Chapter 20

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Tsukimi Higure sat on a bench by the tennis court, pressing a boxed milk carton against his forehead, his face heavy with sorrow, lamenting the passing of spring and autumn.

Masaharu Nioh, passing by, came over and then turned back. “Tsukimi, what’s wrong?”

Tsukimi sighed mournfully. “Can’t you tell? I bumped my head.”

Is bumping your head really a matter so grievous?

Nioh didn’t understand but showed respect.

“Piyo, please accept my condolences.”

“Thank you.”

Bunta Marui was utterly confused.

He tapped his own head twice: What’s going on? He seems like he’s not quite understanding human speech anymore.

Better stick to training.

Akaya Kiryuuin, who arrived punctually and changed into his sportswear, immediately noticed the manager senior preoccupied with sorrow. Concerned, he asked, “Senpai Tsukimi, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Tsukimi replied with a detached calm, as if nothing mattered.

The seaweed-classmate was puzzled but impressed, hesitating before saying, “Please take care, senpai.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The entire Rikkai team thought: The atmosphere in the tennis club today feels... peculiar.

Yukimura, having witnessed the whole thing, asked curiously, “Renji, do you know what upset our manager?”

Six pairs of ears perked up around: Eavesdropping—

Renji Yanagi replied flatly, “...Probably just doesn’t want to drink milk.”

Everyone else thought: That’s a bit too dismissive.

But Yukimura genuinely worried, “That can’t be, our president isn’t that petty, right?”

“Ah, yes,” Renji responded emotionlessly.

Meanwhile, Tsukimi, falsely rumored about, read and replied aimlessly, his mind drifting far away: What’s for lunch today? I wonder if there’ll be little octopus sausages...

Yes, it was that plain and simple.

After morning training ended, Tsukimi and two classmates returned to the classroom. His solemn expression drew many curious glances.

Shugo Sawada asked with his eyes, “Nioh, what happened?”

Nioh, with a sly smile, said, “Puri~ Maybe he finally got tired of you.”

Sawada exclaimed, “Really?!”

A sporty youth losing his dreams.

Tsukimi, just coming back to his senses, saw him distracted and asked the same question, “Class president, what’s wrong?”

The white-haired fox in the front replied, “Probably worried about the archery club’s results.”

At the mention of that, Tsukimi winced inwardly and closed his mouth, unwilling to pursue further.

Sawada didn’t press either, but since they were in the same class, whenever he met them, everyone would give him complicated, resentful looks that made his scalp tingle.

Honestly, a burly youth looking at people like that was terrifying!

He swore he’d had more goosebumps recently than in the past decade.

The morning classes drained all his energy. As soon as the last teacher left, Tsukimi eagerly took out his lunchbox and hurried out, disappearing from the classroom in an instant.

Marui was dumbfounded by this lightning-fast exit: “Is Tsukimi really in that much of a hurry?”

“Puri, isn’t that a good thing?” Nioh said. “He’s recovered.”

On the rooftop, Tsukimi opened his lunch and was delighted to find bright red little octopus sausages inside.

Using chopsticks, he picked one up and popped it into his mouth, chewing—

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The casing was crisp, the filling savory and salty with a smoky aroma—delicious.

Yukimura saw him squinting in delight and asked, “Tsukimi, do you really like these little sausages?”

“Mm!”

Too bad there were only five, and he finished them all in a flash.

Still savoring the taste, he smacked his lips, picked up a clump of rice, and shoved it in, along with two pieces of simply seasoned broccoli, his cheeks puffed out like a little hamster, eyes fixed intently on Renji Yanagi’s lunchbox.

Renji Yanagi: “...” Understood.

He split three of his black-eyed octopus sausages from his own lunchbox and put them into his childhood friend’s box, noticing Tsukimi’s forehead had already lost its swelling. “Here, some for you to recover.”

Even found a considerate excuse.

Tsukimi was moved. “Renji, you’re really a good person!”

Renji seemed to hear an electronic notification in his ear: Beep! Receiving a forcibly given ‘Good Person’ card from your childhood friend.

“Tsukimi, swallow what’s in your mouth before speaking.”

“Ugh!”

After a few more chews, he swallowed and then devoutly ate the three precious little octopus sausages obtained through persistence.

So fragrant!

They even tasted better than those in his own lunch!

After finishing and tidying up the lunchbox, the three headed downstairs, coincidentally running into Sanada returning from patrol.

His aura was darker than usual—he must have been upset by something again.

Yukimura called out puzzled, “Genichiro?”

Sanada’s face darkened further, seeming too embarrassed to speak.

Renji Yanagi perhaps understood: “There’s a 90% chance it’s related to midterm exam results, and 100% related to Akaya.”

The disciplinary committee chair was so furious at the mere mention of that name, he was practically breathing fire. “Akaya is just too lax!”

The shout scared the students nearby, scattering them like birds and beasts. A passing teacher scolded, “Hey, you there! No shouting in the hallways!”

Sanada immediately bowed apologetically. “Sorry, I’ll be more careful!”

The gray-haired teacher shook their head. “Good grief, you almost gave this old person a heart attack.”

Watching Sanada’s red face, Tsukimi struggled to hold back his laughter.

No, must hold it in!

Back to the main topic.

During lunch break, Sanada and his disciplinary friends patrolled the campus as usual but unexpectedly ran into Akaya Kiryuuin’s homeroom teacher.

What followed was a half-hour-long talk—from sleeping in class to forgetting to hand in homework, then the midterm exam results distributed today.

All subjects barely passed except English, which remained in the miserable single digits.

This severely disheartened the young English teacher, who was now in a state of extreme self-doubt and mental struggle, impervious to any advice.

After the homeroom teacher finished, he urged the senior club member to help the juniors study more and informed Sanada that if Akaya failed the makeup exam next week, he would be barred from participating in club activities.

Before the midterms, the tennis club organized a study session targeting the slow-witted junior, with capable seniors each responsible for one subject, giving Akaya a crash course.

The one in charge of English was Sanada.

Thus, the student in question was deeply ashamed—more ashamed than for his failing grades.

“How, how did it come to this?” Tsukimi, who only barely passed, was too preoccupied to join this momentous event and knew little about the details, only noticing his childhood friend looked unusually haggard during that time.

The situation was evidently far worse than he imagined.

He recalled Akaya’s slip during the regional preliminaries about his grades: Could it be that wasn’t a one-time thing but the norm?

Shudder, how terrifying!

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Yukimura’s smile bloomed like a lily. “I remember we even delayed Akaya’s triple training sessions for the exam?”

Sanada sensed danger and replied dryly, “Yes.”

“With so many seniors bustling about for him, he still failed?” Yukimura sounded like he was asking, but also muttering to himself.

“Sorry, Yukimura,” Sanada said earnestly, “I take responsibility too.”

“Now’s not the time to argue responsibility,” Renji Yanagi said with a heavier tone. “The priority is to find a way for Akaya to pass the makeup.”

Yukimura and Sanada fell silent.

Tsukimi watched the unusually grave trio and decided it was best not to say anything.

After school, at the tennis club.

By the entrance, a little seaweed-like figure skulked, his bright green cat-like eyes scanning the court, when suddenly they met a pair of gentle violet eyes.

Akaya Kiryuuin: “...”

Defeated before even starting.

Yukimura waved at him casually, expression unchanged, but Sanada beside him looked like a volcano about to erupt.

Akaya shrank back but, considering Yukimura was present, figured Sanada wouldn’t tear him apart and cautiously approached.

Yukimura said, “Akaya, I heard you failed English again?”

Akaya trembled, avoiding Sanada’s gaze, and sincerely apologized, “Sorry, Captain Yukimura!”

Yukimura’s verdict was final: “Put your club activities on hold until after the makeup exam.”

“No, Captain Yukimura!” For a little seaweed who lived by playing tennis, a week without the sport was like being sentenced to death.

“Dare to bargain?!” Sanada snapped, unable to hold back. “Because of your grades, the club suffers. If you fail the makeup, forget about any matches!”

The little seaweed seemed to lose all vitality, drooping and wrinkled. “I-I understand.”

Renji Yanagi placed a thick stack of materials in Akaya’s hands. “These are the key points and collected exercises I’ve marked. As long as you master these, there won’t be a problem.”

“Senpai Renji, this—” Akaya weighed the heavy load in his hands. “I have to finish all this in a week?”

Renji’s eyes turned icy, looking down on him: What do you think?

“I’ll study with you. If you don’t understand something, just ask.”

To Akaya’s ears, that meant, “I’ll be watching you—no slacking off, study until you drop.”

Tsukimi, out of curiosity, watched for a moment, witnessing Renji explaining a problem for the second and third time...

“Senpai Renji, I still don’t get it,” the little empty-headed seaweed said weakly.

Ah, heading into the fourth round.

Tsukimi cast his childhood friend a sympathetic glance and quietly slipped away.

Coming out of the dull club meeting room, the air felt livelier.

His gaze swept across and saw someone being dragged off the court from both sides, with Yukimura walking alongside, wiping sweat and drinking water.

This scene had become so common since Yukimura returned that Tsukimi no longer found it strange.

He approached Yukimura. “Yukimura, you’re recovering well.”

“Mm, thanks to you,” Yukimura said with some vexation. “The increase in training must be gradual. Considering everyone’s fragile spirits, I feel the current workload is still insufficient.”

Yukimura, did you just say something terribly hurtful?

To the club members hearing this: Sorry we’re so fragile, Captain!