Chapter 10: A New Fat Target Has Emerged

Ding—snap!

A coin was flicked up into the air by a thumb, caught steadily as it fell, then tossed up again in a seamless rhythm.

Xano strolled leisurely through the twilight streets, the coin’s rise and fall gradually falling into step with his pace.

“Hm?”

He suddenly looked up.

Not far ahead, a huge pale pink banner hung above the city gate, boldly inscribed with the words: “The 25th Dojo Tournament of Sakura Island.”

To the left stood a public notice board, surrounded by a bustling crowd.

“Excuse me, thank you.”

With his powerful, muscular frame, Xano easily pushed through the throng and made his way to the board.

“You bastard—”

A few rough-looking youths, angered as they were pushed aside, turned to pick a fight, but upon seeing the broad, muscular back before them, they silently stepped back.

“A Kendo tournament? Anyone from a swordsmanship dojo can participate; the registration fee is 10,000 Berry, deadline tomorrow.”

“Advance to the semifinals and receive 1 million Berry; the champion gets 5 million Berry?”

Not bad rewards, Xano felt a flicker of temptation.

But his swordsmanship was truly disgraceful; better not embarrass himself by showing it off.

More importantly, he had to catch a ship to the Kingdom of Goya early tomorrow morning. Who knew how long the tournament would last? If it took a week or even half a month, he simply didn’t have the time.

Shaking his head, Xano was about to cross the suspension bridge and enter the city to find an inn for rest.

Suddenly, beside the city wall, he spotted a frail boy in a tattered kendo uniform, staring blankly up at the banner, clutching a bamboo sword tightly, his eyes dull and lifeless.

Now, he could return the coins to their rightful owner.

“Here, keep your money safe.”

Suddenly, something cold was pressed into the boy’s hand. The frail youth blinked in surprise and looked up at the burly man whose age was hard to gauge.

“Sir...?”

The boy opened his palm, still dazed. When he recognized the familiar coins, realization dawned, and he muttered, “Another scammer...?”

“You don’t seem surprised at all?” Xano raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s what surprises me.”

“Ah, I think I can guess what’s going on.”

The boy’s gaze remained fixed on his palm. “After all, this is my mother’s hometown. I lived here for a few years as a child. I’ve heard about those professional beggars and their tricks.”

“So why did you give him money?”

“...There are truly poor people out there. What if I could help one of them?”

“That’s admirable, but that old fellow was obviously off. You might want to work on your judgment.”

“...Yes, I haven’t been exposed much to the outside world growing up, my experience is a mess, my teacher said the same.”

“Teacher?”

Xano’s eyes landed on the boy’s bamboo sword, the handle wrapped in worn cloth, clearly well-used. “A kendo teacher?”

“Yeah. You probably haven’t heard of him.”

At the mention of this, the frail boy finally raised his head, his tone full of reverence:

“But Mr. Koshirou is an extraordinary swordsman! Being his disciple is the proudest thing in my life!”

Koshirou?

Xano paused. He had come just to return some coins, yet found an unexpected gain.

Could it be that good deeds really do bring rewards?

His interest piqued, he asked, “So you came here from the Isshin Dojo?”

“Eh! How did you know?” The boy’s eyes widened. “Have you been to Frostmoon Village too?”

“Not yet.”

Well then, that meant he’d have to rely on the boy to take him there.

Frostmoon Village was only a few years old, a secluded haven with a hint of a hidden paradise, far more remote than Cocoa West Village.

Few merchant ships passed by all year; without a boat of one’s own, it was difficult to get there.

Since this boy was Koshirou’s disciple and had come here, he must know a way back. Xano just had to follow.

This month-long seafaring trip was just an excuse to travel and gather resources.

If there was no chance, so be it, but with fate presenting such an opportunity, how could Xano, aka Liu Solon, let this plump little lamb slip away?

“I’d heard of Mr. Koshirou before, so I knew,” Xano said. “So you’re here representing Isshin Dojo in this year’s Kendo tournament?”

“No, no, I don’t have the ability to represent Mr. Koshirou,”

The boy hurriedly waved his hands, fearful of sullying Isshin Dojo’s reputation. “Besides, the Sakura Island Kendo tournament doesn’t accept registrations from outside disciples. Only dojos officially registered on the island qualify.”

“As for my other identity...”

Suddenly alert, he bowed deeply. “Ah! I haven’t introduced myself yet, how rude! My name is Junichi Sakuraba, current head of the Sakuraba Dojo here on the island.”

Dojo head?

Only now did Xano notice the faded family crest embroidered on Junichi’s kendo uniform sleeves and over his left chest.

Though worn and faded, it was still recognizable as a blooming cherry blossom.

“Xano,” he said, extending his hand gently. “Shall we talk somewhere else?”

…

Southwest of the city, inside a modest tavern.

“Two glasses of Binks’ Sake, please.”

“Four thousand Berry.”

Snap! Xano slapped two large bills on the counter with flair, grabbed the drinks, and settled into a corner.

He still had the 50,000 Berry given by Belmer untouched. Normally, half would have been spent on food and lodging aboard the Gat, but after that Near Sea King incident, he hadn’t spent a penny.

So he was rather flush.

“No, it’s not right—I’m only fifteen,” Junichi said hesitantly. He had never been inside a tavern before. “Being underage, it’s probably inappropriate...”

“No problem, it’s low alcohol,” Xano replied casually, his attention fixed on the elegant goblet in his hand. This was the first time he’d seen this famous drink.

Binks’ Sake wasn’t just a song; the drink itself was well-known in the East Sea.

A blend of rum, white wine, and orange juice in fixed proportions, it created a refreshing, popular flavor.

As for its strength, it hovered around ten percent alcohol—hardly enough to get drunk.

Is that so?

Junichi clumsily lifted the goblet with both hands, watching the liquid sway inside. Suddenly thirsty, he couldn’t resist and took a large gulp.

At that moment, Xano’s slow voice cut through the tavern:

“By the way, I’m thirteen—just a bit younger than you.”

Pfft—

The drink, still untasted, sprayed from Junichi’s mouth. Forgetting his embarrassment, he looked wide-eyed across the table at Xano.

Thirteen?

“What’s with the surprise?”

Xano sipped his sweet, icy drink, savoring the taste as it slid down his throat, eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

Such mischief—it was all the sailors’ fault, drunkenly pushing him into this vice that led him astray. Otherwise, he’d still be a teetotaler.

“Let’s talk about you.”

Setting down his glass, he looked at the still-shocked Junichi. “Let me guess... your family’s dojo has fallen on hard times?”

No need to guess.

That threadbare kendo uniform wasn’t a rich kid’s cosplay.

“Yes,” Junichi admitted sheepishly, lowering his head. “It’s embarrassing to say. My father was once the strongest swordsman on Sakura Island. The Sakuraba Dojo he founded was the most prestigious dojo on the island.”

“But... since he died five years ago, the dojo has been suppressed by other dojos in alliance. My senior students have left one after another, and in the end, even the dojo’s land was seized by creditors. If not for Master Koshirou taking me in, I’d probably have starved at sea by now.”