InsomniaWL
patreon
556 – Want to Improve? Pass the Interview First
🕑 Added 2025-09-30 16:08:36 +0000 UTCEveryone below listened with rapt attention.
Sure, they all knew the basics of how to respond, but none of them could pull it off with the kind of effortless smoothness that Kyousuke displayed.
Even in an official Kendo 8th-dan exam, you wouldn’t see this kind of zanshin (lingering spirit).
The old masters were strong, yes, but they simply didn’t have the raw speed and power that Hojou possessed.
Some members had even bought instructional DVDs from famous kendo schools to study privately, but compared to Kyousuke’s demonstration, those felt laughably outdated.
If this practice session were recorded and sold online, it would sell out in an instant.
And now, they had the rare chance to observe him up close, hear his tips, and even spar with him firsthand. What kind of blessing was this?
Meanwhile, Hikigaya—serving as the demonstration dummy—kept a serious face.
He knew that even if they repeated the drill, the result would be the same: he’d just get beaten again.
After all, there was only one Hojou Kyousuke in the world.
“Zaimokuza, what about you? If you were in Hikigaya’s position just now, how would you respond?”
The sudden question made everyone look up.
“Yes, sir!” Zaimokuza barked, standing tall.
As the self-proclaimed “Swordmaster General,” his kendo knowledge was extensive.
Without hesitation, he rattled off three possible counters, then critiqued Hikigaya’s decision to target the men (the head).
Against a powerful opponent, Zaimokuza argued, you should go for an easier target.
He went on and on, talking for over a minute before reluctantly shutting his mouth.
If this had been online instead of real life, he would’ve gone even further: parry the strike, punish the opening with a rising slash, juggle them midair with combos until the health bar hits zero.
Yeah right, Hikigaya fumed silently.
‘If it were you up there, just one shout from Kyousuke would’ve sent you rolling on the floor in terror.’
‘I was just zoning out and still held my ground—that’s already amazing, thank you very much!’
“Excellent,” Kyousuke said with a smile. “Full of spirit. Then why don’t you go next, Zaimokuza?”
The grin vanished from Zaimokuza’s face.
Hikigaya, meanwhile, smirked.
“Yes, sir!”
Without a moment’s mourning for Hikigaya’s crushing defeat, the next sacrifice stepped forward: the third-best swordsman in Tokyo, the self-styled Swordmaster General, Zaimokuza Yoshiteru.
“Haah… haah… I’m still alive. Still got all five fingers.”
Even while whining, Zaimokuza kept his eyes fixed on his senpai, who was already busy pummeling the next unfortunate member.
When Tsuchiya Ryouta pushed open the dojo door, he walked in just in time to see his friend Tamaki Aonobu being beaten into a frantic dance.
“Are your feet glued to the floor? If your upper body dodges, your footwork had better follow immediately!”
“You’re way too hesitant with your strikes! Be decisive! If you sense the opponent’s counter, all the more reason to cut cleanly before they hit you! Force them onto the defensive!”
“Your chin’s too high. What’s with that smug look? Think you can see your opponent with your jaw, idiot?!”
“Put more strength in your arms! Swing like you’re ready to dislocate your shoulders!”
“…”
Watching silently from the sidelines, Ryouta couldn’t help but applaud when the match finally ended.
No wonder Higashi High’s kendo team had dominated the national tournament for two years straight.
Even if the school hadn’t been blessed with naturally gifted members, Hojou could’ve built a powerhouse from scratch.
No wonder the school gave the club such a luxurious dojo.
This wasn’t the strength of a lone warrior who carried everything by himself—Hojou Kyousuke’s strength was infectious.
His presence dragged everyone around him to new heights.
Even those with no talent could borrow his momentum and grow stronger.
‘Our baseball team… we’ll be like that too.’
Today’s turnout was proof enough.
Normally after a rainy day, barely anyone would show up to train.
After all, even if you got dropped from the lineup, it didn’t matter—joining the starters just meant losing games anyway.
But today? Every single member had shown up.
“Tsuchiya?”
The applause drew attention.
Tamaki, the vice-captain, called out while peeling off his mask, steam rising from his head.
Just a few minutes of sparring with Hojou had drained everything from him.
This was why athletes in sports clubs often failed academically.
Even if they weren’t dumb, such high-intensity training left no energy for studying.
Still, pushing themselves in practice was the only way for students with mediocre grades to get into good schools.
Some who realized they had no real talent would give up after first year, becoming ghost members and focusing on their studies instead.
Kyousuke also removed his mask.
He could easily spar without taking a single hit, but if he didn’t wear protection, the others would freeze up, too intimidated to swing properly.
Especially the female members—half of them just stared at his face and giggled through every match, no matter how loudly he scolded them.
He glanced at the clock on the wall—it was nearly time for morning class reading.
Calling it there, he dismissed the session.
“You came to see me? Let’s talk over here.”
He gestured to Ryouta and led the way toward the teacher’s office.
“Yes,” Ryouta said meekly, following behind.
“Actually…”
Lowering his head, Ryouta explained everything—how he’d tried to help Hojou by recruiting a cheering squad for the baseball team, how his uncle had been convinced not to interfere, and how he might’ve caused trouble anyway.
He even brought up Aki Tomoya.
“…?”
Kyousuke paused mid-wipe, staring at him in confusion.
His expression grew stranger with each word.
‘You really don’t hold back when it comes to screwing over your own team, do you?’
‘A rock band for a cheering squad? Seriously?’
But still…
“Your cousin—her singing’s really that good?”
Though he phrased it as a question, he already had a good idea.
The moment Aki Tomoya’s name came up, things clicked.
As much of a nuisance as that guy was, his rotten luck always seemed to latch onto extraordinary talent: like Eriri, Utaha-senpai, and Kosaka Akane.
Eriri’s art needed no explanation—she was such a genius illustrator that she could sell out books with pure technical skill, even without story.
Kasumigaoka Utaha was on another level altogether—her novels could wring tears from readers who stayed dry-eyed even through the fall of a comet.
And Kosaka Akane, a queen of the industry, whose name alone could greenlight an A-rank project.
If you counted them carefully, they’d already assembled an illustrator, a scriptwriter, and a project starter.
Now, with the addition of someone tied to music, it was hard not to think of a potential composer.
All that was missing was a producer who could guarantee the game’s completion, and they’d have a full team already.
Thinking of his own company’s upcoming anime project, Kyousuke swallowed the words “Is your brain made of pudding?” that were right on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, he asked about this girl, Hyoudou Michiru.
If she was really as talented as Tsuchiya claimed, then maybe she could be recruited into his company as an exclusive vocalist.
“She’s not on your level, Hojou, but Michiru really is a genius! I’ve seen recordings of their practice sessions—it blew me away. Even when she’s just fooling around, the melodies she comes up with are so… so…”
Tsuchiya Ryouta flailed his arms, trying desperately to add weight to his words, but lacking any artistic vocabulary, he could only repeat: “She’s really good—so good! Really, really good!”
“You mean… it paints a picture in your mind?” Kyousuke asked.
“Yes! Exactly that! As expected of you, Hojou—you nailed it!”
Ryouta’s eyes lit up.
“Just listening to her melodies brings scenes to life in your head. Even someone like me, who doesn’t listen to much music, can’t help but feel excited.”
“Excited?”
“Yes. Michiru’s singing, her playing, her presence—it’s infectious. That’s why I thought of inviting her as our cheering squad.
If we heard her perform after a crushing defeat, it would fire us up again for sure.” Ryouta strained to make his choice sound noble and justifiable.
“Mhm…”
Kyousuke nodded absently, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
Truth be told, he never really understood “cheering culture.”
Kendo competitions didn’t allow cheering—if someone shouted encouragement, the judges might even penalize the competitor.
And yet, without cheer squads, hadn’t he still led Higashi High to dominate nationals for two years straight?
Still, he recognized that team sports were different from solo ones.
He knew it, but he didn’t feel it—he’d never been part of a real team sport.
The closest thing was the old days, during street brawls.
Did that count as a cheering squad? In a way, yes.
He had been the cheering squad.
As long as he stood unshaken at the front, as long as his bamboo sword kept cutting down enemies, his crew rallied behind him.
The enemy’s screams became their marching anthem.
It was the same in kendo matches.
As long as he never lost, his teammates would fight tooth and nail to secure victories of their own.
So, to him, a cheer squad wasn’t the real priority.
Finding a powerhouse vocalist was.
He thought of Attack on Titan’s first opening, Guren no Yumiya.
That song had exploded beyond the anime community.
Even people who didn’t understand Japanese, who’d never watched anime, could still feel the fear of living under the Titans’ shadow from its melody alone.
Tragic, tense, oppressive, crushing—then release, and finally an exhilarating climax.
One song, and you could feel the blood-soaked, suffocating world it belonged to—the yearning of caged birds for the sky beyond the walls.
Yes, his admiration for it was colored by the anime itself, but that didn’t change the fact: it was a masterpiece.
Story and music elevate each other; a great plot fuels the song’s emotions, and a great song lifts the story higher.
As for Hojou himself?
He remembered every lyric to that opening, word for word.
But for someone who couldn’t even sing a nursery rhyme like Tori no Uta without butchering it, reproducing such a song was… unrealistic.
And even if he wrote the lyrics, he’d need someone to compose the music.
That conversation would go something like:
“No, this part should be louder.”
“Louder? Do you mean turn up the volume? Or swap in another instrument?”
“Uh… I can’t explain it, but this isn’t what I want.”
The music teacher would go mad, and Kyousuke would be left restraining the urge to draw his sword and cut them both down.
By the time he was on his 520th rejected musician, he’d probably snap.
But from Ryouta’s description, this cousin of his might actually be the one person who could meet his standards.
“Bring her to the company sometime,” Kyousuke said with a smile. “I’d like to see her skills myself.”
“Of course! I’ll bring Michiru to school tomorrow and let everyone—wait… company?”
Ryouta beamed like a sunflower in full bloom at Kyousuke’s smile, but halfway through his sentence he froze.
“Shouldn’t I be bringing her to school first? To show whether she and her band can handle cheering for us? When you say company… do you mean your anime studio?”
His face fell.
He had promised Uncle Hyoudou that Michiru could perform as a cheer member, and maybe get connections with Kyousuke’s company afterward.
But cheering was supposed to be the focus!
“Yes,” Kyousuke said casually. “No matter how highly you praise her, I still need my colleagues’ approval. And my vice president is strict. Her goal is to make anime that people all over the world envy.”
Ryouta blinked.
Was it just his imagination, or did Kyousuke’s smile soften with a hint of… fondness when he mentioned the vice president?
Before he could ask, Kyousuke continued:
“Oh, are you worried about her safety? I get it. A high school girl going to a strange company might seem sketchy.
If your uncle has time, he can come too. Honestly, the whole band and their families can tag along—we’ve got the resources to sign them all if we want.”
He leaned back, grinning.
“Like you said, if a band wants to grow, practice is essential. And if your cousin is as talented as you claim, my company will invest heavily in her.
You know how it is—underground bands would kill for a chance to compose for anime or TV. I’m basically letting her skip the grind and jump straight to the finish line.”
Kyousuke’s smile widened.
Young girls were better than crusty old musicians anyway. Even if they were inexperienced, he could guide them.
Tell them “not like this, change that,” and they’d listen obediently—unlike established arrangers with egos.
“I’m sure your cousin and I will get along just fine.”
