Whoa!
The kendo club had seen it all today—or so they thought. Already rocked by multiple shocks, they figured nothing could rattle them further. But Miyajima-senpai pulled off another stunner.
Asking for contact info… personally.
Sure, Japanese kids were reserved, but swapping email addresses was no big deal among teens. But… this was Miyajima Sakura.
She seemed gentle and approachable, yet kept a subtle distance—hence Shirao High's "untouchable flower" nickname. For her to ask for someone's contact info? Most guys would feel like they'd won the lottery.
Club members, being in the same group, had her contact info… but she'd never asked for theirs.
And now, Sakura looked cautious, almost scared of rejection. Damn, so jealous!
If she looked at me like that, I'd give her my email—no, my life!
Then Satoru dropped a bombshell, proving the gap between mortals.
"No phone," he said.
Pfft—
Several members nearly spat. What?!
"Oh…" Sakura blinked, tucking her phone away, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. But she flashed a perfect smile. "That's a shame."
"Yeah, if you need me, just…" Satoru paused, rephrasing. "Send someone to my class."
She'd picked him up after school for kendo club, claiming, "I was worried you wouldn't find the dojo."
To others, though…
The untouchable flower had sought him out during break and escorted him after class. They smelled something brewing.
Even after Satoru and Sakura left side by side, curious eyes trailed them.
Anji Seiji, teary-eyed, was torn—happy for his bro, yet burning with envy.
"So… that's the gap between us… Haha, hahaha…"
Was he crying or laughing? No one could tell.
Scared his buddy was struggling, yet terrified he was driving a Land Rover.
The scene caused quite a stir.
"Alright," Sakura said, nodding. "For Sunday's plans…"
Phone contact made meetups easy. Without it, modern folks found scheduling a hassle. She thought, then said, "How about noon at Shibuya's Hachiko statue?"
"Good plan," Satoru nodded. "But a tweak: if we don't see each other by 12:30, assume the other can't make it. Cool?"
Sakura, confident she wouldn't flake, agreed. "You're thorough, Kobayashi-kun. Let's do it."
"Thanks, Miyajima-senpai," Satoru said.
He grabbed his bag. "Gotta go."
"Leaving already?" Kato Go, now open-minded after admitting defeat, spoke up.
"Yeah, got a critical mission," Satoru sighed.
Mission!
The word hit the teens' hearts like an arrow.
Suddenly, the "Sword Demon of Tokyo" rumors merged with Satoru's image. Was he really the guy who took down ten punks? Was his "mission" to slay evil with his blade? So cool, Kobayashi-kun…
"Uh, Kobayashi-senpai… what's the mission?" Kase Masafumi, now a total fanboy, eyes sparkling, couldn't resist asking.
Satoru's face turned grave. "Homework… and an 800-word apology essay."
He'd been caught skipping class.
After dealing with Higashi, his homeroom teacher had dragged him to the staff room for a roasting.
Fighting yesterday, skipping today—Kobayashi, you aiming for the stars?!
Satoru leaned into Yamato traditions, bowing repeatedly. "Hey! Hey! Sumimasen! Honto ni sumimasen!!" Channeling pure bow-craft spirit.
Even the Sword Demon was plagued by schoolwork?
Tragic!
The kendo club winced. Heroic tales lied—heroes faced mundane struggles too!
"Oh, Kase," Satoru called, pointing. "Keep at it. I'll be watching. Got questions? Find me in Class 2-F."
He doubled down.
"…Yes!" Masafumi shouted, cheeks flushed with honor, his boyish face glowing.
Satoru slung his bag over his shoulder, strolling out of the dojo.
He crossed the school building and field.
Leaving this early was technically cutting out, while other clubs were still in full swing.
Like the baseball team.
Satoru glanced their way.
Higashi, face sour, was drilling his students into the ground. The poor kids panted, tongues out like sun-baked dogs.
No sign of Nanao Akane—smart move. After that incident, she'd likely dodged club with an excuse.
Good call, Satoru thought.
Then, a predatory glare hit him, like a cheetah eyeing prey.
Satoru narrowed his eyes, meeting it head-on.
Coach Higashi, of course.
Across dozens of meters, separated by field nets, their gazes locked.
Higashi's mouth opened, baring yellow teeth slick with spit, mimicking a chomp. Then he dragged a finger across his throat in a clear threat.
Satoru smirked, lips moving to form four silent letters: N.M.S.L.
[Host, why haven't you claimed the reward for the 'Don't Let the Baseball Girl Get Tainted!' quest? Pout Ai-chan's feeling ignored…]
Ai-chan's voice popped into his head, right on cue.
Satoru scattered his thoughts, suppressing it.
[W-Wait… Ai-chan… Y-Yamero…]
Her voice faded like a distant echo…
…
…