MUNDANE HURT: Chapter 1

While you may already be familiar with these terms, I’ve provided their English definitions for those who may not be. I’ve also changed the name order to First and Last, rather than the Last and First order used in the original Japanese text.

1. さん (san): This is a general, respectful suffix used to address or refer to someone. It's similar to "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Ms." in English. It's commonly used for people of all ages and social statuses in both formal and informal contexts.

2. 君 (kun): This suffix is often used for addressing younger males, or in a more familiar or casual setting. It can be used with people of the same or lower status, and it's commonly used among friends, students, or in professional settings where there is a clear hierarchy (like between a superior and a subordinate). 

3. ちゃん (chan): This suffix is used to express affection or endearment, typically towards children, pets, or close friends. It conveys a sense of familiarity and warmth, and is often used with people who are younger or of the same age but with whom one shares a close, informal relationship. While it can be used for both males and females, it is more commonly used for females and children.

Content warning: This novel contains descriptions of abuse, explicit sexual content, graphic violence, r*pe, and su*cide. I will not be adding a trigger warning to each chapter with graphic content, so please consider this a general warning.

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Lying on his back on the bed, Tatsunari Nishizaki let out a soft exhale of cigarette smoke. Stretching his arms forward with his fingers interlaced, the sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains illuminated the pale, blue veins beneath his skin. His long arms were so thin they looked like twigs. Maybe I should work out a little. But that kind of thing is such a pain, he thought as he brought the cigarette to his lips again—only for it to be deftly plucked from between his fingers.

Mai, holding it high like a toy she’d just confiscated, flashed it teasingly.

“Give it back.”

“Nope.” She placed the lit cigarette into the ashtray on the side table.

“No smoking on the bed. I’ve told you that before.”

“I was lonely,” he sulked. “You wouldn’t pay any attention to me.”

When he put on an exaggeratedly sullen act, she cooed, “Aw, so cute,” and ruffled his hair with her elegant fingers. Her wet, long hair swayed gently, and a droplet fell, landing on Nishizaki’s cheek with a soft splash. “Ah, sorry,” she said, wiping it off with the pad of her finger.

Her face looked different than usual. Why does she look so different? Were her eyes always this small? Was she always this plain? Puzzled, he tilted his head and then realized—she wasn’t wearing makeup. Without it, her complexion looked sickly, and she appeared older. She mentioned turning 27 last month. Women really age quickly. Makeup is amazing.

“You’re such a natural flirt,” she said. “The type women can’t leave alone.”

“I always get dumped, though. So pitiful, right?”

“Yeah, right,” she said, pinching his cheek lightly.

“It’s true. That’s why you’d better not ditch me, Mai.”

With an exasperated “Oh, stop,” she hugged him, smiling happily despite herself. Even knowing it was just playful banter, Nishizaki couldn’t deny that women were weak for words that made them feel special. He pushed her slender body down onto the bed, lifting her camisole to reveal her voluminous H-cup breasts. Pressing his face against the softness, he inhaled the sweet, fruity scent that lingered there.

Heat stirred in his groin, and he reached for her underwear, fully intending to go for another round, but she gently pushed his shoulder back.

“It’s almost three o’clock. Don’t you need to get back to school today?”

With a sigh, he pulled himself away from her intoxicatingly sensual body. Getting off the bed, he shuffled over to the sofa where his shirt hung, slowly threading his arms through the sleeves. Mai, still in her underwear, lounged on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow as she watched him.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” she said, her lips, paler than usual, parting to speak.

“What?”

“Today’s the sports festival, right? Why are you wearing your blazer? Shouldn’t it be a tracksuit?”

Nishizaki shrugged, his shoulders twitching slightly.

“Like hell I’m walking outside in that crappy tracksuit.”

“Really? I love tracksuits. They’re so high-school-y and cute.”

She looked completely serious. Does she really think I should wear that? What a weird woman. Sometimes she said things so lame that it made him cringe. Learning she came from the countryside had made a lot of her quirks suddenly make sense. Still, he wasn’t about to say, “Your sense of style is awful.” Dealing with her sulking afterward would be too much work.

Instead, he leaned down and gave her a kiss before saying, “See you,” and leaving her apartment.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Though October had arrived, the relentless heat showed no signs of letting up. A short walk outside was enough to make sweat bead on Nishizaki's forehead. The sky was brutally clear, without a single cloud in sight. Unable to endure it any longer, he shrugged off his blazer. The breeze was cool, but the sunlight was punishing. The contrast between the air-conditioned indoors and the blazing heat outside made his skin feel like it was losing its grip on reality.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted lazily to Mai. At first, he’d been thrilled by her Adult-Video-level boobs, but lately, it felt unnecessarily oversized, and from certain angles, the sagging made her breasts look like a cow’s udder, which grossed him out. She’s getting older too. Sometimes, he’d catch himself thinking he didn’t need her anymore. But her apartment, just a five-minute walk from school and always open for sex, was too convenient to give up.

As he neared the school, the chaotic blend of J-pop and Western pop music grew louder. On the sidewalk, passersby paused, startled by the growing cheers and the sharp crack of starting pistols coming from within the brick walls of the campus.

After making sure no one was around, Nishizaki slipped quietly through the back gate. Once inside the school grounds, he felt a little more secure. There was no evidence he’d left the premises, and he could come up with any number of excuses if questioned. Sticking to the shadows along the school building, he made his way toward the noise-filled courtyard, keeping his expression nonchalant.

At Nishizaki’s private school, Shirakashi East High School, the annual sports festival was surprisingly elaborate for a private institution. Each grade had six classes, labeled A to F, and teams were formed by grouping together the same letter classes from first, second, and third years. The six teams competed for points. The cheering contest and the final relay race were supposedly the highlights. Or so they say..

He hadn’t attended last year as a first-year, so he could only speculate. Despite friends telling him it had been a blast, he couldn’t help but think, What kind of idiot finds fun in sweating and exhausting themselves?

From elementary school, Nishizaki had always been bad at sports. After he discovered the magic of feigning illness, he’d successfully skipped every sports festival and athletic event throughout elementary and junior high. This year, however, his streak had come to an end.

The culprit was Honda, an old-fashioned, stubborn P.E. teacher who took it upon himself to declare that any student absent from the sports festival would be marked as absent for the day. Some teachers had argued against it, pointing out that students had their reasons, but Honda had the final word. The compromise was this: students could only skip the festival by submitting a signed statement from their parents detailing their reasons, and they’d still have to complete a makeup session with the same athletic activities on a later date.

The sports festival was bad enough, but the idea of a "makeup session" was horrifying. The no-escape situation didn’t bother him at first. He’d assumed his uncle—who ran a hospital and had connections with the school’s chairman—would pull some strings as usual.

But then Honda complicated matters by announcing he would personally verify every student’s attendance and oversee the makeup sessions himself. With such direct supervision, there was no room for Nishizaki to fake his way out. On top of that, he was already on Honda’s radar for frequently sitting out of P.E. classes under dubious pretenses.

"Why does everyone have to participate?"

"How is taking part in a sports festival supposed to impact the rest of my life?"

"And if I get injured? That’d be the worst."

When Nishizaki grumbled, his uncle just gave a faint laugh and said, "Well, well." His uncle, now 53, had taken over as the director of the hospital Nishizaki’s grandfather once ran. Busy as he was, he rarely came home. With gentle features reminiscent of Nishizaki’s mother, his younger sister, and an air of polished dignity, he embodied the word gentleman.

"Every teacher has their own way of thinking," his uncle offered diplomatically.

"Yeah, well, whenever I see that guy with that self-righteous look like he’s drunk on his own ideology, it pisses me off. That’s the definition of a fossil. Can’t we just ship him off to some other school?"

Apparently, his uncle had brought it up with the school chairman, but Honda, the P.E. teacher, was set to retire next year. The absurdity of the "attendance checks" passed because everyone decided to humor him, given it was his last year. In the end, Nishizaki had no choice but to relent. He agreed to show his face for the initial and final attendance checks and disappear in between.

With this many students, no one’s going to notice if one slips away. And Nishizaki’s bet was right. He managed to sneak back in and blend into the crowd behind the cheering section for his class, Team F. All he had to do now was pass Honda’s final "attendance check," and he’d be in the clear.

He had timed his return to coincide with the end of the events, but the cavalry battle was still going on in the center of the track. It seemed the program was running late.

"Go! Go!"

Ahead of him, a shaved-headed senior with 3-F displayed on the back of his bib waved his right arm and shouted, his face flushed red. It’s just a sports festival. Nishizaki couldn’t understand why someone would get so worked up about it.

The senior, with his oversized face and features scrunched too close together, looked like a cruel joke by some god. The uglier the guy, the worse they look when they’re all fired up. Nishizaki had to fight the urge to pat the senior on the shoulder and advise him: Relax a bit, Senpai. Keep it classy.

"Hey, Nishizaki!"

Yuzuki passed by, spotting him. Among their classmates, Yuzuki had a reasonably decent face. His taste in things wasn’t bad either, putting him in the “cooler” category. But today, he was decked out in the ultimate crime against fashion: a white short-sleeve T-shirt and navy-blue gym shorts. The P.E. uniform left no room for redemption. Nishizaki shuddered at the thought of being made to wear it. Whoever designed this atrocity deserved a one-way ticket to hell.

"Where have you been all this time?" Yuzuki’s face, red-brown and glistening from sunburn, shone as he spoke.

"My girlfriend’s place," Nishizaki replied casually. "Figured they’d start the attendance check soon."

Yuzuki clapped his dusty hands lightly and said, "Ah, makes sense. The team relay is the last event after the cavalry battle, so if they’re doing attendance, it’ll probably be after that. …Oh, nice! We won!"

Cheers erupted around them. Students with green headbands came tumbling back into the cheering section from the field, greeted with high-fives and hugs. The scent of dirt and sweat flooded the tent, making Nishizaki feel nauseous.

“With that win in the cavalry battle, we’ve moved up to third. If we win the relay, we’ll be the champions,” Yuzuki said, his voice a bit high-pitched with excitement. Nishizaki didn’t care in the slightest. Whether they won or lost, he just wanted it to end already.

Finally, as the excitement from the cavalry battle faded, and students who seemed to be relay participants began gathering inside the track.

"Hey, Yuzuki, where’s our seat?" Nishizaki asked.

"Second-years are in rows four, five, and six, arranged by attendance number. They’re marked, so you’ll find it easy. Your spot’s probably in the middle somewhere."

"What about you?"

"Far left," Yuzuki replied.

"Relay’s the last event, right? Let me sit in your spot."

Yuzuki hesitated for a moment, his lips twitching in a half-smile, but then his usual grin returned as he scratched the back of his head. "Fine, whatever."

When they reached Yuzuki’s seat, a bottle of water was sitting on the chair with his attendance number tag. Seeing it made Nishizaki’s throat feel parched.

"I’m borrowing this," he said, unscrewing the cap before Yuzuki could reply. The bottle was ice-cold, probably freshly bought, and the carbonation bubbled pleasantly in his stomach. He drank enough to leave it half-empty but figured it wasn’t empty, so it was fine.

A starter pistol cracked in the distance, followed by cheers as the relay began. Girls in gym uniforms sprinted along the track. Among them, Nishizaki spotted Ayukawa, a classmate and one of the prettiest girls in their grade. She ranked in the top three, easily. Nishizaki had tried hitting on her a few times, but she had a boyfriend from another school and hadn’t shown any interest.

"Hey, Ayukawa’s running. Did they pick her because of her looks or what?" he muttered.

Standing beside him, Yuzuki chuckled dryly, his eyes fixed on the race. "Nah, no one wanted to sign up for the relay, so the girls drew lots."

Turns out, Ayukawa wasn’t much of a runner. She lagged far behind, solidly in last place.

"Yikes, being that bad in a relay feels like a public execution. Who’s running for the guys?"

The group relay had two male and two female runners from each grade. Nishizaki had skipped out on discussions, so he had no idea who was participating.

"Nagano."

"You’re kidding. Nagano? That Nagano, the bookworm Nagano?"

Sure enough, at the end of the row of runners for Team F stood Masayuki Nagano. To make matters worse, he had the green sash, marking him as the anchor.

"Wait, he’s the anchor?"

Even after half a year of sharing a class, Nishizaki’s impression of Nagano hadn’t changed. The guy was a textbook example of a "study freak"—zero sense of style or personality. Sure, Shirakashi East High School was known for academics, but no one flaunted their hard work. Students who looked too desperate were laughed at for trying too hard. It was cooler to appear as if good grades came naturally.

Nagano, however, was on another level. He would crack open his study guides and bury himself in them, even during lunch or breaks, his diligence on full display. At this level of transparency, it was almost like he existed in a different world. So, everyone just thought, “Oh, he’s that kind of guy,” and left him alone without any comparison.

“Kitao recommended him. Nagano may not be in any clubs, but he’s fast. Not that you’d know, with how much you skip practice,” Yuzuki added, his words laced with a hint of a jab. Before Nishizaki could retort, a chorus of gasps erupted from the cheering section—a third-year girl in the third leg of the race had tripped. Though she quickly got back up and started running again, their position, which had climbed to fourth, plummeted to last.

“Oh, come on! What the hell is she doing?” Yuzuki clicked his tongue.

By the fourth runner, they had clawed their way from last to fifth place. The fifth runner pushed them up to fourth, but the gap to the top remained nearly 30 meters (98 ft) ahead. Worse, every other team’s anchor looked the part—fit, composed, exuding confidence as they warmed up. By comparison, Nagano, who bore the entire weight of Team F’s expectations—looked unnervingly pale and skinny, his shoulders and his slender limbs almost delicate.

"Man, maybe one of those guys ahead will trip or something," Yuzuki muttered, practically casting curses under his breath.

The anchors took their places on the track, accepting batons from their teams one after the other. Team F’s fifth runner finally approached. Nagano crouched slightly, taking a light jog as he positioned himself, and received the baton in fourth place.

Nishizaki had never really paid attention to how people run before. But even he, a complete novice, could tell there was something different about the way Nagano moved.

"Hey... isn’t that second-year anchor crazy fast?"

A third-year seated up front echoed Nishizaki’s unspoken thoughts. Unlike the others, Nagano’s form wasn’t frantic or desperate; it was smooth and relaxed, almost leisurely. Yet, despite that appearance, he closed the gap on the runner ahead with stunning speed.

Every time Nagano overtook another runner, the cheers from Team F’s section erupted louder. Before long, Nishizaki found himself clenching both fists tightly, his eyes glued to the green sash streaking forward.

With breathtaking swiftness, Nagano overtook the runner from Team B just before the finish line, breaking through the white tape at the goal. A roar like thunder exploded from the crowd.

Team F had pulled off a dramatic come-from-behind victory. Chaos broke out—teammates embraced, tears flowed freely, and even those who’d been sitting in quiet disinterest joined in the celebration.

Nagano, though visibly reluctant, was hoisted into the air against his will, tossed up repeatedly as the crowd celebrated him. People surrounded him, showering him with praise: "You were incredible!" "So cool!" They patted his shoulders, ruffled his hair, treating him like the hero of the moment.

Yet Nagano’s expression remained distant, detached, his eyes betraying no emotion as though all this fuss had nothing to do with him.

Their eyes met.

Nishizaki froze, a pang of awkwardness striking him. This was the same "study freak" they had mocked countless times, laughing at how "he could probably get off to his textbooks." And yet here Nishizaki was, feeling a strange tension, as if meeting a celebrity.

Nagano, on the other hand, looked at him—or rather, through him. It was like Nishizaki wasn’t even there, just another piece of furniture or a stray pebble on the ground. Entirely unbothered by the attention, barely acknowledging his classmate sitting in his dress shirt nearby.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The moment November arrived, the wind turned bitingly cold. The dry sound of dead leaves swirling in the air painted the season in shades of pale brown. Since two days ago, the classroom heating had been turned on, and by the afternoon, more than half of the class lay slumped over their desks like corpses, filling the room with a languid, oppressive atmosphere.

On any other day, Nishizaki would’ve joined the pile of bodies, but today, sleep refused to come. His mind kept circling back to a conversation with his uncle, leaving a restless, uneasy feeling in his chest. Yesterday, he had casually mentioned wanting a nearby apartment for convenience. His uncle, who had been at his desk working on his computer, glanced up and tilted his head.

“You’ve only got a year or so left of high school,” he said. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait and buy something near your university after you graduate? I mean, we didn’t get Masaya his place until he started college. It’d be unfair to do it earlier for you. Just hang in there a little longer, okay?”

The explanation was reasonable enough that Nishizaki couldn’t throw a tantrum like some petulant child and demand, “I want it now!” But even so, he still wanted it. The fact that he could have it if they decided to buy it only made giving up that much harder.

When Nishizaki was barely a year old, his father had died in a car accident. His mother, raised in a sheltered and privileged household, had no income as a stay-at-home wife. With encouragement from her now-deceased parents, she moved back to her childhood home with her two sons. From then on, Nishizaki and his older brother Masaya were doted on and spoiled by their grandfather, grandmother, and their uncle, who had taken over the family hospital after marrying. Nishizaki had been so young that for a while, he even thought his uncle was his father.

Though he sometimes wondered what life might have been like if his real father had lived, he never felt lonely—his uncle had filled that role perfectly.

His uncle and aunt never had children of their own, so Nishizaki and his brother bore the weight of their grandparents’ hopes and dreams. The responsible Masaya lived up to those expectations, entering medical school and now in his fourth year. With his brother taking on the burden of family expectations, Nishizaki, the second son, was free to do whatever he wanted, unpressured and unrestrained.

But Nishizaki’s desire for an apartment wasn’t just about having a rest spot close to school. There was another reason—he didn’t want to live in the same house as his uncle’s wife, Miyoko, any longer.

Back when their grandparents were alive, Miyoko had behaved herself. But after their deaths, with their uncle often away for work, leaving the four of them at home together more often, Miyoko had dropped her facade. She started making snide comments aimed at her sister-in-law and her two nephews.

He could tolerate being called “lazy,” “arrogant,” or “spoiled.” But when she had the audacity to criticize his perfect older brother—the one who had always been the top student, the student council president, and a volunteer with an impeccable record—by saying, “You’re creepy, always studying like that. If you don’t do sports too, you’ll grow up to be an unbalanced person.” It was criticism taken to an absurd level.

Masaya, being the kind and earnest person he was, apologized with a simple, “I’m sorry, Aunt Miyoko.” Miyoko, visibly pleased with herself after forcing this apology, was the worst. She was a horrible old hag. That night, Nishizaki secretly poured detergent at the base of her prized rose bushes. When her beloved roses withered, Miyoko had been beside herself with rage.

If he couldn’t get his own place before graduation, maybe he should have kept his busty girlfriend, Mai, around a little longer. Her patronizing tone had started grating on his nerves, and once he found something annoying, he couldn’t stand the person’s face, body, voice, or even smell, so he’d broken it off. It was the same pattern with his last girlfriend too. I guess I’m just the kind of guy who’s done the moment I think something’s off.

His gaze drifted lazily toward the window. Just one desk over, he could see the back of “the study freak,” bent over a reference book. The excitement from the sports festival, which had peaked to fever pitch, had faded in less than three days, and now, everyone’s focus was on their future plans. Ever since the career survey was submitted last month, the classroom atmosphere had shifted dramatically.

He couldn’t tell his classmates, but he’d already secured a spot through the private university recommendation slot offered by Shirakashi East High School. As long as he kept up his attendance, he’d get in. Watching his classmates, who’d been hit by the harsh reality of their test scores, slump in dejection, he felt a little pity. Life really did come down to connections and money. The difference between the haves and the have-nots was tangible.

That said, blurting out “You guys are just the have-nots” would only stir jealousy and get him excluded. So he kept quiet about his recommendation slot and played along with their conversations. Among them, only Nagano, perpetually at the top of their grade rankings, seemed capable of getting into his dream university without the help of connections or wealth.

Even though the brief glory of the relay hero had long since faded, “the study freak” now exuded a different kind of aura, bolstered by the simple addition of “fast runner” to his reputation. Thinking back to that race, Nishizaki still found the image vivid: Nagano steadily overtaking runner after runner, as if the others were standing still.

How is someone that fast not on any sports teams? Nagano’s running form hadn’t looked amateurish—if anything, it seemed likely he’d been on a track team in middle school. Nishizaki wanted to ask, but he couldn’t think of a natural way to bring it up. With no other option, he resorted to fantasizing a conversation.

“Nagano, I haven't had sex in a while since I broke up with an older girlfriend, so I'm pent up. What do you think I should do?” He imagined the model-student Nagano responding with a deadpan seriousness straight out of a school handbook: “Sexual relations should wait until marriage. Until then, use masturbation to cope.” It was the kind of hilariously old-fashioned moral stance that could probably make him laugh out loud.

As soon as the break started, the zombie-like students around him revived, getting up from their desks one by one.

“Hey, hey!”

Yuzuki plopped down in the empty seat next to him. When Nishizaki didn’t feel like talking, people like him were as annoying as flies.

“Sixth-period Modern Japanese literature is self-study.”

As much as Nishizaki found Yuzuki’s constant chatter irritating, the guy had a knack for bringing useful gossip.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, Moriyama wasn’t feeling well and went home at lunch.”

“Nice. I can catch up on some sleep.”

Yuzuki leaned his elbows on the desk. “The only question is, who’s doing the rounds?”

“Oh yeah, Nishizaki,” Yuzuki said suddenly. “You’ve actually been showing up to school properly lately.”

Back in his first year, Nishizaki had barely scraped together enough attendance to move up, using doctor’s notes as cover to skip school and hang out in town. His second year hadn’t been much different, but ever since the sports festival, he’d been attending regularly.

“I’ve grown up.”

“Yeah, right. It’s because you need to secure your attendance for that recommendation, isn’t it?”

Even though Yuzuki had already figured it out, he still asked in that leading way that revealed his passive-aggressive streak.

“It’s just… everyone’s freaking out about exams. No one wants to hang out with me anymore.”

After the career counseling survey, even the ones pretending to slack off had switched gears to studying for exams. Their sudden unavailability was jarring.

But then again, Nishizaki was in no position to criticize. He was coming to school for the sake of his attendance record and his recommendation letter. In the end, they were all just scrambling in their own ways.

“Everyone’s got their future on the line, after all,” Yuzuki said, fluttering his right hand in a lazy butterfly motion.

“Kill me now, seriously, I’m dying of boredom.”

Nishizaki slumped forward on his desk. Yuzuki leaned closer, laughing.

“Only one in our class who’s all set is Nagano. He doesn’t hang out with anyone. Probably thinks it’s a waste of time to talk to people dumber than him.”

“He’s always with Kitao, though.”

Despite his loner status, even someone like Nagano had a “diplomatic port” of sorts, a connection to the rest of the class.

“Maybe they’re just ‘gay friends,’” Yuzuki shrugged with a smirk.

“For real?” Nishizaki leaned forward, intrigued. Yuzuki smacked him hard on the back. “I’m kidding, obviously.”

“But if they actually were, that’d be something,” Nishizaki joked as he noticed their homeroom teacher, Yasukuni, entering the classroom during break. Wondering what brought him there, he watched as Yasukuni called Nagano out into the hallway.

“I bet I could get Nagano to fall for me,” Nishizaki muttered, watching the study freak’s reflection in the hallway window. Yuzuki’s brows furrowed.

“Guys like him—so serious—once you break through their defenses, they fall hard.”

“What’re you even talking about? I thought you had an older girlfriend.”

“Already broke it off. Big boobs are fun at first, but you get sick of them eventually.”

Yuzuki drew close, brimming with excitement. “Dude, what a waste! You should’ve passed her on to me.”

“Older women are supposed to be wild, right?”

Nishizaki tilted his head slightly, pretending to ponder. “She’s super picky about guys, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuzuki asked, his face scrunching up suspiciously. Sure, she was a woman Nishizaki had dated, so by that standard, she wasn’t unattractive. She could turn heads with makeup on, and Nishizaki—who had been scouted while walking around town—was leagues ahead of Yuzuki. Let’s be real: if there were five losers lined up, Yuzuki would be the least bad-looking. She wouldn’t give him the time of day.

“Forget her. Let’s make a bet. I’ll get Nagano to fall for me, and we’ll see who’s right.”

Yuzuki gave Nishizaki a skeptical look, narrowing his eyes. “This makes no sense. Guys aren’t even fun.”

“That’s why it’s just for kicks. A game,” Nishizaki said with a grin. “If I win and get Nagano, you hand over your limited-edition Kash shoes. If I lose, I’ll hook you up with a big-boobed girl.”

Yuzuki fell silent. The limited-edition Kash sneakers were his pride and joy, the kind of thing you couldn’t just buy anywhere. Nishizaki wasn’t the type to covet other people’s stuff, but those shoes were special. Besides, Yuzuki’s constant bragging about them had been getting on his nerves. He’d love to snatch them away.

“No way. That’s dumb,” Yuzuki muttered, looking down and refusing the bet, just as Nishizaki expected.

“C’mon, that guy is super into sex. If we started going out, I could probably get him into bed on the first day.”

Yuzuki’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Nishizaki’s. Seeing that, Nishizaki smirked.

“You don’t think I can do it, do you? That’s fine, then. But seriously, you’d have all the advantage. If I lose, you get a hookup. If I win, you’re just out some shoes, and I’ll even let you watch me kiss Nagano as proof.”

The way Yuzuki’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed confirmed it: This guy’s a total virgin.

“Well… yeah, okay,” Yuzuki stammered.

“We’ll make the deadline the end of the second semester,” Nishizaki said, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin. “If I win, I’ll kiss Nagano right in front of you.”

“Seriously?” Yuzuki gave a half-smile, part disbelief, part amusement.

“Sure, it’s a game. But why Nagano, though? Aren’t there prettier, more feminine-looking guys in the class?”

“It’s the serious ones that are fun to conquer.”

Yuzuki snorted, shaking his head. “You’re a maniac~”

“If Nagano falls for you, and he gets serious, then what?” Yuzuki asked, a hint of genuine concern in his tone.

Nishizaki arched his back and let out a sharp laugh. “Like I’d care about that. It’s just a game.”

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T.N.: I want to thank P and D for the Ko-fi donations ☕, especially P for requesting this novel—it truly is a hidden gem in Konohara's works! 😍 (I know some people will disagree but oh well~ 😅)