17: Mizore-senpai Edition A season where sweltering humidity and intense heat assault us.
In contrast to the weather, the air conditioning made the room comfortable, but I was currently on the receiving end of a dead-eyed, resolute confession from Mizore-senpai.
“…I’ll take responsibility.” “No, I’m telling you, it’s a misunderstanding…” “I’ll take responsibility.” “That’s why I said it’s a misunderstanding…” This back-and-forth had been going on for about twenty minutes.
Mizore-senpai was more of a “my pace” person than I thought, and at the same time, incredibly stubborn.
It was that stubbornness that had driven her oboe practice.
That was likely why she made it into Group A, the members competing in the national tournament.
And her eyes held a determined will that was unimaginable from her usual self.
Incidentally, she wasn’t wearing a “boyfriend’s shirt”—she was wearing my shirt.
The way it hung off her was incredibly baggy.
Even though she was just wearing a normal T-shirt, it looked like she was wearing an oversized fashion statement.
Her glossy indigo hair fell softly around her shoulders, framing her cool, mysterious face.
She had a slender, delicate body — narrow shoulders that looked fragile, a slim waist, modest but beautifully shaped C-cup breasts that pressed softly against the fabric of my shirt, and long, pale legs.
Her skin was almost snow-white, giving her an ethereal, pure beauty.
As for me, “When I sleep, I’m usually naked from the waist up and just in boxers below.” Incidentally, we both just woke up.
The reason I was shirtless and in my underwear was a habit from my previous life; I tend to unconsciously strip when it’s hot in the summer.
And there, right next to me as I slept almost naked, Mizore-senpai had woken up and was asserting her “responsibility”—be it a confession or a promise of marriage—all on her own.
We had been arguing for a while now, but I felt an oppressive air coming from her that was unthinkable for the usually timid senpai.
Why was I being pursued like this?
The cause goes back to last night…
—It was because of what senpai and I messed up last night.
In the spring, when the cherry blossoms fluttered, everyone at Kitauji High School vowed to aim for the national tournament.
However, by the end of April, everyone was doing whatever they wanted, and it was impossible to practice as a unified group.
A few people, however, remained unchanged, devotedly practicing at their own pace in a good way.
Mostly the members of the bass section, Kousaka, and— —Mizore-senpai.
Mizore-senpai.
Her glossy indigo hair looked supple and was beautiful to behold.
It didn’t look like she had a single split end.
She was one of the club’s “cool beauties,” a different genre entirely from Kousaka.
Reticent, cool, and mysterious.
In a society where women have stronger sexual desires, she seemed to have “zero” interest in the opposite sex.
I might be praising myself here, but that held true even for me—a beautiful boy, a rare person in this world.
That silence, that coolness.
Wanting to face her somehow, I tried talking to Mizore-senpai during May.
“Mizore-senpa~i!” I lightly tapped her shoulder from behind.
Mizore-senpai jumped in surprise and hurriedly turned toward me.
I could see quite a bit of gooseflesh on her neck.
I had really startled her.
“…Don’t scare me…” “…I’m sorry.” I apologized sincerely.
It was a fact that I had startled her.
But— “Mizore-senpai, I was curious about what kind of game you were playing…” Mizore-senpai was playing a smartphone game during the break.
It seemed to be a standard rhythm game where notes fall from the top.
“…Do you want to try, too?” With those words, I nodded.
I borrowed one of Mizore-senpai’s earphones, and with our shoulders touching, she taught me how the game worked.
It was a very standard rhythm game.
However, while the timing for a “Good” rating to keep the combo going was generous, the timing for a “Perfect” rating was strict and difficult.
When I struggled and couldn’t rack up any points at all— “…Let me try.” Mizore-senpai took it and proceeded to hit “Perfect” after “Perfect” despite the strict timing, resulting in a full combo and a high score.
I was purely captivated by her skill.
—It’s the same as an athlete.
The movements of someone who has mastered something are extremely refined.
Their movements have had every ounce of waste stripped away.
And in those waste-free actions, I felt a sense of beauty—a functional beauty.
Every time those supple fingertips tapped out the word “Perfect,” I was captivated by her gestures.
She was always playing the oboe with those supple fingers.
She practiced more diligently than anyone.
I had been declaring Kumiko as my wife since middle school, but I was also drawn to Mizore-senpai’s devoted attitude.
That stoicism.
That posture of not caring about anything else.
And, surprisingly, I felt myself being drawn to that stoic attitude.
I thought my type was the bright, cheerful kind, like Kumiko.
Or so I thought.
They say the person you like and your “type” are often different, but to think I’d be drawn to such a reticent, cool beauty of a senpai…
Thinking that, I became obsessed with her narrow shoulders that looked like they would break if hugged, her collarbone visible above her uniform, and her slender neck…
“…?
Is something wrong?” It seemed I had missed the words of senpai, who was explaining the game.
“…No, it’s nothing…” There was no way I could say I was captivated by her and wasn’t listening.
In the middle of our conversation, the classroom door slid open with a rattle.
It seemed the advisor was going to resume practice.
“W-well, see you later…” My voice unintentionally rose at the end from shyness, but Mizore-senpai only— “…Yeah.” —nodded and went back to practice.