Seeing that smug smile, Mitsuha who was already fuming with rage—felt as if her very lungs were about to burst into flames.
Her deep brown eyes looked like they could ignite on the spot.
What was wrong with the world?
That timid little girl who used to be too shy to even message Kyousuke directly, hiding in the support club chatroom using a burner account to test the waters… was now daring to provoke her so blatantly?
Sure, along with that thought came memories of the countless nights they'd spent chatting late into the night with burner accounts, bonding over novels... and the fun times she'd had wandering around Tokyo in Kyousuke's body with Utaha.
But this—this was war.
This wasn't just a provocation anymore.
This was stepping right on her face to deliver a victory speech!
Unforgivable!
Even the usually gentle countryside girl couldn't hold back the stubborn fire rising in her chest.
People often forgot, but she was someone who had gone years without ever calling Miyamizu Toshiki "Dad."
Once she was truly angry, it wasn't something that would fade so easily.
Still, the real problem right now wasn't this sneaky little cat.
Sure, the cat was annoying.
But if something didn't reek of fish, would a cat even come sniffing around?
...It was a good thing Mitsuha didn't say that thought out loud, or Utaha would've absolutely roasted her alive on the spot.
After all, it's not just humans—every creature in nature is drawn to beauty.
Even plants reach for the light. It's instinct. It's not just thought; it's wired down to the cellular level.
Even she couldn't resist Kyousuke. How could other women possibly stay away?
So no, the one to blame wasn't Kyousuke, shining like the sun itself.
It was the bugs crawling out of the dirt to get close.
But those could be dealt with—just lift a heel and grind them into the floor with the sole of her genuine leather high heels.
Normally, that's how the shrine maiden would think.
No one understood better than her how Kyousuke had become such a heartthrob in the theater of real life.
He didn't have to do anything—just walk down the street, and that face, that absurdly tall and lean body, that aura—it was enough to have total strangers stopping him with lines like, "Are you a new idol?"
She'd experienced it firsthand too many times while inside Kyousuke's body.
So deep down, she was kind of used to it.
She never truly blamed him.
After all, she couldn't very well ask him to stop shining, could she?
But this—this was different!
It had only been a few minutes since he'd pulled his arm out from between that hostess's breasts, since he'd stepped down from the ceremonial stage…
And now here he was, in the dressing room, messing around with Utaha?!
Using positions he'd never used with her, even!?
Unforgivable! Completely disrespectful!
Mitsuha folded her arms tightly across her chest and turned her head, glaring at Kyousuke with an icy expression.
Those obsidian eyes of his—eyes that seemed to hold a thousand years of Nara's history—now glinted like frozen steel.
If her mom were here, she'd definitely be on her side.
No, forget her mom—even Aunt Mikiko would—
…No, actually, scratch that.
Aunt Mikiko was just as unpredictable as Sakura.
Not a reliable ally.
Maybe her dad should consider adding a "Special Human Countermeasure Division" to their "Special Disaster Unit,"
Because honestly, if Kyousuke couldn't control his charm, that was a disaster.
He should be locked up and supervised personally by a priestess from the Thousand-Year Shrine.
Dad would probably love that idea.
Thinking that, Mitsuha's glare grew sharper and more dangerous by the second.
Brace yourself, you horny bastard who can't even behave at home.
Heh… hehe…
Kyousuke tried to laugh awkwardly to lighten the mood, but the atmosphere in the room was so suffocating it felt like he was about to get altitude sickness—despite just coming down from the metaphorical mountain.
And also—
'Utaha-senpai! Weren't you cooperating just fine a moment ago? Why are you suddenly going off-script?!'
Doesn't she know that the one who gets hit the least is always the one who apologizes first?
Admit your fault, say you're sorry, repeat as needed—that's the path to survival!
Put your arms down already! That move works great against Eriri, but Mitsuha's not any smaller than you.
And he'd trained Mitsuha himself! She might not be "perfect," but compared to you? She's definitely not lacking.
With his finely tuned instinct for atmospheric shifts, Kyousuke could immediately tell that the icy, tense pressure in the room had begun when Utaha-senpai flashed that provoking smile.
Mitsuha had gone from angry to murderous.
Megumi, please, if you're out there, lend me your invisibility power…
Wait, hold on—why did Utaha call Onizuka and others but didn't invite Megumi or Yukinoshita?
No, Megumi maybe makes sense, but Yukino?
Why was he thinking of her now?
Actually, if anything, he got along better with Haruno, who called him by name…
Wait—wait—wait—
Utaha-senpai, what the hell are you doing?!
Kyousuke's eyes widened in shock.
Just moments ago, he had tried to make sincere eye contact with Mitsuha.
Now, he didn't even dare look at her directly.
Instead, he carefully turned his head to the side.
And what he saw was this:
After noticing Mitsuha cross her arms in clear imitation, a direct response to her challenge, Utaha's wine-red eyes gleamed with delight.
Her smile only deepened. Her whole face shone brighter than it had before.
Then—with a smirk—she let go of her arms.
And slid her right hand under Kyousuke's arm, through the gap in his jacket, and clung to it, jacket and all.
It was an even bolder move than what Amamiya Miki had pulled on stage.
!!!!!!!!!!
Mitsuha, who had come here—well, partially—to confront him over the whole Amamiya Miki situation, exploded with rage at that sight.
It was as if flames burst from her eyes and nostrils. The air around her twisted.
She dropped her arms from her chest, raised her right hand high above her head—without a moment's hesitation—and chopped it straight at Utaha.
Blessed with a bit of Kyousuke's natural gifts and with over five years of kendo experience—having sliced through countless opponents and even joked about wanting to draw her sword against comets—Mitsuha's hand strike was nothing to scoff at.
Utaha Kasumigaoka, the "Snow Woman of Toyogasaki Academy" and "Unparalleled Siren of Ruyi Dorm," was about to learn that the hard way.
The moment Mitsuha's elegant face lost its smile and turned cold, Utaha had chuckled inwardly.
'Ah, youth. So impulsive. At this rate, she won't last in the battlefield of love.'
'She'll be eliminated early.'
That's what she thought—
Until Mitsuha, in her loose white sweatshirt, raised what looked like a soft, cottony arm…
And brought it down in a clean, sharp arc—palm flat, right above her head.
At that moment, Utaha felt her blood freeze.
Time stopped. Her heart stalled from the sudden lack of oxygen.
Even without a kiai shout that echoed like a wild beast's roar, the force behind that strike was enough to freeze Utaha Kasumigaoka in place.
'I'm gonna die.'
If that hand chop actually landed on her, she'd be the first one eliminated—no question.
One glance into Mitsuha's eyes, burning with murderous intent, and Utaha couldn't even figure out where that strike was aimed.
All she could think was: "This is it. I'm done for." Her life even flashed before her eyes.
But unlike some defeated loser reliving her regrets, her flashback wasn't about past failures.
It was a vivid reel of the happy married life she had once imagined sharing with Kyousuke.
'Mitsuha... and I was even kind enough to let you spend more time with him, all because of the role you played in getting us together…'
'Now Eriri gets a free pass...'
'Sakura too…'
'No! I won't accept this! I refuse to lose!'
Utaha's wine-red eyes suddenly flared with fierce light, but to her horror, her body didn't respond.
Even though the incoming strike was right there—right there—she couldn't move a muscle.
'Stupid body!' At that moment, she bitterly regretted focusing so much on toning and beauty without learning any real self-defense skills.
'I'm dead…'
As Mitsuha's hand came slashing down with a force that seemed to carry thunder and wind, Utaha's face, frozen in shock and unwillingness, looked like a masterpiece painting.
If Eriri had been here, she probably would've whipped out a camera and snapped a shot with her forehead.
Kyousuke, watching all this unfold, tried to find solace in dark humor.
At the same time, he reached down from his collar and swiftly stepped forward, grabbing Mitsuha's delicate hand mid-swing and skillfully neutralizing her strength.
He could tell Mitsuha hadn't actually intended to land the blow—just strike beside them as a warning.
But even then, if that chop hit Utaha, she'd be in pain for at least a week.
Sure, he'd thought about asking Megumi's goddess powers to make him invisible and just slip away, leaving the battlefield to the two raging princesses—but in the end, he wasn't that much of a scumbag.
After all, this whole mess was his fault to begin with.
!!!!!!!!
Her killing blow caught mid-air, Mitsuha stared at Kyousuke with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Even the number of exclamation marks in her mind multiplied, a clear sign of how furious she truly was.
"Kyousuke!!!"
The moment she shouted his name, Mitsuha was startled to realize her voice was trembling—on the verge of tears.
Only then did she become aware that, beneath all the rage, she was harboring something far more bitter than anger—something sharp and stinging, like undiluted sake: hurt.
You stood on that ceremonial stage, under all those lights, in front of countless reporters and guests—and you publicly declared me your girlfriend...
And then not even ten minutes later, you're here fooling around with that succubus Utaha in the dressing room?
And not just fooling around—using positions we've never even tried?!
And when she provoked me, you took her side and blocked my strike!?
'YOU CAUGHT MY HAND CHOP FOR HER?!'
'AAAAARGHHHH!!'
If she didn't know that crying now would only make that bitch even more smug, Mitsuha's tears would've already become a flood to drown the traitor in front of her.
Her once-sharp eyes, now shimmering with unshed tears, turned upward, staring pitifully at the one she loved.
In just a few short minutes, her internal name for Utaha had changed from Kasumigaoka… to that woman, to witch, and finally to…
bitch.
"… …"
Kyousuke had already expected backlash, but hearing that teary shout still sent a shock down his spine.
His guilt hit him like a physical blow—more than guilt, it felt like his conscience was punching and kicking him.
He even wanted to slap himself. And no, not for sympathy.
He really deserved it.
He opened his mouth slightly to say something, but before he could speak—
Something very unexpected happened.
While Mitsuha was overwhelmed by heartbreak, Utaha—who had just been frozen in fear thinking "I'm dead"—felt a surge of euphoria when her death sentence got intercepted.
But even more than that… she felt triumphant.
'Ahahahahaha~~'
'See? Kyousuke still likes me best!'
'I told you—how long you've known someone doesn't matter. What counts is how deep the connection runs.'
'And when it comes to depth—no one, absolutely no one, can match what he and I have.
Adrenaline rushing after her near-death experience, Utaha found her brain firing faster than ever—and she remembered exactly what had happened before this.
She'd been clinging to Kyousuke to show off to Mitsuha—but how did she end up off of him?
Oh, right. That hand.
The one that had sneakily slid between her thighs.
Even though she'd braced herself mentally, the moment he touched that sensitive spot, her whole body had melted.
This so-called "shameless virgin," as Eriri liked to call her, had gone completely numb—from her heart to her knees.
Before she could even react, the bastard had plucked her off his body like a scarf.
Now, that same hand that had brought her that strange and sinful pleasure… was also protecting her, tightly gripping Mitsuha's attacking wrist.
'As expected of the man I chose!'
Her heart brimmed with satisfaction and a deep sense of safety.
Her man was dependable. Protective. Masculine.
Utaha raised her delicate chin and once again looked at Mitsuha with those wine-red eyes—this time with unfiltered provocation.
Her earlier fear had been completely replaced by righteous fury.
As a perfect woman, she understood: a man's strength could become a woman's most dazzling accessory.
And Kyousuke's protection? That was her ultimate weapon.
'This round is mine. I win.'
Seeing that smug expression on Utaha's face, Mitsuha felt like her lungs were about to explode.
Even now, even now, Utaha was still clinging tightly to Kyousuke's arm, pressing those obscenely large breasts against him.
Before her brain could even process, Mitsuha's body took over.
Her left hand rose instinctively—this time not aiming for their hands.
This time…
She was going to use the kendo Kyousuke had taught her.
She was going to cut down this bitch.
That's right—maybe that's why Kyousuke had taught her kendo in the first place. Maybe he had passed on his gift to prepare her for this exact moment.
Without hesitation, her left hand slashed downward.
'I'm dead again.'
Utaha cursed her brain.
'Is this really all you've got? One phrase? Over and over?'
Suddenly, she felt Kyousuke's arm slip from her grasp, leaving only the crumpled jacket she'd been hanging onto.
She turned her head in shock—and saw that both of Mitsuha's hands were now gripped tightly by Kyousuke.
'Ahahahaha~~'
'As long as Kyousuke's here, no one can hurt me.'
Truly, what use was martial arts training when, in the end, biology had already made women the physically weaker sex?
Better to just find yourself a great husband!
Her pale face, still a little shaken, had just begun to smile—her eyes ready to gleam with glee—when she suddenly froze.
'Wait… you're trying to throw me now?!'
What was originally a firm, protective grip on Mitsuha now turned into something more like a sumo lock.
Kyousuke squared up with her, arms locked—and the next thing she knew, he'd grabbed her waist.
He was about to execute sumo's most honorable winning technique:
YORIKIRI — the force-out.
He was actually going to toss her out of the ring.
What Utaha didn't expect… was that after Kyousuke wrapped his arms around Mitsuha's waist, he actually leaned in close, their faces nearly touching, and whispered softly into her ear.
!!!
If she weren't so certain she couldn't beat either of them in a fight, Utaha would've split Mitsuha in half right then and there.
Maybe she should start learning some self-defense—or better yet, have her dad help her get a gun license.
That still counted as North Star One-Sword Style, right?
Kyousuke hadn't even figured out what to say yet to calm Mitsuha down before he saw her raising her hand again, eyes sharp as blades, ready to swing down mercilessly toward Utaha.
Hiss—
Calling it "goosebumps" didn't even begin to describe it.
He felt completely numb, from the tips of his fingers to his toes, as if his limbs no longer belonged to him.
'Wait... could I use this as an excuse to get Mitsuha to forgive me?'
'Loss of control over your limbs is pretty common, right?'
'And mouths too—they say things without permission, say hurtful stuff, even sneak kisses with upperclassmen without checking in with their owner first. Totally plausible.'
'…No, that's a bad idea.'
'What if Mitsuha says she wants to take that disobedient mouth home and slice it off?'
Just imagining Mitsuha slicing off his lips with a blade made Kyousuke shudder.
'No no no, impossible. My Mitsuha is kind and gentle.'
'She's going to be the perfect wife—just like Auntie Futaba.'
Without hesitation or second thoughts, he withdrew his arm from Utaha's chest, reached out, and grabbed Mitsuha's left hand.
Before she could struggle, he pulled her tightly into his arms and leaned in close.
"I'm sorry."
His voice was low and soft, laced with real sincerity.
He genuinely regretted it.
He shouldn't have let her see that.
Just like he always cleaned off any marks on his body after a date with Mitsuha—not because he was sneaking around, but out of respect for the other girls.
The moment she heard that low, apologetic tone, Mitsuha's resistance melted away. She went quiet.
'Kyousuke… why does he sound like that?'
Someone as proud as Kyousuke—since when did he ever lower himself like this?
Just thinking about that made Mitsuha's heart soften. It even stung a little, in a bittersweet way.
But then—
As the warm breath from his words brushed her cheek and slipped into her nose, she caught a faint whiff of roses.
Kasumigaoka Utaha!!!
That bitch!
Kyousuke wasn't the one at fault—she was!
So much for "plastic sisterhood"—it shattered instantly.
The girl began struggling again, hellbent on chopping Utaha in half with her hand strike.
Huh???
Kyousuke had just breathed a sigh of relief when Mitsuha calmed down in his arms—but then suddenly, she started squirming violently again.
He looked down and nearly jumped.
Mitsuha's expression now? It looked just like his mother's when she used to tenderize beef with her eyes closed.
Except it wasn't steak—it was more like she was pounding it into meatballs.
'Calm down! Calm down, Mitsuha! Chill out already!'
"Wait, okay, it's my fault, just listen to me for a second—Mitsuha!" he pleaded in a panic.
But that only made it worse. Mitsuha, seeing that he was still covering for Utaha even now, grew even angrier.
Meanwhile, Utaha—who'd just been violently robbed of Kyousuke's embrace—was already furious.
But now, seeing the other girl playing the victim, she snapped.
She stormed forward, forgetting all about the massive gap in their combat ability, and tried to use Kyousuke as a human shield while launching an attack at Mitsuha.
'Ah yes… as expected of the world's most perfect beauty.'
Even in moments like this, she hadn't forgotten to use strategy.
Feeling Utaha's huge chest pressing against his back, Kyousuke didn't feel even a hint of excitement—only a sharp pang in his molars.
He seriously considered swapping them all out for porcelain crowns.
'Don't make things worse! If you keep this up, I'm gonna have to let go of Mitsuha—and you can't beat her, seriously!'
Still, despite his inner screaming, Kyousuke used his broad back to block Utaha's advance while keeping both arms tightly wrapped around Mitsuha, using his equally broad chest to shield and warm her.
'Thank god this isn't a supernatural world,' he thought. 'If it were, this antique building would've already collapsed from the sheer pressure in the room.'
With both girls physically restrained, their fury only escalated. Words now became their weapons.
"Even this sacred space—meant for a bride and groom's wedding—can't inspire the slightest bit of decency in you? You really can't control those animal-like urges for even a minute?"
Mitsuha spat, writhing furiously in Kyousuke's arms.
Because of the angle, his arm was wrapped just beneath her chest—and every time she twisted, that all-too-familiar sensation sparked through her.
Even her cute little oval-shaped belly button peeked out from beneath her sweatshirt, which had ridden up in the struggle.
But no physical discomfort could quell her righteous anger—in fact, it only stoked it further.
'You think you're the only one who was moved when Kyousuke looked so dazzling and handsome up there under the spotlight?!'
'You think you're the only one who got butterflies when he called me his "girlfriend" in front of everyone?'
'I wanted to run up there and kiss him right then and there! But I held it in!'
'Only YOU—'
'YOU damn homewrecker—acted on it!'
Unforgivable!!
"You couldn't even wait for the award ceremony to end—had to rush into the dressing room to get your hands on him?!" Her voice now carried actual killing intent.
There wasn't a shred of doubt—if Kyousuke weren't holding her back, she'd split that homewrecker in two without hesitation.
At those words, sweat instantly beaded on Kyousuke's forehead.
Sure, Mitsuha was technically yelling at Utaha—but every single accusation also applied to him perfectly.
If he could, he'd rather she just yell at him instead.
Let him take all the blame—maybe then Utaha would calm down, and this war could finally end.
But… too bad.
For some reason, her anger had shifted from him to Utaha completely. And while a part of him was relieved to escape unscathed, it didn't exactly make things better.
"Oh my? And what did I just hear~?" Utaha's voice suddenly turned syrupy and snide, laced with dark delight.
She stepped closer, her fingers creeping from Kyousuke's shoulder toward Mitsuha's head, aiming for the classic female finishing move: hair pulling.
But Kyousuke's protective hand quickly blocked her strike.
That only pissed her off more.
These hands—the same ones that just minutes ago had lovingly roamed her body.
If that clueless woman hadn't barged in, she and Kyousuke might've had their wedding right here in this very building tomorrow!
And now? Now that same woman dared to act all righteous?
"And who was it," Utaha said with a mocking lilt, "who couldn't even wait for the award ceremony to end before barging into the dressing room to find Kyousuke?"
Her tone dripped venom.
"Oh, Mitsuha, don't tell me... are you mad because you were late and I got to him first?"
As she said "got to him first", Utaha emphasized every word with deliberate venom, just like Shouko used to do when she was first learning to talk under Kyousuke's guidance.
The moment he heard that, sweat beaded even more furiously on Kyousuke's forehead.
'Wait a second…'
If what Utaha just said was flipped—if Mitsuha had been the first one to enter the room—then that person who had been clinging to him just now, kissing him like crazy… wouldn't that have been Mitsuha instead?
And the one who'd barged in on them mid-makeout session would've been Utaha-senpai?
He wasn't delusional.
He knew himself well enough to admit that… even if the girl in front of him wasn't the seductive Utaha but the innocent shrine maiden Mitsuha, he would've still gone ahead and enjoyed this "main course" after the award ceremony.
Wait a minute.
'Could it be… these two aren't actually fighting with each other?'
'What if they're just pretending to argue, when in reality they're teaming up to scold me?!'
The thought made Kyousuke's heart skip a beat in panic.
And sure enough, the moment Mitsuha heard Utaha's words, that little spark of happiness from when he had gently patted her head earlier was completely extinguished.
She immediately began struggling again, trying to turn around and deliver a clean hand strike to Utaha's smug face.
'Damn it, where's that bamboo sword Kyousuke gave me?!'
'If Kisaki didn't lose her memory from the blow, I'll make sure to rattle your brain until you forget everything, and then I'll tell you I'm your mother.'
'You've got some nerve, saying crap like that…'
'You got to him first? Back when I met Kyousuke, your books were still gathering dust in the corner of a forgotten store shelf!'
The rage building in Mitsuha's heart felt like a blazing comet—like the red-and-blue Diamat that once crashed down to free her from Itomori.
And now, she wanted to summon that same force and crush this arrogant woman behind her into cosmic dust.
"I only followed Kyousuke out because I saw how eager you were to chase after him. I came thinking he might need a hand.
And what do I find? You've snuck into the men's dressing room the moment he's alone.
You're a writer, aren't you? Don't tell me you can't read the sign that says MEN'S DRESSING ROOM!?"
"Oh my~ What a coincidence," Utaha replied, voice syrupy sweet but dagger-sharp.
"Like you said, I came to check on Kyousuke too. I've spent a long, long time making sure this award ceremony would be perfect for him. It'd be such a shame if something spoiled it at the last second, don't you think?"
Just like Yukinoshita Yukino once said, Kasumigaoka Utaha was not only frighteningly smart but possessed a venomous streak of dark humor.
She could think up a hundred crueler comebacks in a split second—but she would always, always, choose the one that would make her opponent burn with shame, rage, and emotional devastation.
That's just how she was.
Today, for example—she'd invited Kyousuke's entire family to the ceremony herself. Even if she was the last one to meet Aunt Mikiko, it didn't matter.
That would change. After today, she was the one Mikiko had personally declared the "perfect bride."