most grueling rounds. Then came a strange spectacle.

Among the hardened, muscle-bound swordsman stood a pretty young woman wearing white robes, holding a short staff. Mistaking her for some sort of referee, the fighters avoided her at first. Only when a lance, wielded by one of then, accidentally seemed as if it would clip off her head, and in an instant she had leapt to the other side of the arena using one man's head as a stepping-stone, did they begin to realize the opponent they faced.

The fight was over within minutes. If the spectators had been pressed to describe what they had seen, they could only have said that the girl performed some sort of dance, and all the others fell down.

Finally came the infamous round that produced nine casualties. Disgusted at having to fight ronin and low-born brawlers, the scion of the House of Takino flailed about her with her nodachi, cutting them down without mercy. No rules had been specified, but some were still taken aback at this spectacle. The No-Thought style, as far is it could be gauged, contained no techniques for disarming or subduing opponents—every fight with a naked sword was a fight to the death. After the nine deaths, eight survivors were unanimous in surrendering to Tomonosuke.

The numerous wounded were carted off for treatment at several nearby temples; the victors were given the time and location of the first round of the tournament proper.


The fighting was to take place on the far bank of the Oi river. The foremost carpentry guild in the city, employed by the emperor himself, had constructed row on row of tiered wooden seats, so that even those in the backmost row could get a good view of the proceedings. The seats stood in three sections around the arena.

There was no partition between the fighting ground and the bright cobalt waters of the Oi, and a section of the ground was muddy, to give tactically-minded fighters the chance to work with their surroundings. The rest of the ground was flat and covered by short dead grass.

On one side was a station, manned by the Lord Magistrate's personal physician, with fresh linen bandages, clean water and small grains of opium to dull pain. On the other side, under a garish red sunshade, lounged the Lord Magistrate herself.

Two bodyguards armed with nagitana, and a third with a rifle, stood ready to protect Yukari should the combatants draw too near. Against their alert postures, she was stretched back in a chair made of rattan wood, dressed in her most fanciful kimono—red, covered with golden clouds and soaring gold dragons, a Chinese import. She held a fan in each hand and alternately cooled herself with one, then the other. The temperature had lifted slightly since the past week, even as winter drew nearer, but it was more out of boredom that she did so—she seemed impatient for the match to begin. Truth be told, it was whispered in some circles that, while Yukari had conceived her plan for the reasons she told Kurosawa, she also frankly enjoyed the spectacle of violence.

She turned and muttered something to one retainer; he answered stiffly.

The first challengers were preparing outside the low wall of the fighting ground. The one called Shishido Baiken, a man of monstrous size, sat with his back straight and his hands on his knees, completely motionless, breathing in and out. His breath rasped like grass that swayed in a summer breeze. His eyes were flat like stones. Every so often his body shook slightly, responding to some invisible signal.

Across the ground Kaori Sakamoto sipped tea brought to her by her attendants. While Baiken went bare-chested, wearing a torso-wrapping and a pair of leather leggings, Kaori was dressed in a white kimono with an inlaid pattern of cranes. Her posture on her camp stool was faultless. She shut her eyes as she sipped, then handed the empty cup to Chihiro.

"My thanks."

"Master…" said Chihiro.

Kaori smiled at her. "Yes?"

"Forgive me. But it's so dangerous. Look at that man!—He's an outlaw! I know your skill in unsurpassable, master, but accidents…"

"Chihiro, you shouldn't be concerned. After seeing so many strong fighters yesterday, I could hardly shame myself by withdrawing, now could I?"

With that Kaori stood. The head of the Kurosawa school was a small, elegantly slim young woman on whom the white kimono hung like the bark of an elm. Her hair was brushed and held in place with a pin, and while she would hardly have made up her face for a bout, its natural beauty shone through in every line.

Yesterday. Kaori had hardly imagined there could be so many fighters of superlative ability in Kyoto. And there had been one woman in particular who had caught her eye—but that fight had been over so quickly she could scarcely judge it. Still, the memory of that woman…the sweep of her tied-back hair as she swung her sword…

Now was hardly the time to be thinking of it, but she wanted to get a better look at that woman when time permitted.

Baiken had taken the field. He stood there, mercilessly stretching his arms as if he wanted to touch heaven.

Thick black hair covered his face. Behind, it was so thick that even tying it back had made little difference.

He grunted. "Eh—what's this? I'd heard Kaori-dono was a strong woman. Are you her little sister, come to apologize for her cowardice in forfeiting?"

Kaori didn't answer. She seemed wholly unconcerned with Baiken, as if she did not even recognize her opponent.

Her eyes squinted. It was past midday, and the sun was in the west, in front of her—it favored Baiken, and would continue to favor whoever entered from his side. The air was calm. The river was at low tide. The crowd had grown relatively quiet, leaning forward to get a good look at the combatants. All of this Kaori took in while Baiken taunted her.

Then he turned, shouting: "Oi, Taro! Throw it!"

A large piece of metal whirled through the air. The crowd gasped as Baiken caught it in one hand, keeping from injury even though it was an implement designed to kill in any number of ways.

Baiken held the kusarigama in both hands and took a stance. The sickle was held in front of him, lowered; he swung the ball behind his head. The droning sound filled the air. His face was hard and the muscles of his stomach were tight.

Kaori walked carelessly to the right, her sword sheathed. She might have been taking the air in her garden.

The Lord Magistrate's herald, a short man with a loud, strident voice, stepped forward to reiterate the tournament rules:

"Challenger Sakamoto-sama! Challenger Shishido-sama! A single match will now be fought! If there is no conclusion, a second match will then be fought. The purpose of the match is to score a technical victory; however I must state that if you should kill your opponent, you will not be charged with murder. Either of you may surrender at any time. As long as you two challengers, and you alone, fight, you cannot be penalized for the use of unorthodox tactics—but I suggest you weigh your honor, which is eternal, against ephemeral victory. May the gods favor who they will." He raised a paper fan and flourished it. "Now begin!"

Neither of the combatants seemed to take notice of this signal. For them, the battle had begun some time ago—or even before they had stepped onto the ground.


The crowd had surged forward when Kaori and Baiken appeared, and many, unsatisfied even with the tiered seats, had gotten to their feet—and so those seated behind them were forced to stand as well, and so on. In the seats facing the river, five rows back of the arena, a small girl strained frantically to see around the tall man in front of her.

"Excuse me…oh, please excuse me…!"

"Shishi-dono! Make dogmeat out of that little girl!" the man screamed.

Next to him, as if spurred to outdo him, a woman countered: "Miss Kaori, fight!"

Giving up, the girl fell back on her seat. She sighed.

The world was of full big people. They didn't look where they were going.

All at once the crowd cheered, and as she again tried to peer around the man, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She looked up to see the kind face of a servant-girl.

"Hey, there. My name is Aki. The master saw your predicament and invites you to sit with us, in the box. Isn't that nice?"

Set above even the highest row of seats was a canvas box where some honored guest, presumably a samurai of high rank, was seated.

The girl bowed. "Oh, that's very kind of you, ma'am, but I couldn't possibly—"

"Oh, don't stand on ceremony! The master herself was embarrassed to be put up there. Now come, come!"

Smiling, and booking no further protest, Aki took Chiyo by the hand and led her out of the press of the crowd—the spectators, marking the three-circle insignia of the Kurosawa school on her kimono, gave her space—and up the steps. They stood in the fresh cool air, against a clear sky.

Looking back, Chiyo caught her breath. Under the sun, the colors of the arena were as sharp as a painting, and the distant figures of the combatants like tiny dolls. She reflected that, to the gods, all human beings must look so.

From the box came the voice of an older woman:

"My, what a bright-looking girl! You must be a samurai's daughter. Won't you join us?"

Wearing a dignified kimono of a dark blue, Minamo Kurosawa sat with her former pupil's attendants.

Chiyo bowed.

"Why, you must be Kurosawa-sensei, Kairo-san's former teacher. This is truly an honor, ma'am!"

But the tone of her voice was more polite than overawed. As little as she cared for social distinction, Kurosawa was somewhat taken aback. Why was the girl so familiar? Her behavior was either errant rudeness from a person of low birth, or the utmost respect from a person of extremely high birth. Perhaps she was, after all, the daughter of some great lord; but in any case it was no business of Kurosawa's. Her smile returned.

"And I am honored by the company of such a well-spoken young lady. Again, won't you join us?"

"Yes, I suppose I can get a very good view from up here! Kurosawa-sensei, aren't you worried for Kaori-san?" said Chiyo as plopped into her seat.

Again, Kurosawa almost blushed at the girl's familiarity. It was strange, but at the same time rather charming.

Aki sat down on the other side of Chiyo. "I should hardly say so! Miss Kaori will dispose of that ruffian with little effort."

Kurosawa nodded. "I have the utmost faith in that girl. I taught her everything I have to teach—every exoteric secret, and all but the fourth esoteric secret, of the Kurosawa style. Most students never master the third esoteric secret, the Iron-Silk breathing method. And even Kaori proved unable to master the fourth, the Killing-Stroke Eye…"

Kurosawa shook her head, realizing such talk would only bore her new guest. However, Chiyo seemed intrigued, her big eyes shining.

"Kurosawa-sensei, you really are as strong as they say! I feel truly honored to have met you."

"Now, now!" For the first time in many years—at the least the first time in which her friend, Yukari, had not been involved—Kurosawa was genuinely embarrassed. She colored, and reached one hand behind her head. "How could you tell a thing like that just from sitting next to me?"

"It's in the way you speak, Kurosawa-sensei," said Chiyo solemnly. "If I were to learn swordsmanship, perhaps some day I, too, could speak like that…" Then very suddenly, as if springing a question she had wished to ask for years—although they had only met that moment—she went on: "Please tell me, is it true what they say, that good swordsmanship is the same as good character?"

Kurosawa shook her head. "I'm afraid it isn't, young miss. There have been many great swordsmen of terrible character. Though I do find that oftentimes, flaws of character do manifest as flaws of style…so perhaps it is true that a swordsman of bad character will inevitably lose to a swordsman of equal skill, who is of strong and upright character…"

"Sensei!" said another of Kaori's attendants—a girl who wore her hair in two braids—pulling on Kurosawa's sleeve. "Look, look, it's starting!"


After walking back and forth in front of Baiken for several minutes, Kaori returned to the edge of the arena.

Cries of dismay came from the stands. Lord Tanizaki, sitting up in her chair, called out: "Hey, what! Don't tell me it's over!"

"I knew it!" called Baiken's attendant Taro, from the sidelines. "She didn't have the guts after all."

Kaori was unmoved by these imprecations; she didn't seem to hear them. Walking up to the canvas wall, she carefully removed the short sword—her favored weapon—from her side and handed it across to her bewildered second.

"Chihiro-san. Would you take care of this for me? I think that this particular weapon is too heavy for this fight."

"Master…" whispered Chihiro.

Without doing anything further, Kaori began to walk unhurriedly back.

"God damn you! Making fun of me?" said Baiken. "I don't know what you think you're up to, but…"

"Shishido-san," said Kaori.

She held her body slightly at an angle, her eyes half-lidded to keep out the sun.

"Hnn?"

"Please come at me with all your power."

"Hmph."

The iron ball hummed like a cloud of locusts over Baiken's head.

Kaori removed a small fan from the breast of her kimono. At this final show of insolence, Baiken grunted and let the chain fly from his hand.

The ball hurtled across the fifteen paces dividing them, straight at Kaori's head. The crowd was fixed in an agony of disbelief. In a moment the head of the Kurosawa school, defenseless, would be brutally killed—it defied all sense.

The fan slid open with a slight flick of Kaori's wrist. The ball smashed against it and flew away, and it was all Baiken could do to recover it, pulling it back into its orbit. Kaori cut the air in front of her with the iron fan.

"Shishido-san. I regret to say that despite what you might have hoped, you will not be the champion of this tournament. Please accept my apologies that I must be the instrument of your defeat."


"A tessen!" said Chiyo, leaning out of her seat. "Incredible!"
Kurosawa could hardly keep from smiling a little. "The Kurosawa style is a state of body," she said. "One does not need a sword to practice it."

Howling with rage, Baiken let the ball of his kusarigama fly again and again, and each time Kaori repelled it with a smart stroke of her tessen—and each time she moved closer, her light feet flying over the ground. Baiken's precious trick—to entrap his opponent's sword and pull it away from them—was useless, but he still wielded two deadly weapons. As Kaori approached his fingers tightened on the kama, waiting for the opportunity to sink it into her neck.

To what can the Kurosawa style be compared? It was like a chaste maiden, brushing off the untoward advances of young suitors. Or again, it was like the son of a shrine keeper sweeping the grounds with a broom. Or again, it was like the sacred kagura dance. Or again, it was like rice harvesters as they move and duck their heads in time to a song.

She moved with a grace that belied her speed. Before Baiken realized she was inside his guard, and in a natural extension of her spinning movement she struck. He managed to catch the blow on the drawn length of chain—a crack—they separated.

Kaori's tessen was made of closely-linked iron bars that folded apart, just as those of a real fan. Before she had struck it collapsed into a single bar, and when she fell back it again sprang open.

Both combatants, and the crowd, were completely silent.

Then one eerie word began to drift through the air, as if from a supernatural source. Terrified spectators looked around; but it was only the Lord Magistrate herself, slowly and loudly chanting:

"Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!"


In the box, Kurosawa covered her face.

"Honestly, that woman…"


Kaori and Baiken had reversed positions, and the sun slanted over Kaori's short figure into Baiken's eyes. His face wrinkled, and he squinted. The chain whirled above his head. He stood his ground.

Kaori looked over the edge of the tessen.

"Kill! Kill! Ki-i-i-ill!"

Kaori took one step forward. Baiken remained standing firm, the chain swinging over him like a storm cloud gathering above a mountain. Kaori continued to advance. Then when she was within ten paces, his arm extended longer than most would have judged it could and Baiken struck.

The air filled with strands of Kaori's black hair. Baiken pulled back the hand holding the kama and swung the ball at her head with enough force to split it open.

The kama had sheared off two inches of Kaori's hair as she flinched to the right. In the same motion, she brought up the tessen and struck the ball, and it rebound and struck Baiken in the mouth.

To a man, the crowd was on its feet. The roar went up, drowning out the smaller, rather unpleasant sound that Baiken's jaw made as it cracked, and then the soft click of his teeth as he vomited them onto the ground. The physician and his attendants came running. Kaori stepped back.

The Lord Magistrate was on her feet, whooping incoherently.

"The winner is Sakomoto-sama!" announced the herald.

Folding her tessen, Kaori calmly walked back to the sidelines. Chihiro was waiting with a cup of water, which she accepted graciously.


AN: I think Baiken got lucky; historically, and in the novel, he didn't escape with his life.

Next up: Tomo vs. Oyama!