Sunday morning.

Sunlight spilled into the room like a lazy cat stretching across the floor, drenching everything in its golden warmth. The wooden panels of my apartment glowed, half in light, half in shade, with tiny specks of dust dancing like they were performing some secret aerial ballet. Romantic? Maybe. But I was too groggy to appreciate it.

I cracked one eye open.

"...Ugh. Morning already?"

No alarm today, no rushing to class. Still, I sat up from the mattress with the grace of a groaning old man who'd pulled an all-nighter watching idol variety shows. (For research, obviously.)

A quick glance at my phone.

LINE: [+27 unread messages]

...What kind of popularity speedrun is this?

Predictably, the majority were bubbly emoji-laden pings from my classmates.

[Yay, Senpai, let's hang out sometime! (ღ✪v✪)ノ💗]

[Do you like cats? Or girls in cat ears? Just asking. Meow~🐾]

[Soooo... when's your next free day, Ginjo-senpai? 💘]

Ignore, ignore, definitely ignore.

Only two messages actually mattered.

[Haruka Mochizuki]:

(Image attached)

"Commemorating our first time. Thank you, Ginjo-san. Looking forward to our next date. 💕"

My heart did a little somersault. That picture—us at the shopping mall, fingers entwined. Her eyes were sparkling, cheeks faintly flushed. God-tier smile, 10/10.

The second was more to-the-point.

[Lisa Shiraishi]:

"Reminder: 9AM poolside. Confirmed venue. Don't be late."

So typical of President Ice Beauty.

I replied to both. Haruka got a warm thank you and a smiling emoji. Lisa got a thumbs up and a firm "Roger that, senpai."

After brushing my teeth and taming my hair, I stopped by Tomoko's place downstairs. She insisted I eat before leaving—nothing fancy, just toast, egg, and miso soup. Still, she hummed happily the whole time like we were a newlywed couple.

8:05AM.

Back in my room, I did some light exercise—stretching, push-ups, sit-ups. I had to look like I belonged poolside, not like some noodle-armed pretty boy.

As I caught my breath, I noticed the subtle definition in the mirror.

"...Not bad, Ginjo. Water polo girls, prepare to swoon."

I packed my swim trunks and towel, then headed for the University.

The roads were quiet. Most people were probably still in bed, curled up in blankets like cinnamon rolls. The sky was clear, the sun already climbing. That pleasant, cozy warmth wrapped around my shoulders as I walked.

And there she was.

Waiting at the school gate, arms crossed, long legs peeking out from her casual jacket, stood Lisa Shiraishi.

...Cue dramatic wind and BGM.

"Ginjo-san is surprisingly punctual," she said with a soft smile. "I was worried you'd oversleep, so I texted again."

"Senpai," I replied with a hand on my chest. "How could I possibly forget when the president of the student council personally summoned me?"

"That flattery won't get you out of drills."

She turned on her heel and led the way.

The training site was the outdoor pool—second-class facilities compared to the fancy indoor arena the swim club monopolized. Still, it had that nostalgic summer break vibe.

By the time we arrived, girls were gathering, chatting excitedly.

"Wait, it's really Ginjo-senpai!"

"Kyaaa~ I totally joined just to see him up close!"

"I heard he's already gone on a date with Mochizuki-senpai… is that true?!"

"Even his towel looks hot…"

...

I wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

Lisa, of course, pretended not to notice the fan club forming.

"Alright," she clapped once. "Locker rooms, ten minutes. Change into your swimsuits and swimming caps. Meet by the pool."

"Yes, President!"

The girls obeyed with sparkly-eyed giggles, throwing glances back at me as they disappeared behind the curtain.

"…Ginjo-san, your turn."

"Roger that. Time to get half-naked for student duty."

Ten minutes later.

I was drying my hair with a towel when I turned and—

"…Whoa."

The girls lined up by the pool, radiant under the morning sun.

Battle uniforms: activated.

Competitive swimsuits.

Now, I'd seen them in last night's videos. I had studied them for educational purposes. But the real-life impact… was something else entirely.

Those things clung tighter than a high school crush, shaping and outlining each girl's figure like a second skin. Thin shoulder straps, high-cut legs, and form-fitting compression left very little to the imagination.

My eyes twitched.

"Ugh… mine's too tight…"

"Seriously! I feel like my chest is being smushed into next week."

"My legs feel exposed—wait, are they supposed to ride up like this?"

Whispers fluttered through the team like nervous butterflies.

I gulped.

Lisa cleared her throat.

"Focus, ladies. No more complaints about your uniforms—these are regulation. We're here to train, not gossip."

With her commanding tone, the chatter died down.

And then I saw her.

Shiraishi Lisa, standing confidently at the front of the group, looked like she had descended from Mount Olympus. Or maybe just stepped out of a swimsuit catalog and into my bloodstream.

Her navy-blue suit hugged her tall frame perfectly. Smooth curves, taut waist, slender limbs. She wore a white cap, her glasses gone, and her normally strict expression was softened by a faint flush on her cheeks.

She reached up, adjusting the tight strap on her shoulder—and I swear time slowed down.

Her chest rose, pushed up, and—

ABORT. ABORT. ABORT MISSION.

My gaze jerked away as fast as a student avoiding eye contact when they didn't do their homework.

Nope. Nope. nope. Do not look again.

Not when you're wearing nothing but standard swim trunks and a prayer.

My mind screamed as my body struggled to maintain... decorum.

"Water polo," I told myself. "You are here for water polo. This is sports. Sports. Not fan service. Sports."

God help me, if anyone walks behind me right now, I'll throw myself into the pool and claim I was testing water resistance.

--

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