Damn, he's so handsome!

The Kendo Club of Maizuru Private Academy boasted two activity rooms. The polished wooden floors gleamed with a waxed luster, and the air was filled with the explosive shouts of focus and the sharp clatter of bamboo swords striking, a cacophony that radiated intensity even to a casual listener.

By the window, Suzune Sakura idly played with her phone, boredom etched across her face. School hadn’t even let out yet, but she’d heard rumors that someone from the Kendo Club was planning to pick a fight with Shimizu Matsudaira, so she’d come early to watch the drama unfold.

To be honest, she’d had no intention of coming at all. Two fish fighting in her pond—what did that matter to the one who fed them? If she only kept one fish and it died, she’d be heartbroken; but with a whole pondful, what did it matter if a couple didn’t make it?

And yet, here she was! After all, a schemer like her could spot an opportunity from a mile away. Once the Kendo Club finished roughing up Shimizu Matsudaira, she’d swoop in to shield him, adopting a fierce, protective stance—a performance of the “protective girlfriend.” She refused to believe he wouldn’t be moved by such a display.

“Hehe~”

“Ehehe~”

Lost in her daydreams, a silly grin crept onto her lips.

“Sakura, thinking about something fun?” someone asked as they approached.

It was Kenichiro Yokoyama, a third-year student with an imposing build and vice-captain of the Kendo Club—another fish in her pond.

Suzune rolled her eyes, visibly impatient. As someone who worshipped good looks, she held no affection for this suitor with his broad, flat nose and small eyes. If it weren’t for his money, she wouldn’t even let him near her. Even with his financial offerings, she remained as insincere as ever, brushing him off whenever possible.

To keep him at bay, she’d told him she liked aloof, cool types—hoping he’d try to emulate that. Diligently, he maintained his frosty demeanor, handing her money weekly like a domineering CEO, never flirting or overstepping.

“What’s with you?” Suzune shot him a glance.

Yokoyama stood with his hands behind his back, face stoic. “Anyone who bothers you will answer to me!”

“Don’t overdo it—keep it under control,” Suzune snapped.

“Hmph.”

Yokoyama’s cool façade remained unbroken. He was making steady progress toward her ideal “aloof, handsome guy”—the aloofness was there, now all he lacked was the good looks. He planned to keep up the act until summer, then confess to her. But now, someone else was pestering Sakura? Unforgivable!

He’d have to teach this upstart a lesson. The whole school would know that Sakura was not someone they could covet.

In his mind, Yokoyama nodded slowly. “I’ll keep it measured—just enough to make him regret it.”

“Where are they now?” Suzune asked, curiosity piqued.

“Probably downstairs at the club building.”

“I’ll go meet them.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she was already at the door, slipping on her flats and hurrying down the stairs. From behind, Yokoyama watched her, puzzled. Her urgency was like that of a love-struck girl unable to wait a moment longer to see the one she liked.

Yokoyama’s brow furrowed. Something felt off.

Meanwhile, Shimizu Matsudaira, trailed by three Kendo Club members, crossed the courtyard—filled with happy couples—and arrived at the club building’s entrance.

“Shimizu!”

A sudden rush of air, carrying a faint, sweet scent, met him at the foot of the stairs. Suzune Sakura stood blocking his way, worry etched across her face. “What are you doing here? You should just go home…”

“Just looking around,” Shimizu replied, sidestepping her and ascending the stairs.

“That place is filthy and chaotic—not for you…” Suzune sidled closer, as if they were old friends. “And I heard someone doesn’t like you. You should go back; let me handle them…”

Having run all the way down, a fine sheen of sweat now glimmered on her skin. With their shoulders nearly brushing, Shimizu could feel her warmth.

She really was a master schemer—a true fish-keeping virtuoso.

“It’s fine, I’ll just take a look,” he answered, unmoved.

Suzune put on her most worried face. “Shimizu…”

But inwardly, she cursed him for being ungrateful—he deserved the beating coming his way.

The Kendo Club met on the third floor of the club building. As they approached, the clatter of bamboo swords, hurried footwork, and sharp training shouts merged into a single, unbroken sound.

“Go on in, Matsudaira,” prompted one of his escorts.

Shimizu slipped off his shoes and socks and entered barefoot. The hall was impressive—left wall adorned with calligraphy reading “Virtue Bears All” and “Perseverance Brings Strength,” the right lined with a sparse trophy case and a few faded banners—a meager haul for such a well-funded school.

Maizuru Private Academy spared no expense on its Kendo Club: dedicated changing rooms, showers with hot water round the clock, expert coaches, and physical therapists. Yet, the club’s performance remained mediocre—a fact best left unsaid.

Within the white-lined practice area, two were sparring. Shimizu watched, curious. Kendo was quintessentially Japanese, and he’d never known much about it. This was a chance to broaden his horizons.

Inside, the match raged. One tall, one of average build—the clash of their bamboo swords resounded through the hall.

With a sudden misstep, the smaller man slipped and fell.

“Get up! Again!” barked the taller one.

“Yokoyama-senpai… I can’t go on, let me rest…”

“Up!” came the thunderous reply.

Groaning, the fallen boy struggled to his feet. They resumed, but the weary one was clearly outmatched.

The bystanders whispered to each other.

“Poor Yamada…”

“He brought it on himself—missing practice for dates…”

“Doesn’t he know Vice-Captain Yokoyama’s sworn off romance?”

Listening in, Shimizu gathered what had happened.

Suddenly, the match reached its climax. Yokoyama unleashed a deafening shout—“Men!”—and brought his sword down hard on his opponent’s helmet.

The force sent Yamada sprawling, rolling across the floor despite his protective gear.

“Hmph!” Yokoyama stood with hands behind his back. “Yamada, do you know why you’re so easily defeated?”

Yamada hurried to his feet, bowing. “Please teach me, senpai!”

“In swordsmanship, the most important thing is to avoid emotional entanglements!” Yokoyama’s gaze swept the room.

“?”

“Women will only slow your sword!” His voice rang out with chilling authority. “Break up with your girlfriend and focus on your training—do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Yamada replied instantly.

“Can’t hear you! Think you can learn the sword with such a weak voice?”

“I understand!” Yamada shouted.

“Good, that’s the spirit!” Yokoyama nodded.

Seeing the respect and humility in the eyes of his clubmates, Yokoyama was filled with satisfaction. What a perfect performance!

He tried to maintain his icy composure, but a smirk threatened to betray him.

Sakura must be back by now—surely she’d fall for him after seeing how cool he was… With that thought, Yokoyama cast a languid, indifferent glance toward the door, his eyes sweeping over Shimizu’s face—

Damn, he’s handsome!