"Yeah, Carter, just think about it! Wearing kendo uniforms and hakama in the summer—pure cotton! Then wrapping a headband—cotton flannel! Then putting on the men, do, kote, tare—all resin boards and leather! And then the upperclassman shouts 'suburi' a hundred times, and after swinging the bamboo sword, that stench... I feel like throwing up just from my own smell, and with everyone else's, it's basically hell! Plus, the bamboo swords and armor all get damp and moldy easily. During the rainy season, you can't go a day without scrubbing them. If you're a first-year, it's even worse—you have to clean your own gear and then the upperclassmen's too. The way those green mold spores fly everywhere, I guarantee you won't be able to eat for three days after seeing it! And then there's cleaning the dojo—boiling in summer, freezing in winter, it's all torture. Just thinking about it makes me miserable..."

　　James Walker kept grumbling, full of resentment toward the kendo club, and finally said, "That kind of sport isn't something normal people should like. We're just signing up in name only—fill out the form and leave as soon as we're done. I was dumb in middle school, got forced by Ryan's sister to practice for a year, and only got free when she graduated. I can't make the same mistake again!"

　　Ryan Smith, afraid that Henry Carter would run off, quickly said, "It's just signing up in name, just to... just to deal with my sister, and then we'll leave right away." After speaking, he bowed deeply. "Sorry for troubling you guys!"

　　James Walker threw an arm around his neck and chuckled, "Alright, I didn't mean anything by it. We're friends, right? Helping each other is what friends do, no need to apologize! Right, Carter?"

　　Henry Carter smiled and nodded. He didn't mind doing this small favor, since it wouldn't take much time and wouldn't interfere with his plan to study hard—now that he knew there were special cram classes at school, his desire to hit the books was even stronger and more urgent.

　　Ryan Smith looked a little moved, but then James Walker added, "You owe us a meal later, and we'll pick what to eat—no, we'll both pick!"

　　Ryan Smith immediately shot James Walker a glare, looking a bit coquettish, and pushed him away hard, shouting, "I got it!"

　　Henry Carter watched the two of them horsing around and thought they... weren't bad! Even though they were typical teenagers, they were both pretty interesting.

　　Ryan Smith was well-mannered and polite, not bad at all. James Walker... was average, but together they were above average, worth befriending.

　　The three of them chatted as they walked, passing through the side courtyard of Daifuku Academy and following a shady path to the kendo dojo. As soon as they got close, they heard the rapid clashing of bamboo swords inside, "bang bang," almost merging into a single sound.

Chapter 6: At Most 1.45 Meters

　　Daifuku Private Academy was a newly established high school, with only a seven-year history, but it was backed by the textile giant Daifuku Industrial Group of Nagoya, so funding was plentiful and the kendo dojo was naturally built on a grand scale. Traditional wooden architecture, raised half a foot off the ground to prevent dampness and insects, with wooden corridors and red pillars, black doors and white windows—classic and elegant in the eyes of onlookers, with a unique charm.

　　Ryan Smith took the lead and slid open the door, taking off his shoes at the entrance—Japanese schools are such a hassle, always making you deal with your shoes. Change into indoor shoes when entering the classroom building, switch back to dress shoes when leaving, and then take off your shoes and socks again at the dojo—it's really hard to get used to.

　　Henry Carter followed behind Ryan Smith with curiosity, observing the scene. Kendo is a uniquely Japanese sport, and Henry Carter's understanding was limited to two people slashing at each other with fake swords, so of course he wanted to see what it was really like—might as well broaden his horizons.

　　In his previous life, he only lived to be twenty, not much older than a first-year high school student, so his curiosity hadn't completely faded.

　　He entered the entrance, glanced at the kendo dojo, and found that the layout was simple and made the place look especially spacious. The main hall, with its gleaming tung oil wood floor, was probably seven or eight hundred square meters—since a standard basketball court is 420 square meters, this place was about twice that size.

　　The decor was also simple. On the wall directly opposite the entrance hung a single award certificate, and on the side walls were some calligraphy works, with characters like "Wu Yue Chun Qiu," "Upright Posture," "Benevolence," "Wisdom," "Courage," and "Courtesy." The whole environment looked quite grand, but there were only a handful of people inside, making the huge space seem wasted.

　　Inside a hundred-square-meter competition area marked by white lines, two people were fiercely attacking and defending, their bamboo swords clashing with impressive force. Henry Carter watched for a while and realized it wasn't a fair match—one person was tall and the other was extremely petite.

　　Looking at the petite figure, Henry Carter felt she looked familiar. Her height was like that Emily Turner who had sipped his soup in the cafeteria at noon—after all, there weren't many high schoolers that short. But she was wearing a men, do, and hakama, with her face and figure obscured, so he couldn't be sure. He just heard Ryan Smith pull over a male student and ask, "Senpai, is Manager Smith here?"