"Is he not coming today?"
In the afternoon, Yokoyama Miyu glanced at her watch—the time showed half past three. The afternoon sun slanted through the gymnasium windows, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor.
"Seiya wouldn't lie to Saori."
Listening to Hasegawa Saori say the exact same thing as yesterday, Yokoyama Miyu felt a momentary wave of déjà vu wash over her. After a brief pause, she pouted and grumbled:
"Saori, you said that yesterday too. He already lied to you once, didn't he? He promised to come watch your match and then bailed. That's the definition of a lie."
Hearing this, Hasegawa Saori hugged her knees even tighter—her white-socked toes curling inward as she instinctively picked at the floor with her fingers. A stubborn, almost defiant look settled on her face as she said:
"Seiya didn't lie to Saori. There's a difference between breaking a promise and lying. Breaking a promise means something came up—something unavoidable. Lying means he never intended to come in the first place. Saori knows Seiya. He wanted to come."
Yokoyama Miyu opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure what to say. Saori's stubbornness was so absolute that it made her seem completely oblivious to reality. It was like she was speaking a different language—one where Shiratori Seiya could do no wrong.
Did that Shiratori person put some kind of spell on her? Yokoyama wondered. Maybe a love potion? Or just pure, undiluted charm?
But on second thought, she felt that Saori was just too naive—so naive it was almost foolish, which was why she became so utterly devoted after falling for someone. Like a protagonist in a shoujo manga who trusts everyone unconditionally.
Yokoyama Miyu took a deep breath and couldn't help but ask:
"Then, Saori, what do you consider a real lie? Where do you draw the line?"
"Hmm..."
Saori pursed her lips, a thoughtful expression flashing in her clear, innocent eyes. She spoke in a calm, measured tone:
"If Seiya had broken his arm or leg and couldn't come, Miyu-senpai, would you consider that a lie?"
"?"
Hearing this, Yokoyama Miyu's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you saying he... he got into a car accident or something?"
Saori shook her head slowly, her waist-length ponytail swaying behind her like a pendulum:
"No, Saori was just saying that doesn't count as a lie. If something truly unavoidable happened—something beyond his control—then he didn't lie. He just couldn't keep his promise."
She paused, then mumbled to herself, her voice growing softer:
"So, Seiya must have encountered something unavoidable. That's why he couldn't come to see Saori. He absolutely believes Saori will win the match—that's why he didn't feel the need to be here. He has always believed in Saori. And, and..."
A faint blush crept across her cheeks.
"Saori already punished Seiya yesterday."
As she spoke, a sickly flush spread across Hasegawa Saori's fair cheeks—like cherry blossoms blooming in the snow. She gently rubbed her knees together, her eyes shimmering with a watery, almost dreamy gleam.
"Punishment?"
Yokoyama Miyu didn't understand her meaning. She tilted her head, puzzled:
"How did you punish him? Did you go back last night and... I don't know, yell at him? Break his stuff?"
Hearing this, the girl bit her pink lips, shyly burying her face in her knees like a child ashamed after stealing candy from a jar:
"Saori... Saori didn't reply to his messages. Seiya must feel very guilty right now..."
"... !?"
Yokoyama Miyu's eye twitched uncontrollably. She turned away, no longer bothering with her. What kind of punishment was that? It was like a child throwing a tantrum by hiding in a closet.
The punishment she had envisioned was at least Saori going back to Tokyo, finding that two-timing scumbag, and breaking both his arms and legs. Well, that would lead to jail time—but at least she should have beaten him to a pulp and made him suffer some real consequences.
But in Saori's mind, not replying to messages counted as punishment.
She had been angry for her yesterday and today. Now it seemed... was she also part of their little love game?
Saori, that idiot.
Yokoyama Miyu felt she wasn't living up to expectations—that she was investing too much emotional energy into someone who clearly didn't need her protection. But after being angry for a while, she couldn't help but talk to Saori again.
Having truly felt her pure heart—that unshakeable, almost otherworldly innocence—it was difficult to feel any lasting aversion towards her. After the anger came more pity. This girl is going to get herself hurt one day.
Yokoyama Miyu reached out and tugged on Saori's arm. When the other girl looked at her with those wide, questioning eyes, she asked:
"Oh, by the way, Saori—did Oda-senpai contact you yesterday?"
Saori blinked, tilting her head in genuine confusion:
"Oda? Who is that?"
"Ah... that 8th dan sensei from yesterday. The old man who was watching your match so intently."
After a brief explanation, Yokoyama Miyu frowned, her brow furrowing with concern:
"You didn't take it seriously at all, did you? This is very important to you, Saori. I asked around for you yesterday. He was promoted to 8th dan the year before last, and apparently, he's looking for a closed-door disciple to promote his Inshin-ryu style. He talked with Nagashin-sensei for a long time yesterday—I overheard a few sentences, and it was all about you. He'll probably come to take you as his closed-door disciple today..."
Perhaps she had said too much in one breath, as Hasegawa Saori was completely stunned. Her eyes gradually formed spiral patterns—the classic anime lost-in-thought expression—showing she was clearly overwhelmed by the information dump.
Seeing her lack of reaction, Yokoyama Miyu tugged on her sleeve again and asked:
"Saori, are you even listening?"
"Ah."
Saori snapped back to attention this time, blinking rapidly. She pursed her lips and asked, with all the tact of a blunt protagonist:
"But that old man looks like he's about to die. Can he really teach Saori anything? Saori feels like she could send him to the hospital just by sneezing too hard... Mmm mmm mmm..."
She had only spoken half a sentence when Yokoyama Miyu reacted with lightning speed, quickly covering Hasegawa Saori's mouth with her hand. She couldn't help but scold in a harsh whisper:
"Saori, you can eat anything, but why are you speaking so carelessly?! Be careful—someone might hear you and beat you up! That's an 8th dan master you're talking about!"
As she spoke, Yokoyama Miyu cautiously glanced around the gymnasium. Finding that everyone was either seriously watching the match or chatting quietly in small groups—and no one was paying them any attention—she finally breathed a sigh of relief.
She looked at Saori, her eyes stern:
"You're not allowed to say things like that again. Ever."
"But Saori was telling the truth! He looks so frail—he probably can't even eat two rice balls in one meal without collapsing..."
Pushing Yokoyama Miyu's hand away with surprising strength, Saori pouted, her small face filled with a wronged expression as she grumbled like a petulant child.
"..."
"Anyway, just don't say it again."
Seeing her pitiful expression—those puppy-dog eyes—Yokoyama Miyu softened again. After all, what Saori said might have some truth to it. Seeing Saori's unenthusiastic look, she continued:
"Moreover, I really recommend you become his disciple. On one hand, you might learn his Inshin-ryu sword techniques—styles that have been passed down for generations. On the other hand... Saori, didn't you ask me before where you could work as a security guard to earn a lot of money?"
Gritting her teeth, Yokoyama Miyu said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper:
"As long as you become his closed-door disciple, if you later become the representative of the Inshin-ryu style, you can earn a ton from commercial advertising fees every year. And you might even open your own dojo then. That way, you can continue practicing Kendo after you graduate and support yourself without worrying about money."
Hearing this, Hasegawa Saori's eyes flickered—a spark of genuine interest lighting up her face. She turned her head and asked:
"Following that old man, I can really earn money?"
"It's Oda-senpai, Oda Ryoshu-sensei. You have to remember that, so you don't call him 'little old man' when you meet him..."
Yokoyama Miyu raised her index finger and poked Saori's forehead—a gentle, affectionate gesture. Then she imagined Saori actually calling him 'little old man' when they met, and found the thought so amusing that she couldn't help but burst out laughing.
However, Saori ignored her laughter entirely and asked with deadly seriousness:
"Really, can I earn money? How much? Can I buy a house in Tokyo? Miyu-senpai, you're not lying to Saori, are you?"
Unconsciously meeting Saori's earnest, piercing gaze, Yokoyama Miyu was stunned for a moment. Then she couldn't help but ask:
"Saori... are you very short on money? I remember the Kendo Club gives you a subsidy, right? Also, why are you thinking about buying a house in Tokyo? That's not exactly cheap, you know."
"No..."
Hasegawa Saori shook her head—a quick, almost dismissive gesture—then relentlessly pressed on:
"So, how much money can I earn? Will becoming his apprentice give me money right away? How many years will it take to save enough to buy a house in Tokyo? Tell me, Miyu-senpai—give me numbers."
"I..."
Yokoyama Miyu was about to speak, to explain the long and complicated process of becoming a disciple and building a reputation, when suddenly a club member tapped her shoulder and held out a phone:
"President, your phone."
"Hmm?"
Yokoyama Miyu blinked and glanced at the phone screen, instinctively reaching out to take it.
However, her hand was halfway there—before she could clearly see the name 'Shiratori' on the display—she felt a dark shadow flash before her eyes like a gust of wind.
By the time she reacted, Hasegawa Saori had already snatched the phone and pressed the answer button. Her lips curved slightly upward into a clear, radiant smile—the kind that could melt the coldest heart—as she said:
"Hello? Seiya, are you coming to see Saori now?"