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.The heavier opponent managed to land a few blows before an incredibly fast counter from the short combatant effectively disarmed his opponent.Weaponless, the larger foe, a boy with a face like a pug, bowed his head and pulled off his helmet.He walked off the mat looking embarrassed.“He’s good,” said Casey, eyeing the two fighters critically.“Interesting.You don’t usually see kendo in American schools.”“Kendo?” asked Monson, turning his attention to Casey.“What's that?” The term sounded vaguely familiar; he wondered where he had heard it.“Japanese fencing.” Casey peered past Monson towards the shorter fighter.“Kendo, or competitive fencing, is popular in Japanese schools, but most private schools in the States only do rapier fencing.I wonder who he is.Japanese sword fighting in the style of the Kodachi is really rare—”Casey stopped as if something suddenly occurred to him.“You don’t know what kendo is? How can that be? Don’t you have a bokken?”Monson did not have any idea what Casey was talking about.He racked his brain and came to a realization.“Oh, is that what that shiny stick is? I wondered what it was called.So it’s like for fencing, right?”“Are you messing with me? You must fence.You move like a fencer.”“Why do you say that?”“Grey, you remember how we met, right?”“Of course, but what does that have to do with fencing?”“I’m a martial arts student,” said Casey, smiling.“And I took up rapier fencing in elementary school and not long after that, kendo.After a while, you can just tell the people that have trained.I would have bet Arthur’s weight in gold you were a fencer.The way you blocked his attack was perfect.You aren’t just pulling my leg, are you? You really haven’t fenced before?”Monson struggled to answer Casey’s question.Fencing.He really liked the sound of that.The mere thought made his fingers suddenly tense, but he could not remember ever fencing, and it wasn’t something that struck a chord within him.They were quickly coming to the topic that Monson wanted to avoid.He thought a diversionary tactic was probably his best bet.“So you can tell things about fighters just by observing them?” he asked casually.“What can you tell me about our vertically challenged friend over there?”Monson pointed at the boy, who was furiously fighting a new opponent.If Casey was aware of Monson’s redirection, he did not let it show.“First a little background.The kodachi is a smaller blade than the katana, the Japanese long sword — that’s made for defense.The fighting style developed for the kodachi is augmented by an aggressive hand-to-hand combat, usually kempo or some kind of jujutsu.This one, however…” He paused for moment as he watched.“This guy doesn’t seem to exhibit any of that type of tactic or style.”Casey’s eyes narrowed as if he were considering something.“Well, of course he doesn’t.” He sounded like he was scolding himself.”This isn’t an actual battle; it’s a match.He would be disqualified if he struck him with his hands.Then again, they aren’t using shinai." `“What’s a shinai?”Casey brought his hands up stretching them as he watched the fighter.He looked back at Monson.“A shinai is a bamboo sword that’s used in official kendo matches.They don’t use bokkens; they’re too dangerous.You can break some bones or even kill someone if you aren’t careful.”“Yeah," agreed Monson, returning his attention to the match.“Now that you mention it, this doesn’t really look like a match, but actual combat.Not that I would really know the difference.”“Totally,” Casey nodded agreement.“They don’t even have a referee.I think I’m going to talk to him.I want to know where he trained.”“Why bother?” asked Monson, who could not think of anything less practical.Casey answered, “How could I not want to know? I mean how cool is that, seriously?”Monson chuckled.He had a point.“Casey, what kind of martial art do you do?”Casey's eyes lit up.“You know, that’s a very interesting question.Honestly, I have no idea what it’s called.”Monson raised his eyebrow in his signature gesture.“That’s weird.How can you study something you don’t even know the name of? Who taught you?”“It’s a family thing,” commented Casey.“My dad taught me when I was very young, then my uncle took over.”“Why’d he do that?”Casey looked uncomfortable.Apparently Monson wasn’t the only one who had things he didn’t want to discuss.“Why wouldn’t your uncle tell you the name of your art? That seems weird to me.”“Yeah,” said Casey matter-of-factly
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