After finishing morning practice with the kendo club, Kiryu Kazuma returned to the classroom.
He had just sat down—his seat still cold—when Yamada Yōichi leaned over with a smug grin.
"Tomorrow's the national mock exam, huh? Kiryu-san, you must be aiming for first place in the class, right?"
Kazuma looked up at Yamada Yōichi.
In that moment, something that had always puzzled him suddenly became clear.
In his previous life, when Kazuma had watched One Piece, there was one thing he never quite understood. After learning the true identity of Red-Haired Shanks, he couldn't figure out why, in the very first episode, Shanks didn't just beat up those mountain bandits right away. Why let them swagger around, pushing people around, until Luffy's life was actually in danger—and in the end, Shanks even lost an arm.
Wasn't that unbearably frustrating?
Now, seeing Yamada Yōichi swaggering over like this, Kazuma finally understood.
When you've seen enough of the world, your threshold for reacting to things rises. A small fry like Yamada Yōichi… someone like Kazuma, as he was now, simply couldn't be bothered.
And if you can't be bothered, there's no reason to get angry.
That said, perhaps Kazuma's level wasn't quite at Red-Haired Shanks yet—he hadn't reached the point of treating Yamada Yōichi as invisible. There was still a slight twinge of annoyance.
So, he began thinking: how could he turn this annoyance back on Yamada Yōichi?
Should he just bet on getting first place? No good—the class rep… Tamago-chan had already predicted Kazuma wouldn't take first this time.
If he gambled on that and failed, he'd feel even worse.
Maybe bet on the math and English scores instead? But Yamada Yōichi wasn't dumb enough to bet on subjects where Kazuma had an edge...
Just as Kazuma was pondering, the class rep suddenly appeared at his desk, adjusting her glasses.
"So, Yamada-san," she asked calmly, "are you that confident you'll be first?"
"Oh no, no!" Yamada Yōichi said, though his smug expression practically shouted 'Yeah, that spot's mine!'
Kazuma looked at that face and confirmed again—he truly couldn't get angry at small fries anymore. In fact, his earlier annoyance had already vanished.
Because he knew: the class rep was about to thoroughly slap this guy's face.
Why was he so sure? He didn't know. Strictly speaking, he and the class rep hadn't established any sort of real relationship yet.
The class rep calmly adjusted her glasses. "No need to be so modest. I've been studying with Kiryu-kun all through Golden Week. I know where he's at right now."
A murmur of excitement swept through the class—but the class rep quickly silenced it with her powerful voice.
"However! While Kiryu-kun may not surpass you this time, you've already lost your hold on first place in this class! Cherish your final day as 'first place in the class.'"
"Hah?" Yamada Yōichi's smirk faltered. He looked flustered now, clearly rattled. "What's that supposed to mean? If not Kiryu, who else could take first? You're joking!"
The class rep tilted her head slightly. "Hmm, you're right—I wasn't precise. The results won't be released until next week. Technically, you've got one more week to enjoy being first."
Yamada Yōichi was visibly shaken. He laughed stiffly and demanded, "So who's going to be first, then? If it's not Kiryu… are you saying it's you?"
"That's right," the class rep replied serenely.
"You? You, who always ranks tenth?"
"Yes," she said calmly.
Jingūji Tamamo radiated an aura of quiet confidence so strong that those around her couldn't help but think: Maybe she really can do it.
Kazuma glanced up—and sure enough, a new status tag had appeared over her head:
"Raging for Love."
Wait, what!?
Kazuma nearly jumped out of his seat. He wanted to drag the class rep outside and remind her which of them was supposed to be the guy and which was the girl!
What's with this girl!? Her advances are way too aggressive!
Kazuma was starting to doubt how much longer he could hold out.
Meanwhile, Yamada Yōichi—unable to see the status tag or sense her aura—just sneered, "Fine, fine! Looks like our class's country girl is finally having her youthful moment! Fine!"
Kazuma thought, Are you blind? How is the class rep a 'country girl'? In the 21st century, if she walked down the street dressed like that, everyone would think she was a fashion model out for a photoshoot!
Ah well… guess the standards of this era aren't quite there yet.
Seething, Yamada Yōichi stomped back to his seat. Kazuma looked at the class rep and asked quietly, "You sure about this? What if you don't beat him…"
"That won't happen," she answered firmly. "Do you know who are the two most consistent performers in this class?"
"Two?" Kazuma blinked, then ventured, "...Me and you?"
"Exactly. You consistently rank at the bottom, and I consistently rank tenth. Now, here's the real question—how do you think I've managed to stay exactly tenth every time?"
Kazuma's eyes widened. No way...
"You've been deliberately controlling your score?"
The class rep smiled.
And for some reason, that smile gave Kazuma the chills.
That evening, on the make-up school day, Ikeda Shigeru arrived right on time for his shift at the convenience store. He was on the night shift today.
It was pretty common in Japan for high schoolers to work part-time jobs like this.
Convenience stores, izakayas—you name it—they'd adjust the schedule flexibly to fit around students' classes.
"Ikeda-kun, welcome," the store manager called from behind the counter, where he was counting the till.
"Good evening, manager." Ikeda gave a proper bow.
For a former delinquent like him, this felt oddly unnatural.
Back when he used to hang around with Miura and the gang, they'd laugh their heads off at office workers bowing and scraping to their bosses.
But now, thinking about it… yakuza bow to their bosses all the time too. Why had he ever thought yakuza bows were out of respect, while office workers were just being spineless?
After greeting the manager, Ikeda walked behind the counter into the staff room, took his name tag, and clocked in.
Then the manager called out, "You shaved your head—was that for a sports club? No training this afternoon?"
Ikeda's heart skipped a beat, but he quickly realized the manager hadn't guessed the real reason for his shaved head. He casually made something up: "Ah… I, uh, stepped down early, due to some things."
"I see. It's a shame though—your last summer of high school, and you won't get to aim for Koshien. That's something you'll regret for life." The manager gave a sympathetic sigh, clearly assuming Ikeda was a baseball kid.
"Right," the manager continued, finishing up at the till and locking the drawer. He picked up a magazine and handed it to Ikeda. "This issue of Weekly Saturday has a new baseball manga by a rookie named Adachi Makoto. It's called CONTACT. You might like it."
In truth, Ikeda wasn't interested in baseball at all. But with the manager recommending it so enthusiastically, he couldn't exactly refuse. He accepted the thick magazine.
Japanese manga magazines were always massive—like bricks. Probably because they never did the space-saving "four-panel split" format.
The cover this issue clearly featured the baseball manga the manager mentioned—a confident young player, his expression brimming with youthful energy and promise.
The manager smiled. "What do you think? Just from this cover illustration, you can tell this author's going places, right?"
"Mm." Ikeda nodded, then—almost involuntarily—pictured the magazine cover changing. Instead of a baseball boy, it showed a kendo youth, drawn with the same vibrant lines of hope and energy… and it was his own face.
If only…
Clutching this small fantasy, Ikeda opened the magazine to check out the new series...
But just then, the store's front door swung open.
The manager called out, "Welcome—huh? Wait, what are you doing?!"
Ikeda had been about to echo the welcome—but he sensed something wrong. His gaze snapped to the entrance.
There stood Miura, supporting a bloodied Asano as they rushed in.
Last through the door, Irie shouted, "Amo! It's Nankatsu's guys!"
Miura yelled, "Run, Amo!"
(End of Chapter)