You Girls Are Way Too Obsessed With A Lone Wolf Like Me - Volume 1 Chapter 3: Ameya Monji and Takechi Ōsuke Tend to Fade into the Background

In the private room, I’m zoning out with the radio playing in the background. Sipping on a canned coffee I bought from the vending machine, I casually turn my gaze forward.

“Erena, which do you prefer—this Saturday or Sunday?”

“Um… I’m free the whole day on Saturday, so maybe that?”

“Then let’s go look for the social gathering spot on Saturday. And since we’re at it, let’s stop by a miscellaneous goods store. This room’s so plain, I want to decorate it more.”

“I also want to go clothes shopping. Can you show me the store you often go to?”

“Of course! Let’s pick out outfits together!”

Across from me, Misaki and Hatori are chatting amicably. As usual.

Wait, there’s one more person…

Hatori has joined the private room.

Though she’s not the organizer, she’s helping with the store search, which qualifies her to use the private room. So I can’t say anything.

“Himemiya-kun, are you okay with Saturday too?”

“Why are you including me in this…?”

“As the organizer, Himemiya-kun, you have no right to refuse. If you have no plans, you must come.”

“I do have plans.”

Both Misaki and Hatori react with a surprised “Eh”

Rude. Do they think loners like me have no plans?

“What kind of plans?”

“Catching up on recorded variety shows.”

“Rejected!”

What’s with this girl?

Hatori, who’s usually reserved, leans forward, her ample chest resting on the table.

“W-What show are you watching…?”

“Last week’s Ame Talk SP.”

“! I watched that! The directionally challenged comedians were so funny! And the imitation 1 Grand Prix──”

“E-Erena, calm down!”

Hatori snaps back to reality, blushing and lowering her voice. She’s still a handful when she gets excited.

“I watched it too, so let’s talk about it later,” Misaki says, calming Hatori down. Hatori nods happily, though a bit embarrassed. Now that she’s opened up, their relationship seems even closer.

Hatori has also come out to her close friend Kurashiki about being a subculture girl. As expected, Kurashiki didn’t pull away, instead saying, “That gap is cute—it’s a new way to be popular!”

Moving on from the happy talk.

“It’s a terrible trend, isn’t it?”

“What’s is?”

“The idea that time spent alone is boring, while time spent in a group is fulfilling.”

“This feels familiar…” Misaki braces herself, sensing déjà vu.

“B-But! If it’s recorded, you can watch it anytime, right?”

“What if I said, ‘I want to watch it with friends’?”

“! That’s…”

“Is reading a book alone at a café makes me free, while chatting about love at a family restaurant with a group makes me busy? Is going to the movies alone lonely, while going as a couple is fulfilling? It’s absurd to judge based on numbers.”

Misaki stammers, “Ugh…,” while Hatori listens intently, nodding.

“To you social butterflies, ‘no one to hang out with = being free,’ but for solo enthusiasts like me, it’s not the same. Because for us, ‘alone time = fulfillment.’ It’s a different mindset.”

To make them understand, let me put it this way:

“Don’t you sometimes prefer being alone over group activities? Like, you’re invited out, but you’d rather go home and binge your favorite foreign drama or watch your favorite game streamer?”

“You’re not replying, but you are reading my messages… It’s so frustrating!” Misaki exclaimed, sounding angry, but in reality, her cheeks were puffed out in an attempt to hide her smile. Uwah, she sure is easy to trick.

Hatori is completely on my side.

“I totally get what Himemiya’s saying…! I usually go out because I don’t want to seem antisocial, though.”

“Right? I think a lot of people feel like Hatori. That’s why we should value and assert our alone time more. Especially new graduates entering the workforce—if you want to spend your after-work hours alone, don’t be afraid to decline those forced drinking sessions with seniors. And don’t let them pile on unnecessary overtime.”

If they say, “That’s why your generation is like this,” tell them, “Boomer, go back to the past and never return.”

If you have the energy, add, “If you love the past so much, go back to there and stay there.”

“So, in conclusion, stop saying things like ‘being alone is boring’ or ‘being alone isn’t fulfilling.’”

“Yes… I was being shallow…”

“Good, as long as you understand.”

Misaki admits her mistake, so the debate is over.

And that concludes my solo supremacy advocacy.

Taking a sip of my coffee, I reflect that there’s nothing like a drink after a good debate.

“But, Himemiya-kun…”

“Yeah?”

“How do solo enthusiasts like you ever get free? You’re always so busy, it’s hard to even invite you out.”

“True, but in this case, you don’t need to worry.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“Despite my complaints, store hunting is part of the organizer’s job. I can’t skip it.”

“…”

“In the first place, I record variety shows, so I can watch them anytime.”

Misaki’s expression shifts from stunned to exasperated.

“Ugh! This guy is really a pain in the ass!”

No need to compliment me.

※※※

Today’s home economics class is a cooking session. As a recreational lesson, the kitchen is buzzing with classmates chatting excitedly even before class starts.

“♪”

Misaki, in my group, seems even more cheerful than usual. Humming a familiar CM tune, she efficiently prepares the ingredients.

Knowing she loves cooking, Misaki in an apron looks so domestic. Her apron, made of thick linen with English print, seems simple at first glance, but its short length and large pockets add a cute, practical touch. It’s clearly a design she’s comfortable with.

Apparently, my face watching Misaki in her apron looks bored.

“Himemiya-kun, it’s a cooking class! Try to enjoy it more.”

“Am I a kid who gets excited over hamburgers?”

“We’re making pound cake today, not hamburgers. ……You totally thought I’m annoying just right now, aren’t you?”

“Not thought—I am thinking about it.”

“Please stop using the present tense!”

Would it be better if it were past tense?

Still, as Misaki observed, my mood is slightly lower than usual.

“If we’re making pound cake, I’d rather make hamburgers.”

“? If you don’t like sweets, I can make today’s cake less sweet.”

“I like sweets just fine. It’s not that—as a lifelong bachelor, I’d rather learn something more substantial.”

“You’re the only one taking cooking class this seriously…”

“What’s wrong with taking a class seriously?”

“It’s a cool statement, but the context is so sad…”

Can you blame me? I’m confident I’ll never bake a pound cake in my life. I can’t picture a 40-year-old single me baking a cake I made in high school. Who would I bake it for, and why?

My own birthday? That’s just depressing.

“Whether you bake pound cake or not, declaring lifelong bachelorhood right after starting high school is too early. You’ll fall in love and get married someday, right?”

“I have no confidence in loving or being loved.”

Misaki narrows her eyes and steps closer.

“It’s not that you lack confidence—you just don’t care, Himemiya-kun.”

She’s not entirely wrong, so I can’t argue.

Avoiding her gaze, I look toward the other boys in our group.

“Should I be as excited about cooking as those two?”

“?” Misaki tilts her head, following my gaze.

There, Ameya and Takechi are hyped up.

“Jakin! Just Guard, easy! My armor has Guard Up, so it’s easy! Hey, stop attacking my sides!”

“Muda muda muda! My armor has Destroyer King! Part breaks are easy! I don’t need your monster scales, Ameya! Trash talk, huh?”

“My materials aren’t low-grade! They’re G-rank! Ameya’s Heaven-scaled! Wait, we’re not monsters!”

“Fufufufu!” “Pusususu!”

Ameya, with his Guard Up apron, and Takechi, with his Destroyer King apron, continue their playful duel, complete with mysterious sound effects: “Dukushi, dukushi!”

If you need to tell them apart quickly, the one with the thick, messy hair (whether from bedhead or wax) who ends his sentences with “shi” is Ameya, and the lanky, straight-haired one with a polite “desu/masu” tone is Takechi.

Their distinctive hair is hidden under bandanas, but the paisley-patterned bandanas suit them eerily well.

Today, they’re in top form, diving into full-on otaku talk. It’s impressive how they manage to match my low social standing in this moment.

“Stop it! There are knives around—it’s dangerous!”

Deciding this isn’t the time for our debate, Misaki steps in to scold them. Knowing she’s not seriously angry, they stop roughhousing but keep grinning. Their usual reverence for Misaki as “Karin-sama” is evident, and they even look happy to be scolded. They should be reflecting.

“No more fighting, okay? Got it?”

“Hai!”

As always, they’re intense.

As Misaki steps away, Hatori takes her place beside me. Her apron, with subtle snowflake lace, has a front-tie ribbon and a skirt-like length, giving it a dress-like design. Her long hair is tied back, creating a different, more mature impression.

Hatori looks at me hesitantly.

“……Hey, Himemiya.”

“Hm?”

“When I’m talking about something I love, do I act like Ameya and Takechi…?”

Ah…

“You do get a bit tunnel-visioned, yeah.”

“! ~~~~! S-So embarrassing…!”

Hatori covers her face, blushing furiously. In doing so, she accidentally presses her arm against her chest, causing it to spill out of her apron. Having a large chest must be tough.

These four, plus me, make up today’s cooking group. Since the classroom groups are the same as the cooking groups, there’s nothing new about the lineup. I’m not looking for novelty, so I don’t mind, but if I had to complain, I’d say the group’s a bit too intense.

The cooking class begins.

But…

“Himemiya! Let’s cook chocolate flavor together! Let’s make it a fun party, shi!”

“If you don’t make matcha flavor with me, I’ll die from the tension! Or throw up! Become my exclusive pâtissier and sign a contract with me!”

“I just want to wash dishes alone.”

“Himemiya!?”

Currently, Ameya and Takechi are vying for my attention—the most unwanted event in my life.

Their commotion started when Misaki suggested, “Let’s make two flavors, so we’ll split into two groups.” After mixing the base batter, the plan was to divide the boys, who have little cooking experience, into two teams: Misaki’s team for chocolate and Hatori’s for matcha.

And then the chaos began. The two, who are terrified of being alone with the girls, are desperately trying to drag me onto their teams.

Eventually, the two grab each other’s apron hems, squabbling like children. At least grab each other’s collars.

“I’m teaming with Himemiya, so Takechi can be the solo guy, shi!”

“Huh? I’m teaming with Himemiya. If you keep talking nonsense, I’ll headshot you.”

“”Huh!?””

“Stop it, both of you!”

You two are something else…

In more ways than one.

I thought they were good friends, but seeing them abandon each other for self-preservation is so human it’s almost refreshing.

But no matter how much I empathize, I only have one body. Joining one team means abandoning the other, creating a no-win situation.

I don’t mind if they both fail, though.

“Ugh… Fine, calm down. I’ll be a solo team, and you two can join the other team. That solves the problem, right?”

“No!”

“Huh?”

The two pull me aside and whisper, making sure Misaki and Hatori can’t hear.

Ameya says,

“I want to cook with Karin-sama. Her short apron looks like a naked apron, and I want to admire it up close.”

Takechi says,

“I want to cook with Hatori. I want to admire her apron-spilling breasts up close.”

“Fufufufu!” “Pusususu!”

“You perverts.”

What’s with these guys?

They want to cook with the girls but are too embarrassed to be alone with them?

So annoying…

Misaki and Hatori, oblivious to their ulterior motives, approach.

“Himemiya-kun, can you be the dishwashing supervisor and keep an eye on those two?”

“Huh…?”

“At this rate, we’ll never move on to the next step.”

Hatori also seems uncomfortable being alone with unfamiliar boys.

“I’d appreciate it too…”

Eventually, everyone’s gaze lands on me.

At this point, overthinking is pointless—I don’t even care anymore.

“Fine…” I sigh and nod, and everyone cheers.

“Yay!” “Thank you!” “As expected of Himemiya-sama!”

Don’t call me “sama.”

After many twists and turns, we resume making the pound cake.

But the chaos continues.

Ameya, to my right, suddenly shouts,

“Himemiya, look! AME’S Kitchen!”

He starts chopping chocolate bars with a knife, yelling, “Atatatatatata!”

Misaki, who was making syrup, smiles but her eyes are cold.

“Ameya-kun? I said knives are dangerous earlier. Did you not hear me?”

“Y-Yes…”

The guy to my left, Takechi, says,

“Himemiya, look at this. The sexiest chef in the world.”

“This is how you sprinkle matcha, baby,” he says, flicking a pinch of matcha powder from near his face into the bowl.

Hatori, who’s draining the water from the black beans, isn’t just cool—she’s completely exasperated.

“Takechi, stop it. You’re spilling it out of the bowl after I just measured it.”

“I-I’m sorry!”

“What the hell are you guys doing…?”

It’s no wonder Misaki and Hatori look dead inside. This pointless back-and-forth has happened over ten times now. Any other girls would’ve given up and just done it themselves by now—it’s that bad.

Are the two girls amazing for not giving up on these guys even when they’re goofing off, or are the two guys amazing for not backing down even when they’re being scolded? Or am I the amazing one for having to keep talking to these two guys as a mental stabilizer?

And seriously, you guys split into different groups because of your favorite members, but if you’re just going to cling to me because you’re nervous, what’s the point?

Finally, the prep work is done. At last, the two types of batter are ready, and Ameya and Takechi start pouring them into the molds greased with salad oil.

The intensity in Misaki and Hatori’s eyes as they watch them is incredible. It’s less like they’re watching and more like they’re monitoring them. Just from their gaze, you can feel the message loud and clear: “If we leave these two alone, who knows what they’ll mess up.”

Right before pouring the batter, Ameya and Takechi glance at me and whisper, “Is this a bit?” That’s terrifying.

Once all the batter is safely in the molds, Misaki and Hatori let out a sigh of relief. Summoning their last bit of energy, they carry the molds to the preheated oven, with Ameya and Takechi trailing behind them.

Ameya pretends to watch over Misaki while sneaking glances at her bare legs from behind, and Takechi pretends to watch over Hatori while staring straight at her sideboob.

What the hell is wrong with these guys, seriously.

“It’s over…,” “Good job…”

All that’s left is to wait for it to bake. Misaki and Hatori, having reached their limits, collapse onto the chairs they brought as soon as they sit down, face-first onto the counter. There’s nothing to say but “Good job.”

What are Ameya and Takechi, who’ve sucked every ounce of energy out of Misaki, who’s usually overflowing with vitality, and Hatori, who secretly harbors immense energy? Are they like Cell?

Anyway, their true identities aside, my main job is washing dishes, and this is where my real work begins.

I roll up my sleeves in front of the sink, ready to start washing the used utensils.

But I can’t help doing a double-take.

“……”

Even though they’re done with their work, Ameya and Takechi are still standing there. They’re staring at the oven on the counter without blinking, their eyes glistening with tears, reflecting the fiery glow inside the oven.

Are they baking some dear departed relative in there…?

Nah, there’s no way. It’s just pound cake in there.

“What are you guys doing?”

“We were moved because this was our first and last joint project with such beautiful girls.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

In response to my words, Ameya and Takechi shake their heads vigorously.

“Don’t be naive, Himemiya. If it weren’t for Karin-sama’s group, we wouldn’t have had this much fun in home ec. If we were with other girls, it would’ve been like being exiled under the guise of teamwork.”

“Exactly. Try doing home ec with those gyaru types like Endou or Urogase. They’d just tell us, ‘Don’t help, just go buy some juice that goes with pound cake,’ and we’d end up being their errand boys, paying out of our own pockets.”

“They wouldn’t go that far.”

“‘I doubt they won’t’” they say, shrugging dramatically. Their faces are so annoying I want to aim dish soap at their eyeballs.

But I get what they’re saying. If Ameya, Takechi, and I were in Endou’s group, we’d definitely be seen as the ‘losers.’ There’s no doubt the home ec class would’ve gone on without us, as if we didn’t exist.

It’s because Misaki wants to be friends with everyone and Hatori is her friend that they were able to cooperate so well in this class, just like Ameya and Takechi said.

I realize that during the class, Ameya and Takechi weren’t just cluelessly goofing off—they were genuinely happy to be working with the girls and just overdid it out of excitement.

Even my role as a buffer, which seemed pointless at first, actually had meaning.

“During the outdoor school cooking, they wouldn’t even let me near the fire because they said the ‘Takechi Virus,’ aka the T-Virus, would spread.”

“Oh! Takechi you too! I’ve been told not to touch the ingredients because they said the ‘Ameya Bacteria,’ or AMEKIN, would spread! And I don’t even have 6 million subscribers on my channel! I only have 6!”

They’re only laughing with their voices, not their faces.

“Fufufufu…!” “Pusususu…!”

“If you can’t laugh it off from the heart, don’t make self-deprecating jokes…”

If they had such harsh experiences, I guess I can overlook their wild behavior during this class.

※　※　※

After home ec, it’s PE class. It’s a joint class with two classes, and for the first half of the semester, the boys are playing soccer. Right now, it’s warm-up time, and I’m kicking the ball against the gym wall as usual, silently and alone.

But,

“Take this! Tiger Shuuuuuuut!”

“Too slow! Fire Tornadoooooo───────!”

“Fufufufu…!” “Pusususu…!”

“……”

The guys behind me are being loud. Or rather, annoying…

Behind me, where they’re usually not, Ameya and Takechi are shouting made-up technique names and laughing like idiots, clearly trying to get my attention.

I only looked the other way during home ec, you know.

“Ameya, Takechi, sorry, but can you practice somewhere a little farther away from me?”

“No way! We can’t leave Himemiya alone! We’re comrades who made pound cake together!”

“Exactly! We’re like a fate-bound trio now! If Himemiya stays here, we’ll stay here too! When we die, it’ll be the three of us together!”

“Fine, I’ll find another wall and go there.”

“That’s so mean!”

What do you expect me to say? I don’t want to be seen as the same kind of person as you guys, so it can’t be helped.

Ameya and Takechi are giving me these eager looks, not like they want to be my friends, but like they already think they are. I just can’t accept that.

As if to vent my frustration, I kick the soccer ball as hard as I can toward the gym wall. The ball hits the wall with a pathetic “Pekon!” sound and rolls back to me, but it loses speed halfway and stops. My ball is that worn out.

“Here, toss that crappy ball aside and practice with this relatively normal ball instead.”

“If it’s only relatively normal, isn’t it still crappy?”

Ameya proudly shows off his ball, but it’s also pretty worn out. No surprise there. When you’re at the bottom of the caste, you’re always the last to pick a ball, like an unspoken rule. Guys like us are left with the crappiest ones.  

The only ones using brand-new balls are the Namikawa group, who’ve taken over the goalposts, and the flashy guys from the neighboring class.  

It goes without saying that by the time a low-caste, unmotivated team player like me peeks into the ball basket, all that’s left are balls so sad they wouldn’t even sell on Mercari.  

Yeah, my ball is definitely one of the worst, like Ameya said. The threads are frayed, the leather’s torn, and the inner tube’s exposed. It doesn’t even roll straight. But I’ve grown attached to it. I like how it’s always left alone, unchosen by anyone. I’ve been using it on purpose in every class, and lately, I’ve finally gotten the hang of it, which makes me like it even more.  

I also love practicing against the wall. It doesn’t say a word, just quietly keeps up with me. No shouting made-up special moves like those two—that’s a big plus.  

So, whether it’s a crappy ball or a wall, I’m fine with how things are.  

I try to grab my ball and tell them to leave me alone, but it’s gone.  

Takechi’s taken it.  

“Hey.”  

He doesn’t listen. Holding my ball, Takechi and Ameya start running toward the open space, still giggling like idiots. Their behavior, like they’re saying, “Come chase us!” makes me want to throw up.  

“You don’t have to act like a lone wolf around us! Three little pigs can have fun too!”  

“I’m not acting or anything—”  

“Come on, Himemiya! We don’t have much time before the match, so let’s start training for our triple combo move! What kind of move do you want?”  

“Should we go with Jet Stream?”  

“Or Big Bang?”  

“Or maybe The Earth?”  

“You some newlywed?”  

“Comrades, though?”  

These guys are so damn annoying.  

They say fools never change, and I bet these two would still be acting like idiots even in their next life.  

Someone needs to seal them away. A Mafuba or Shikifujin—anything would do.  

—  

Warm-up’s over, and now it’s the main event: class vs. class matches.  

I’m the goalkeeper, as always. It’s my go-to position, practically my fixed role. Being a keeper’s great. You can just stare at the sky and space out, and still get decent credit.  

It’s getting warm enough that I don’t really need my jersey anymore, I think, feeling the sun on my skin. I lazily watch the scramble around the center.  

The ones fighting over the ball are the upper-caste guys, stylishly rocking their jerseys.  

“My ball! My ball!”  

“Reverse side’s open! Pass it!”  

“Hahaha! You suck!”  

They’re shouting and having a blast. Honestly, some of them aren’t that skilled, but they’re still enjoying themselves.  

The rest of us, the non-upper-caste crowd, are more like, “Don’t involve me in your fun.” I’m just tracking the ball with my eyes, like everyone else. No one’s bothering to chase it down. Instead, we’re keeping a weird distance, like we’re saying, “Don’t bring it near me.” We only bother with the ball when it rolls our way, putting all our effort into that one moment. It’s like we’re iaido masters, ready to strike in an instant. I wonder how many of these “masters” are hiding on the court.  

In reality, they’re just pros at looking like they’re participating.  

Some don’t even bother with that.  

“I was thinking, if cutting off your fingers boosts the power of your Nen bullets, then taking an even bigger risk or making a greater sacrifice would make them insanely powerful, right?”  

“Well, how about this? Instead of fingers, cut off both nipples. Firing Nen bullets from your nipples would be incredibly humiliating, so the power would skyrocket. If you add the constraint of having to lift your shirt every time, it could boost the power even more.”  

“Hmm! I never thought about using shame as a risk! And in today’s strict compliance environment regarding sexual depictions, avoiding nipple shots would prevent complaints—I like that!”  

“Exactly! Now all we need is a name, and it’ll be perfect!”  

“How about ‘Nipple Machine Gun’ for my double-nipple attack?”  

“Adopted.”  

“Fufufufu…!” “Pusususu…!”

“Begone, you voyeuristic desire—be purified and vanish!”

“‘What? A Nen manipulator!?’”  

That’s exactly what it is.  

While they were goofing off behind me, now they’re not even pretending to defend in front of me. Even though the match is halfway through, Ameya and Takechi keep chatting nonsense endlessly.  

Why are these two focused on draining my sanity instead of pressuring the enemy? That’s not even a position.  

“What was the point of practicing those special moves? Instead of talking nonsense here, go attack. I’m not asking you to score, just do something.”  

Ameya snaps back,  

“Don’t call it nonsense! No matter who you are, Himemiya, I won’t forgive you for denying Hunters!”  

“I’m denying you, not Hunters.”  

“Hau!”  

Takechi smirks,  

“Come on, Himemiya’s just pouting because he wants to join the Hunter talk. Any guy gets fired up hearing the word ‘hunt,’ whether it’s in manga or games.”  

“Don’t talk about being a man while secretly staring at someone’s sideboob.”  

“Daha…!”  

The two dramatically clutch their chests and fall to one knee—they’d make great monster hunters if they actually fought.  

But these two never die. They’re like infinite respawns.  

“Hahaha, Himemiya’s bluntness is refreshing.”  

“Yeah, it’s better than whispering complaints behind my back. Honestly, it’s kind of nice.”  

“Pusususu…!” “Fufufufu…!”  

How can I ever get through to these guys…?  

“Counter────!”  

“‘Huh?’”  

As if to break the awkward silence, a loud voice from the upper-caste guys clears the ball, which bounces twice toward our side. It slowly loses momentum and stops at Ameya’s feet.  

“Uh, oh… crap…”  

Ameya suddenly remembers we’re in a match. As both teams’ popular kids rush toward him, shouting, “Take it! Take it!” and “Pass it! Pass it!”, he freezes.  

When cornered, true colors show.  

“Oh, look, a butterfly.”  

Takechi dashes toward the safe zone, acting like he’s got nothing to do with this.  

Help him, will you…?  

“Just kick the ball out,” I advise. Ameya snaps back to reality just in time, shouting, “Taah!” as he kicks the ball. He smashes his foot into the ground, barely grazing the ball. But instead of going out, it rolls…  

“Go────!”  

The ball, not matching Ameya’s shout, rolls toward Takechi.  

I forgot—Ameya’s useless too.  

The ball, filled with resentment, chases Takechi. He doesn’t expect a pass from his blind spot, and his foot steps on the ball before it hits the ground.  

“Oron!? Hebu…!”  

Takechi falls dramatically, and Ameya, holding his twisted foot, gives a small fist pump.  

These two were just bonding, and now they’re back to betraying each other…  

Ignoring their mess, I follow the ball rolling forward. There’s Namikawa.  

“Nice clear!” Namikawa, the first to return, grabs the ball and sprints across the field. The tennis club’s ace is an all-around athlete. The enemy’s upper-caste guys shout, “Stop Shuntaro!” and “Foul him if you have to!”, but no one can catch up, let alone stop him. Even the guys with spiky hair look like extras next to Namikawa. Uni A, Uni B, Chestnut A, and so on.  

As the enemy defense falters, Namikawa calmly passes back to his teammate. He enters the penalty area alone, receives the return pass, and scores with a jumping volley. The keeper can’t move, and the ball shakes the net.  

The Namikawa Show in an instant.  

“Shuntarou, nice shot!”  

“Haha, the cross was perfect. Soccer club’s got it.”  

“‘Yay!’” They bump fists, messing around before slapping each other’s hands. Like a boy band.  

Ikari and the popular kids swarm Namikawa, high-fiving and piggybacking—a scene straight out of a sports anime. Truly a page from youth.  

Meanwhile, Ameya and Takechi’s farce continues.  

“Why were you trying to run away? Sacrifice yourself for your friend! Lead the way in dying!”  

“What?! We’re in a give-and-take relationship! Betrayal’s no different from a coffee break to me!”  

What happened to the “three little pigs” and “fate-bound trio” talk?  

※ ※ ※

The match remains Namikawa’s show. He’s not just scoring goals but assisting too—terrifying. I feel for the other team’s keeper, and if I were there, we’d concede double. Namikawa’s scary.  

The girls, whose class ended early, are watching. Whenever Namikawa gets the ball, Endou’s gang cheers.  

“Shuntarou~~, go~~!”  

Endou, lunch break’s next. Namikawa’d rather you change and style his hair quickly than cheer. He’s probably heading to the cafeteria.  

“Come on! Don’t let Shuntarou push you around! Mark him with three guys!”  

Kurashiki, why are you cheering for the other class? You sound like a local baseball grandpa.  

“Himemiya-kun! Stop staring at the sky and watch the ball!”  

Misaki, shut up.

Amidst the indistinguishable cheers of the girls from the side of the field, Namikawa seals the deal with a decisive point. Finally, the motivation switch of the opposing class flips OFF. It’s a mere formality now, a game just going through the motions.

The high-ranking members of my class, after causing a ruckus for a while, seem satisfied. Declaring their attack over, they retreat to the defensive line, entering relaxation mode.

Even with the offensive line thinning out, Ameya and Takeuchi don’t join the attack. Perhaps feeling their territory has been taken over by the popular crowd, they huddle in a corner, shoulders touching, playing with the sand. They’re trying to fade into the background. Stealth mode, huh?

Namikawa’s two lackeys, Ikari and Natsukoshi, are discussing the cooking class from earlier.

Ikari, stripping off his jersey and flapping his gym shirt, still has a voice as loud as ever.

“Our cake turned out a bit burnt! There’s gotta be some bitter parts!”

“Idiot. That’s because you eyeballed the measurements, didn’t you?”

“Come on, making it was such a hassle, what else could I do? I just wanna focus on eating!”

Natsukoshi, who had been crouching down to brush dirt off his shoes, suddenly looks up, as if remembering something.

“Hey, didn’t Misaki’s group make two kinds of cakes—chocolate and matcha—all original?”

“What? That’s so envy-inducing!”

“You’re only jealous because Misaki made them, aren’t you?”

“That too! I wanna eat a cake made by a cute girl!”

Ikari’s exaggerated shout sends the crowd around him into laughter.

The entire conversation reaches Ameya and Takeuchi. Though they’ve done nothing wrong, they visibly shrink, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

They’re probably hoping, like me—or even more so—that things don’t get complicated.

But Ikari comes up with a troublesome idea.

“I’ve decided! I’ll bet my cake and challenge Misaki’s group to a PK shootout!”

Is this the kind of reckless idea popular kids come up with? The crowd around him starts chiming in, “What’s this crazy plan?” “I’m in too!” “Me too!”

The girls in the audience overhear, and one of Endou’s gang, Watasumi, laughs nonchalantly, “The guys are up to something stupid again.” Misaki and Hatori, sensing the uneasy atmosphere, glance at us worriedly.

The once calm air turns sour in an instant.

When someone asks, “Which guys were making cakes with Misaki’s group?” it doesn’t take long to figure out who they are.

Eventually, the popular crowd’s gaze turns to us. Their expressions brighten, and Ikari approaches with light steps, clearly confident in victory based on the lineup.

If he’s confident, he’s sorely mistaken.

“Hey, Himemiya! Let’s bet pound cakes and have a PK shootout during free practice!”

“Don’t want to.”

“Huh?”

I bluntly reject the proposal, not the ball. Of course. Win or lose, we have no intention of participating.

Ikari, caught off guard by the refusal, stands there with his mouth open for a while. He doesn’t exactly look like the sharpest tool in the shed.

“Why not?”

“There’s no benefit. Your cake’s burnt, apparently.”

“No cap?”

“No cap.”

“…… You’re no fun.”

Sorry for being a buzzkill. But no matter how much he challenges me, I’m not interested. I’m the kind of guy who clearly says no to things I don’t like.

I’m not like you party people, living life on a whim.

So, even if Ikari dismisses me as “boring,” it doesn’t faze me.

“Hey, Ameya, Takeuchi—you guys are in, right!?”

“……”

Like a frog stared down by a snake, Ameya and Takeuchi freeze unnaturally, despite being addressed from a distance. Their eyes remain downcast.

“It’s fine, right? Let’s bet cakes and compete! Yeah?”

“…… I guess it’s fine…”

“Same here…”

“Alright! That’s the spirit!”

“Fufufufufu…” “Pususususu…”

Ikari’s laughter syncs with Ameya and Takeuchi’s dry chuckles.

“Idiots…” I mutter under my breath.

Why can’t Ameya and Takeuchi just say “no”?

Soon, the whistle signaling the end of the match sounds.

My feet carry me toward the corner where Ameya and Takeuchi are.

Watching their warm-up and gameplay, it’s clear they’re disastrously bad at not just soccer, but any physical activity. They’re aware of it too. The chances of losing are nearly 100%.

“There’s still time to back out.”

Reacting to my words, the two arch their hunched backs dramatically and force unnatural smiles.

“Huh? Himemiya, what are you talking about?”

“Is this some kind of pre-order bonus? We’re on top of that kind of thing.”

They definitely understand what I mean, yet they pretend not to.

Unfortunately, I’m bad at reading the room.

“Are you okay with this? You said this was your first and last joint project with the girls. If you keep this up, it’ll end up in their stomachs. Your first and last effort will be taken by Ikari and his gang.”

“Don’t say creepy stuff like that!?” “Please stop saying creepy things!”

The two sigh, looking exasperated.

“Himemiya… You should at least pretend not to notice, since we’re playing the role of the hard-of-hearing protagonist here.”

“Yeah, you know, the classic ‘Why doesn’t she understand my feelings?’ moment where the heroine gives up and walks away. The confession event is always on hold until the protagonist falls for her, right?”

“Why am I your heroine, though?”

“Fufufufufu!” “Pususususu!”

This isn’t the time to laugh.

The two, who had been laughing like clowns, gradually lose their energy, their faces now etched with resignation.

On their faces, the word ‘give up’ seems to float.

“Well, we’re not the protagonists, just mob characters, so it can’t be helped.”

“Yeah, more like NPCs? Like villagers living in fear of the Demon King.”

They seem to imply that Ikari and his gang are monsters, and they, as villagers, aren’t programmed to resist. The event is forced upon them.

“I see.”

Since they’re going through with the challenge, even calling themselves NPC villagers, there’s nothing more I can say.

“We’re off!” “Heading out!”

The two salute me and head toward the goal where the higher-caste guys are waiting.

Their walk toward the soccer goal, knowing they’ll lose, reminds me of samurai marching to their deaths in battle. Except they’re only losing pound cakes, not their lives.

The lower-caste guys often have this Yamato spirit. Not just samurai, but also ninjas enduring unreasonable hardships—they’re all stubbornly resilient.

I don’t think their way of life is cool, and I don’t see why they need to rush toward their demise. ‘Life is precious’ should be enough.

Even if they’re villagers, I think they should rise up and hunt down the Demon King.

But I also understand they have their own way of life and thinking. Their actions are to avoid making waves. So, it’s not right to impose my views. I hate it when others deny my preference for being alone.

Just as I think I’m alone, a girl approaches from behind.

“Class is still in session, you know.”

“I don’t want to hear that from Himemiya-kun, who’s slacking off in the corner.”

Misaki sticks her tongue out playfully.

Her expression softens, and she asks casually,

“Aren’t you going to help Ameya-kun and Takechi-kun?”

“Look… Even if I join, the outcome won’t change much.”

“But it’ll change a little, right?”

“…… Is this a leading question?”

Misaki doesn’t lose her smile.

“When you were tackling my challenges, Himemiya-kun, your actions were always unexpected, but you cleared them perfectly. So, I think you can help them this time too.”

“Challenges are just challenges.”

“I’m not just talking about the challenges. You saved Erena too. You solved her long-standing problem in just one day. That’s amazing. I could never do that.”

“……”

“Help them, okay? Please?”

Misaki clasps her hands together. If someone I think is amazing is praising me, it must be a big deal.

Still,

“I refuse. There’s no benefit for me to get involved in this mess.”

“You’re as cold as ever…”

I’m not a philanthropist. I declined the challenge to avoid trouble in the first place.

Plus, I have pride. What face would I have to ask to join the PK challenge?

“Hmm… How about this?”

“?”

“If you guys win the PK challenge, Only me and Erena will handle the restaurant search for the social gathering this Saturday.”

My motivation switch flips ON.

“Are you serious? If you’re not joking, I’ll head to the PK challenge right now.”

“You’re so quick to jump on it!?”

Misaki is taken aback by my sudden change of heart. “You really do jump at such promises huh…”

Pride be damned. Who wouldn’t jump at such an appealing offer?

“It’s not a joke, so it’s fine. But I’m a bit disappointed…”

“Why?”

“Most guys would be happy to hang out with two girls. Am I not that appealing…?”

“You’re appealing.”

“Then why?”

“Being alone is far more appealing.”

“At least say it was by a slim margin!”

Misaki raises her voice, but takes a deep breath to calm herself.

“Well, good luck. I’ll be cheering for you over there.”

After sending her support, Misaki returns to her spot with Hatori and Kurashiki.

I know the challenge is just a pretext, and Misaki’s intention is to save the two.

I’m not being tricked. I’m the one jumping into the trap.

Heading quickly to the soccer goal, the B-group guys are already hyped up, discussing who will bet their pound cakes in the PK challenge. Ameya and Takeuchi, who should be in the middle of it, are slumped over, looking left out.

I approach Ikari, who’s at the center of the chaos.

“Ikari.”

“Huh?”

“I’m joining too.”

“For real? Himemiya, you’re finally getting it!”

“Everyone! Himemiya’s joining too!” Ikari announces, and the guys cheer at the prospect of another beautiful cake from Misaki and Hatori. Don’t forget it’s also one of our worst three handmade cakes.

“H-Himemiya…?”

“Are you doing this for us…?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I just found a reason to fight.”

Ameya and Takechi exchange a glance for a few seconds, then whisper to each other.

“Maybe Himemiya actually likes us, despite what he says.”

“Yeah, that Tsundere line confirms it. He totally loves us.”

“Hey… I don’t—”

Before I can finish, Ameya and Takechi nod vigorously, “Yes!”

They kneel before me, their eyes filled with determination, as if pledging their loyalty.

Why, though?

“If Himemiya’s this worried, we’ll give it our all in the PK challenge! We’ll use the protagonist’s power to win!”

“Same here! I’ll protect the pound cake with my life to meet Himemiya’s expectations! I’m in TUEEE mode now, invincible!”

“Pususususu!” “Fufufufufu!”

When did you guys become the protagonists again? And stop treating me like some princess to worship.

“Ugh… Just focus on winning…”

Despite my weak encouragement, the two of them rally with a loud, “OOOOOOO!”

How simple-minded they are…

The crowd is just as noisy, trying to outdo the two.

“Shuntarou’s joining!” “Shuntarou’s cannon shot is coming!” “GOLAZOOOOOOO NAMIKAWAAAAAAA!”

Looks like Namikawa is joining too.

The cheers for him far surpass the ones I got when I joined. If this were a Smash Bros. character reveal, my cheers would be like Wii Fit Trainer, while Namikawa is Snake. Trainer’s strong, though.

Ikari is raring to go.

“Since it’s 3 vs 3, let’s make it a team match, right!?”

You just want it to be a team match, don’t you?

I was about to suggest the same, so it works out.

Misaki said, “If *you guys* win the PK challenge,” so even if I win alone, it wouldn’t count.

I feign ignorance, acting like this is the first I’ve heard of a team match, and casually agree with an “Alright.”

“Then, can I add one condition from our side?”

“Sure!”

Ikari agrees readily, and I can’t help but mutter a sincere “Thank you.”

※ ※ ※

The rules of the PK challenge are simple: a 3 vs 3 team match, with each player taking one shot at the goal. The team with the most goals at the end wins all the opposing team’s pound cakes.

Not just our class, but even students from neighboring classes join the crowd, drawn by the excitement. It’s like watching a bullfight, except we’re the bulls and they’re the matadors. Maybe dairy cows would be a better fit.

But even as dairy cows, we can still land a blow.

First up for our team is Ameya, with Namikawa as the goalkeeper.

As Ameya shouts, “Kick the ball into the opponent’s goal—SHOOOOOOOT!” his shot is so weak it’s more like a nosedive.

“Make it… please!”

Ameya’s wish is understandable. The ball, kicked straight at the center, loses speed miserably and stops far from the goal. Out of the question.

“Damn…! If I hadn’t twisted my ankle just now, it would’ve gone in…”

That was your dominant foot that twisted.

First up for their team is Ikari, with me as the goalkeeper.

As he shouts, “Take this!” his shot is surprisingly powerful.

But,

“Huh!?”

Ikari’s bewildered reaction is understandable. The ball, aimed at my head, suddenly rises like a trending keyword after a celebrity scandal, flying far behind the goal.

Next up for our team is Takeuchi.

As he shouts, “3, 2, 1, GO—SHOOOOOOOT!” his shot rolls slowly toward the goal, like a Roomba.

“Please… just go in…”

Takeuchi’s prayer is understandable. The ball, rolling at its own pace, veers sideways, and Namikawa retrieves it with a wry smile. Out of sight.

“Ugh…! If only they hadn’t laughed at me when I tripped…”

That’s an emotional wound.

Next up for their team is Tsugami from the soccer club.

As he shouts, “Pound cake, here I come!” his shot is a clean, effortless form.

But,

“Huh?”

Tsugami’s puzzled reaction is understandable. The curved ball suddenly drops like a pure actress’s popularity after a scandal, heading straight toward me for an easy catch.

—

Setting aside Ameya and Takechi’s predictable failures, the competent players and the crowd start to notice something odd after two shots.

“This is impossible! This ball is broken!”

Ikari, furious, picks up the match ball. It’s worn out, with frayed threads and a torn leather exposing the inner tube.

Yes, this is the battered ball I use for warm-ups.

Using this worn-out ball as the match ball was my condition before the game.

“This is too broken!” Ikari slams the ball to the ground. It makes a pathetic “Pekon!” sound, bouncing irregularly away from him and rolling back to my feet. Welcome back, my ball.

As you can see, this ball moves unpredictably when kicked, rolled, or slammed, unlike any normal ball. It’s like it’s saying, “I’ll go my own way,” and I love its individuality.

Ameya and Takeuchi are overjoyed.

“Using a broken ball to run out the clock! Classic Himemiya! So underhanded!”

“Invalidating the match to erase the game! Never thought of that! Brilliant, Himemiya! So cheap!”

“But that’s why we love it!”

Shut up. Don’t lump me with you.

And you’re completely off the mark.

“Look… I’m not aiming for a draw.”

“”Huh?””

“I said earlier, we’re playing to win.”

“But with this ball…”

“Y-Yeah, Tsugami from the soccer club couldn’t handle it either.”

“Just shut up and watch.”

The two salute me with a “Yes, sir!” Seems like they trust me, at least a little.

Now comes the real challenge: it’s my turn to take the shot. Everything hinges on this. I step into the penalty area with my trusty ball in hand. The crowd seems to think my words are just bluster, and there’s no way my shot will go in. The only ones with different expressions are Misaki and Hatori, gripping their towels tightly and praying as they watch me. You two look like cheerleaders in the stands.

“Good thing Himemiya’s strategy isn’t just to run out the clock,” Namikawa comments as I set the ball on the ground.

“Why’s that?”

“Because if it ends in a draw, things would just stay unresolved, right? Better to settle it here and now, so there’s no lingering resentment.”

Namikawa’s right. Even if the PK challenge ends in a void, the fight over the pound cakes would just continue in another form.

But fundamentally, Namikawa is mistaken.

I’m not in this PK challenge because I want the other teams’ pound cakes or because I’m trying to be cool. I’m doing this for myself, to secure a free Saturday. Ameya, Takechi, and the cakes are just part of the process.

“Alright, Himemiya. Bring it on!” Namikawa calls out as I finish my run-up. He’s ready, crouching with his hands spread wide, clearly not planning to hold back.

Let the battle begin.

I step forward, aiming for the ball.

No need for fancy moves like aiming for the corners or adding extra power. I don’t have the skill to spin the ball or feint, and even if I did, I wouldn’t use it.

So, I aim straight for the center of the goal. That’s all I need to do.

The ball I kick directly at Namikawa is an ordinary, unremarkable shot…

…or so it seems.

“!”

Namikawa is the first to notice something’s off.

As the ball gets closer to the goal, it starts to vibrate subtly, then suddenly begins to wobble wildly.

It’s exactly what Ameya and Takeuchi exclaim:

“A knuckleball shot!?”

The ball’s wobble turns into erratic movement, catching the air resistance and veering sharply to the left, avoiding Namikawa.

Namikawa lunges for the ball, putting all his strength into his legs.

In that moment, the ball’s trajectory drops suddenly.

“Damn…!”

Namikawa makes a split-second decision, stretching his arm against his momentum to try and block it.

His middle finger grazes the ball, but he can’t stop it completely, and the ball rolls into the goal.

It’s a high-risk shot, so I’m relieved when it goes in.

The crowd falls silent, except for Misaki and Hatori, who clap and high-five each other, sharing their joy.

“He did it! Himemiya-kun scored! Erena, did you see that? The ball curved so much!”

“Yeah! I’ve never seen a knuckleball shot live before… Himemiya’s amazing!”

A moment later, the rest of the crowd erupts in chaos.

“What was that ball!?” “He actually scored!” “A knuckleball? That’s insane!” “Who the hell is Himemiya!?”

Ameya and Takeuchi are just as loud, celebrating like we’ve won a national championship. “Himemiya’s incredible!” “No one can do that!” they shout.

Honestly, I’m relieved it worked on the first try.

The ability to perform a makeshift knuckleball shot—this is the true hidden feature of my beloved worn-out ball.

The ball’s distorted tube on the outside has an unusually high rebound rate. If I aim precisely at that spot, I can execute a knuckleball shot with high probability. Of course, it requires practice and technique. The angle of the kick is crucial, so setting the ball correctly and pushing the tube inward at the right moment are key.

It’s not some move I developed through blood, sweat, and tears, or by practicing ten thousand shots a day. It’s just a small trick I discovered while kicking the ball alone, while others were having fun playing soccer. I never thought I’d have to reveal it.

Despite conceding, Namikawa approaches with a light smile.

“That was amazing. I knew you practiced alone by the wall, but I never thought you were working on knuckleballs.”

Usually, when someone from a lower caste like me scores against someone from a higher caste, they get angry. But Namikawa just laughs, saying, “Damn, I was so close to stopping it!” as if he genuinely enjoyed the challenge.

Is he a good guy or just a sports fanatic?

“Alright! I want another shot, so I’ll try to force it into extra time!”

“Huh? Oh, right…”

I forgot Namikawa still hasn’t taken his shot.

We switch positions, and I stand in goal, my heart already light.

Not because of the pound cakes, but because Saturday is now free.

Now, what should I do next Saturday? In the morning, I’ll take a walk while listening to the radio, then maybe soak up some sun on a bench. In the afternoon, I’ll finish watching the recorded shows I haven’t gotten to yet, then head to my favorite tea shop for some reading time. What about the evening?

Ah, I can’t wait for Saturday—

Swish!

“…… Huh?”

Something whizzes past me, and I turn to see the ball lodged in the side netting, then drop to the ground.

It’s unmistakably my worn-out ball.

“Nice one!” Namikawa says casually, throwing up a big thumbs-up.

Wait, you scored with this battered ball using proper technique?

Namikawa’s incredible leg strength makes the ball’s condition irrelevant.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The crowd goes wild.

Igari shouts, “Awesome, Shun-kun! YEEEAAAHHH!” while Endou screams, “Aaaaaahhhh! Shuntarou’s amazing!” like she’s in a TV show.

Misaki glares at me, clearly thinking, “You were looking away, weren’t you?”

Honestly, I was. I was even getting a little too excited. But even if I hadn’t looked away, there’s no way I could’ve stopped it. Namikawa’s just too good.

Namikawa walks over and hands me the ball.

With his usual refreshing smile, he says,

“Alright, Himemiya. Let’s go another round!”

Don’t suggest a rematch like we’re playing catch in a park.

Extra time is inevitable.

※ ※ ※

Lunch Break. School Courtyard.

My neighbors are grumbling.

“If only Himemiya-san had scored there… We could’ve had pound cake…”

“Yeah… If you’re going to give us hope, see it through to the end.”

“My bad.”

As the losers, we’re sharing the convenience store’s leftover bread instead of pound cake.

In the extra-time PK shootout, my luck-dependent shots didn’t go in. The ball, blown by the wind, hit the post but didn’t enter. I guess I’m just unlucky.

Meanwhile, Namikawa’s powerful shots weren’t affected by luck. His second shot went in effortlessly. His shots are too fast. Please don’t aim at me again.

Goodbye, pound cake. Goodbye, Saturday.

Instead of enjoying moist pound cake, we’re now chewing on dry bread that absorbs all the moisture from our mouths.

Ameya and Takeuchi suddenly laugh.

“But it was fun!”

“Yeah, it was!”

“Huh?”

“Usually, when they mock us, all we can do is flip them off in our pockets. But today, we got to face them head-on!”

“Usually, when we kick the ball away, we just think, ‘Go fetch, you dogs.’ But today, we actually fought back!”

“You two are still jerks as always.”

“Hehehehe!” “Psssss!”

I’m not praising you.

“Well, if you’re happy, that’s fine, I guess.”

I wonder if they’ve really changed. But their feelings are their own. We lost the match and the bet. Still, if they gained something, that’s good. Otherwise, my effort would’ve been meaningless.

Sharing dry bread in the courtyard with these two losers doesn’t seem so bad today.

“Himemiya-san! I want to learn the knuckleball shot too! Please teach me!”

“Start by learning to kick a normal ball first.”

“Come on, Himemiya-san. You’re just saying that. There’s got to be a secret one-day trick, right? What skill should I max out to learn it?”

“Stop thinking like a gamer. And—”

“And?”

“Why have you been calling me ‘san’ since earlier?”

They’ve been calling me ‘Himemiya-san’ since after gym class.

“Well, you’re Himemiya-san!”

“Exactly! After today’s heroics, we can’t call you by your first name anymore!”

“Hehehehe!” “Psssss!”

“…… Whatever.”

“Oh, there you are.”

“Namikawa?”

The one who took away our moisture, Namikawa, has arrived.

“Sorry about Igari forcing the match on you.”

“Did you come here just to say that?”

“Not just that. Here.”

Namikawa hands me something wrapped in plastic. It’s a pound cake.

“I don’t like sweets, so here. Sorry, there are only two.”

What a prince.

“We were enemies today, but we’re usually on the same team, right? Himemiya, you’re always the goalkeeper, so let’s attack together next time, okay?”

“If I feel like it.”

“Promise?” Namikawa asks with a refreshing smile before heading to the cafeteria, probably to meet someone.

Namikawa seems like a pacifist, and maybe he saw this coming. He even took care of us after we lost. We were completely outclassed.

Conclusion: Namikawa is a total prince.

In contrast…

“The chocolate cake is mine and Karin’s, so it’s mine!”

“What? You were useless in the PK! Eat your bread and shut up! I’ll headshot you!”

That’s probably why they’re not popular…

“Hmm?”

I notice a LINE message from Misaki.

The screen shows:

[Karin]: The PK was close.

[Karin]: But I think you helped Ameya and Takeuchi.

[Karin]: I think they’re doing well because of you.

[Karin]: But a promise is a promise! Let’s work hard on choosing the restaurant for the parent-teacher meeting on Saturday!

Along with her usual rabbit emoji.

There’s another message:

[Karin]: P.S. If you reply, I’ll share three portions of the pound cake with you.

I type a reply for the sake of those ugly guys next to me.

“Looking forward to it.”