Chapter 8
The general impression of the district called Ginza is that it is “a well-segregated area.”
During the postwar reconstruction, Ginza saw a remarkable rise in shops and street stalls, and it came to be considered a symbolic place of postwar recovery. But… it was around that time that the world was faced with the common mystery and threat known as “dungeons.”
And the place where the dungeon first appeared was Ginza. From that moment on, this area became sharply divided between “those who challenge the dungeon” and “those who try to reclaim their everyday lives.”
Thus, the district is now clearly divided into three sections:
- The high-end commercial district,
- The explorer-priority district, for those who challenge the dungeon, and
- The district for those aiming to become explorers, which is neither of the above.
Today, the place I’m heading to is that “district for those aiming to become explorers,” commonly known as the Transit District.
As the name suggests, this district lies between the ordinary Ginza—called the “General District”—and the “Explorer-Priority District,” which is reserved for people involved with dungeon matters.
Entry into the Explorer-Priority District is restricted; you need an explorer license to enter, mainly to prevent trouble. But people who want to become explorers still need a place to buy equipment and train. That is why the “Transit District,” the in-between area, was created.
“Alright, I’m heading to the Transit District, so this is where we part ways, Onee-san.”
“Don’t say it like that—your big sister gets lonely easily, so I’ll walk with you part of the way!”
“Aren’t you going to buy pajamas and stuff first in the General District?”
“I’ll get those on the way home with some side dishes. I want to watch a bit of the training facility’s tournament.”
“Honestly, I don’t plan to hold back, so it might not be fun to watch.”
I won’t hold back anymore, nor hide my true ability.
Of course, I won’t be using weapons—only unarmed combat. But even then, I intend to go all-out.
My unarmed combat skills still can’t reach Onee-san’s level.
That’s why I want to accumulate as much experience as I can.
Even if it ends up being something like “hunting weaker opponents,” the [10× Experience Gain] effect will still let me build up a ton of experience in performing “difficult techniques against human opponents.”
So I will fight. Throughout this summer vacation, as much as possible, in the training facilities of this Transit District—
“Registration complete. Higashiyama-san, you’re in Block C, first match. Your fight starts immediately on Court 3, so please hurry. All equipment used must be rented from our facility, so please fill out the required gear on this form.”
Although the training facility is, as the name implies, a place meant for training, explorers actually rarely use it.
Why? Because if you already have a license, it’s better to train in the lower floors of the dungeon—
you don’t pay facility fees, and you can earn money from monster drops.
Thus, the main users of this facility are students and working adults who aim to become explorers.
Of course, there are exceptions: famous explorer clans or club-type groups may rent the place for practical examinations when recruiting new members.
“Alright, looks like you’re in the very first match—let’s get going.”
“Onee-san might head to the dungeon after watching just the first fight. I think all your matches will end the same way. Akira isn’t planning to hold back, and most participants don’t have licenses and are level 1. Putting a level-17 Akira among them? There’s no way a real match can happen.”
“You can’t level up unless you go into the dungeon, after all. I’m sure a few licensed explorers are mixed into the tournament, though.”
“Akira, you’re still a student who can’t enter the dungeon yet, so you can’t look into these things deeply. But once you become an explorer, some people will start probing your level. Just keep that in mind—and go wild.”
As we walk toward the court, I listen to Onee-san’s advice.
That’s right—there’s no need to check anything. All unlicensed students are supposed to be level 1.
Rarely, a prodigy gets a license early at the start of high school and levels up while still a student, but even then—none could reach my level.
The age requirement is 15, after all.
Wait… then how was Onee-san with me when I was eight years old? That’s strange.
Should I ask her about it someday?
Or… would that force her to recall something painful?
No, I shouldn’t force it.
When I arrive at the court where my match will be held, it’s not full, but there’s a decent crowd gathered around.
A summer vacation league tournament isn’t anything special, and other courts are also about to start matches, yet… for some reason, only my court seems unusually packed. Why?
“Akiraaa, looks like your opponent is kind of famous.”
“Oh, really? …Well, it doesn’t change what I do.”
Looking across the field, I see—ah, I see. Maybe she’s famous for her looks? A beautifully composed woman stands gracefully.
Her weapon—judging by the distance—seems to be a blade of some sort.
Long, beautiful black hair and a sword… she certainly cuts an impressive figure.
“Hello. I look forward to our match.”
From across the field, the woman calls out to me.
She must be polite—to greet an opponent she’s about to fight.
I look toward her, give a small bow, and—
“Hello. I look forward to it as well.”
I return the greeting.
“Now starting Block C, Match 1, Round 3!”
As the announcement rings out, I feel a sudden shift in the air around the woman in front of me.
Her dignified stillness transforms into something like a dangerous aura—“a sharpness that harms anything that gets too close.”
Even from a distance, I sense clear hostility—or no, the presence of her blade.
I see—it’s not her appearance she’s famous for, but her skill. I can tell from her overwhelming presence.
“Match between Souryuuji Misaki and Higashiyama Akira. Prepare yourselves.”
No weapon. My only weapon is the invisible defensive field covering my body through my armor.
There are knuckles and gauntlets designed for unarmed fighters, but right now, I want to let my bare hands grow accustomed to the sensation of executing techniques—of attacking.
I lightly opened both my palms, taking a stance that was more defensive than offensive, and waited for the signal to start the match.
“Are you not using a weapon?”
“Yes, I’ll be fighting barehanded.”
“I see. Then I won’t be holding back on my side, either.”
The woman—Souryuuji, with the unusually cool family name—placed her hand on her sword and lowered her stance.
It was obviously a drawing stance, and it was easy to imagine that she would charge straight at me the moment the match began.
But the fact that she dared to take such an easily readable stance meant she had absolute confidence—trust in her technique strong enough to justify it. I raised my guard.
“Match, begin!”
In that instant, Souryuuji’s figure vanished, and before I realized it she was already right in front of me, about to bring her blade down.
An incredible speed. A flowing draw. She was clearly not an amateur—not someone who had never set foot in a dungeon.
My instincts screamed that the strike would hit me, and as that warning shot through my mind, I brought my right-hand knife-hand strike downward to meet her blade.
My hand touched the flat of the sword. Her blade was forced sharply downward, throwing off her balance for a moment.
Even though it all happened in a split second, it felt like watching a slow-motion replay. I calmly shifted my position, sliding around her low, rushing body—right into her blind spot.
As her posture crumbled, I brought down a knife-hand strike to her neck with my other hand.
Right-hand deflection into a left-hand knockout.
The two consecutive strikes exploded in an instant, and combined with her own momentum and speed, they ended the match before it even truly started.
When my perception returned to normal speed, all that remained was Souryuuji collapsed on the floor, her sword slipping from her hand.
From the outside, it might have looked like she suddenly appeared in front of me and collapsed at the same time.
It felt like five seconds of fighting, but in reality it wasn’t even a full second—just a single moment.
I raised my hand and declared to the referee, who was checking the footage from outside:
“Match over. I win.”
No cheers followed.