With clinical precision, a blunt delivery, and a slight touch of "throwing his teammate under the bus," Izuru relayed every detail regarding the boy with the world-shaking name, Hikawa Okita, to Yukino. Yukino sank into thought for a brief moment before responding with absolute poise.
"I see. Since this is the first formal request for the Service Club this term, it is only fitting that I, as President, devote my full capabilities to resolving it. Go ahead to the basketball courts and meet this Hikawa-kun; I shall join you shortly."
With that, Yukino turned on her heel with practiced grace and swept out of the classroom. Her exit was so swift it might have made a casual observer wonder if she was just posturing—pretending to take the case only to slip away home and wash her hands of it.
Izuru, however, knew Yukino's nature far too well. Possessing a sense of pride ten thousand times stronger than a stray cat's, once she gave her word, she would sooner drop from exhaustion than walk away before a task was finished to her exacting standards.
Reassured, Izuru stuffed his textbooks—which he hadn't so much as cracked open all afternoon—into his bag and hurried toward their rendezvous at the courts.
"Pass the ball, you moron! Dammit, stolen again! If you're going to lose to a girl at basketball, you're better off going home and playing by yourself!"
"Play with your head! You just let that girl blow right past your defense, and you still have the nerve to talk to me?!"
The moment he arrived, Izuru's ears were assaulted by a conversation thick with masculine hormones and bruised egos.
He squinted slightly to take in the scene. A full-court game was underway: boys versus girls. Theoretically, in a high-intensity physical sport like this, the girls should have struggled to win unless the boys were deliberately holding back. And yet...
On the court right now, the girls were absolutely dismantling the boys. More accurately, one specific girl, backed by her teammates, was making a mockery of a group of athletic, well-built young men.
It was a startling sight, but logically, it made a certain kind of sense. The girl leading the charge didn't just have a stunning face; her "assets" were so substantial it looked as though she had absorbed the combined chest measurements of the rest of her team.
How were these boys, currently in the throes of puberty, supposed to focus on handling their balls properly? Basketballs, that is—don't let your mind wander.
Beyond that, this girl, who possessed the beauty of a celebrity and the physique of a model, clearly had elite motor skills and a level of physical fitness that surpassed most of the males present. Combined with the fiery spirit of her teammates, who had long felt oppressed by the boys' arrogance, it was only natural that the girls now held the upper hand.
However, Izuru wasn't interested in the score. He was focused on the identity of the star player.
Her face was a ninety-percent match for Itsuki and Miku. The remaining ten percent of the difference lay in the bright, rabbit-ear-shaped ribbon tied around her head.
"Nakano Yotsuba, right?"
Izuru recognized her instantly. Even though the Nakano quintuplets shared nearly identical faces, they each possessed a unique style and personality. Itsuki had her gluttony, her weight concerns, and her star hairpins; Miku had her black tights, her headphones, and her kuudere demeanor. Those markers made them easy to tell apart.
Yotsuba was perhaps the easiest of all. Aside from the mandatory rabbit-ear ribbon, she possessed physical stamina that left her four sisters in the dust. She was the most athletic of the five and the only one who genuinely enjoyed the grit and grind of a sport as intense as basketball. Those two points alone made her identity unmistakable.
Of course, her personality was just as distinct. Yotsuba always wore a bright, energetic smile, as if she possessed an inexhaustible well of optimism and innocence. And yet...
Behind that cheerful, airheaded exterior, she hid her own secret burdens and complicated thoughts.
"Ah! President, you're here!"
Izuru's internal monologue was cut short by a sudden greeting. He turned toward the source of the voice, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.
It was, of course, Okita, who had been waiting for him. The boy seemed oblivious to Izuru's irritation, approaching with a sheepish smile while clutching a basketball to his chest with both hands.
"Yeah. I've actually enlisted some extra help, but she had something to take care of and will be along shortly. I came ahead to see if there's anything I can do in the meantime."
Izuru nodded, quickly masking his annoyance with a faint, diplomatic smile.
"I see. Well, the more the merrier, I suppose... as long as you don't laugh at me." Okita said, his voice trailing off with a hint of hesitation and self-consciousness.
Izuru furrowed his brow, recalling their earlier conversation. "You mentioned your athletic talent was so poor that even the basketball club seniors gave up on you. Could you explain the situation? If I don't know the specifics, I won't know where to start."
"Uuuh... It's really nothing special, as long as you promise not to laugh, Senpai!" Okita looked incredibly bashful, his self-esteem clearly hitting rock bottom.
Izuru stared at him with a deadpan expression, though internally he was fighting the urge to hit something.
"Then stop standing there and show me what you can do. Why are you staring at the ball like it's a museum exhibit?"
To protect Okita's dignity, Izuru had specifically chosen a quiet, secluded corner of the courts. Yet Okita remained frozen like a shy virgin who had never even held a girl's hand, merely stroking the ball without making a single move to demonstrate just how "bad" he supposedly was.
If Izuru weren't a reasonably patient man, he might have delivered a sharp slap accompanied by a shout of, 'Are you a girl? Why are you being so slow?!'
Wait, no. Girls these days were actually quite wild and bold, while "soft boys" tended to be the gentle ones. So, he really should have shouted, 'Dammit, what a waste that you aren't a crossdresser!'
"What does holding a ball have to do with museum exhibits?! Fine, fine, I'll start. President, please don't be mad!"
Cowering under Izuru's fierce glare—which suggested he might shove the basketball right through Okita's torso—the boy finally summoned the courage to begin his display of "abysmal athletic talent."
However, after watching for mere seconds, the only thought left in Izuru's head was...
Good grief.