Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 210: Boy in the Thorns (13)

Dragon Raja 3

“Principal, after all these years, your view hasn’t changed. To you, the Yamata no Orochi are just a bunch of self-righteous thugs, not to be compared with the noble Secret Party. The Dragon Kings we can’t kill, you can. The crises we can’t solve, you can. So, you stand above us forever, and we are to bow our heads in submission!” Inuyama’s expression was stoic. “But I’m sorry, we can’t do as you wish. This is Japan—our country, our home. We don’t need outsiders interfering! What you want is something we’ve safeguarded for generations, and we will not hand it over!”

“Oh, now you’re talking about national pride and noble causes. So righteous and impassioned. For a second, I thought I was speaking to Yukio Mishima,” Anjou clapped sarcastically. (Author’s note: Yukio Mishima was a famous Japanese writer, alongside Nobel laureates like Kawabata Yasunari and Ōe Kenzaburō. He was also a radical right-wing activist who promoted imperialist ideals. In post-war Japan, he organized a private militia and attempted to stage a coup, ultimately committing seppuku after his plan failed. Anjou is mocking Inuyama’s patriotic outburst, comparing him to Mishima’s impulsive rhetoric.)

“Principal, must we truly be pushed to a fight to the death?” Inuyama’s voice was slow and deliberate, each word carefully chosen.

Anjou shook his head. “Katsu, all these years, have you always felt like you’ve been trapped in a net that I set up? So, now this old fish is fighting tooth and nail to break free from that net.”

“Principal! Our patience has its limits!” Inuyama’s hair and beard bristled with rage, his eyes glaring with the fury of a wrathful deity. “Don’t push us any further—we have no retreat!”

Anjou scratched his temple. “You know my student Caesar, right?”

“The heir to the Gattuso family, of course I know him,” Inuyama answered, confused by the sudden shift.

“I saw the students talking about how he has something called ‘Chuunibyou.’ At first, I thought it was a real illness, so I looked it up online. Turns out it’s a Japanese term. It refers to middle-schoolers who suddenly think they’re very important. At that age, they start thinking they’ve grown up, that they’re completely different from who they used to be. They start smoking, listening to heavy metal, critiquing ramen like food critics. They think they’re adults, more worldly than actual adults. They believe the world is filthy, that all the girls in their class have slept around, and that they can accomplish anything if they set their mind to it. They fantasize about stealing a motorcycle and driving a beautiful girl to the beach but never actually follow through…”

Inuyama’s brows furrowed deeply, his face full of confusion.

“But I don’t think Caesar is a typical case of Chuunibyou. He’s just a little full of himself,” Anjou continued. “A true Chuunibyou sees themselves as utterly unique. They love saying things like ‘I have no way out,’ without ever really understanding what having no retreat actually means. Since it’s been a while since their father spanked them, they stew in their mind, thinking, ‘If that man ever spanks me again, I’ll hit him back even harder…’”

Inuyama finally understood. With each word from Anjou, his face grew more contorted with rage. His skin twitched, his pupils dilating with a fierce golden hue.

“They talk about how all friends are fake, even though they’ve never been betrayed. They scoff at adult responsibilities, even though they’ve never faced real pressure. They claim that gods are false and that only darkness is the eternal truth, even though they know nothing of religion…” Anjou went on, his tone full of scorn.

Anjou, usually poised and elegant, even when drawing his blade, was now relentlessly mocking Inuyama, stabbing at his heart with the sharpest, cruelest words.

“Katsu!” Anjou suddenly roared.

The shout was deafening, like a lion’s roar in the small room, followed by absolute silence.

“Back in 1946, you were a Chūnibyō teenager, and 65 years later, you’re still stuck in the second year of middle school.” Anjou slowly rolled up his sleeves, revealing a tiger’s head tattoo on his left wrist and the fierce face of a Yasha demon on his right, inked in deep indigo and cinnabar. Compared to this, Inuyama’s tattoos looked like children’s doodles. No one would have guessed that an old gentleman, a Cambridge graduate, would bear the highest-ranking tattoos of the Japanese underworld: the tiger and the Yasha.

“It’s time for a lesson.” Anjou said coldly.

Chisei flipped through the thick dossier, imagining the life of this man named Hilbert Ron Anjou. He felt a mixture of admiration and bewilderment. The cigarette between his fingers had burned into a long ash, which he had forgotten to take a puff from.

That man aged far slower than others, almost as if his Yanling “Time Zero” had weakened the effects of time on him. His youth spanned from the late 19th century to the first half of the 20th century. His middle age stretched through the long mid-20th century, and only after 1970 did he start looking like an old man. His first photo was taken in 1896 when he left Harrogate for London. In the picture, he wasn’t very tall, had soft bangs, and looked like an alert little cat being gripped by a stout bishop. In his Cambridge days, he was a completely different person: impeccably dressed in an academic gown, with shiny black shoes contrasting sharply with his white socks. He posed for a photo with female students in sun hats in front of the Bridge of Sighs, wearing a tall top hat. During his service in the U.S. Navy, he was striking in a white naval officer’s uniform, handsome and upright, with his white cap and the symbol of command—a riding crop—tucked under his arm. Post-WWII, he transformed again into a genteel old aristocrat, dressed in tailored striped suits, a white handkerchief or red rose in his pocket, attending various social events, smiling with politicians, heirs, and philanthropists, all while holding a champagne glass.

He silently drifted through the currents of time, playing countless roles, watching those who had fought beside him or shared drinks with him quietly die, while he carried on, unburdened and alone.

It was hard to imagine anyone enduring such long years of solitude, to the point where even death was no longer feared. Perhaps the doctors were right—what kept him alive was a single belief… vengeance!

As Chisei turned to a particular page, he froze. His hand stopped, and the long cigarette ash fell directly into his miso soup. The photo on this page was taken in 1948 at a kendo dojo in Tokyo. The man, dressed in a suit and shirt, held a wooden sword in each hand, standing still. Surrounding him were men in full armor, each holding a wooden sword. Even from their backs frozen in the photograph, one could sense the man’s agility. His muscles were brimming with power, channeling energy like flowing water into the sword.

This was a one-against-ten trial, captured in the moment before the man launched his attack. In some martial arts schools, disciples undergo a one-against-many trial during their evaluation, and the opponents are usually skilled members of the same school. Those who pass the trial are awarded the highest title in kendo, “Menkyō Kaiden.” Historically, over half the men who earned this title were known as “Kensei” (Sword Saints) or “Kenhō” (Sword Heroes). Chisei himself was a Menkyō Kaiden of the Kyoshin Meichi-ryu school, a prestigious school in Japan’s kendo history. But even Kyoshin Meichi-ryu only conducted one-against-seven trials. What kind of school would hold a one-against-ten trial for its students?

The caption below the photo explained: in 1948, Hilbert Ron Anjou, a disciple of Niten Ichi-ryu, passed the “Ten-Round Trial” and received the Menkyō Kaiden certificate.