The Unclean Cut
 
by Loren Dean

Kakita Jinjiro stood passive, intent on his opponent. A few short feet away, Doji Kuwanan did the same.

It had been a grueling two days, and not all had succeeded at the Topaz Challenge. Indeed, not all had even survived. He was saddened by the memory of the brash Otaku Shiko, sent to wait for reincarnation in a duel, and of Matsu Shorisuro, the quiet Lion shugenja, who committed seppuku rather than live with the shame of failure at the challenge.

The emperor himself had drawn the chops for this contest, and Jinjiro heard his name called. Oh, to hear his name spoken by Hantei himself was more honor than he could have imagined. His heart swelled with pride, and he imagined that simply by speaking his name his emperor had increased his standing.

Who will I fight? He wondered. He was hoping for Bayushi Sugai, the bastard who had killed Shiko. She had accused him of murder, and Sugai had murdered her for it. The duel had been fair and Shiko outclassed, it was true, but Sugai had gloated so that Jinjiro itched for the chance to make the scorpion taste crane steel. He fingered the wrap on his katana expectantly — it was real, but dulled for this competition. It did no good to advance to a final round in such a competition as this, only to die there. Quietly, Jinjiro hoped to face Sugai, and inwardly wished his blade were sharp.

"Doji Kuwanan." the emperor called.

Now here they were. The favorites of the crowd, in a duel that would decide who the lone favorite would be. Jinjiro had not wanted to face Kuwanan — at least not so early in the round. Jinjiro was no coward, but he had hoped to avoid this sort of confrontation for the sake of the spectators. Making the crowd choose a favorite in such a way was unfair to both contestants.

But here they were, and the duel was on.

The duelists stood still, all sound quieted, all movement stopped. Jinjiro and Kuwanan gazed deep into each others' eyes, searching for any sign, any clue of intent. The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity. Jinjiro could pick out each fine hair on Kuwanan's face, could trace each line at the corners of the crane's eyes. The detail was exquisite, and Jinjiro made a mental note to compose a Haiku on it when this was done, no matter the outcome.

That mental note almost cost him the duel. Kuwanan, sensing that Jinjiro's attention had lost focus, went for his blade in a blur. Jinjiro was immediate in his response, and the blades sang into the air in near-perfect harmony.

Kuwanan's stroke was high, coming for Jinjiro's chest. Jinjiro stepped aside, and placed his own blade on a path above Kuwanan's. He felt Kuwanan's blade pass within an inch of his shoulder, and then his own blade struck home. The impact shivered up his arm, and he spun, dropping into a defensive crouch — instinctively anticipating another pass — Toshimoko would have been proud.

He watched Kuwanan stumble, try to stay upright leaning on his sword, and fall, his head twisted at an impossible angle. Grim realization came then. Jinjiro's blade had caught Kuwanan across the back of the neck, and snapped it. A sharp blade would have taken the head off. The Doji had been dead before reaching the ground.

Numbly, he stood, bowed to the assembly, and returned to his seat as the attending shugenja rushed to see to Kuwanan.

The silence was deafening.