Sho Hondo

Slowly Rick Royce rose to his feet, wrapping his beads carefully in the scarf, apparently deaf to the applause. Gilbert realized this was a big man, at least six-three, not as wide as Steve Bauer but somehow appearing sizes larger. A prominent jaw rose over the mandatory Senior-Leaders’ tie, sweeping up into sharply defined maxillary glands. The short-cropped brown hair receded deeply at the temples, creating an unusually high forehead for a man of twenty-six. The face bore traces of pockmarks and other indefin-able discolorations, creating a ravaged appearance, as if Rick Royce had passed through fire. Pale blue eyes regarded them.
     “NSA is a place to learn how to practice,” he said. “It’s actually the only place to learn how to practice this Buddhism. You’ve been appointed leaders of NSA, so I hope you’re serious about finding out about the scroll called Gohonzon, and serious about doing kosen-rufu and attaining enlightenment.”
     He cleared his throat, surveying them. Gilbert noticed how relaxed Royce appeared in the formal Gakkai speaking position, hands clasped behind his back. Legs braced wide, jaw set, Rick Royce looked like a tower of granite. Charisma poured out of him.
     “You can’t practice your way, or your grandma’s way, anymore,” he continued calmly. “You have to practice correctly, because members are following you, thinking you represent President Ikeda.”
     He paused again. “You don’t know anything about President Ikeda’s spirit.”