TACO Run

Chapter 14

Tamakawa struck first, fast and sharp, a strike at the head that Olberic blocked easily, practice sword held crosswise before him. Tamakawa blinked as he stepped back, waiting.

Olberic brought his hands and practice sword back in line with his body, thinking carefully. All three of the strikes he had been taught required that the left hand remain centered, and that the right hand guide the angle of the swing. At no point had any of the students moved their swords as he just had to block. It seemed, then, that with this type of sword, hard blocks were discouraged. Very well. Let us see how we are to do it, then.

Tamakawa was still waiting.

Olberic moved as he had been taught, raising the practice sword above his head in a smooth, relaxed manner, so that he could see his opponent beneath his left hand. And then brought it down in a swift, controlled arc, using his left hand as a fulcrum to give the blow a final sharp snap at the end. Had his opponent been Olberic's own height, the last hand-width of the split-reed weapon would have ended up at about the level of his chin. As it was, Tamakawa deflected the blow with his own sword, and the practice blade stopped perhaps a finger's-width above his left ear.

Olberic drew back, tilting his head in acknowledgement of his foe's skill. That form of deflection, moving the sword as little from the line of the body as possible… if such swords as they wielded here were two-edged, like those he was used to, it would be a gross waste of potential cutting power. Even with the sabers and cutlasses used by horsemen and pirates, the way the weapons were wielded was incompatible with that form of defense.

In a straightforward duel, with both opponents using the same type of weapon and following the same teachings, it would be an excellent method. Against untrained opponents, or those whose abilities were unknown, it would keep the sword between them and the wielder's most vital points, and again, act as an effective defense. Even against skilled opponents wielding heavier weapons, it would provide some protection if they faced one another squarely.

But if their opponent was wily, coming at them from an angle they did not expect, those defenses could be easily broken.

Tamakawa said something, large yellow eyes blinking politely, and Olberic nodded to indicate he was ready for another attempt.

They traded more blows, carefully at first, gauging each other's abilities and strength. The exchange helped settle Olberic, getting him used to moving as this new weapon's training-master had taught. Helped settle him further, as he saw that Tamakawa did not move like a Cait, fluid and flexible and never, ever where you expected them to be. No, he moved like a man, with the steps and gait and joints of a man who had been trained to the sword and taken it seriously, if not to the deadly end Olberic was used to.

The guardsman scored one touch off of Olberic, as he first tried to adjust to the more contained, linear defense he'd been shown, and his old reflexes conflicted with the new training. A sharp, stinging blow to the shoulder that would have been stopped easily by his brassards, had he still been wearing them. As it was, the blow had stung, but not enough to cause a veteran of many battles to drop his weapon.

Olberic scored no touches on Tamakawa. The guardsman was skilled with his chosen weapon, and Olberic a rank beginner, though his experience with other swords did give him some advantages.

After a few minutes of such byplay, Tamakawa held up one hand to halt their match, and tilted his head a little. Turning slightly away, he called out to the training-master, and once she had arrived, held a brief discussion with her.

Olberic took the opportunity to stretch a little, mentally going over what he'd seen of Tamakawa's strengths and weaknesses. He would have little recourse against Alfyn's axe, or H'aanit's bow, he decided. And were I to wield my own sword in the way I know best, I think I would have little to fear from him. In an honorable duel, however, a knife-wielder would need at least Primrose's level of skill to be a true threat to him… and a staff-wielder would need even more. A spear would allow better control of the range, but he is quick enough that deflecting a blow would allow him to move up inside the spear's reach, bypassing his opponent's defenses entirely.

The guardsman did have a Cait's dynamic vision, and though he was admirably focused, Olberic had caught his gaze following the arc of his sword's tip in the rising portion of a strike, rather than watching the movement of Olberic's hands or torso. That vision can be a weakness, as well as a strength. Just as wariness was a strength, until it denied one rest or the ability to trust.

"Ne, omae!" The training-master turned away from Tamakawa to smile up at Olberic with the kind of fire in her eyes he was used to seeing from Philip. Through tone and gesture and the motions of her wooden sword, she managed to convey that they were to continue sparring, but without Olberic limiting himself to the forms she had taught him.

"Are you certain?" Olberic frowned worriedly. "I had thought this was to be for practice in your methods."

She propped fists on her hips, expression one of mingled eagerness and frustration. With a sigh, she let her head drop briefly, and then turned back to face the rest of her class. Clapping her hands to get their attention, she waited for a moment and then started speaking, beckoning with one hand and pointing with the wooden sword in the other.

Dutifully, the rest of her students lined up in two loose rows, murmuring amongst themselves. When the training-master pointed at the floor with her sword and barked an order, they sat.

She turned back to Olberic, blue eyes sparkling with not just eager fire, but the mischief of an elder who'd outwitted an erring youth. Ironic, as Olberic was certain she was younger than either himself, or even Cyrus. She made a 'Well? Get on with it!' gesture, taking one step backwards, deliberately, to give him and Tamakawa more room.

Ah, Olberic thought wryly. So now we are to be an example, that her students might see how one of their own fares against a swordsman of a different stripe. Very well. Turning back to Tamakawa, he bent his head towards the guardsman in an acknowledging gesture, and then raised his split-reed sword to guard.

Kaname was an adult, and an accredited master of the Kamiya school of swordsmanship. But as she watched the foreigner ready himself to duel Tamakawa, a part of her was thirteen years old again, dancing in place as she watched her sister and future brother-in-law do a demonstration for their students.

This is going to be so cool!

She felt a little bit bad about tricking Tamakawa into being the guinea pig. She'd known the foreigner wouldn't be good enough with her style to be a challenge yet, no matter how quickly he picked it up. She'd also known that, that being the case, Tamakawa would want to experience an actual challenge, and thus propose letting the foreigner use his own preferred style.

If she'd proposed it herself, it would have been a bit mean. As it was, well… it was his own idea, so he couldn't blame her!

Tamakawa moved first. A near-perfect unvoiced men, that would've struck the foreigner's skull squarely if he'd let it.

It was batted aside as easily as an unwelcome pamphlet, and the shinai the foreigner was borrowing flicked back to end a hair's-breadth from Tamakawa's throat.

He's used to a two-edged sword, Kaname noted, seeing how he didn't twist the shinai on the return strike, meaning a cutting edge already faced its target. I'm not surprised. A lot of Western swords had two edges. But as the two of them briefly disengaged for another round, something about the way he'd stopped the blow made her think. Yes, a shinai was relatively light, compared to a metal sword, but that still took a lot of muscular control over a very short distance, risking hyperextension if he'd lacked the strength and joint stability for it.

Again, the foreigner waited for Tamakawa to make the first move. Which he did, with a two-step kote-men. But the foreigner didn't even blink, just caught the first blow on his shinai, let it skim down the side a hand-span or two, and then shoved it easily aside before snapping a disarming strike against the back of Tamakawa's wrists.

Literally disarming, Kaname realized as the cat-headed officer yelped and jumped back, rubbing his wrists as his discarded shinai clattered against the floor. He followed through on that one—if it had been live steel, Officer Tamakawa would be missing his hands. As it was, the policeman would have some colorful bruises later, and Kaname was absolutely certain that the foreigner had been holding back his strength quite a bit.

The foreigner bent to pick up Tamakawa's shinai, and offered it back to him hilt-first. Not gripping the bamboo blade tightly, as some might, but loosely between flattened fingers, so that if it had had an edge, he wouldn't have cut himself on it, with the base the blade balanced on the back of his other arm in a respectful gesture.

Shaking out his wrists, Tamakawa accepted the shinai back. This time, however, he faced the foreign swordsman more warily, and waved a hand in a polite version of the 'bring it' gesture Kaname sometimes used on her students, when they were unsure about making the first strike.

The foreigner gave Tamakawa a brief, considering look… and then a sharp nod.

Very well, if you insist, Kaname read from that, in the split-second before the foreigner moved.

Holy-! Four overhand strikes in less than two seconds, but it wasn't the speed that was startling, it was how each one carved away a portion of Tamakawa's defenses. The power behind the first blow was enough to knock Tamakawa's shinai out of line, the second enough to smash it from his hands entirely. The third would have cleaved his arm from his body about eight centimeters below the shoulder if it hadn't been pulled at the last second, and the final one would have split him open from crown to navel, if he hadn't halted it one bare centimeter above Tamakawa's head.

And the foreigner wasn't even breathing hard.

I am an accredited master of the Kamiya school, Kaname told herself firmly. I will not 'squee!'. "Officer Tamakawa? Are you alright?" she asked, tone even and patient as her student gathered himself, stepping out from under the foreigner's shinai even as he withdrew it.

"Yes, miss Kamiya." Yellow eyes were bright with interest, rather than fear, as he rubbed his sore arm. "You weren't kidding when you said he'd be a challenge. I'm pretty sure I can't win without him holding back."

"Probably not even if he is," Kaname admitted apologetically. "He's really good. I'm not sure I could beat him. Not by tournament rules." She wasn't afraid to admit that, not now that her class had gotten a brief glimpse of the foreigner's skill. As long as they didn't see him beat her, she wouldn't lose face through showing respect for his obvious abilities.

Tamakawa's ears flicked, as the rest of the class started murmuring behind her. "So are you saying we should throw tournament rules out the window?" he asked, obviously planning something.

Kaname let herself grin. "Only if you're willing to risk it!" she said, with maybe a little more vicious good cheer than was strictly necessary. Kamiya style wasn't really meant for tournaments anyway.

Whiskers twitched. "You know, I think I am." He bent to pick up his shinai, and turned to face the foreigner again, nodding respectfully.

The foreigner tilted his head in respect for Tamakawa's courage, and then set himself solidly, calling out something that was… well, it wasn't quite a taunt, but it was obviously meant to make Tamakawa bring the fight to him this time, instead of the other way around.

And Tamakawa did.

Tournament kendo didn't just have rules for how points were scored, and what strikes were allowed. Each match was short and extremely linear; you always came at your opponent from directly ahead. But the Kamiya school didn't teach kendo for tournaments. They taught it for self-respect, for self-discipline, and for protecting those you cared for when you were the only defense they had. And bad guys did not always come at you in a straight line.

So as the foreigner batted Tamakawa's first strike aside, Tamakawa moved with that deflection, ducking under the return swing and lashing out with his own shinai again.

The foreigner blinked with surprise, but blocked on sheer reflex, stopping Tamakawa's shinai easily even with only one hand on the hilt of his own.

Tamakawa didn't let up, taking a half-step back to disengage and then striking again, at the foreigner's wrist this time—ooh, that was clever, since most Western swords had larger guards than a shinai did. Too bad the foreigner was wise to it, and blocked with his blade instead of the guard.

The exchanges after that were quick and relatively one-sided, as Tamakawa probed the foreigner's defenses and was turned back time and again. The closest he got to making contact was with a botched attempt at a knee-strike, which whiffed entirely and gave the foreigner an opportunity to rap him gently on the top of the head with the butt of his shinai's hilt.

Gentle or not, Tamakawa's yellow eyes briefly crossed, and he stumbled back a few steps to get out of the foreigner's range for a moment.

The foreigner didn't give him long to recover. One solid step forward—solid was a good word for him—and he swept his shinai across in a level slash, the kind of sharp, hard motion that was meant to cut through bodies, plural, as it carved a path through the enemy. Tamakawa jumped back, shook his head once more, and then it was a game of cat-and-mouse across the training-room floor, with Tamakawa ironically playing the role of mouse. The foreigner stalked Tamakawa with a determined, lively light in his eyes, the closest Kaname had seen him come to a smile yet. Tamakawa, for his part, made good use of his agility to keep a bare half-step ahead, and managed to keep his shinai between himself and the foreigner for the most part.

Kaname almost interfered, but Tamakawa's movements weren't panicked or hampered by exhaustion yet, so she held herself back, held up one hand to calm the other students, and watched.

Frankly, she didn't blame Tamakawa for running. He might not have a Quirk, but the foreigner was a mountain. You moved, or you got flattened.

And boy, did Tamakawa move. She didn't think she'd gotten that level of agility out of him since the one time he'd visited the Kamiya Dojo out of uniform, and her nieces had been there to shriek over the 'big kitty man'.

But he couldn't run forever, and the big foreigner finally cornered him by the training-room doors, saying something in that deep, rich voice of his that managed to be confident, welcoming, and respectful all at once—and how did he do that when he didn't even speak Japanese? He held his sword out one-handed, standing side-on to Tamakawa, and the tip of his shinai wobbled back and forth as if he were a little tired…

No way! Kaname bit back a grin, watching Tamakawa's eyes follow the wavering sword-tip avidly, despite the way he obviously struggled to focus on the foreigner himself. That's my trick! Tamakawa's Quirk might stop with his head, but he did have cat eyes, and the subconscious tendency to focus on movement rather than detail that came with them. Most of the time, that was a good thing, especially when it let him react to his opponent's strikes more quickly, but Kaname had more than once pointed out to him that it could be a detriment too.

With a laser pointer.

Thankfully, Tamakawa had a decent sense of humor.

And also thankfully, he wasn't so tired that he didn't realize what was happening, because he refocused just as the foreigner struck with one of those nasty overhand blows, and managed to tumble forward beneath it, coming to his feet again and spinning around to face his opponent just as the foreigner turned too, and then stepping in deep and low for another knee-strike—

The door opened behind the foreigner almost in the same moment, and there was a sudden flare of something on his face, and the next thing Kaname knew Tamakawa was tumbling back end-over-end into the row of students behind her, his shinai clattering against the ceiling-beams, and the foreigner had just finished turning around with a powerful slash that would utterly decapitate whoever had come up behind him and oh shit that's the chief of police!

Kaname heard an entirely un-swordsman-like squeak make its way out of her throat into the sudden silence that followed, as she watched Chief Tsuragamae's beagle-ears flutter in the breeze of the strike that had somehow, somehow managed to halt a bare fraction before actually hitting him.

Oh, good, Kaname thought faintly. I don't have to explain to my students how I got their boss killed.

Naomasa heard himself making strangled noises as Olberic slowly withdrew a shinai from the right side of Chief Tsuragamae's neck. The Chief had finally read his report, and decided that he needed to meet Olberic himself properly, with Naomasa to act as go-between just in case having a dog's head unsettled the swordsman as much as having a cat's head did. A quick check with the officer in charge of the detention area let them know where Olberic had gone, and they'd made their way here.

The instant they'd opened the door to the physical training room, though, Naomasa had seen Sansa go tumbling back from a rising strike, his shinai smashed upwards out of his hands to bounce off of the twenty-foot ceiling even as Olberic spun to face them, turning the rising strike into a flat, horizontal slash that nearly took the Chief's head right off.

Naomasa wasn't the only one breathing hard. He heard a tiny squeak make its way out of miss Kamiya from further into the room, and he could see that, withdrawing or not, Olberic's shoulders were heaving from the sudden exertion.

The Chief seemed utterly unfazed by his brush with death, standing in a relaxed and formal pose, hands clasped loosely behind him. "Mister Eisenberg, I presume," he said mildly.

Olberic blinked and straightened, planting the tip of his shinai firmly against the floor and resting both hands atop its hilt solemnly. With a surprisingly genteel nod, he made a reply that sounded like agreement followed by a formal apology and some kind of question.

What I wouldn't give to have Kikuchi here now, Naomasa thought desperately, clearing his throat and stepping forward to explain as best he could. Not that he'd be all that useful in the midst of an anxiety attack, but at least he'd know what Olberic was saying… "Chief Tsuragamae, if I may? This is Sir Olberic Eisenberg, retired hero and temporary guest." He used yuusha instead of the English loanword hero, because regardless of his personal history, Olberic did not have a Quirk and, as far as their world was concerned, had never been a professional Hero. "Sir Olberic, this is Chief Tsuragamae Kenji, the Chief of Police here in Tokyo." Kikuchi had sent him a memo, referencing Olberic's preferred form of address. Or its Japanese equivalent, anyway.

Thankfully, even if the details were lost, Olberic seemed to get the gist—that Chief Tsuragamae was a person of high rank, who had to be treated respectfully. Not that Olberic had ever been less than respectful to anyone he'd met so far, but he tilted his head to Chief Tsuragamae in a kind of acknowledging gesture that Naomasa mentally translated as 'I recognize that you are in charge here even if you are not my personal superior'. Then he said something else, likely repeating his apology from earlier, based on his tone.

This time, Chief Tsuragamae didn't wait for Naomasa to speak. "There's no need to be hangdog about it. It was an understandable mistake," he said simply, which made Naomasa fight the urge to look at him askance, both for the awful pun and the fact that he hadn't been lying about how 'understandable' he thought it was. "And no harm was done. To myself at least. Officer Tamakawa, are you uninjured?"

"I'll live, sir," Sansa managed faintly, waving from where he still lay flat on his back among the other officers. "The room's just kind of spinny…"

"And you didn't even have to get drunk first," Master Kamiya put in brightly, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "That's one way to save your paycheck!"

"Miss Kamiya." The Chief gave her a respectful nod. "I trust you have an explanation for this turn of events?"

"Of course, sir," she said solemnly, every inch the mindful instructor. "And if you don't mind waiting just a moment while I get my class straightened out, I'll be happy to share it with you."

"Please, take your time."

Despite what the Chief had said, it took less than a minute for Master Kamiya to get her remaining students—which somehow included Olberic now—to resume practice matches on the far side of the training room, each pair taking a turn individually, rather than several pairs practicing at once. Sansa was checked over for signs of a concussion, but had apparently escaped serious injury despite his tumble, and would recover from his dizzy spell given a little more time.

After leaving Officer Chiba Kirino, one of her more experienced students, in charge of judging the matches, Master Kamiya jogged back over to them and bowed formally from the waist. "I'm very sorry for the danger you encountered sir, and accept full responsibility for the actions of my student."

That, if nothing else, seemed to surprise the Chief. "Your student."

"Temporarily," Master Kamiya said scrupulously. "And only as of an hour ago. But yes."

"Ah." Chief Tsuragamae accepted that, and gestured briefly at the nearby bench. "May I sit?"

"Please do, sir." Master Kamiya straightened, smiling cheekily up at him. "It's hard on my neck, otherwise!" She flicked a look at Naomasa when he suppressed a sigh. "You too, Detective. I think you need to hear this."

Naomasa's brows furrowed, but he obeyed.

Master Kamiya took a deep breath. "First off, I really am sorry about what you walked into. It was my choice to let him—you called him Olberic?—join my class, and my decision to let him and Officer Tamakawa spar, and I don't regret either choice. But I should have made sure that the area was secured beforehand, to prevent anything like that from happening. Especially since I knew how dangerous he could be."

"Oh?" Chief Tsuragamae gazed at her levelly, fingers laced together calmly in his lap. "And how dangerous do you believe Sir Olberic is?"

"He's a killer, sir," she said bluntly, fists propped on her hips.

"Excuse me?" Naomasa interjected, shocked. "And you thought letting him spar with your students was a good idea?" He'd known about Olberic's lethal abilities to some degree, but there was a difference between objective knowledge and hearing it from an expert.

"I said killer, not murderer, Detective," Master Kamiya said tartly. "You're police; you should know the difference."

Yes. Yes, Naomasa did. "I'm sorry. I still don't see why that makes the decision a good one." Even if they were using shinai.

Master Kamiya sighed, shifting her weight back onto her heels. "Mister Olberic is a killer, by which I mean he has killed. Probably a lot of people. Probably not always in self-defense. But that means that he knows he's dangerous. He knows he can hurt people badly if he's not careful, so he's very, very careful." A brief pause. "He's a killer, and I'd trust him more with live steel than I would most Heroes with their own Quirks. Sir." Her voice softened. "If circumstances were different, and he'd turned up on my dojo's front step, I'd have had him up in front of my class within an hour, as a visiting master."

"He's that good?" Chief Tsuragamae asked, tone thoughtful.

"Sir, I couldn't have stopped myself, if I'd swung at you like that," Master Kamiya said frankly. "I expected him to take your head off. With a shinai."

"Ah." The Chief nodded. "You're saying he's thoroughly housebroken, then."

Naomasa kept a straight face with difficulty.

Master Kamiya didn't bother trying, breaking down into temporary giggles that changed her briefly from a respected master of kendo to just a pretty woman a few years Naomasa's senior. "Yes sir," she said at last, once she'd gotten control of herself again. "That's exactly what I'm saying. And sir?" She grew solemn again. "If there's any way you can get him permission to carry a sword, you probably should."

"Why?" Naomasa frowned. "Not that I don't trust your judgement, Master Kamiya, but a special dispensation like that would be difficult, even if you do think he could be trusted with it."

"Because not having one is killing him," she replied, voice low and serious.

"Surely you exaggerate," Chief Tsuragamae said doubtfully.

"You didn't see the look on his face, when he first saw my students practicing," Kamiya said fervently. "It was hurting him. I don't think he even realized how much it was hurting him, to sit on the sidelines and watch someone else do what he wasn't allowed to. Maybe it won't kill him right away, but give it enough time and keeping him away from swords will crush his soul. Practicing with a shinai can only help so much." She nibbled her lip, and then sighed. "I need to get back to class; try to smooth over some of the shock and see if anyone else is willing to spar with him after that. Chiba might be; she's never had a problem with facing impossible odds…" Another sigh. "Just think about it, sir, please?"

"I will give the matter my full consideration," the Chief assured her solemnly. "Please, don't let us keep you from your students any longer."

A faint smile. "Thank you, sir." She moved off with the kind of brisk energy that belied their heavy conversation, calling out to her students and quickly rearranging the order of sparring matches.

"So." Chief Tsuragamae spoke up quietly after a moment. "Yuusha, hm?"

Naomasa winced. "It's… not entirely wrong, sir," he admitted. "I've read the transcripts of Kikuchi's sessions with him. He is a hero. Or was."

"Oh?"

"Yes, sir. I'll have a copy on your desk later today, but for now—" Naomasa took a deep breath, hands braced on his knees. "Sir, from the stories Kikuchi's pulled out of him, he was one of the two greatest swordsmen in his world. He was so famous that everyone knew his name, even if they didn't know him on sight. He even had an epithet, The Unbending Blade. He mentioned that when he retired, he took up a pseudonym for a while to avoid drawing attention. Reading between the lines, sir… he was the closest thing their world had to All Might. Capable of, on at least one occasion, holding a pass against a hundred-man army single handedly."

The Chief's expression didn't change, but he looked over at the big man gently sending Officer Chiba tumbling to the mat, before she popped up again unharmed, blonde tail of hair bouncing. "Quirkless," he said quietly, as if needing confirmation.

"Yes sir." That had staggered him too. Objectively, he knew that most of human history had been spent without Quirks. But subjectively, he'd grown up in the Quirk Era, taking the idea that most of the population had them for granted. That anyone of sufficiently impressive ability had a Quirk to explain it. "According to him, no one in his world has Quirks. He seemed confused by the concept."

"I see." Chief Tsuragamae rose to his feet. "Well, I'd say you've made the right calls so far, Detective. We can't have a man as dangerous as that roaming the streets unsupervised."

"Sir?" Naomasa stood too, and moved to hold the door for him.

"Kikuchi has a cousin in the local Immigration office, doesn't he? Ask him if he can try to expedite the paperwork for your charge. You'll be responsible for making sure that mister Eisenberg doesn't get into too much trouble in the meantime. He'll need to be under police supervision, or at least on affiliated property, at all times."

"Yes, sir." Naomasa hid a sigh. He'd expected as much. "Sir, about his living arrangements—"

"Yes, it won't do to have him living in the office. And he hasn't done anything to deserve being in the doghouse." Chief Tsuragamae's expression didn't change despite the awful pun. "Once Kikuchi's program is working reliably enough, you'll have to find him somewhere else to stay."

"Yes, sir." Great. Another expense to explain to Accounting. "Sir, what am I supposed to do about my cases?" Most of it was deskwork, but he did have to go out and interview people sometimes. And the Villain Factory case was almost at a breakthrough—a few days, maybe a week or so, and they'd be ready for a raid on one of the facilities they suspected was a front.

"Hm, yes, those are important. Far more so than one man, however dangerous." Chief Tsuragamae considered for a moment. "I would say treat him as a civilian observer. He already has access to most unrestricted areas of the department; so the change won't be too great. He isn't to be directly involved in any of your cases, or given access to anything he shouldn't, but you don't have to make an active effort to lock him out of the loop. At least, not any more than your sister."

"Makoto…" Naomasa sighed. His sister was far too canny for her own good. But she did know how to keep her mouth shut, when it was important. "Yes, sir. Is there anything else, sir?"

"No, I don't believe so." Chief Tsuragamae gave him a farewell nod. "Good day, Detective, and keep up the good work."

Naomasa bowed. "Yes, sir!"

A/N: 'Ne' is a kind of nebulous word, meaning anything from 'hey!' to 'you know?' The three primary strikes of kendo are 'men' (head), 'kote' (wrist/forearm) and 'dou/tou' (body). In tournaments, and for most schools, in practice, you are supposed to call out what strike you're doing as you do it. The Kamiya school practices unvoiced strikes, because they rarely participate in tournaments, and replace the 'dou/tou' strike with 'sakotsu' (collarbone). Also, what Olberic says to Tamakawa during the freeform portion of their spar? "Come, if you dare!" and "Watch my blade dance…", two of his common lines of challenge from the Octopath Traveler game. Japanese has a few words that could translate to 'hero', but MHA uses the transliterated 'Hero/Hiiro' for the formal occupation and title, and 'eiyu/yuusha' for the basic concept of a 'great man/hero' in the general lowercase sense.