Occasionally, I would tease my seatmate Lin Xue in Cantonese.
Question: What do you get when you combine an art student with a speech contest?
In Matsudaira Kiyomizu’s eyes, it seemed as if a faint mustache was reflected, prompting him to unconsciously raise his arm at a forty-five-degree angle.
Could it be that bread in Japan now costs five hundred thousand yen a loaf?
No, not at all.
Perhaps the system had misunderstood something.
Once again, Matsudaira Kiyomizu found himself lost in doubt.
He only wanted to become a light novel protagonist, not a figure from a history textbook.
System bro, you don’t have to do me like this…
“Hey, hey!” The girl in front of him spoke up, clearly annoyed. “Aki, why aren’t you saying anything? Are you trying to take advantage of me?”
Snapped out of his reverie, Matsudaira Kiyomizu looked at the girl before him.
Yanami Akatsuki, a vivacious beauty.
Delicate and gentle oval face, soft and airy hairstyle. Below that, a well-developed chest, a slender waist, a pert little bottom, and long, shapely legs with just the right amount of flesh.
Although she hadn’t fully matured yet, she was already a stunning young beauty.
Surely, when she grows up, she’ll be a heartbreaker.
He had known her since childhood.
Neighbors, from kindergarten through high school, always in the same class.
Her sunny, energetic, and gluttonous personality, coupled with her adorable looks, had made her popular since they were little.
Countless boys’ dream girl.
Oh, right.
She was also the one who dumped Matsudaira Kiyomizu.
The carriage rocked along, rumbling now and then, causing the bodies of the boy and girl to sway gently.
Just then, the train hit another sharp curve.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu’s body tilted with the car, leaning forward. One hand gripped the hanging strap; his other hand, unanchored, instinctively reached out to steady itself.
Exactly the kind of situation the “train creep” had hoped for earlier.
The beauty’s thigh—soft and warm to the touch.
It felt particularly nice.
Compared to half a year ago, it seemed a bit fuller.
“Hey!”
Yanami Akatsuki’s gaze deepened.
If anyone else had touched her leg, she would have responded with an elbow.
Their eyes locked for a moment, the atmosphere a little awkward.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu felt he ought to say something.
I’m not “hey,” I’m—
No, that’s just dumb.
Better to speak normally.
So, he lowered his head to look at the girl’s face, his voice gentle: “Old Eight, you’ve gained weight again.”
“...Are you looking for trouble? I only returned to fifty-five kilos for the twelfth time this year last Monday! Where did I gain weight? Stop talking nonsense!” Yanami Akatsuki retorted fiercely, elbowing him as she spoke.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu caught her elbow with practiced ease, speaking in the tone of an old married couple: “Your thighs are obviously rounder than they were half a year ago. They feel softer, too. Isn’t that proof you’ve got more fat?”
“You touched my leg?” Yanami Akatsuki glared.
“Then touch mine, if you want,” Matsudaira Kiyomizu replied, his gaze open and honest.
With the kind of brotherhood forged between himself and Old Eight, she’d probably even grit her teeth and agree if he wanted a little fun.
Of course, Old Eight wasn’t the sort to let him do whatever he wanted.
She was a girl, after all, with her own boundaries and sense of pride.
“One breakfast!” Yanami Akatsuki named her price, threatening, “Or I’ll tell your mom you touched my leg.”
“If you tell her, she’ll probably go discuss our wedding with your mom right away.”
“...”
Hearing Matsudaira Kiyomizu’s emotionless reply, Yanami Akatsuki’s expression turned to despair. She clutched her head and cried, “Help! If I have to marry you, I’d rather die! Three months of trial dating almost triggered an AT Field. It took me six months to fully recover... Wait, has it been six months since we broke up?”
“From last Christmas to now, exactly six months.”
“Yay! I hereby declare that, from now on, diplomatic relations are restored between us!” Yanami Akatsuki shook her head, all seriousness, “And as a celebratory gift, you’re treating me to breakfast today!”
“Why should I?”
“Your family is rich; you’re a big country! Isn’t it natural for big countries to favor small ones?”
She had a point.
Didn’t a certain university throw money at Africa?
This behavior, like Matsudaira Kiyomizu using meat buns to feed Old Eight, always went out but never returned.
“What do you want to eat?” Matsudaira Kiyomizu asked helplessly.
Yanami Akatsuki’s eyes sparkled: “Watermelon pancakes, the kind with ice cream on top!”
“High sugar, you’ll gain weight.”
“Then pork and lettuce salad udon!”
“Carbs are sugar too, you’ll gain weight.”
“Lettuce salad won’t make me fat!”
“I don’t mind your trust in lettuce salad,” Matsudaira Kiyomizu nodded seriously. “So lettuce salad it is, no pork or udon.”
Yanami Akatsuki tilted her head, staring at him with clear eyes and a faintly rueful tone: “The president’s son tormenting the employee’s daughter—isn’t that indirect abuse of staff? If so, I’ll go report you to the Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare!”
“If you dare, you won’t even get salad!”
“...Master Kiyomizu, I was wrong. Please forgive the little person’s mistakes!”
Little childhood friend, easily handled.
Two minutes later, the train arrived at Yotsuya Station.
Near the station, at Yoshinoya, Matsudaira Kiyomizu bought a lettuce salad and, while he was at it, a meat sausage.
Yanami Akatsuki waited for him outside.
When he came out with their food, each opened their umbrella and walked up the long slope leading to the school gate.
“Are you studying art lately?” Matsudaira Kiyomizu suddenly asked.
“Yeah, how did you know?” Yanami Akatsuki looked at him, surprised. “I joined the literature club, right? They want illustrations for the stories, so I’ve been learning art for two months. I’m really good now, just not brave enough to show anyone.”
“What does the literature club actually do?”
“Read books, and write some too.”
“Can you leave early?”
“Yes.” Yanami Akatsuki’s eyes lit up, sizing him up with a half-smile. “What, you want to join? Well, I guess you could, as long as you—mmph!”
Her remaining words were blocked by Matsudaira Kiyomizu’s meat sausage.
Today’s feeding (check).
After nearly six months without this routine, it had resumed; Matsudaira Kiyomizu felt his life was complete again.
Meanwhile, the system popped up a notification.
[Relationship repaired; Yanami Akatsuki’s affection for you has increased.]
Below were options to view status and affection level.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu clicked to check.
[Character: Yanami Akatsuki]
[Status: Just fed, mood extremely happy...]
[Affection level: 73]
[Analysis: 0 for strangers; 0–10 for passing acquaintances; 11–20 nodding terms; 21–40 regular friends; 41–60 close friends; 61–70 maxed-out affection; 71–90 life-and-death bonds; 91+ means intense obsession, yandere...]
“Huh?”
Looking at the panel, Matsudaira Kiyomizu was a bit surprised.
...He only considered Old Eight a brother, so it should be the 41–60 range, yet she had him as a life-and-death bond.
He was unexpectedly moved.
Even though Old Eight had dumped him, she still loved him.
Frankly, he hadn’t done anything special—just fed her a bit of fresh food since she was two or three years old...
Rain fell steadily in the rainy season.
With a sausage in her mouth, the girl was in high spirits, happily spinning her transparent umbrella so that water droplets flew out in a swirl.
“Hey, you got me wet!”
“By the law of equivalent exchange, you can get me wet, too.”
“Tch, you’ve learned to fight magic with magic! Can’t keep a woman like you around!”
“Give up, you’re no match for me!” Yanami Akatsuki stopped spinning her umbrella, adorably sticking out her tongue. “Akatsuki-chan only needs to lift a finger...”
“Boom!”
Thunder crashed overhead.
He didn’t quite catch what she said next.
Probably some boast about how she could easily handle him.
Hilarious.
And yet, who was it who dated for three months, then needed six months to recover?
Not like Matsudaira Kiyomizu, who was unaffected.
As they walked, an ancient and majestic school gate appeared ahead.
[Maizuru Private Academy]
The school was steeped in history and tradition; most students were from old and new aristocratic families, and the talent level was among the best in Japan.
Entering the gate, a giant oak tree loomed overhead.
At least fifty years old, standing beneath it and looking up, you’d feel as if the leaves blocked out the sky.
“Good morning, Matsudaira.”
“Mm~”
Walking from the gate to the teaching building, girls in pleated skirts from his class greeted Matsudaira Kiyomizu; he merely nodded in response.
“So cold…”
“Just like the ascetic young heir in a Korean drama…”
The girls whispered behind his back.
Whenever she saw this, Yanami Akatsuki wanted to laugh.
Probably only she, among all the girls at school, knew that he wasn’t cold at all—he was just socially awkward, an introvert.
They changed shoes at the lockers and returned to Class 1F.
Old Eight entered through the front door with her salad, Matsudaira Kiyomizu went to the back door but didn’t go in right away.
There were still ten minutes before class; a few boys were chatting in the back row, one sitting on his desk.
He waited at the door for several minutes.
With seven minutes left before class, the chatters dispersed.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu finally entered, wiped his seat clean with a wet tissue, and sat down.
From the front row, Old Eight glanced back at him with a motherly look of concern, still munching her salad.
She looked just like a worried mother fussing over her son.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu ignored her and took out his homework.
“Morning, Kiyomizu.” A classmate, Murakami Nagasawa, who he’d known since junior high, came over to greet him.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu didn’t have many friends in class.
Counting them up, only Murakami Nagasawa and Old Eight.
He felt he didn’t need many friends.
In a place like school, friends could help with some problems.
But when there were no problems, friends were the biggest source of trouble.
...He always came up with odd ideas and would trick you into doing things that’d get your parents called.
Murakami Nagasawa was the typical sidekick found in light novels—the strategist, information broker, always ready to drive conversations into risqué territory.
“Still haven’t found a club, right? Join the soccer team with me and let’s conquer the nationals!” Murakami Nagasawa offered.
“Rejected,” Matsudaira Kiyomizu replied without looking up.
Murakami Nagasawa sat in front of him, a strange look on his face. “You don’t have a girlfriend, you’re not in any club, and you don’t seem to be aiming for Tokyo University. What do you want to do?”
“I plan to commit suicide, alright?”
“How?”
“Jump off the roof, sound good?”
“It’s raining today. Remember to use an umbrella before you jump, or you’ll get your clothes wet.”
“You’re so gentle, Murakami.”
“Of course, we’re friends, after all.” Murakami Nagasawa laughed heartily.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu shot him a glare, utterly disgusted.
Murakami Nagasawa was about to say more, but his attention was suddenly drawn to someone approaching.
A tall, elegantly shaped beauty.
She entered through the back door, sat by the window in the empty seat, and glanced carelessly at Matsudaira Kiyomizu in the adjacent seat.
“Good morning, Lin,” Murakami Nagasawa smiled in greeting.
Foreign student Lin Xue looked at him expressionlessly, as if she were looking at a plucked Donald Duck.
“Just now, Matsudaira was thinking of jumping off the roof. I suggested he jump from your spot. Even if he dirties your desk, you’d show the magnanimity of a great nation and laugh it off, right?”
Murakami Nagasawa joked, ordinary and confident.
Lin Xue’s lips moved slightly, as if she said something.
Murakami Nagasawa scratched his head, puzzled: “Chinese?”
Lin Xue said something else.
He still didn’t understand, but it was time for class, so he returned to his own seat.
Lin Xue’s gaze came back to Matsudaira Kiyomizu.
“...”
Matsudaira Kiyomizu’s expression was strange.
He could actually understand what Lin said.
The first sentence: “Silly!”
The second: “Go home and chat up your mother, idiot.” (in Cantonese)
What kind of development was this?
His neighbor Lin Xue secretly trash-talking him in Cantonese?
Matsudaira Kiyomizu kept a straight face, finding it amusing—this development was so light novel-esque.
Lin Xue, glancing at him sideways, noticed the slight twitch of his lips, wondering what he was thinking. But actually, she found him attractive and couldn’t help but snicker, murmuring another phrase.
Not loud, but just enough for him to hear.
“Quite cute, big sister likes you.” (in Cantonese)
“...”
Matsudaira Kiyomizu turned, politely and cluelessly, “Did Lin say something to me just now?”
Lin Xue propped her chin in her hand, hiding her smile, and replied in her mother tongue: “That silly look of yours gets cuter the longer I look…”
So—
My neighbor Lin Xue keeps teasing me in Cantonese?
This is a romantic comedy!
This scene left Matsudaira Kiyomizu reflecting.
He had wealth, looks, decent grades, a cute and devoted childhood friend, a textbook best buddy, and a foreign beauty who playfully teased him daily. All he lacked was the classic flat-chested, proud, sharp-tongued literary maiden with long black hair—and his life would be complete.
Yet, with all these advantages, he was still single!
How shameful for a transmigrator!
This damned social anxiety—he had to overcome it today!
Ding ding ding~
Finally, noon arrived.
Matsudaira Kiyomizu finished lunch and headed straight for the club building.
The Speech Club was just ahead.
Prepare yourself, prepare yourself!