While the three girls were busy working on their test papers, Sakurai-kun didn't stay idle.
He observed them closely, quietly analyzing their learning patterns.
Miku was the fastest to start — she breezed through the early history questions with barely a pause. Though she slowed down on the other subjects, she still managed to pick out a few questions here and there she could solve.
As expected, Ichika performed well in mathematics. But Sakurai noticed something else: she gave up on questions far too quickly. Anything she couldn't solve immediately, she skipped with a note to "come back later." Instead, she prioritized the easy-point questions.
This tactic could scrape her a passing score — but it wouldn't take her any further. If she kept learning like this, her overall ability would only stagnate or decline.
If Ichika was too quick to give up, then Itsuki was the exact opposite.
She was the kind who refused to give up.
Sakurai watched her for a long while and realized she had a different problem: she would get stuck on a single question, determined to solve it no matter how much time it took.
She approached multiple-choice questions by verifying every option, one by one — an extremely inefficient strategy. At this rate, by the time other students were reviewing their answers, she'd still be wrestling with question four.
Just then—
"Beep-boop~"
Sakurai's phone buzzed with a call.
"Excuse me, I need to take this," he said softly, stepping out onto the balcony.
Only then did he check the caller ID:"Nakano-san."
That name belonged to Nakano Maruo, the director of a hospital. Sakurai didn't know much more than that.
He answered, "Hello, Nakano-san. This is Sakurai."
The voice on the other end was cold and flat. "How is the teaching coming along?"
Sakurai glanced back through the balcony window. Inside, the girls were still focused on their work.
"It's going smoothly so far."
"That's not what I heard." Nakano Maruo's tone grew sharper, tinged with suspicion.
"There was a misunderstanding last week, but it's been resolved," Sakurai replied calmly. He turned his gaze toward the far-off cityscape — from the thirtieth floor, the afternoon sun was still strong.
"Did you call just to ask about the lessons?"
There was a pause. Then:
"…Regarding Ichika's situation, I want to express my thanks."
Sakurai blinked. That caught him off guard.
How did he know? That incident had happened somewhere a father wouldn't normally have informants.
Nakano Maruo continued, as if answering the question forming in Sakurai's mind:
"Due to certain reasons, I normally avoid interfering in my daughters' daily lives. But inevitably, some things slip through the cracks."
Sakurai's eyes narrowed. He instinctively glanced around the balcony, half-expecting to find a hidden microphone.
This whole apartment might've been under surveillance.
He says he doesn't interfere, yet this level of 'protection' seems… excessive.
Almost as if reading his thoughts again, Nakano Maruo said:
"I haven't installed surveillance equipment in the apartment. What happened last week—Itsuki told me. She's responsible for reporting the tutoring progress and handling your payment."
He added bluntly, "You only taught for one day last week, so you'll be paid for one day."
Sakurai was speechless.
This man was clearly overprotective. But at the same time, he cared — in his own way.
"For the monthly exams after Golden Week," Maruo added, "I look forward to seeing your results, Sakurai-kun."
Without waiting for a response, he hung up.
Sakurai slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to head back inside.
Tokyo. Director's Office of a Major Hospital.
A man sat silently, bathed in sterile white light. He set down the phone and turned his gaze to the window. His expression was grim.
"Student and teacher…" he murmured.
Unwelcome memories surged up from the depths of his mind. For a moment, a vision of a woman with long red hair floated before his eyes.
Ling Nai.
He frowned. That name still haunted him.
His wife had met a tragic end. Back then, she had fallen in love with a teacher — a man who abandoned her the moment he found out she was pregnant with quintuplets.
Yes. Nakano Maruo was not the girls' biological father.
He was the man who stepped in after their mother's death — the one who took responsibility and raised them as his own.
Because of that past, he had no intention of letting history repeat itself.
He knew the five sisters had poor grades. They needed a private tutor — but Maruo would never allow just anyone into their lives.
He understood, more than anyone, how difficult his daughters could be.
So he had strict requirements: the tutor must be responsible, patient, and able to handle the sisters' unique personalities. Only after that would he consider academic qualifications.
Naturally, he turned his eyes to Shuchiin Academy. If the tutor attended the same school, there would be more opportunities to build rapport.
One name stood out: the second-year student who held the top rank in the grade, with excellent conduct and strong leadership as Student Council President.
Perfect — on paper.
But negotiations had failed.
The reason?
"I don't have the time, and I'm not good with girls."
…"no one."
Sakurai-kun closed the test papers with a snap and looked at them seriously.
"None of you stood out enough to earn it."
The three girls froze, their expressions like children who had just been told Christmas was canceled.
"But you said…" Ichika blinked in disbelief.
Sakurai nodded, calm but firm. "I said I'd give it to the person who satisfied me the most. And while each of you had strengths, none of you have yet met that standard."
Itsuki's smile, which had just started to resurface, collapsed again.Miku silently crushed her now-empty can of matcha soda.Ichika let out a long sigh and collapsed into the sofa, her arms flopping dramatically over her head. "So stingy…"
"But," Sakurai said, placing the papers on the table, "this is your baseline. It's not a judgment — it's a reference point. From here on out, we'll aim higher."
He pulled out a small notebook and began jotting things down.
"I'll design a plan based on your current levels. Each of you has a subject you're good at, so I'll assign a rotation — you'll take turns explaining topics to one another."
"You mean…" Miku looked up, puzzled.
"Teaching each other," Sakurai replied. "It reinforces your own understanding. It also helps you connect."
The girls exchanged subtle glances. They were quintuplets, yes — but not exactly a unified front.
"Also," he added, "I'll keep the wish ticket in my pocket for now."
"You're not throwing it away?" asked Ichika, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course not." Sakurai's tone softened, just slightly. "It's still valid — when someone truly earns it."
He stood and walked toward the kitchen area, giving them space. "Today was just the start. So take the loss, feel it, and come back stronger."
Silence fell over the room, filled only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of Miku fiddling with her can. Then:
"I'm going to get that ticket next time," she said under her breath.
"I won't lose," Itsuki muttered.
Ichika grinned, the competitive spark rekindled in her eyes. "Then you'd better bring your A-game, sisters."
Sakurai-kun smiled faintly as he rinsed his cup.
Round One: Complete.The real tutoring had only just begun.