Norichika Tsukamoto and the Philosophy of Tenchi Itsu, and the Mach Kick That Changed Shinkyokushin Karate

Tsukamoto was born on 4 February 1974 in the city of Isahaya, Nagasaki Prefecture. As a child his father saw him as too shy and withdrawn, and so sent him to train in 空手道 (karate-do) in the Kyokushinkaikan lineage at the Nagasaki branch from the age of 8. This reflects something I have always believed as someone who teaches martial arts to children at IMAC Dojo: karate is not only for children who are already strong and confident. It also helps build discipline and confidence in children who do not yet fully know themselves.

After finishing high school, he moved to Tokyo and joined the Jonan Kawasaki branch under the guidance of Tsuyoshi Hiroshige, who was known for heavy low-kick training and relentless close-range engagement. What is interesting is that although Tsukamoto fully absorbed the power-generation principles of the Jonan lineage, with his height of 186 centimetres and flexibility far above average, he chose to diverge from the straightforward heavy-contact approach and instead explored how his own height and kicking angles could create unexpected lines of attack. I see this as an important lesson for anyone training in martial arts anywhere: everyone's body is different, and copying a skilled fighter word for word is not always a shortcut. You need to understand the underlying principle and then genuinely adapt it to yourself.

In 1994, after the founder of Kyokushin, 大山倍達 (Masutatsu Oyama), passed away, the discipline entered a period of fragmentation into multiple organisations. Tsukamoto, then 20 years old, placed 6th at the 26th All Japan Open, the last major tournament before the split. He subsequently chose to join the group of branches that would later unite as WKO Shinkyokushinkai under the leadership of Kenji Midori (緑健児), and quickly became a leading technical fighter for the organisation.

Legend has it that in January 1996, at Yokohama Arena, Tsukamoto won his first world title at the 6th World Open Championship at just 21 years old. What shocked the scene was that he won while barely relying on traditional low kicks at all, partly due to a foot injury, and partly because he chose to use unpredictable head-level attacks instead. It is said that in the final he defeated Kunihiro Suzuki, a fellow student from the Jonan lineage. Over the following decade he went on to win several more All Japan Open titles and built a 33-match winning streak, but his second world title kept slipping further away as fighters from Eastern Europe, particularly Russia, Lithuania and Bulgaria, began bringing size advantages and boxing-style combinations into the Kyokushin ring more and more.

His lowest point came at the 9th World Championship, where he was eliminated in the quarterfinals on a tameshiwari (board-breaking) tiebreak decision after drawing with Roman Nesterenko of Russia in overtime. Rather than accept that his era had passed, Tsukamoto used that defeat as the starting point for a major overhaul of both technique and mindset, going on to win the All Japan Open in consecutive years, before reaching the summit once again at Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium at age 37. He fought through a bracket of many competitors, met Nesterenko again in the semifinal, and in the final seconds of regulation time, he created an opening with a feint and launched a 胴回し回転蹴り (do mawashi kaiten geri — a spinning wheel kick) into Nesterenko's jaw, knocking him out instantly and bringing the entire arena to its feet in applause. He then defeated fellow Japanese fighter Tsutomu Murayama by unanimous decision in the final, and took home the Technical Award (ginō-shō).

Before Tsukamoto's era, the standard strategy in the Kyokushin ring was uke-kaeshi (block then counter): two fighters standing close together, absorbing punches and low kicks with tensed muscles, then immediately countering. Tsukamoto identified the weakness in this approach: every time you absorb an impact, you give your opponent the chance to gauge your range and rhythm. He therefore combined the principle of tai-sabaki (evasive body movement) with close-range fighting, stepping aside or pivoting the instant his opponent launched an attack so that the punch or kick struck empty air, opening a physical and mental gap he could immediately exploit with a counter. This principle aligns exactly with what I always try to teach students at IMAC Dojo: speed does not come from rushing, it comes from reading your opponent's rhythm clearly before you move.

At the heart of this arsenal is the Mach Kick, a modified roundhouse kick usable at extremely close range where a standard roundhouse kick cannot work because it requires distance and a wide arcing path. Tsukamoto solved this by raising the knee rapidly along the body's centreline, making it look as though he were about to throw a front kick, a knee strike to the midsection, or an ordinary low kick. Once the knee passed the opponent's shoulder level, he would lean his torso slightly backward, using the raised knee as a pivot point, then snap the lower leg down in a nearly vertical line, almost like an axe chop. Because the trajectory of the strike does not travel horizontally the way most guards are trained to defend, it frequently slips past the forearms or over the shoulder and lands squarely on the jaw or temple with enough force to knock the opponent out instantly. I believe the cleverness of this technique lies not in its power but in its unexpected angle, a principle I always try to instil in students at IMAC Dojo: a good technique does not need to be the strongest, it needs to be one the opponent cannot see coming until it lands.

Beyond this, Tsukamoto also expanded the use of high-risk acrobatic techniques into reliable scoring weapons, not merely occasional gambles the way earlier generations of fighters used them. The 胴回し回転蹴り he used to knock out Nesterenko in the 2011 semifinal was also thrown without any visible telegraphing, typically released at the tail end of a combination just as the opponent stepped in to close the distance. He also used an axe-chop strike from above (kakato otoshi) that crossed over the shoulder to target the collarbone or head, a hooking inside kick to evade an opponent's hand checks (uchi mawashi geri), and a low spinning back kick aimed at the calf and ankle (gedan ushiro mawashi geri). Simultaneous attacks at high, middle, and low levels at close range in this way overwhelmed an opponent's ability to process what was happening, making it far easier for the fight to end suddenly.

The key turning point that brought Tsukamoto back to the summit after his painful defeat in the past was not merely a technical adjustment. It was a complete shift in perspective through the philosophy of 天地一つ (Tenchi Hitotsu — heaven and earth as one). This concept traces back to stories about Kamiizumi Ise-no-Kami Nobutsuna (上泉伊勢守信綱), founder of the sword school 新陰流 (Shinkage-ryu — the New Shadow School) during Japan's Sengoku period, who is believed to have taught the letting go of ego and attachment to victory or defeat, so that a swordsman's mind would merge with the surrounding environment until there was no seam between the fighter and the situation before him. It must be stressed that accounts from that era are traditions passed down through generations, not records that can be verified in every detail, but the core teaching has been carried forward into many Japanese martial arts, including karate, in later times.

What Tsukamoto took from this idea was to stop seeing himself as "fighting against advancing age" or "fighting against a younger, bigger generation of fighters," and instead to see his body, mind, and the situation in front of him as one and the same thing. There was nothing to resist or push against, only a flow following the correct rhythm. I see this as a valuable lesson for office workers who sit at a desk all day or for older adults who come to train at IMAC Dojo, because many worry that being older means they cannot keep up with others, when in fact training in martial arts is not always measured by who is faster or stronger. It is measured by who understands their own rhythm and the situation in front of them better. The fact that Tsukamoto won a world title again at 37, surrounded by fighters nearly all younger than him, is tangible proof that this idea works in practice, not just a beautiful-sounding phrase.

From the Ring to the Classroom

Today, Tsukamoto holds the position of Branch Chief of the Tokyo Setagaya-Suginami Branch at the rank of 6th Dan Shihan, and he continues to pass on both the technique and the philosophy accumulated over a lifetime to a new generation of students. This is no different from the opportunity I had to train directly under him at the Shinkyokushinkai Singapore seminar several years ago. That day he taught primarily about countering, and what I remember most clearly was not the power behind his techniques but his stillness and economy of motion. Every movement had a reason behind it, with nothing wasted, reflecting the essence of the Tenchi Itsu philosophy without needing to be explained in words at all.

At IMAC Dojo, I try to apply this same thinking to teaching Shinkyokushin Karate to students of every age, whether a child who has just started training at age 7, a working adult whose back aches from sitting too long, or an older adult who wants to move their body safely. Correct fundamentals, discipline in practice, and understanding one's own rhythm are, I believe, more important than emphasising power or speed from day one, because someone who starts off on the right foundation can build toward advanced technique far more solidly than someone who rushes. Whether it is Ken, Ryu, Rain, or Michelle, the instructors I trust most for teaching Shinkyokushin, every one of them holds to this same principle with every student at our dojo: safety must always come first, and ability will follow naturally with time and consistent practice. Tsukamoto's story is therefore not merely the history of one fighter. It is a path that confirms training in kyokushin the right way can take anyone further than they imagined, no matter how slowly or quickly they begin.

Lessons That Can Truly Be Applied

What I want every student at IMAC Dojo to take away from Tsukamoto's story is not simply the coolness of the Mach Kick or the excitement of winning two world titles. It is the attitude behind that success. His willingness to accept defeat in 2007 and analyse it honestly instead of blaming fate is what allowed him to return to the top at an age when most people choose to retire. I believe this mindset applies to ordinary people's lives as well, whether it is a child who loses their first competition or an adult who feels they started training too late. Defeat is not an ending. It is always information that can be used to improve. Understanding this essence can make training in karate, or any martial art, something far more enjoyable and sustainable than constantly feeling you must win every time.

The story of Norichika Tsukamoto is valuable not only as a piece of Shinkyokushin karate history, but as a lesson that genuinely applies to anyone training in martial arts, anywhere. From making full use of your own body instead of copying someone else, to turning defeat into the starting point for growth, through to the philosophy of Tenchi Itsu, which teaches us to accept the situation in front of us rather than resist it. As someone who had the chance to train with him personally in Singapore, I continue to carry these lessons into teaching every student at IMAC Dojo. Whether you are a child just starting out, a working adult who wants to exercise in a structured way, or an older adult who wants to move their body safely, the same principles apply to everyone. All that is needed is to start from correct fundamentals and keep at it with consistency.