“A few more senior girls are begging for my company over coffee?
Then, I suppose I must take my leave.” Kouenji Rokusuke brushed his golden bangs aside.
His tone was characteristically languid as he executed a flawless, elegant pivot toward the classroom door.
Before stepping over the threshold, his polished shoes halted.
His gaze swept across the room, lingering meaningfully on Kushida Kikyo for a fraction of a second before locking dead onto Shimizu Akira.
“My ‘favor’ is not merely as simple as exchanging contact information, you know.” “Look forward to it, Shimizu-kun!
Hahahahaha!” His tall, sculpted figure vanished into the corridor before the echoes of his booming laughter could fade, leaving the classroom drowning in a stunned, heavy silence.
Students murmured.
“What the hell is that guy babbling about?” “What favor?
What a mess.” “But he is surprisingly popular with the upperclassmen!
Think he would introduce us to some cute girls?” Akira watched the empty doorway.
He had not expected an extreme narcissist like Kouenji to actually hold the attention of older girls from other classes.
More, giving up his seat on the bus and filing that report had been purely pragmatic, impulsive calculations on his part.
He never intended for the blonde eccentric to interpret them as some deep, personal favor.
A beautiful misunderstanding, Kouenji had called it.
‘Being remembered by a man for repaying a favor…’Akira sighed inwardly.’No matter how I look at it, there is absolutely nothing to be happy about.’ The gymnasium echoed with the overlapping chatter of roughly a hundred students scattered in small clusters across the polished wooden floor.
Judging by the pristine condition of their uniforms, the vast majority were First Year freshmen still hunting for a club to join.
Near the entrance, Akira spotted a long folding table buried under stacks of glossy promotional pamphlets.
He approached, sliding a booklet from the neatly squared piles.
Flipping through the heavy stock paper, the club profiles practically leaped off the page: [Judo Club] – Top 8 in the National Tournament for three consecutive years.
[Baseball Club] – Top 4 in last year’s Koshien preliminaries.
[Archery Club] – Roster includes current youth national team athletes.
Every page flaunted high-resolution photos of intense activities.
The upperclassmen pictured wore top-tier professional gear, their chests heavy with gleaming tournament medals.
‘The level of these clubs…’Akira closed the booklet.’They are practically reserve national teams.’His initial, highly pragmatic plan to join a club to effortlessly farm school Points through basic performance crumbled to dust.
The ground grappling in the Judo photos, the flawless swing mechanics in Baseball, the absolute precision of the Archery stances; every single image screamed professional standard.’As a complete layman, keeping up with this tier of training is a pipe dream.’ Up on the main stage, upperclassmen took turns aggressively pitching their respective clubs.
Almost all of them spouted the same rehearsed lines about welcoming beginners with open arms.
Akira remained skeptical.
In reality, these seniors were likely just hunting for budget allocations.
The school funding system was transparent enough; more members equaled a larger slice of the financial pie.
Freshmen with zero relevant experience would just be treated as glorified errand boys, fetching water and hauling equipment while the regulars trained.
“Hey!
You there!” A booming voice shattered his cynical train of thought.
“Want to come up and try out some boxing?” Akira blinked, his focus snapping to the stage.
A heavily muscled upperclassman was waving directly at him.
A boxing club in a Japanese high school?
Akira frowned slightly.
Was there not a massive liability risk of injuring students so severely they could not attend regular classes?
The collective gaze of the freshmen on the floor swiveled toward him.
In an instant, he was the center of attention.
“Me?” Akira pointed at his own chest.
After receiving an affirmative nod, he stepped forward.
“Alright.
But I have absolutely zero experience with boxing.” “Hahaha!
Everyone has a first time!” The senior’s hearty laughter bounced off the high gymnasium ceiling.
Yielding to the enthusiastic pressure, Akira slowly climbed the wooden steps onto the stage.
The senior tossed him a pair of heavy red boxing gloves.
The worn leather surface bore the scuffs and creases of countless impacts.
“Just try throwing a punch right here.” The senior planted his feet into a solid defensive stance, crossing his thick, tree-trunk arms over his chest.
He made no move to grab focus mitts or body armor.
Akira clumsily worked his hands into the gloves, struggling with the velcro straps.
“Is this really okay?
Without any protective gear…” “Don’t sweat it!” The senior waved off the concern with a grin.
“Just consider it a special service for the freshmen to get a real feel for the sport!
Come on!
Don’t hold back!” Akira took a slow, measured breath.
His casual demeanor vanished, his dark eyes sharpening into a cold, focused stare.
He dropped his shoulders, sinking his weight.
His left foot slid forward, planting firmly against the floorboards.
Kinetic energy coiled through his hips, snapping up through his core as his right fist launched forward like an arrow released from a heavy bowstring.
Akira’s straight right slammed directly into the senior’s crossed forearms.
The sheer kinetic force of the heavy blow lifted the sturdy upperclassman off his center of gravity, sending him stumbling backward several paces before he could catch his balance.
“Ugh!” The senior grunted sharply.
A deep, angry red imprint bloomed across his bronze skin, swelling at a speed visible to the naked eye.
He stared at his arm, his eyes blown wide in absolute shock.
Fine beads of cold sweat immediately broke out across his forehead.
“This strength…
are you kidding me?
Is this year’s freshman a monster?” Before the senior could even finish his sentence, his blocking arm began to spasm uncontrollably.
Driven by the sheer pain and the ingrained reflexes of a seasoned fighter, he violently yanked the arm back, pinning it tight against his ribs to protect the injured muscle.
That subtle, professional flinch sent a ripple of surprise through the few knowledgeable upperclassmen watching from the sidelines.
However, the vast majority of the freshmen below the stage were completely clueless.
To them, it looked like a cheap comedy routine.
Laughter erupted from the floor.
A few students whistled and jeered loudly.
“How much did they pay you for this performance, Senior?” “You guys are really going all out for recruitment!” “Didn’t that guy just say he’s never trained a day in his life?” The senior scratched the back of his head with his good hand, flashing the crowd a sheepish, hearty grin.
“Hahaha, did you guys see right through my acting?” But as he turned his back to the crowd and faced Akira, his expression hardened into dead seriousness.
“But, Junior Shimizu, the sheer weight behind that punch can’t be faked.” He flexed his trembling fingers, trying to work the numbness out of his arm.
“You exercise often, don’t you?” Before Akira could formulate a neutral response, the senior stepped in and threw a warm, heavy arm over his shoulder.
“Have you considered joining the Boxing Club?
If you sign up, you get free rein over our full set of imported gym equipment.” “Oh, right!
I totally forgot to ask.
What class are you in, freshman?
What’s your name?
You haven’t signed a club form yet, right?” “I’m Shimizu Akira from Class 1-D,” Akira replied calmly.
“And no, I haven’t joined anything yet.” “Ah…” The senior’s enthusiastic smile twitched slightly at the mention of the class.
“A freshman from Class D…
Tell you what.
I’ll give you 5,000 Private Points a month…
No, let’s make it a flat 10,000 Private Points as a monthly subsidy!” Akira raised an eyebrow.
“A subsidy?
But starting boxing practice from scratch right now…
wouldn’t it be too late to actually compete?” “Not at all, not at all.” The senior shook his head.
“The absolute essence of combat sports is a raw contest of physical fitness.
Your foundation is already terrifyingly solid.
Even without refined technique, you can throw heavy punches that will force opponents straight to their knees.” “Trust me.” The senior suddenly leaned in close, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper meant only for Akira’s ears.
“You freshmen don’t understand how things actually work at this academy yet.” He paused, letting the silence stretch for a meaningful second.
“This is a school that believes in the absolute supremacy of force.” Akira’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise cutting through his usual calm.
He clearly remembered the Student Council President standing at the podium during the opening ceremony, his voice echoing across the hall as he declared this institution a strict meritocracy.
‘Force,’Akira mused silently.’How interesting.’ [Inorin’s Note: Hey guys, hope you’re enjoying the novel!
Hate waiting for updates and cliffhangers?