Ono Mihana changed back into her school uniform and bid the doctor farewell.
"Nishitani-sensei, thanks for today."
"Mm, head home early. You worked hard too," Dr. Nishitani said, so thin she seemed worrisome—a single mother whose daughter occasionally appeared at the clinic.
"Mom."
Like tonight.
The girl who entered wore a school uniform but in full Shibuya gyaru style: brown-dyed hair, skirt rolled up so short it barely covered her.
Dr. Nishitani frowned slightly. "Don't dress like that at night—it's dangerous."
"That's why I'm here, to go home with you," the gyaru said.
Ono Mihana bowed slightly to Dr. Nishitani and joined Aoyama Osamu.
The gyaru spotted Aoyama Osamu, waved with a grin, and blew a kiss. "Only a hot guy like Osamu-kun could make me ditch the gyaru life for bride training."
"Only if you ditch the gyaru life would he consider being your boyfriend," Dr. Nishitani said, never harshly controlling her daughter's style.
Aoyama Osamu and Ono Mihana left the clinic, walking home in the night.
"Legs okay?" Mihana asked.
"Fine."
They were fine coming here, but now they ached. Aoyama Osamu kept hands in pockets, acting unbothered.
Suddenly, he turned, looking toward the other side of the clinic.
"What's up?" Mihana asked, following his gaze.
A few guys and girls with dyed hair chatted under a streetlight nearby.
"Nahoe's friends?" she guessed.
"Don't look like good people," Aoyama Osamu said.
"Maybe they're dropping Nahoe off? Don't judge without proof," Mihana chided, smacking his arm.
"Right, right," Aoyama Osamu laughed.
A cool spring breeze blew, just chilly enough to make you shrink slightly but not shiver.
Cherry blossom trees mixed leaves with fading petals.
A beautiful spring night.
Tuesday morning, Aoyama Osamu woke to legs so sore he wondered if they'd snuck out to party and got run over all night.
Must be from not resting after waking in the nurse's office yesterday!
"Take a sick day," Mihana said, concerned.
"No way," Aoyama Osamu gritted his teeth. "I've missed two weeks already."
"But you—"
"I'll stay seated."
"Stop acting tough!" Ono Mizuki huffed.
"If it's too much, I'll hit the nurse's office," he said.
Last night's mystery novel didn't budge material progress—staying home was pointless.
If he didn't write a money-making novel by next month, Mizuki would quit her club and work like Mihana.
With the sisters' help, Aoyama Osamu hobbled to school.
At the gate, he spotted Kobayashi Shiki and Aizawa Jun.
"You two, help me!" he called.
"That's what you get for half-assing a Kamen Rider belt!" Kobayashi cackled like a villain.
"You've got potential, Aoyama," Aizawa said.
"Thanks, guys," Mihana bowed slightly.
"No problem!"
"Senpai, it's our duty!"
They bowed deeper, dragging Aoyama Osamu into a bow.
"Legs! Legs!" His face twisted in pain.
Mizuki snickered.
In Class 2-4, everyone was curious about Aoyama Osamu's national record, but his fainting and current "crippled" state made it less surprising.
"Aoyama-kun, you okay?"
"Don't push yourself—take a sick day!"
"My dad works at Tokyo University Hospital. Tell me your symptoms, and I'll ask him!"
"No need," Aoyama Osamu forced a smile. "Kobayashi, Aizawa, take me to the nurse's office. I'll lie down a bit."
He brought his backpack.
He hadn't lied to Mizuki—if he couldn't handle it, he'd go to the nurse's office. But really, he couldn't handle being too popular.
"You sure you're okay, Aoyama?" Aizawa asked, worried.
"Like a mouth ulcer," Aoyama Osamu brushed off. "Hurts, but no big deal."
"So, painful but manageable?" Kobayashi asked.
"Exactly."
The nurse's office beds weren't free-use.
After a check-up and approval from the robotically precise Kuse Oto, Aoyama Osamu could stay.
Once the others left, Kuse Oto asked, "Didn't rest yesterday?"
Her tone cared more about her judgment's accuracy than his well-being.
"Sorry, Kuse-sensei," Aoyama Osamu bowed his head.
Chased by the short-haired girl, standing half the way home, fetching Mihana—his legs got no rest.
"I'll massage them."
"No, Sensei, I…"
Kuse Oto grabbed a leg and squeezed hard.
"AH!!!"
It felt like his bones were hammered; his muscles trembled in agony.
Kuse Oto seemed deaf and blind, continuing with force.
After the initial yelp, Aoyama Osamu stayed silent.
Real men don't yield!
Except under system-guided workouts.
"S-Sensei, is this r-really helping?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"I trained at China's top massage hospital," Kuse Oto said.
"Oh, good!" Aoyama Osamu relaxed.
"Climbed the Three Mountains and Five Peaks in one go. Ended up there after Huangshan," she added.
"Sensei… as a patient?"
"Mm!" Her tone shifted for the first time, her hands pressing harder.
"Ughhh—" Aoyama Osamu's long groan mixed pain and despair.
Five minutes later.
"Done."
Kuse Oto wiped her forehead with a handkerchief embroidered with "Kuse," like polishing fine porcelain—even the handkerchief was art.
Aoyama Osamu couldn't speak; the pain made breathing hurt.
Kuse Oto glanced at him. "You're tough."
As if told her praise lacked sincerity, she added, "Come back anytime."
"T-Thanks, S-Sensei," he barely heard her.
"But enduring pain can be a hindrance," she said, pulling the curtain and leaving.
Too painful.
He had to do something.
Not that he doubted Kuse Oto, but there was someone more trustworthy.
—System, massage me!
The system knew it might cause issues but didn't care now.
Massages vary, everyone knows, but Aoyama Osamu didn't need to specify—the system knew what he meant.
['Self-Massage' guidance started.]
His hands moved, working his legs like they were already broken.
Deep presses, dynamic rolls—techniques flowed.
It felt like warm water poured slowly over his legs, waves of heat spreading.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Flesh-on-flesh sounds.
"Ha~" An uncontrollable sigh of relief.
Good—it was a normal massage.
Like a boyfriend forced to open TikTok and finding no hot girls in three videos—pure relief.
Kuse Oto grabbed tissues from her desk, passing them through the curtain.
"Thanks, Sensei," Aoyama Osamu said, needing them—he was drenched in sweat.
"Don't get it on the bed."
"No worries, I won't!"