Of course Satoru wasn't actually unconscious. Even if his stamina was trash-tier, he wouldn't collapse after a measly 200 m. He just remembered something critical: next period was math. The balding math teacher's Mediterranean dome reflected sunlight straight into his eyes every damn time. With a legitimate excuse? Skip city, baby.
…But "skip" as in ditch class, not skip as in butt-skip, okay?! Sakura, where the hell did you even come from?!
Sure, she looked pristine and porcelain, but this girl had grip. She slung Satoru onto her back like he was a backpack. Because he was taller, his chin rested on her fragrant shoulder while his lower half pressed against… a perfect blend of firm and soft. That'd be her pelvic region. AKA: the booty zone.
Sakura's figure was stacked. Way curvier than average, especially that rear protrusion. Right now, Satoru was getting a masterclass in posterior aesthetics…
He kept "fainted." No way he could hop off now, scratch his head, and go, "Haha, just kidding, I'm fine!" Sorry, senpai. Force majeure. Besides, I accidentally copped a feel of your butt, and you got a handful of mine. We're even.
Just as he thought that, Sakura's hands squeezed his butt a little harder.
Satoru: … That was a pinch, right? …Right? Probably just adjusting posture…
She wasn't doing it on purpose, but when her fingertips registered the lift, she blinked. Huh? Boys can be perky too? Strict upbringing, zero boyfriend experience—she'd only ever playfully grabbed Ayaka in the bath. Ayaka once said, "Only girls are like this, guys are flat as boards." Sakura had nodded blankly. But today… interesting. She sneaked a glance over her shoulder: Satoru's "sleeping" face, inches away.
She wasn't big on male looks—character > face—but Satoru was objectively handsome. Ayaka shoved idol magazines at her; she couldn't recall their faces anymore, but Satoru's? Crystal clear. …And he was still "out."
So she pinched again.
Satoru (internally): You little— I've been patient enough!
"…Hehe." A goofy giggle in the darkness—purely Sakura.
She shook her head. No, Miyajima! Focus! Get him to the health room! Self-scolding complete.
Her body always carried a cloying sweet scent—Satoru remembered it from the scarf incident. Even blind, it was intoxicating. Thank god for Extraordinary Patience; otherwise, the Pure Love Warrior might've unsheathed his sword right there. If he could see her face instead of pitch black, he'd probably be the one front-and-rear protruding…
Soon, he was laid on something soft—a futon. Sweet scent and plush contact vanished, replaced by antiseptic smell. Health room confirmed.
Rustling sounds. Satoru kept eyes shut. No way he was chatting with Sakura now. Plan: play possum, skip all the way to dismissal. If she caught him awake, it'd be a barrage of concern. Trouble.
Rustling stopped. Silence.
He cracked an eye. Into view: a washbasin—no. Sakura, bent over a low cabinet, rummaging. The pose naturally lifted her hips.
Satoru blinked. There's a Kagoku saying: "Big butt, many sons." With Sakura's assets, she'd win the imperial succession without breaking a sweat…
Her loose skirt now looked tight. Short enough that her unguarded bend revealed… pink, how girly—
NO. Satoru averted gaze. Non courtesy, do not view…
But the motion was a beat slow. Sakura whipped around—kendo ACE reflexes.
Four eyes met. Too late.
Sakura beamed. "Kobayashi-kun, you're awake! Any discomfort?"
She stayed bent, so Satoru stared at the ceiling. "…I'm fine."
"Hm? But your face is red. Heatstroke again? It has warmed up…"
"Uh…" He scratched his cheek.
Sakura tilted her head, stunning face paired with innocent curiosity—illegal cuteness.
Then she straightened, cheeks flushing crimson, hands behind her back, pressing down her skirt.
"Um…" Satoru figured he owed an apology for the accidental peep. But before he could—
Sakura bowed deeply. "Sorry, Kobayashi-kun, for showing you my… indecent side…"
"..." Don't phrase it like that, it sounds so wrong!
…
…