The sound of sirens—"Bee-boh— Bee-boh—"—tore across the sky above the sports field. An ambulance, flashing red and blue lights, came hurtling to a halt on the sports field, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
The vehicle door slid open with a sharp whoosh. Several staff members dressed in protective suits hopped out with swift movements. Sweeping their eyes across the surroundings, their gazes finally locked onto the speaker's platform.
At this very moment, Ryuen Kakeru had both arms spread wide, roaring toward the sky in exultation.
In this instant, he was hallucinating—envisioning that scene from The Shawshank Redemption: Andy Dufresne, having crawled through the long, filthy sewage pipe, finally breaking free into freedom on that torrentially rainy night.
The several medical staff exchanged a glance. After stepping forward and exchanging a few brief words, they seized Ryuen and attempted to stuff him straight into the vehicle compartment. Ryuen did not resist. On the contrary, laughing uproariously with fierce energy, he strode onto the vehicle himself.
With a resounding thud, the vehicle doors slammed shut. The ambulance's engine let out a low roar as it swiftly sped away, leaving behind the sports field in its desolate wreckage.
Watching the ambulance's taillights vanish into the cloud of dust kicked up at the bend, the crowd collectively let out a breath of relief.
"Why was he taken away by an ambulance?"
"Probably because if he kept running around like that and stirred up any more chaos, the school administration would have a massive headache over it."
"I never imagined there'd be someone like that in the first year." Horikita Manabu slowly rose to his feet. His voice carried a thread of complex emotion. "With that kind of resolve—he'd succeed at anything he set his mind to."
Beside him, Nagumo Miyabi fiercely clenched his fist. The veins at his temples bulged. Grinding his teeth, he seethed. "Heh... I still have a score to settle with him!"
It was because of this bastard that he had lost one million points and his duel with Horikita Manabu.
Having endured a long, exhausting day, Fuyuji Mikage leaned lazily against a nearby tree trunk. Waving a limp hand, he spoke.
"Forget it, forget it. He's already like this. Who knows what even more absurd secret weapon he's still got hidden away in his pockets?"
...
Mashima Tomonari dug into his own wallet and treated everyone to drinks. After resting a while longer, the group gradually dispersed.
They needed time to recover their lost sanity points.
Ten minutes later, after Horikita and Mashima had exhaustively reported the incident to the school administration via phone—a mass notification, sent by the school, arrived upon every single student's mobile device.
[The sudden emergency at the sports field has been satisfactorily resolved. All students who have the time and availability, please proceed to the sports field. The originally scheduled announcement of the Sports Festival results will proceed as planned.]
The moment the message was sent—a series of rustling sounds immediately arose from within the thickets surrounding the perimeter of the sports field. Several students' heads furtively poked out, peering warily toward the sports field.
"This text... it couldn't be that the Crap-Eating King hijacked the Student Council President and deliberately sent out a fake message, could it?" A male student lowered his voice and glanced left and right.
Another male student replied with a strained expression. "As long as everyone's been soaked in the shit-pit together—no one can call him the Crap-Eating King anymore, right?"
"Holy crap! That bastard is rotten to the core! The ultimate madman—doing the butterfly stroke in a sea of feces! Who'd dare call him the Crap-Eating King after this?!"
"I told you, didn't I?! The school recruits mythical figures every single year! And now look—they've gone and recruited a living, breathing biochemical-weapon-level god of war! If word of this gets out—Advanced Nurturing High will probably become the laughingstock of the entire Japanese educational world! Forever nailed to the pillar of shame!"
Not spotting that nightmarish figure—the boulder weighing upon the students' hearts was finally set down. Creeping and tiptoeing, they stealthily made their way back into the sports field.
The murmurs and discussions spread like wildfire among the students, growing more intense by the moment.
Seeing that the atmosphere beneath the platform—far from settling down in response to the notification—was instead showing signs of spiraling out of control, the referee responsible for announcing the results very tactfully swallowed back down the shocking news that Ryuen Kakeru had claimed the grand prize of five million.
"Well then—"
The referee cleared his throat and struggled to make his voice penetrate the clamor. Raising the microphone, he spoke.
"The final results of this Sports Festival shall now be announced—"
The massive electronic screen at the center of the sports field abruptly blazed to life. Vivid crimson countdown digits began pulsing, accompanied by the deliberately amplified "tick-tock" sound effect blaring from the speakers. This forcibly suppressed the unrest surging through the venue.
3...
2...
1...
[Red Team: White Team]
[10111 : 10821]
[White Team Victory]
"UWAAAH—!"
"We won!"
In that very instant—a massive tidal wave of agonized wails and ecstatic cheers erupted like two opposing, colliding torrents, violently exploding from every corner of the sports field.
The ecstasy of victory and the bitterness of defeat were etched with stark clarity upon every single face.
So... this is how it turned out, huh?
At the small grove of trees at the edge of the sports field, Horikita Suzune stood alone beside a tree trunk. One hand rested upon the elbow of her other arm. Her slender silhouette appeared somewhat frail beneath the light of the massive electronic screen.
The colossal disadvantage of each grade missing several students, coupled with Yamauchi Haruki's outrageous stunt—even though Class D had given everything they had and seized first place in the 1200-meter mixed relay, in the end, it simply could not bridge this vast chasm.
She subconsciously bit down on her pale lower lip. Her eyelids slowly lowered. Those eyes—always so cool and piercing—had, in this very moment, grown dim and lusterless.
Just then—a warm palm abruptly shot out from the dense thicket behind her and wrapped around her shoulders.
Horikita's body instantly tensed—and then, in the very next moment, relaxed.
"Suzune! You scared me to death!"
Fuyuji wrapped his arms around her from behind in a single embrace. Rubbing his cheek against the pale curve of her neck without the slightest explanation, he wailed. "How can there exist in this world something as utterly abnormal as Ryuen Kakeru?!"
A thick wave—mingling the scent of sweat with the sweet aroma of some kind of sports drink—came crashing over her.
"Nn..."
Horikita's body instantly stiffened. Her small nose wrinkled, like a kitten catching a whiff of something strange.
Without the slightest mercy, she raised her slender hand. The flat of her palm firmly pressed against Fuyuji's face—which was attempting to draw even closer—and shoved him away with disgust. "Fuyuji-kun. Stay away from me. You reek of sweat."
"Even you—even you are disgusted by me?!" Fuyuji's eyes flew wide with exaggerated shock. Clutching his chest, he struck the pose of someone wounded and heartbroken.
"I treat all foul odors with impartial equality." Horikita withdrew her hand. Her tone was cold, yet the furrow between her brows softened by a fraction.
"Really?"
Refusing to believe it, Fuyuji once again leaned in close. Like some oversized dog pouncing forward once more, the corner of his mouth split wide open. With shameless audacity, he once again drew near that neck, draped in cascading black strands of hair.
"Sniff, sniff... You clearly have it on you too."
"Nn!" Horikita's snow-white cheeks were instantly dyed a flush of crimson. "Pervert! Go sniff your own!"
"No. Yours smells better."
"Go away! Come any closer and I'll hit you!"
"No."
...
Amidst the chaotic background noise, the two of them maintained this delicate distance.
A moment later—Horikita turned her head slightly to the side. Her gaze evaded Fuyuji's stare and drifted toward the distant crowd of the White Team, still locked in their jubilant celebrations. Her voice dropped low.
"Um..."
Her lips faltered a few times. With great difficulty, she forced the words out. "About this time... Class D seriously dragging everyone down... I'm sorry."
Fuyuji gazed at her lowered lashes. The teasing expression on his face gradually receded. Slowly, he reached out. Bit by bit, he gathered Horikita into his embrace.
"Although it's truly regrettable... there was nothing that could be done about it. Who could have imagined your class would produce such an outrageous individual?"
He paused briefly. Tilting his head slightly, his gaze fell upon the elegant line of Horikita's pale neck. His nose subconsciously drew close once more and sniffed. A faint, delicate fragrance flooded his mouth and nostrils. "I, too, bear some responsibility for this matter. If I hadn't used your class as bait back then... perhaps the victory in this competition would have belonged to the Red Team."
"You've still got the nerve to say that!"
A bone-chilling cold instantly radiated outward from within his embrace. Horikita's shoulders twisted. Without the slightest mercy, she drove an elbow straight into his lower abdomen.
"If it weren't for you—our class could have at least taken third place!"
"Therefore..." Fuyuji tightened his arms around the girl in his embrace by another fraction. "There's no need to blame yourself any longer."
The struggling body within his arms came to an abrupt halt. Horikita's long lashes trembled faintly. In a soft voice, she responded.
"Mm..."
Once the fierce emotions erupting from each class over the results had slightly subsided—the mechanical voice of the broadcast rang out once more.
[The comprehensive scores for each class shall now be announced.]
[The score rankings and point adjustments for each first-year class are as follows:]
[First Place: First-Year Class A... +50 cl]
[Second Place: First-Year Class B... No point adjustment]
[Third Place: First-Year Class C... -50 cl]
[Fourth Place: First-Year Class D... -200 cl]
According to the competition rules, the Red Team classes—Class A and Class D—would have one hundred class points deducted as a penalty.
However—due to the grade ranking: First Place Class A would receive 50 class points. Second Place would neither gain nor lose points. Third Place Class C would have 50 class points deducted. Fourth Place Class D would have 200 class points deducted.
After all the additions and subtractions—the dust had settled:
Class A: 1622 cl
Class B: 1203 cl
Class C: 357 cl
Class D: 0 cl
This entire Sports Festival—which had consumed an entire day's worth of energy—had, in the end, in terms of class points, utterly failed to close the gap in the slightest.
In fact—Ryu-chan would probably, due to his outrageous behavior as a source of contamination—have additional class points docked by the school later on for polluting public facilities on campus.
Still—compared to the legend that Ryuen Kakeru had personally forged today—a legend fully worthy of being etched into the unofficial annals of Advanced Nurturing High's history—the mere results of the Sports Festival were very quickly swallowed beneath the students' even more heated discussions.
Beneath the dim shade of the trees at the edge of the sports field—having practically shoved and swatted away that shameless bastard, Fuyuji, with a combination of pushes and strikes—Horikita, her cheeks faintly flushed, slowly exhaled a breath. Tidying her disheveled strands of hair, she turned to lea—
"Suzune." A steady, familiar voice sounded from behind her.
Horikita's footsteps came to a halt. She spun around abruptly. "Nii-san?"
At some unknown point, Horikita Manabu had already quietly come to stand a few paces away.
"Shall we go eat together in a moment?" Manabu gazed at her. His tone was his usual calm.
Horikita stared blankly at her brother's familiar face. For a dazed moment, she froze.
Then—her rigid shoulders relaxed, almost imperceptibly. She nodded gently.
"Alright."
...
By the time Fuyuji, with light steps, arrived back at the door of his own dormitory room—the school administration, with unprecedented speed and efficiency, had once again issued a brand-new school regulation.
[Emergency Notice. Effective immediately, the following new school regulation is hereby added to the Advanced Nurturing High School Code of Conduct:
The act of pouring any substance bearing an intensely pungent odor upon oneself or others, and thereby making threatening advances toward other individuals, is strictly prohibited.]
[Additionally—regarding the incident in which Student Ryuen Kakeru poured a specially concocted stench juice, made from surströmming cans, over himself on school grounds, thereby threatening others and causing widespread panic.
In consideration of the fact that Student Ryuen Kakeru did not violate any existing school regulations at the time, yet his actions did indeed cause substantial harm to the school's internal order and environment—after deliberation and discussion by the school administration, it has been decided that Student Ryuen Kakeru shall receive a one-week suspension from school as punishment.
Furthermore, Student Ryuen Kakeru's class shall have a certain number of behavioral conduct points deducted as a disciplinary measure.]
The moment this message was sent—the comments section below practically exploded, sprouting up like bamboo shoots after a spring rain.
[Student Council Vice President Nagumo Miyabi: Congratulations to our fellow student, Ryuen Kakeru, for once again pioneering a brand-new chapter in the history of Advanced Nurturing High.]
[Bat Diplomacy: Truly despicable, Ryuen. I imagine I'll probably never forget you for the rest of my life...]
[Class C's Strongest Academic Brain: Say no more, everyone. We already know we were wrong...]
[It Must Have Been the Duck-Neck Guy: Alas. How, sniff, did our Advanced Nurturing High, sob, end up like this...]
[Coach, I Want to Play Basketball: When it comes to sheer shamelessness—Ryuen, you are the strongest.]
...
With a sharp snap, Fuyuji extinguished his phone screen. Letting out a soft laugh, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. With a sharp click, he twisted open the door handle. The warm light of the room spilled over him.
"You're back?" Two pleasant voices rang out, warm and tender.
Yamamura Miki and Shiraishi Asuka were standing side by side before the kitchen counter. One wore a pink apron printed with a tiny cat pattern, a sizzling spatula gripped in her hand. The other was wrapped in a checkered apron, briskly chopping a handful of vivid green scallions.
The tempting aroma of home-cooked food instantly flooded the entryway, enveloping his entire body.
Morishita Ai, like a gigantic blue silkworm cocoon, had mercilessly commandeered his bed. Wrapping the blanket thoroughly around herself from head to toe—only a single wisp of deep blue hair peeked out, faintly rising and falling with her steady breaths. She was sleeping blissfully, utterly dead to the world.
Before the computer desk, Kamuro Masumi—her face covered in dark lines—was staring intently at the screen. Her fingers hammered against the keyboard with rapid clatter. Again and again, she was performing self-destruct operations with some heroic character.
On the windowsill of the balcony—that fat pigeon, now grown thoroughly plump, was merrily flapping its wings and letting out soft coos.
"Mm."
Fuyuji gazed upon this familiar scene before his eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted involuntarily. He rubbed his palms together.
"I'm back. I'm so hungry."
"Then..." Yamamura turned her head and flashed a lovely smile. Her spatula pointed toward the steaming pot. "Shall we get ready to eat?"
"Taking a shower first is also fine, you know..." Shiraishi spoke with a beaming smile.
"Alright." Fuyuji replied.
The lamplight was soft. The fragrance of food wafted through the air.
With a sharp click, the door closed behind him. All the exhaustion, all the clamor—everything was shut out beyond the door. Only this single room, brimming with warm tranquility, remained.
"Morishita-sama—wake up and eat. And Bro—you can keep playing in a bit."
"Tch. Who exactly am I playing this game for, anyway?"
"Nn... boyfriend-kun, you're back. Where's the skateboard?"
"Uh... anyway, let's eat first..."
A few minutes later—a noisy burst of bickering, along with the faint rustle of fabric brushing together, drifted outward.
"Snap! Itadakimasu..." x5
(End of Volume)
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