Shiratori Seiya stood on the mat, bamboo sword in hand, waiting for Hasegawa Saori to finish tying on her headgear.
But his mind?
Oh, his mind was racing a mile a minute, still trying to figure out what exactly she was plotting.
The reason he'd turned her down earlier was simple—he knew the gap between them was wider than the Tokyo Bay.
A match like this? Pointless.
But there was another reason too.
He'd brought Takahashi Mio along today, and the last thing he wanted was for her to get a front-row seat to his messy past. Some things were better left buried, you know?
Not that he cared much about what the peanut gallery thought. He barely bothered socializing in the club anyway—these people were nodding acquaintances at best. If he got completely destroyed on that mat, so what? Let them talk.
After all, any student stepping into this dojo had experienced the soul-crushing humiliation of getting absolutely wrecked by a bamboo sword.
But then she'd gone and said it—"a request for a lifetime."
How was anyone supposed to say no to that?
In his memory, Saori rarely asked him for anything. On her birthdays? Nothing. Not a single demand. She'd never even mentioned gifts. And yet, she treasured that bracelet and wooden sword he'd given her like they were national treasures. He'd catch her holding that wooden sword, grinning like an absolute goofball more times than he could count.
Though, if he had to name what he'd given her most often?
Shoes.
Her athletic talent was just that ridiculous. Once she started training, she'd run from sunrise to sunset without stopping. And here's the kicker—her stride was heavy. Like, destroy-a-pair-of-cheap-shoes-in-two-days heavy. The soles would basically give up and fall off.
Her greatest hobbies? Eating and sleeping. That was pretty much it. Aside from being a little clingy, she was surprisingly low-maintenance.
And here's the thing—she'd never refused his requests either.
When he told her to practice Kendo seriously? She trained every single day, rain or shine, never once slacking off.
When he told her to study harder? She'd stare at a test paper for an entire day until her eyes went red and puffy from strain.
(Not that it helped much in the end. God opened one heck of a window for her athletic abilities, but He sure slammed that academic door shut.)
Bottom line? Whatever Shiratori Seiya asked Hasegawa Saori to do, she'd pour two hundred percent of herself into it. Even if she was terrible at it. Even if she looked painfully clumsy along the way. She never refused.
Nobody worked harder than her. Shiratori Seiya still believed that having someone so purely dedicated in this world was a blessing.
Simple. Adorable. Pure as unpolished jade.
That was Hasegawa Saori.
As fragments of old memories came flooding back, Shiratori Seiya felt something stir in his chest. If they'd met under different circumstances—some other time, some other place—he was sure things would've been much more pleasant than they were now.
But still... something felt off.
Saori was straightforward. Simple. So why was she acting so unusually persistent today?
Was she trying to beat him up?
It had been over three years since they broke up. This didn't seem like something she'd do...
Just as he was lost in thought, Hasegawa Saori finished strapping on her protective gear and stood opposite him.
Here she comes.
Shiratori Seiya steeled himself. Despite being a full head shorter than him, just standing in her presence—having witnessed her terrifying strength firsthand—an overwhelming pressure crashed over him like a wave.
Hoo...
He took a deep breath. They exchanged bows according to protocol, and he gripped his bamboo sword tightly with both hands.
Beep!
The whistle cut through the air. Every muscle in his body went taut as he watched her feet, her hands, her movements. Even if victory was impossible, he'd at least go down swinging.
Swish!
The moment Hasegawa Saori moved, a gust of wind rushed straight at him.
Shiratori Seiya's heart dropped. He quickly raised his bamboo sword in a backhand block to parry her attack.
But then—when Saori was just one step away—the girl's footsteps suddenly paused.
Tap.
He felt his bamboo sword get lightly tapped.
...Huh?
The torrent of attacks he'd braced himself for never came. Shiratori Seiya blinked, completely thrown off.
What kind of new Kendo technique was that? He didn't remember teaching her anything like this.
Before he could figure out what was wrong with her, he felt a sudden weight press against him.
She'd pounced on him. Her bamboo sword rested lazily against his arm.
"?"
Fujiyama Takeo, standing by as referee, nearly choked. His eyes went wide as dinner plates, his hand frozen mid-air, completely unsure whether to raise the white flag or the red flag.
Huh? Shiratori-kun... are we part of your little show too?
The thought popped into his head uninvited.
The entire dojo went silent for two solid seconds. Then—whoosh—whispered conversations erupted everywhere like a beehive getting poked.
Shiratori Seiya's eyelid twitched violently. He reached out and pushed the girl in front of him, his voice low:
"Saori. What. Are. You. Doing?"
"I slipped."
"...???"
Shiratori Seiya opened his mouth, then closed it. That excuse couldn't have been flimsier if it were made of wet paper.
"Get up. Now."
"I can't get up..."
Saori mumbled, rubbing against him and taking a deep, contented breath.
Shiratori Seiya caught her action. His heart tightened. His voice dropped into serious territory:
"If you don't get up right now, I'm leaving."
"Oh. Then I'm fine."
Click.
Just like that, she straightened up, took two steps back, and stood firmly in place.
Beep!
Fujiyama Takeo—clearly enjoying this way more than any referee should—had waited until Saori got up before blowing the whistle. Shiratori Seiya shot him the fiercest glare he could muster through his mask.
Professional ethics? Hello?
Absolutely unworthy of being club president! A disgrace to the spirit of Kendo!
"White side foul," Fujiyama announced with way too much amusement in his voice. "Prepare for the second round."
They returned to their positions.
Beep!
The whistle blew again. Hasegawa Saori charged like a meteor once more.
This time, Shiratori Seiya was ready. He quickly stepped aside, lunging his bamboo sword toward her throat in a backhand thrust.
Smack!
Hasegawa Saori's bamboo sword slid off the tip of his blade. She pressed down sharply with her palm, deflecting his sword completely.
He moved to adjust his stance—but the girl backhanded his bamboo sword aside and pressed in closer.
Again?!
Shiratori Seiya's brain short-circuited. He tried to turn and dodge, but she'd already burrowed straight into his arms...
The audience below erupted like a volcano. Voices overlapped in a chaotic mess.
"Are they serious? This isn't even trying! What kind of match is this?!"
"This isn't throwing the match—this is giving away the entire Pacific Ocean!"
"Did someone switch bodies with her? Where's the monster from before?!"
"What are they doing? What is Shiratori-kun doing?!"
"I feel like I've seen this kind of... foreplay... in some drama somewhere..."
"Someone lend me the details..."
"..."
Yokoyama Miyu's mouth hung open, her face frozen in utter disbelief. She stared at the scene like she'd just watched the sky collapse.
Saori... what are you doing? Is THIS your goal?
She'd guessed earlier that Hasegawa Saori liked Shiratori, but she never expected—this.
In the corner, Takahashi Mio bit her lip hard. Her eyes narrowed into cold slits, her gaze fixed on the two figures on the mat like a hawk watching prey.
Her slender fingers dug into the foam board she was holding, leaving behind row after row of angry nail marks.
After a long, tense moment, she took a deep breath, pulled out her phone, and snapped seven or eight photos of the pair in rapid succession.
She opened Hojo Shione's chat box, selected two photos, and hit send.