Three days had passed since that insane night of work, editing, and planning.
The next morning arrived far too quickly, and with it came a sequence of events for which, honestly, he wasn't fully prepared.
After spending the entire night uploading videos, adjusting details, organizing finances, and still helping his mother with the sewing, he finally collapsed into bed.
As always, he woke up early. He went straight to the gym, trained hard, and before he knew it, he barely had time to blink before being thrown back into the chaotic social reality of Ichinan Academy.
Right upon arriving, he came face to face with something that not even the most intense training could have prepared him for: a line of girls waiting to make a kokuhaku. One after another, as if they had scheduled times in a secret app. Some were trembling with nerves, others displayed an almost theatrical confidence, and two seemed on the verge of tears before even opening their mouths.
And he rejected them all, calmly, kindly, and politely.
Which, ironically, only made everything worse.
Some left even more infatuated with the "polite prince"; others, devastated to a point where he didn't know how to fix it.
It didn't take even an hour for the rumors to explode throughout the entire school. In the hallways, in the LINE groups, in classrooms he had never even set foot in, everyone was talking about the same thing: Isagi rejected them all.
From the boys' side, the news that Isagi had rejected all the confessions triggered a wave of collective euphoria in the soccer team. For them, it wasn't a scandal or a reason for criticism; it was practically a symbolic trophy that reinforced the captain's status. The boys treated the situation as if it were another victory on the field. The captain, already famous for his absurd talent, now became the protagonist of exalted rumors, inflated gossip, and somewhat awkward displays of admiration. Pride, envy, disconcert... everything mixed into an almost comical general reaction.
For many, his popularity was almost an extension of the team's own; if Isagi drew attention, the entire team shone along with him. It was as if one person's prestige automatically reflected on the others, and they loved it. So much so that, after the initial euphoria, they started teasing Isagi mercilessly, asking him to "give a hand," "make the connection," "introduce some cool girls"... as if rejecting a line of kokuhakus automatically turned him into the club's official cupid.
Even Kuze and Oreki, despite the lazy behavior they usually displayed, couldn't disguise the silent recognition and lingering envy they felt. It was impossible to ignore the fact that their best friend had inevitably become the new "Mr. Popular" of the school.
Curiously, Isagi's wave of rejections had an unexpected effect on some girls, especially Kaguya and Yuki. For both, the news acted almost like a silent relief. Kaguya spent the morning in the Student Council with a discreetly satisfied expression, almost triumphant, organizing documents with the composure of someone who had just won a war that only she knew was happening. Yuki, meanwhile, seemed to have received a spontaneous boost of confidence; although she tried to hide it, the relief was there, shining beneath the surface of her usual "Ojou-sama" behavior.
That atmosphere lasted, of course, until both discovered another piece of information that spread as quickly as the first rumors: Isagi was practically Maria's childhood boyfriend. And worse still, they had spent the previous day together, information that only circulated thanks to Touya, who couldn't keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes.
When Kaguya and Yuki heard this, the two, almost simultaneously, turned their heads to stare at the "Madonna of the second year" with the typical expression of someone who had just identified the final boss of an RPG. Maria, for her part, had no idea of the reason behind those sharp looks, which made the scene even more amusing for those observing from a distance, namely Touya and Chika Fujiwara, who loved the whole situation....
At the end of that confusing day, Kaguya finally gathered the courage to send a message to Isagi or, more precisely, Ai Hayasaka did it for her, after noticing the alarming level of indecision from the heiress. The invitation was direct: go out with Isagi to a fireworks festival in the neighboring city, which would happen on Friday night.
Isagi decided to accept, and the positive response left the heiress of the Shinomiya Family, something she would deny to her death, genuinely happy.
Yuki, for her part, had no intention of falling behind, especially after realizing that her rivals would certainly make their own moves. Anticipating the attack, she invited Isagi to go to the mall on Saturday, using a perfectly plausible excuse: she wanted to buy something for him as thanks for helping her buy groceries the day before.
To her luck, the invitation didn't interfere with Sunday, when Isagi had already promised to accompany Marin to a cosplay event, a commitment made long before his week turned into complete social chaos. So, she received a positive response....
Just for the record, Kaguya and Yuki weren't the only ones who gathered the courage to approach him. Alya, always temperamental and who the day before wanted to kill him out of pure jealousy, appeared in a good mood upon discovering that Isagi had rejected all the girls. Driven by curiosity, she asked the reason, and he answered sincerely: he was too focused on soccer to think about dating. Besides, he commented that, if he were to enter a relationship, he would like it to be with someone as beautiful as her.
Those were exactly the right words. Alya's mood skyrocketed instantly. She was so satisfied that, for the first time in a long time, she didn't complain about sharing the book with him.
With that, Isagi finally managed to break the ice between the two, talking about simple topics, exchanging light comments, and creating an atmosphere that left Alya comfortably at ease by his side.
Well, he just hoped Alya wouldn't get too angry when she discovered that her sister and he were, in practice, in a relationship. It was information that, sooner or later, would inevitably reach her ears, and Isagi preferred not to be in the blast radius when that happened....
Speaking of her, Maria had become surprisingly clingy, treating him in a way that, to anyone, would clearly sound like girlfriend behavior. For Isagi's heart, still marked by the obsessive intensity of his predecessor, this didn't help at all; on the contrary, it only accelerated the inevitable process of him starting to truly fall for her. Maria was annoyingly perfect for him, and that left him even more confused.
To make matters worse, Isagi could never predict what was going on in her mind. One day she treated him like a childhood friend, the next she acted as if they had been married for five years. And the photos... God, the photos. They started innocently "what do you think of the new dress?" and escalated way too quickly.
The last one almost killed him from a heart attack.
She had just gotten out of the bath. White robe, half-open, loosely falling over her shoulders. The photo captured from the neck down: the fabric barely holding those large breasts, the wet curve still glistening with water, the neckline so deep it was impossible not to imagine the rest. The caption was simple: "Just took a bath... Saa-kun, and you? What are you doing?"
He stared at the screen for a good ten minutes, breathless. He saved it immediately.
But, honestly... you can understand why he really didn't know what was going on in her mind, right? All that intensity, the sudden closeness, the way she treated him like a boyfriend, the absurd trust in sending provocative photos, all of that happened on the first day after he discovered she was the same "Maa-chan" from his childhood.
It was as if she had waited years for that... and now was compensating for every lost second with an avalanche of affection, jealousy, and intimacy.
If that day wasn't already completely crazy, imagine then Isagi's surprise upon seeing Marin showing up at his house at night after he returned from his training at the dojo, practically climbing the gate as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She appeared breathless, radiant, saying she had come to "help Iyo with the costume sewing."
The truth? Isagi had already done the hardest part, all thanks to the previous night when he almost turned into a zombie sewing for hours beside his mother. When Marin discovered the absurd effort he had put into it because of her, she was simply moved: eyes shining, a smile so big it seemed to light up the entire room.
And then, in a completely typical impulse for Marin, the kind of impulse that respects no logic, shame, or social boundaries, she shoved her hands into her backpack, pulled out a completely indecent game, and handed it to him with both hands, as if offering a sacred gift to a benevolent god.
Isagi, for his part, could only accept his fate with his soul leaving his body.
Saint ♡ Slippery's Academy for Girls, The Young Ladies of the Humiliation Club: Debauched Miracle Life 2.
Yes. She really gave him that game.
And worse: she stared until she was sure he would fulfill the promise to play it. He ended the night staring at the screen, defeated by forces that no elite striker could dribble.
The next day, when he woke up, Isagi barely had time to stretch. Marin was already sending messages and bringing up the game with an almost suspicious excitement. It was too many details, too many questions, too specific curiosity to be a coincidence. She clearly wanted to know every microexpression he had made while playing, and that alone already left Isagi nervous.
He ended up spending about fifteen minutes chatting with her, responding to her consecutive message attacks, while at the same time talking to Maria, who, to his surprise, had also woken up early.
On the other hand, Marin had stayed up all night watching anime, which perfectly explained why she was online at five in the morning with the energy of someone who had drunk three coffees and an energy drink.
Between responding to Marin wanting to know his opinion on "that specific scene in chapter three" and dealing with Maria being sweet and clingy right at dawn, Isagi already felt that the day was going to be complicated... and he hadn't even gotten out of bed yet.
But before thinking too much about all that, Isagi was already dressed, ready, and walking to the gym. The morning workout had become his personal anchor in the midst of the social chaos his school life had turned into, and that day was no different. At least, that's what he expected. While adjusting the equipment and preparing to start the day's series, a small detour happened: he ended up meeting Kiri Uzaki, the eldest son of the gym owner. It was a quick encounter, more a passing greeting than any real conversation, nothing that had an impact beyond a "good morning" exchanged between a dedicated athlete and someone who had gone to talk to his father about something.
Other than that, nothing changed. The workout was heavy as always, technical, tiring, and exactly the kind of routine Isagi needed to get his head straight before the rest of the week decided to become even more chaotic.
After the workout, Isagi went straight to school, arriving in the classroom before everyone else, something that surprised no one. What did surprise was who entered right after him.
Alya.
Unlike the previous day, when she was unexpectedly in a good mood for knowing he had rejected all the girls and even more excited after the sincere compliment he had made, that morning she seemed like a different person. The heavy expression, unstable mood, and discreet dark circles told the whole story: she hadn't slept well. And, from all indications, she also hadn't digested a certain piece of information that spread way too quickly.
The information that Isagi was, apparently, the "childhood boyfriend" of her older sister.
It wasn't hard to imagine how this had reached her. Most likely, Maria told her the night before, perhaps with pride, perhaps with too much excitement, or in that provocative tone that was her trademark, and Alya, already sensitive and jealous by nature, must have spent hours thinking about it in silence.
That morning's reaction needed no words. It was stamped on her tense gaze, rigid movements, the almost painful effort to maintain composure while every part of her body betrayed the growing discomfort....
It wasn't even necessary to say that, as soon as she opened her mouth, Alya dumped an entire arsenal of accusations on him. She called him a "traitor," "pervert," "liar," and even accused him of having "let himself be stolen by his own sister," all interspersed with a constant flow of phrases in Russian during the morning that sounded dangerously like curses. Alya was visibly exhausted, irritated, and emotionally misaligned, and Isagi could only watch in silence as she unloaded every drop of accumulated frustration during the classes where only he heard. It was a miracle she wasn't throwing her backpack at his head yet....
He had to explain calmly how he met Maria, making it clear that, although they were "childhood sweethearts," that belonged to a distant past. The justification helped to ease Alya's mood a bit, who finally began to regain her composure after unloading all the initial frustration. However, when she asked if he liked her sister, the situation became delicate again.
To escape the emotional trap and avoid creating even more tension, Isagi did what many Brazilians would do instinctively: he gave a vague, balanced response open to interpretation, stating that he liked Maria to the same extent that he liked her. The phrase clarified absolutely nothing, but it had an immediate effect. Alya was momentarily paralyzed, too confused to continue arguing or insist on the subject. It was clear she didn't know if she should feel offended, flattered, or worried.
Her confusion said it all and made it clear that the situation was far from fully resolved.
The rest of the morning was a real-time damage control operation.
Isagi kept the tone light, made silly jokes about the math teacher who always slept standing up, lent his pencil case without Alya needing to ask, passed the snack his mother had put in his backpack ("it's spoon brigadeiro, try it, it's good for the soul"), and little by little, the iceberg that was Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou began to melt. When the recess bell rang, she no longer seemed to want to assassinate him with the compass. She still cast suspicious glances from time to time, but at least she accepted sharing the earphones while he showed a playlist that "matched her mood today." It worked. A little.
At noon, he finally managed to breathe outside the classroom. He went down to the courtyard and found Kuze and Oreki sprawled on the usual bench, one eating onigiri as if it were his last meal, the other sleeping with his head resting on his backpack. The conversation was the usual: heavy teasing about the kokuhaku line from the previous morning, indiscreet questions about who he "really" liked, and Oreki trying (and failing) to blackmail Isagi into doing his literature homework in exchange for "privileged information about certain third-year girls." Isagi just laughed, slapped each one on the back of the neck, and promised to take them out for spicy ramen on the weekend if they stopped bothering him. It worked like magic.
The afternoon classes started calmly, until the modern Japanese teacher announced the group work: analysis of a contemporary short story, oral presentation next Friday, five thousand characters minimum. The classroom turned into chaos of scraping chairs and people running to form trios and quartets.
Marin, as expected, didn't waste time. She appeared beside his desk with the energy of someone who had just won a prize, radiant and excited, inviting him to form a group for the class work. Before he could even respond, the atmosphere changed abruptly. Alya, sitting beside him, turned her head slowly, casting a gaze capable of freezing half of Siberia. Her expression made it clear that any choice would bring consequences: if he chose Marin, he was dead; if he didn't choose her, also.
With no viable alternatives, Isagi accepted Marin's invitation, but quickly added that he would like Alya to join the group too. Marin needed a second to process, but soon opened an even bigger smile, which seemed impossible, and celebrated the idea. For her, including Alya was a bonus, since she found the "Russian princess" absurdly busty and had always been interested in befriending her.
Alya, for her part, kept her sharp gaze for another instant before finally giving in. With a discreet sigh, she dragged her chair and positioned herself on the opposite side of Isagi, without saying a single word. The message was clear: she accepted participating, but only because she was closely monitoring every move of his and Marin's.
The rest of the class turned into a polite cold war, disguised as group work. Marin talked nonstop, sliding through the story's theme until reaching improbable ship theories between the characters; Alya, in turn, corrected all interpretations with the precision of a professional literary critic and a touch of disdain that she didn't bother to hide.
In the center of that silent tension was Isagi, divided between taking notes, avoiding conflicts, and trying to preserve his own sanity. At several moments, the two exchanged sharp glances over his head, like predators defending territory.
For Isagi, the goal of the work ceased to be the grade and became something more basic: survive until the end of class.
The final bell for the modern Japanese class rang like a true blessing. Isagi, Marin, and Alya's group was the first to turn in the report: twelve impeccable pages, with a detailed structuralist analysis, absolute merit of Alya, accompanied by visual references, colorful diagrams, and elaborate thematic connections, courtesy of Marin's infinite enthusiasm. The conclusion, formulated by Isagi to tie it all together, was so solid that even the teacher raised an eyebrow, surprised by the quality.
When the results were announced at the end of class, the three received the maximum grade, something unprecedented in that subject. Marin let out a contained squeal of joy, almost hugging the two; Alya merely tilted her head in acknowledgment, but the slight lift at the corner of her mouth equated to a radiant smile by her standards. Isagi just released the breath he had been holding since class began, relieved to still be alive.
With the end of classes, he ran to the locker room, put on his training uniform, and took command of the soccer team. What followed were two hours of pure athletic hell: high-intensity circuits that he himself had designed, sprints with abrupt changes of direction, finishes under heavy physical contact, and ball possession exercises in a reduced area that put even the third-year veterans on the verge of collapse. Some even vomited discreetly in the corners of the field.
The coach just watched, arms crossed, without daring to interfere; he knew that when Isagi entered "Demon King" mode, no one had permission to soften the training. In the end, everyone fell onto the grass, completely exhausted, but with a new shine of confidence in their eyes that hadn't existed before.
The tactical meeting came right after the training.
As the official Inter High calendar had already been released, with all of Ichinan Academy's matches listed in order, the focus of the tactical meeting was the first opponent on the schedule. The analyses began immediately, projecting videos of the school responsible for opening the tournament against them, a traditional team known for its accelerated attack and wingers who ran as if they had springs in their feet.
Isagi took command of the analysis as if he were just continuing the physical work. In less than fifteen minutes, he completely dismantled the opponent: exit patterns, weak points in recomposition, recurring failures between the lines, specific gaps that could be exploited with diagonal passes or coordinated pressure. He said everything with objective clarity, straight to the point, outlining the game plan like someone who already knew the final result.
When he finished, the silence that settled wasn't doubt; it was that heavy, almost automatic respect that arose every time Isagi turned a strong opponent into a simple problem.
No one seemed worried.
With him on the field, the first game was practically guaranteed.
Back home, the hot smell of curry filled the kitchen. Isagi greeted his father and mother with a tired wave before sitting at the table. They dined while talking about the day; his mother still hadn't gotten over the fact that he had rejected an entire line of girls, news that, to his complete despair, had already spread through the entire neighborhood thanks to the street mothers' group.
After dinner, he and his mother finished Marin's cosplay: last hand-stitched points, well-aligned bias, and embroidery details that made the piece look professional, as if it had come straight from a costume studio. When Isagi sent a photo of the final result to Marin, he immediately received an avalanche of messages in caps lock and crying emojis. She even begged to pick up the cosplay that very second.
With a lot of patience, Isagi managed to convince her to wait until the next day.
With the sewing finished, he went up to his room. He turned on the notebook, calmly reviewed the channels' analytics, scheduled two videos for the next day, adjusted the copy of the digital product he was about to launch, and responded to comments until his eyes burned. After that, he did the twenty-minute yoga sequence that kept him functional, stretched every muscle punished by the training, and only then finally let himself fall into bed.
The phone vibrated nonstop.
Five simultaneous conversations began to vie for his attention.
Kaguya sent discreet photos of the yukata she had chosen for the fireworks festival; careful images, accompanied by short messages full of emojis that she would never admit to using in public.
Yuki bombarded him with options for "casual but elegant" gifts, each choice more suspicious than the last, clearly trying to discover his size and preferred style without seeming like she was trying.
Maria being Maria: sweet voice, long audios calling him "Saa-kun" and recounting minimal details of the day just to hear his voice before bed; she ended with a new photo, this time lying on her side in bed, thin nightgown, dangerous neckline, caption "good night, Saa-kun ♡".
Alya appeared still a bit suspicious, though softer than in previous days. She asked about homework, about training, about anything that sounded neutral enough, always seasoning the messages with acidic comments disguised as mere curiosity.
Marin, on the other hand, operated on her own plane of existence: a flood of messages about the cosplay, about the eroge he supposedly had promised to finish, about Sunday's event, and about three more topics that emerged at an impossible speed to keep up with.
Isagi responded to everything at the pace he had left. With Maria, he kept a naturally affectionate tone; with Kaguya and Yuki, he alternated between politeness and diplomacy; with Marin, he was playful enough not to encourage too much; and with Alya, he adopted the caution of someone stepping on a minefield but trying to seem carefree.
When he finally turned off the light, it was past two in the morning.
He lay on his back, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, and let out a long, tired, exhausted sigh, but strangely satisfied. The feeling of having survived another chaotic day without losing control was, in an almost ironic way, comforting.
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