Kendo club.
Satoru strolled in like a general inspecting the troops. Every member mid-swing froze, bokken hovering in the air, and slowly turned toward him.
First came the stares: straight at his face.
Three seconds.
Then, in perfect unison, every pair of eyes traveled south.
South.
Further south…
Right to the exact spot Higashi had tried to obliterate that morning.
Rumors were one thing. Eyewitness accounts were another. Class 2-F had only heard "some random kick" and seen Satoru walk away looking unbothered, so the whole thing felt like a mild joke.
The kendo club, however, had front-row seats to what the newbies now called the "Wind-Tiger Annihilation Kick," straight out of some over-the-top web novel. Especially Kase Masafumi—the quiet, cool, sharp-eyed second-year who'd turned into the club's unofficial propaganda minister. One person at a time, he retold the scene in immersive, dramatic detail, always ending with a dreamy sigh:
"Kobayashi-senpai… was so cool…"
Now that the man himself stood in front of them, the full horror (and awe) finally sank in.
A magnificent, synchronized wave of sympathetic crotch-checking swept the dojo.
Satoru shifted awkwardly under the collective gaze.
"…Crotch cats got your tongues?" he muttered.
The girls instantly looked away, faces scarlet. The boys instinctively cupped themselves—just in case.
Kato, eyes wide with disbelief, stepped forward.
"You're really okay?"
"Fine."
"You really got kicked there?"
"Full force."
"Then HOW ARE YOU STANDING!?" Kato nearly wailed. He'd always prided himself on durability-wise, but this was next-level.
Satoru gave a mysterious, enlightened smile.
"Iron Crotch Technique. Unbreakable."
"Teach me, senpai!" Kato whispered, hands clasped like he was begging for the secrets of immortality. "There are huge benefits—"
Before Satoru could answer, a flying kick whooshed past Kato's ear and planted itself in the floorboards beside him.
"Focus on practice, pervert," Ayaka growled. She shot a glare at Sakura. "Sakura, control your children."
Sakura clapped her hands together with a radiant smile, voice ringing out bright and clear:
"Everyone, gossip later! Train hard—we're taking the tournament this year!"
She knew Satoru hated being stared at like a zoo exhibit. Lately it had become unavoidable, so the fastest fix was to get everyone swinging again.
"Yes, Minister…" came the scattered, half-hearted chorus, followed by several not-so-subtle sneaky glances.
Training resumed. Ayaka and Satoru stood side by side watching the lines reform.
Ayaka exhaled through her nose. "Tch…" She turned to complain, only to yelp and leap backward a full meter.
"When did you get so close?!" His face was way too handsome at this distance; it was hazardous to her health.
Satoru blinked. "Huh?"
"I—I thought you'd skip practice today," she recovered, arms folded tight.
"Nah, I'm good," Satoru said with a lazy chuckle. "If I didn't show after this morning, people might think I actually got crippled."
"No one here worries about you," Ayaka scoffed.
Sakura, walking past with perfect timing, smiled sweetly. "Ayaka was planning to check on your class during lunch, you know. But the club needed its vice-captain, so she stayed."
"Shut it, Sakura!" Ayaka hissed, fists clenching the sleeves of her gi. Don't expose the secret agreement!
Satoru tilted his head, then gave Ayaka a small, polite bow. "Thanks for the concern, Ayaka-senpai."
"W-Who's concerned—COUGH COUGH HACK—" Ayaka nearly choked on air, face turning tomato-red.
Satoru silently offered her the last remaining energy drink.
She snatched it, eyes flicking to his face—thick brows, dark eyes, stupidly good-looking profile—then quickly away again. Sakura was busy correcting a first-year's grip ten meters off.
Perfect.
Ayaka grabbed Satoru's collar and yanked him down to whisper:
"Is Sakura… okay?"
Satoru's expression went completely blank. "…Okay? She's always like this?"
Ayaka narrowed her eyes. This dense idiot…
She remembered everything.
After the principal's office incident, Sakura had spent every single break cornering her, muttering the same thing over and over:
"Phone number… phone number… why won't he give me his phone number…"
Ayaka had tried every excuse: "Maybe he doesn't have a phone." "Maybe he's just private." Then Hisagi Arisa dropped the bomb: "He definitely has a phone. He gave it to Nanao Akane ages ago."
Sakura had looked like the world ended. "So he… hates me?"
Ayaka had patted her back. "He doesn't hate you. He just gives it to whoever he feels like."
Sakura's voice had cracked. "And I'm not 'whoever'…?"
Time for Operation: Prove It's Not Hate, Nanao Is Just Special.
Ayaka straightened up and said, loud enough for Sakura to hear:
"Hey, Satoru, what's your phone number?"
Satoru pulled out his phone without hesitation. "Sure.
Ayaka: "…"
From the corner of her eye she saw Sakura's head snap around so fast it could've caused whiplash. Those gentle yamato nadeshiko eyes were suddenly sharp enough to cut steel as they locked onto Satoru.
…Mission success? Wait, no—this wasn't the plan at all!
Ayaka froze.
Sakura's smile remained perfect, but the air around her dropped ten degrees.
Satoru, completely oblivious, glanced between the two girls.
"…What?"
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