Beep, beep, beep... Beep, beep...

...Ugh.

Was that a tactical nuke? Oh no. Just my phone alarm screaming for the fifth time this morning like it witnessed last night's festivities.

My eyes cracked open like old blinds in a love hotel. A blurred screen glared at me.

7:58 AM.

Late. Very late.

"...Tch. Of course, now my biological clock chooses to betray me."

I slapped the phone with the grace of a drunken panda and pulled the sheets over my head.

1... 2... 3...

"Yeah, nope. Forget counting sheep. They're all dead."

I gave up, rolled out of bed like a ragdoll, and dragged myself toward the bathroom, ignoring the fact that I was still sticky from last night. I couldn't even tell what part of me was sore anymore.

Tomoko... you're too dangerous in those fishnets. May they never be sold to the public again.

No time for breakfast. No energy for shame.

Trot Mode: Activated

I half-ran, half-stumbled all the way to school like a background character in a slice-of-life anime. Slipped into class just as the bell rang.

"Phew... Mission: Almost Impossible—completed."

But as soon as my butt hit the chair, it started—the drowsiness.

My eyelids hung like overworked stage curtains. Brain cells were all on strike. Memories from last night flashed behind my eyes like a bootleg 18+ Blu-ray.

Tomoko, with that new outfit...

The bounce. The sweat. The borderline banshee sounds.

"...Screw this school. Why didn't they build soundproof walls?"

And if that wasn't enough, I'd said yes to dinner at her place last night... which turned into something entirely else. Several times.

I could still hear the "Aaah—Sosuke-kun~!" echoing through my skull.

I buried my face into my desk.

"God, please let Tomoko's room have better soundproofing."

---

The moment the bell for lunch rang, I sprinted to the cafeteria like a starving beast in heat. One yakisoba bread was completely devoured. My stomach purred like a well-fed cat.

"Ahhh... life's simple pleasures."

And then—

"Did Ginjo-san not have breakfast today?"

That voice. Calm. Sweet. Dangerously composed.

I turned around.

There she was. Lisa Shiraishi.

Silver hair tied into that tidy bun, tiny frameless glasses perched perfectly on her nose, and those polished lips that looked like they'd never tasted something as sinful as convenience store karaage.

"Ah—Shiraishi-senpai! Fancy seeing you here. Water-buying mission?"

She held up the bottle with grace, her voice as serene as a forest shrine.

"I happened to be passing by."

I nodded, stuffing more bread into my mouth like a squirrel hoarding for winter.

"Water polo club going okay?"

"Thanks to Ginjo-san, yes. Over a dozen students passed the trials. Far more than I expected."

Because you used my name like I was a Pokémon you could summon!

I gave her a thumbs-up, chewing too fast. Bread chunk—critical hit. I started choking like a first-time drinker at a hostess club.

Shiraishi-senpai handed me her water without hesitation.

"S-Sorry... thanks, Senpai. Let me get you another one—"

"No need. Just drink it."

She said it like she was offering sacred wine. For a second, I thought I saw a hint of a smile. Or maybe that was me hallucinating from oxygen deprivation.

"But... there's a small issue."

"With the club?"

"More like... with you."

"...Eh?"

"The members are asking about Ginjo-san. Constantly."

I froze.

"I-I'm not part of the club, am I?"

"You helped with recruitment. I may have... said Ginjo-san would occasionally assist with training."

"SENPAI! THAT'S CALLED FALSE ADVERTISING!"

"Ah... I really stepped on a rake there."

"Which is why I wanted to ask if Ginjo-san could help. Just on weekends."

"B-But,I already have a date this weekend."

That slipped out too naturally. I blinked in shock.

Shiraishi-senpai blinked too.

"With a woman?" she asked flatly.

"Er... maybe."

What the hell! What was with that question?!

She pouted—pouted, I tell you—like someone stole her last pudding cup.

"...Ginjo-san is really popular with the girls."

Wait. Was that sarcasm?

Before I could read deeper, she added, "Anyway, I wanted to thank you for helping during recruitment. How about dinner? My treat."

Dinner... with Lisa Shiraishi?

Elegant, refined, probably cooks with a bento knife that costs more than my life insurance.

Not a bad deal.

Better than returning to Tomoko's battlefield, where my hips might not survive round two...

"Sure. I'm free after my part-time job."

"What time will that be?"

"Around seven. I work at the Sunrise convenience store in Kitabashi-cho."

"Perfect. I'll come find you."

The bell rang again.

Shiraishi-senpai turned around, her silver hair swaying with elegance that didn't match this sweaty campus.

Also, her figure in a swimsuit...

I imagined it—big mistake.

Massive.

Huge mistake.

I sprinted back to class with a nosebleed threatening to breach containment.

---

Next up: English class.

A.k.a. Window-Gazing 101.

Outside, cherry blossoms clung weakly to branches, last night's storm leaving petals scattered across the ground like pink confetti from an illicit after-party.

It was peaceful and poetic.

"Ginjo-san, please read the passage on page 10."

Damn it.

Caught monologuing again.

I stood up, took the textbook, and cleared my throat.

Now listen, I may be an average student, but when it comes to Engrish, I've got secret weapons.

Dozens of American TV shows burned into my brain? Check.

With a low, magnetic voice that would make foreign language teachers wet themselves with joy, I began to read.

"'The weather in London is quite unpredictable...'"

Gasps echoed around me. It was like I cast a spell.

"Wow..."

"His pronunciation... it's like an actual Englishman...!"

I basked in the glory like a hero in the spotlight.

The teacher blinked in awe and quickly said, "G-Ginjo-san's pronunciation is excellent. Please learn from him, everyone."

Ha. If only they knew.

This tongue's been through wars. Not just of language... but of pleasure.

If I trained the other students using those methods... would they get better too?

No. Bad thoughts. Stop.

Not every skill should be passed on.

--

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