Akane had planned to swing by and say hi to Satoru before heading home. The final bell rang, and she bolted toward Class 2-F, only to find someone already waiting there:
Miyajima Sakura.
Instant paralysis. All that big talk at lunch—"I'm not scared of anybody!"—now felt like the world's emptiest bravado. Noon Akane had been fearless. Afternoon Akane was shaking in her shoes.
Why did this senpai still feel so overwhelmingly intimidating…?
The scene itself was suffocating. Even Akane wasn't 100 % sure what exactly was going on between Satoru and Sakura. "Sakura + Satoru?" Four little words that opened an endless abyss of possibilities. What was she actually afraid of?
She tried to pump herself up, but one look at Sakura's serene, untouchable aura crushed her courage flat. Noble… How am I supposed to compete with that?
"M-Miyajima-senpai… h-hello!" Akane squeaked, voice tiny.
"Mmm, Nanao-san? I've heard about you," Sakura replied with the softest, most refined smile imaginable.
"YES, SENPAI!" Akane bowed so hard she nearly folded in half. "It's an honor!"
Sakura hesitated, lips parting. "You and…"
Akane's entire body went stiff; she could feel the huge question coming…
But Sakura simply closed her mouth again and smiled gently. "Never mind."
She had been about to ask straight-up about Kobayashi-kun, but they weren't close enough for that yet. The words stayed unspoken, floating awkwardly in the air.
"Oh, Miyajima-senpai." Satoru stepped out of the classroom at that exact moment, bag slung over one shoulder, cloth-wrapped bokken across his back. He greeted Sakura first, then flicked his eyes to Akane. "You…"
"S-Say bye properly," Akane managed, barely above a whisper.
It was the most natural thing in the world, yet under the calm gaze of both Satoru and Sakura, she suddenly felt like a little kid. Her cheeks burned. Senpai's eyes were gentle… almost like an older sister's?
"Bye. Get home safe," Satoru said with a lazy wave.
"Goodbye," Sakura added gracefully.
The two of them turned toward the kendo club. Akane headed the opposite way. Halfway down the hall she couldn't help glancing back; their heights, their strides, everything matched perfectly. They looked like they belonged together.
She pouted, gave a tiny wave no one saw, and muttered, "…Bye."
Hmph. I just need those lyrics and the score ASAP! A one-of-a-kind gift written just for me; that'll keep me smug for ages.
────────────────────
Satoru didn't head straight to practice. Instead he crouched in front of a vending machine, feeding it bills like it was a shrine offering.
Thanks for the cash, Yamamoto bro. Ancestral tribute accepted.
"Senpai, want one?" he asked, unusually generous.
Sakura shook her head with a soft laugh. "Kobayashi-kun, you should cut back on soda. It's not good for you."
"Mmm," he acknowledged, then promptly bought fifteen energy drinks. The cans clattered into the tray like metallic hail.
"…All of these?" Sakura blinked.
"For the soccer team. Payback for this morning."
A tiny, knowing smile touched her lips. "Then I should be the one paying."
"Next time," Satoru said, hugging the towering stack against his chest.
Sakura giggled and stole more than half the load without asking.
────────────────────
Over on the soccer field, the White Hill team was going through the motions; decent, but nothing special. Their wing ace was skilled, but the rest of the team was solidly "mid." Passes were lazy, shots were weak.
Then the visiting Chinese exchange squad started warming up, and Satoru's internal monologue did a 180. …This is bad. Their "almost-perfect" bloodline is fully activated. This is straight-up god-mode training.
From the sideline, Arisa spotted them first.
"Kobayashi!? …Oh, and Miyajima-senpai?!"
The word "Kobayashi" was a low-tier spell. The word "Miyajima-senpai" was a tactical nuke.
One guy launched his own butt skyward, another accidentally headbutted a teammate's crotch, and a third straight-up face-planted. The field dissolved into pure chaos.
Only the wing ace stayed ice-cold.
"LINE UP!!"
Everyone scrambled into position like their lives depended on it, forming a wobbly but determined line behind their captain.
"WELCOME!!" the ace bellowed, then even louder: "WELCOME, MIYAJIMA MINISTER, COME TO GRACE OUR HUMBLE FOOTBALL TEAM!!"
Satoru's ears nearly bled.
Sakura, completely used to this level of enthusiasm, just laughed softly. "Soccer boys really are full of energy."
"No energy, no soccer!" the ace roared, then turned respectfully to Sakura. "Senpai, to what do we owe the honor?"
There was zero official connection between kendo and soccer, but kendo was elite, and Sakura was basically a goddess. Idolizing her was mandatory.
Sakura pursed her lips, glanced subtly at Satoru, and said nothing.
Satoru shrugged. "Nothing huge." He lobbed the energy drinks toward the team. "Thanks for helping out this morning. Drinks on me."
The team erupted.
"DRINKS!!" "FREE ENERGY, HELL YEAH!" "Bro, you're the best!"
"Kobayashi-kun, you're too polite," the wing ace said, giving him a friendly shove that definitely wasn't friendly. Satoru just smirked internally: So this is how you hide your killing intent, huh? Tai-chi really works on enemies too? The drinking culture runs that deep!? Respect.
The ace accepted the tribute graciously. Cans were distributed, cracked open, and chugged.
Satoru and the ace started chatting casually, topics quickly escalating to Syria, oil prices, and the meaning of life.
The rest of the team sipped their drinks and stole glances at the "kendo newbie" who was somehow on equal footing with their captain. Sakura; officially the "Minister"; stood half a step behind the ace, a serene little smile on her face as she watched Satoru's side profile, occasionally dropping a quiet, perfect comment.
A single thought rippled through every soccer player at once:
…Wait, who's actually in charge of the kendo club right now?
From the bleachers, Arisa sat cross-legged, sipping her own drink, eyes narrowed.
This absolute bastard… How the hell does he have both the flawless Nanao Akane and the untouchable Miyajima-senpai orbiting him?
Is he secretly the biggest scumbag alive?
…
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