[Romani Oyama]
Walking through the school hallways, a long, drowsy yawn slipped past my lips.
As tedious as it was, I still had a few more hours of class ahead of me. I just hoped I wouldn't fall asleep again. I was starting to get genuinely concerned about losing brain matter thanks to the repeated attacks my head had been receiving lately.
For an ordinary human, she had a surprisingly heavy hand.
Speaking of Fujimura, wasn't she the supervisor of the kendo club? That thought crossed my mind at quite an opportune moment.
Why?
Well, I was practically standing right in front of the kendo club's dojo, which consisted exclusively of female students. Ironically, it was precisely the members of this club who chased the infamous perverted trio through the hallways, striking them with their wooden swords as though it were a recreational sport.
Considering that the boys at this school tried to spy on them while they were changing, I really can't blame them for wanting to split those boys' heads open, can I?
Hmm...
Even from outside, I could hear the rhythmic, measured sound of wooden swords echoing through the corridor. Through the half-open door, I caught glimpses of white uniforms swaying back and forth with precise, disciplined movements. Resting my hand on my chin, I hesitated for a few seconds, questioning whether or not I should go in. Still, my curiosity turned out to be considerably greater than any reasonable hesitation or my own laziness.
Following my own whim, I moved my feet toward the club's entrance.
At the exact moment I crossed the threshold, however, a figure collided sharply against my body. The impact threw her off balance for a fraction of a second, her feet catching on each other. As she plummeted toward the floor, her eyes widened in surprise and her arms flailed through the air, desperately searching for something to grab onto.
Blinking lightly, I caught her by the waist before she fell to the ground. My hand slid involuntarily upward, my palm unwittingly pressing against the soft, full curve of her breast. At the same time, a pair of delicate hands grabbed my uniform with instinctive force, seeking stability wherever they could find it.
Locked in a strangely suggestive pose, a soft scent of ripe melon reached me at the very same instant my eyes fell upon the figure now braced in my arms.
She was a woman with wavy, chestnut hair and eyes of the same warm shade as her locks, holding a bright, expressive sparkle that perfectly matched her energetic personality. She wore a white kimono over her curvy figure that couldn't quite conceal her generous curves and chest, regardless of any effort to the contrary. Below the waist, she wore a long bluish hakama that moved gracefully with each breath.
"Fujimura-sensei..."
As incredible as it seemed, the woman in my arms was none other than my teacher. That could be considered quite the stroke of luck, couldn't it?
"Oyama-san..." Fujimura blinked several times in quick succession, her hands still resting against my chest, as though she were slowly processing what had just happened.
"..."
"..."
A silence fell between us as my head worked like an old computer trying to run a file far too large for it.
At that exact moment, I was holding my teacher in my arms right at the dojo's entrance. Making our situation considerably worse, behind us stood an audience composed of girls at the peak of their adolescence, watching the whole scene with heightened interest.
"Hmm!? Why is Sensei in the reclusive prince's arms?"
"This is completely wrong. The one who should be in his arms is Kiba-kun."
"Oh! I see you're a woman of culture... oh! My nose is bleeding."
What in the world... Why were they talking about Yuuto? And who on earth was this so-called reclusive prince? It couldn't be me, right? As I internally questioned the collective sanity of these girls, the face of the teacher in my arms began taking on a rather pronounced crimson hue.
"Oyama-san, could you move your hand?" Fixing me with a smile whose eyes weren't following along in the slightest, she pointed to my hand, which was wrapped around her waist, dangerously close to restricted territory, which in this case meant her chest.
"They're... soft..." The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I could see with the naked eye her cheeks growing even redder in real time, while her fingernails gripping my shirt tightened with even greater force.
"Oyama-san!!!" Letting out a cry of embarrassment that could rival a flushed flamingo, she raised the shinai and brought it straight down onto my head. Seriously? Where had she even pulled that sword from? I was starting to think she carried a pocket dimension exclusively for storing instruments of pedagogical aggression. The shinai in her hands was visibly different from a standard one, with a more robust appearance and a tiger keychain swinging beside the white grip, as if the object had a personality of its own.
"Twice in the same day. That's a new record, Fujimura-sensei." I pulled my hand away from her body and rubbed my head, massaging the throbbing spot on my head, while Fujimura rose gracefully and smoothed out the folds of her white kimono with calculated movements.
"Cough! Cough!" Resting the shinai on her shoulder, she gave a deliberate cough that did a decent job of dispelling the awkwardness. "What were you doing at the kendo club, Oyama-san?"
"Hmm... I was just curious." I raised my hand and made a peace sign.
"You're quite a simple person, aren't you?" She let a sigh escape her lips while placing her hand over her own face, casting me a strange look.
Fujimura-sensei, why are you looking at me like I'm some reckless child who chases beetles?
"Most of the time." Drowsily crossing my arms over my chest, I tilted my head slightly to one side. "But in truth, as a growing young man, I think I'd also like to experience swinging a sword." The statement left my lips with surprising naturalness, though deep down there was a visceral and somewhat unsettling desire to hold a weapon and actually use it.
I suppose swinging a sword is every boy's dream.
"Really?" She raised an eyebrow, fixing me with her chestnut eyes.
"More serious than an acute myocardial infarction."
"Why not just say heart attack... anyway, do you practice any kind of martial art?" She asked with genuine curiosity.
"No, I don't," I answered honestly, waving my hand back and forth in denial. In this life, this body had zero interest in that sort of thing, and in my previous one, my body was apparently too frail for any martial ambition.
In other words, I had absolutely no knowledge of martial arts whatsoever.
"Hmm..." She murmured pensively, bringing one of her delicate hands to her chin while her chestnut eyes continued evaluating me with an expression that was difficult to categorize. "Would you like to practice with me? Just a simple sparring match, between the two of us." She tapped the shinai lightly against her own palm, in a gesture that hovered curiously between invitation and veiled threat.
I blinked several times, genuinely surprised by the unexpected invitation that had come from those pink lips.
As interesting as it was, there was a part of me firmly convinced that she was simply looking for a valid excuse to keep hitting me on the head. She definitely must enjoy hitting me, or perhaps it was some kind of quirk of hers. Even if that were exactly the case, there was no reason whatsoever to refuse something that promised to be entertaining.
Strangely, something inside me was vibrating with anticipation in a way I couldn't quite explain.
"Of course. It would be an honor, Fujimura-sensei."
With a slight smile, I moved my hand and picked up a wooden sword from the cabinet beside me, raising it with both hands and assuming a basic stance while watching Fujimura-sensei carefully.
Her feet were perfectly positioned. Her center of gravity was impeccably balanced. Her breathing was controlled and completely steady. To the eyes of a novice like me, she presented almost no visible openings in her guard. Her usual expression of the energetic teacher had transformed into something entirely different, colder and more focused, as though a different mask had been put in its place.
Meanwhile, I was most likely displaying countless glaring flaws in my own defense at that very moment. In short, given the disparity in experience and level between us, this was definitely not going to be easy from any angle. Even so, I would face it with everything I had.
My heart began beating faster. Not from nervousness, but from something different. Excitement, perhaps. There was an intensity to it that seemed slightly disproportionate for a simple sparring match between teacher and student.
As that thought crossed my mind, I flexed my right foot, shifted my body weight and lunged explosively in her direction.
Let's see how she reacts to this first move.
Rapidly closing the distance between us with wide strides, I swung the wooden sword in a descending vertical arc. Fujimura moved her right arm with impressive speed, sending both wooden swords crashing violently together in midair with a sharp, resonant crack that reverberated through the entire dojo, instantly drawing the curious attention of the girls training in the corners.
The impact sent a vibration through my entire body. And to my surprise, I had enjoyed that sensation a little too much. The clash of wooden blades, the resistance, the force of the direct confrontation. It was as though every nerve in my body had suddenly woken from a very long sleep.
It was a rather addictive sensation... to such a degree that a smile was threatening to escape my lips at every moment.
"Don't worry too much, I'll go easy on you." Fujimura-sensei flashed me a spirited smile that didn't particularly suit what came next. With a quick, precise movement, she let the wooden blade slide smoothly along the surface of my sword, producing a continuous scraping sound, while simultaneously pulling her left arm back and thrusting directly toward my torso.
Ma'am, you are in desperate need of updating your dictionary.
I moved my left leg quickly backward, shifting my body, using the sword to desperately deflect her strike, which, even partially blocked, still scraped dangerously past my right cheek and left a burning redness behind as a souvenir.
The pain should have bothered me. Instead, I felt my lips curving into an involuntary smile. I took several hurried steps backward, creating a safe distance, and let out a deep breath while trying to organize my thoughts.
In a way, I could follow her movements with my eyes, but I couldn't react to them adequately in time, simply due to a lack of experience. My body and mind still weren't working together in a fight.
Even so...
"I appreciate the consideration, but I'd prefer Fujimura-sensei come at me with everything she has." With a confident smile, I raised one hand and undid the top two buttons of my school shirt for greater freedom of movement.
Ignoring the gazes of some girls that had, for some reason, landed on me, the me of this moment wanted to feel the true weight of her strikes.
Author's Note: I think it's only fitting that the first appearance of the Pugna Constitution happened against a teacher. However, among all the Constitutions, the Envy Constitution is undoubtedly the most extreme, and it will still be some time before it finally makes its debut.
To give you an idea of how troublesome it is, the Envy Constitution is heavily inspired by the personality of Satella, the Witch of Envy from Re:Zero.