In the end, "All the World's Evils"—laboriously birthed by Izuru's "Super High School Level Dark Matter" talent—was consumed by no one.
Thanks to the ruthless buck-passing tactics of the three girls, the sludge was shoved toward the gaping-mouthed cooking teacher, the innocent bystander who was supposed to be watching the fire from a safe distance. However, it seemed the instructor had lived long enough to be well-acquainted with such stray bullets; he had a masterstroke of a contingency plan ready.
Facing the devastating assault of Izuru's dish, he accepted the plate without a flicker of emotion, only to have it "accidentally" slip from his grasp and shatter on the floor. Citing the classic "five-second rule doesn't apply to health code violations," he successfully cheated death.
Even though Izuru argued that anything on the floor for less than three seconds was fair game, the teacher suddenly became incredibly dedicated to guiding other students. He feigned deafness to Izuru's logic, allowing the tasting incident—and the class—to end in "peace." Well, more or less!
Rumor has it that a student cleaning the room later was horrified to find a hole corroded through the floor where the mysterious purple substance had landed. According to a diligent member of the Chemistry Club, the residue was "technically" a cookie. This discovery left the poor student with lasting psychological trauma regarding "talented cooks" and a deep-seated fear of anyone labeled "ideal wife material." Truly a celebratory outcome.
Izuru, however, remained blissfully unaware, and frankly, it wouldn't have bothered him anyway.
Sighing over his ruined dream of conquering the world as a "God Chef," he walked out of the home ec room followed by a cluster of beauties, all while the male students' glares pierced his back like daggers. And then, they parted ways!
That's right—parted ways. With P.E. next on the schedule, they needed to change into gym clothes. The locker rooms were naturally segregated; to prevent any "incidents" from the boys or the more lecherous girls, the facilities were located a significant distance apart in opposite directions.
"Hah! This country has mixed bathhouses, but no mixed locker rooms? Given the number of cross-dressers and tomboys running around, the distinction feels arbitrary," Izuru grumbled.
Stepping into the boys' locker room, the man who had looked like a "winner at life" surrounded by three girls was once again a solitary figure. He prepared to change alone, letting out a defeated groan of complaint.
Hearing his words, the other boys in the room instinctively nodded in agreement. They were actually prepared to befriend a fellow man of culture—until they saw Izuru open his locker. Their friendliness pulled a violent 180-degree turn.
"Dammit!! Is that a love letter? I'm done, just let me die!"
"To hell with you! You're the sworn enemy of the FFF Inquisition! Brothers, raise your torches!"
"And there are two of them? Drop dead!"
Seeing two pink envelopes resting prominently in Izuru's locker, the singles in the room erupted in a chorus of indignant roars. A few even looked ready to lung forward and shred the evidence.
Of course, Izuru, a veteran of the single life, wasn't about to let them succeed. His eyes flashed sharply as he squared his shoulders, his nearly 180 cm frame and solid physique casting an imposing shadow. Instantly, an overwhelming pressure filled the room.
"Gulp!"
Seeing Izuru looking ready to hand out literal slaps to anyone seeking a death wish, the students recoiled. Those who had been shouting about shredding letters were suddenly reconsidering their life choices.
It was then that Izuru spoke, his deep voice sending a shiver down their spines.
"Which one of you is playing a prank?"
"???"
The locker room fell silent. No one understood the game Izuru was playing. Why, in the middle of such a tense atmosphere, was he saying something so nonsensical?
But a second later, Izuru provided the answer to their confusion.
"Are you kidding me? What girl would sneak a love letter into the boys' locker room? You think I'm stupid? This is clearly the work of some bastard who hates seeing me succeed, trying to bait me into waiting for a confession from a girl who doesn't exist just so he can laugh at me standing there like an idiot. Man up and admit it—if you've got the guts, step out here so I can beat the hell out of you!"
"Uhhhhhhh..."
The tension evaporated instantly. The expressions of every man in the room shifted to a strange mix of realization and pity.
Izuru's logic wasn't just sound; it was 99% likely to be correct. What girl would risk entering the lions' den to plant a letter? This was clearly a dark prank by jealous boys who couldn't stand his looks, his height, and the girls around him. It was a 99% certainty!
The remaining 0.99% probability? A male student who happened to be "interested" in Izuru.
If the culprit was a cute underclassman or a convincing cross-dresser, that was one thing. But if it was a "King Kong Barbie" type... Izuru's future would be less "high school romance" and more "broken chrysanthemums," as the song goes.
Thinking of this, the formerly jealous students offered bitter smiles, turned away awkwardly, and hurried to change and leave.
However, for some reason, Izuru was moving exceptionally slowly. He waited until every last soul had vacated the locker room. And then...
"Hehe, too young, too simple. Brats... you're still far too green."
Izuru wore a triumphant smirk as he picked up the two highly ambiguous letters.
{Do they not realize there's still a one-in-ten-thousand chance that a girl has a weird hobby of slipping letters into boys' lockers? They fell for my acting so easily. Seriously, this year's high schoolers are lacking.}
"Good god!?"