‘We are,’ said Yori, directing their attention to the sixth and final archer.

A lone boy stood among the other competitors. Wearing a plain black kimono, his hair tied up into a topknot, the boy appeared unexceptional. Yet his face was sharp and attentive, and his demeanour cool and collected.

The official had completed his count of the boy’s target, but he seemed uncertain of the result and checked again. The excitement among the crowd grew. Then the official turned to them and announced, ‘Ninety-nine!’

For a moment, no one could believe the result – in particular, the samurai with the thin moustache, who stared in fury at the boy’s target as if trying to re-count the forest of arrows from a distance. Then the spectators burst into amazed applause.

When the initial cheering had subsided, the official approached the boy and began, ‘I declare the winner to be –’

‘No, I’m the champion!’ cut in the other samurai, striding angrily over. ‘Tell us how old you are,’ he demanded of the boy.

‘Fifteen … and a half.’

‘See! He’s not yet of age.’

‘What does age have to do with it?’ argued the boy. ‘I beat you.’

The samurai looked ready to explode. ‘You arrogant child! I’ll teach you your place,’ he said, waving a fist in the boy’s face.

The boy didn’t flinch. ‘I welcome a challenge.’

‘Then we’ll double the target distance and put it on water,’ snapped the samurai. ‘Best of two arrows.’

The boy coolly bowed his acceptance and the crowd buzzed with excitement at this unprecedented development. The official ordered a porter to move a target on to a boat and row it out into the middle of the river. A path was cleared from the veranda to the dock, allowing a clear line of sight for the two archers.

‘Now we’ll prove who is the true champion,’ said the samurai, lining himself up to take his first shot. ‘Prepare to be humiliated.’

With practised ease, he raised his bow, pulled back on the string and released the arrow. It soared through the air, arcing high above the crowd and towards the distant bobbing boat. They all strained to see where it would land upon the target. But, even without the porter raising a black flag in confirmation, it was clear that the arrow had struck dead centre – a bullseye.

The crowd went wild – no one had ever witnessed such an incredible feat before.

Caught up in his own conceit, the samurai shot the boy a superior look before taking his next shot. This was his mistake. The tiny break in his concentration sent the second shot a fraction off-course. The porter, his eyes wide with alarm, leapt from the boat and into the river as the stray arrow struck the wooden seat he’d just been sitting on.

This time the crowd broke into laughter.