"What you can do is simple. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't think of it yourself." I looked at her like she was an idiot. "In short, just stay here until tomorrow. That'll be enough time to treat your injuries and let you recover—only possible thanks to someone's monstrous endurance."
"I didn't expect you to so easily let me stay at your place." She watched me with curiosity.
"Since it's the only practical option, it's all I could come up with—unless you think I'm planning to try something while we're alone."
To be honest, it's not exactly far-fetched to think that, especially since we're both teenagers.
"If you wanted to, you would've taken advantage when you left me on your couch."
"Hearing a girl say that makes me question if I really understand how women think."
I don't think I can use Kawasaki as a reference point for an average girl her age.
"I highly doubt you could pull it off." She gave me a look that almost felt like pity.
"All right, all right. Then if you don't mind, you can stay in the guest room."
Like any typical Japanese home, there's a room for visitors.
"Easy for you to say, but my parents…"
"Oh, come on, you're dumping all the work on me?" I sighed. "Just make up an excuse about staying at a friend's place. It's called a sleepover, you know?"
Kawasaki seemed to mull over what I said. Not that there was much to consider—it was the best option, and only because her stamina was on another level. Anyone else would've been more seriously hurt and exhausted in that situation, maybe even needing days to recover.
At times, I noticed some conflicting expressions, like my words had made her consider something else.
"Maybe it could work…"
"Maybe? What do you mean maybe?"
"I know what I mean."
With Kawasaki finally deciding, she pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, and held it to her ear.
"Hello, Mom."
…
"Yeah, we got out of the academy a bit early today. By the way, a friend invited me to stay over, so I was wondering if you could give me permission."
…
"Yeah, don't worry. She's someone I know well, so I'll be fine."
…
"I'll be back in the morning, so you don't have to worry."
…
"See you later, Mom."
After that, she tapped the screen a few more times—probably texting Taishi.
"All right, I think that's done." She sighed like it had been some huge ordeal.
"You just called your mom and sent a text. How hard could that be?"
"You don't know my mom. She can always tell when I'm lying, so it was tough…"
I can't really argue with that. Moms are incredible at spotting lies, like it's second nature.
I guess we're pretty similar in that regard. My mom is terrifying when she's angry.
"So, what now?" Kawasaki tilted her head as she asked me.
"Why are you asking me?"
"It's your house. Are you too dense to figure that out?"
Why do I feel like her attitude toward me has shifted a little?
"You could start by taking a bath."
Kawasaki narrowed her eyes at me, so I figured I'd better explain before she got the wrong idea, like I was planning to peek or something. Not exactly unreasonable, given we're two fifteen-year-olds.
"Before treating your injuries, it'd be better to clean them first. It'd also help to check if you've got any others that aren't easy to see. And in case you're wondering, the bathroom door has a lock—I'm not going to spy on you."
Kawasaki started thinking about my words—after all, she was in someone else's house, so it wasn't exactly easy to accept.
"I guess I'll take your offer, but if I find out you're spying on me…" Kawasaki made a few hand gestures as if she were breaking something.
"Go ahead, I don't want to go through anything painful. By the way, I'm guessing you know how to use a washing machine if you're going to do your laundry."
It goes without saying, but after everything that happened, Kawasaki's clothes—a green shirt, a blue denim jacket, and brown pants—were dirty.
After Kawasaki nodded at my words, I guided her upstairs to where the shower was.
"I'll leave you a set of pajamas that belong to my mom. You can wear them until your clothes are ready."
To avoid any misunderstandings, I decided to give her a change of clothes right away. Knowing my luck, she might've stepped out of the shower just as I went in to leave her clothes near the washer.
Kawasaki accepted the spare clothes and went into the bathroom; I still heard the lock click into place.
I left her to shower and went to look for the first-aid kit we keep in the house.
"Now that I think about it, it's been a while since I last used it."
Back then, after training, my body would end up bruised and worn out, with minor wounds and injuries I treated on my own—though, of course, tutorials helped too.
Once I found the kit and checked that it had everything I needed, I went to the living room.
I turned on the TV to kill some time until Kawasaki finished her shower.
Anime, news, nature documentaries, comedy sketches… I kept flipping through channels until I landed on something interesting.
"I guess this'll do."
I stopped on a rerun of a magical girl anime.
After a while, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, so I turned off the TV, ready to treat her wounds and finally wrap up this job I'd been dragged into under the excuse that I had to keep my word, but…
Her blue hair, usually tied up in a ponytail, now hung completely loose, making her look like a totally different person—giving her an appearance I never thought I'd see from a girl often labeled as a delinquent.
Her figure, normally hidden beneath loose clothes or her school and cram school uniforms, was now dressed in soft pink pajamas that contrasted gently with her fair skin, highlighting her slender frame. The pink gave her an unexpectedly sweet and warm aura, so different from the tough, determined attitude I knew.
And if all that wasn't enough, something else caught my attention—something I had brushed aside until now, but as a normal teenager, I couldn't ignore it anymore…
They say the sun rises over mountains, but in this case, there was no sun—only two mountains.
I had never considered it before, but she's… well, bigger than she looks in her usual clothes.
Kawasaki Saki, the girl often seen as a delinquent, with monstrous endurance and a sibling complex to boot… she's far too beautiful.
"Something wrong?"
She walked up until she was standing in front of me.
"You sure took your time." I looked away.
My mind might be that of someone far older than my current self, but my body is still just that of a fifteen-year-old boy.
"I don't think I was that late."
"Whatever you say. Just sit down so I can take care of your injuries."
"You're so grumpy." She frowned as she said it.
Accepting my words, she sat across from me. The couch was big enough for three people, so there was no problem.
Before I started, I caught a faint, pleasant fragrance coming from her hair. She must've used the same shampoo as Rumi, which explained the familiar scent.
I pushed those thoughts aside—they'd only stir something inside me—and pulled disinfectant, creams, and bandages from the first aid kit.
"You know how to do this kind of thing, right?"
"I've got more experience patching up cuts and bruises than you'd think."
If treating my own wounds counts as experience, then I'm a master.
Carefully, I disinfected the cut on Kawasaki's lip.
"That stings a little…"
"Are you a little kid?"
Once it was clean, I spread ointment over the damaged spot—it helps prevent infection and speeds up healing—and finally placed a bandage on it.
After that, I moved on to the small scratches on her face. They were nothing serious, but since I was already at it, I figured I might as well treat them too.
Those were just the injuries you could see at a glance, though. I doubted they were the only ones.
"I'm not a mind reader, so tell me where else you're hurt."
"You're so impatient."
"If you sit there in silence without helping, don't expect much from me."
Cooperating at last, she stretched out one of her hands, swollen and bruised in places.
"You must've hit them pretty hard for your hand to end up like this."
"As if that were possible."
I ignored her complaint and started applying cream before wrapping a few bandages around it. Since it was just a bruise, disinfectant wasn't necessary—this ointment was meant for bruising.
Nothing beats online tutorials for learning how to patch yourself up after getting worked over.
"Not bad. You really do know what you're doing." Kawasaki checked her hand.
"So… is that it?"
Why is she blushing?
Without answering, she lifted the top of her pajamas, showing me her slim, well-toned stomach.
Normally, I'd be excited if something like this happened. But given the context—and the scratches and bruises I could see—it wasn't hard to figure out what this was. Either they hit her stomach too hard or stomped on her without holding back, because simple punches wouldn't leave this much damage.
Just like with her hand, I started treating her injuries.
I couldn't help but notice she was in great shape—her stomach was slim and free of any extra fat. Well, I could guess where it all went… the two mountains not far from my hands backed up my theory.
"All done. That should do it."
Her injuries weren't serious, which made treating them much easier.
"Thanks, Tsurumi. You were a big help."
Unlike other times, this was the first time I felt Kawasaki's words actually reach me.
How should I put it… Her way of speaking, her expressions—it's like she only responds out of obligation, as if she isn't really interested in connecting with others. Or, to put it simply, she completely distrusts people. If someone tried to hurt her, she'd already be expecting it.
I'm also basing this on what Taishi said about her—how Kawasaki prefers to handle things on her own, no matter how difficult. That pretty clearly ties back to her lack of trust in others.
I can understand her. She's kind of like me. The only difference is, I don't distrust people—I just don't care about them.
"I was forced into this, so like it or not, I had to do it." I let out a small sigh.
Kawasaki started laughing after hearing me.
"…Really, only you would say something like that."
Did I say something funny?
I don't understand this girl at all.
"You're weird."
"You're not exactly in a position to say that." She offered a calm smile. "By the way, how did you learn to treat wounds?"
"After coming back from MMA training—it's not like I was any great success."
They weren't serious injuries, but there were plenty of bruises and scrapes.
"Now that you mention it, you said you trained for three years."
"I think I spent half that time more like everyone else's punching bag, but I learned a lot, can't complain."
You learn more from defeats than from victories. Or at least, that's what I kept telling myself so I wouldn't lose motivation.
"It's hard for me to picture that." She put on a thoughtful look.
"My teammates and my sensei were monsters—there wasn't much I could do…"
Although, interacting with them was a lot of fun too.
"But you're not that different—you were brutal with Tanaka; you can't even call that a fight." She raised an eyebrow.
"That should be coming from me; Tanaka was already a wreck, and I was being very gentle."
"If that's your idea of gentle, I don't want to imagine you when you're in a bad mood." Kawasaki looked at me like I was a freak.
I'd only broken his arm and shocked him a couple of times — from any angle, it wasn't anything extraordinary.
Maybe my common sense had gotten a little warped after all those years.
"Alright, alright, enough of that — go to sleep."
It wasn't that late, but from experience I knew Kawasaki needed to recharge, and nothing beat rest. With several hours of sleep the body healed faster.
"Are you my father or something?"
Typical teenage line…
"I don't know your mother… but I could be."
Looking at Kawasaki, if her mother was anything like her but more mature… I supposed that wouldn't be so bad.
While I drifted in thought, her amused expression twisted in an instant, reverting to the serious, menacing look I was used to seeing.
If looks could kill, I'd already be dead.
"I see you don't value your life much — I can help you with that."
The girl I had brought home after her fight with two guys fixed me with a deadly stare as she cracked her knuckles.
Mental note: don't help problematic girls — it never ends well.