Fukuda Tsukasa knew this tournament carried quite a bit of prestige.
Ordinary people almost never got the chance to play against professional players, so quite a few came just for that experience.
They knew they had no chance of winning, but their entry fees still helped increase the final prize pool.
In regular shogi tournaments, players received appearance fees based on their registered rank.
The stronger the player, the higher the fee—even if they lost.
For low-ranked players, the appearance fee was tiny no matter the result.
Many hardworking shogi players still struggled to make real money.
This new tournament was different.
The more consecutive wins you racked up, the bigger the payout became.
Most players entered hoping to win a few rounds and walk away with some decent cash before running into real competition.
If they got lucky and avoided the pros early, they could easily pocket over a hundred thousand yen.
The professionals and title holders, of course, came for even bigger prizes and the chance to raise their profiles.
Even someone like Fukuda—a modestly known reward association player—probably wouldn’t last more than a few rounds against the top names.
And someone like Natsume Chikei?
He wouldn’t stand a chance.
Still, more people throwing their money away meant a larger prize pool for the actual winners.
Why complain?
The more fools like that showed up, the higher his own chances of walking away with serious cash.
He was even secretly hoping he’d draw Natsume Chikei in the first round.
A pure walking payout.
Fukuda stepped forward with a smirk and urged Horikawa Kaori on.
“Hey, Horikawa-san, the rules don’t say ordinary people can’t enter.
Can you hurry up and finish his registration already?”
“There are people waiting behind us.
If you keep dragging this out, the folks in line are gonna start getting pissed.”
Horikawa Kaori had no authority to stop anyone from registering.
But she still couldn’t help giving one last, subtle warning.
“If you’re certain you want to participate, Natsume-kun, please pay the 20,000 yen entry fee here.”
For an ordinary high school student, 20,000 yen was a serious amount of money.
Most of them only had two or three thousand yen a week for living expenses.
She hoped this boy wouldn’t waste his cash on something this difficult.
The tournament was brutal.
Everyone started from zero.
Lose once before the round of sixteen and you were eliminated—no exceptions.
Only from the quarterfinals onward did it switch to best-of-three.
Natsume Chikei didn’t argue.
He simply pulled 20,000 yen from his thin wallet and handed it over.
Horikawa Kaori let out a quiet sigh in her heart but accepted the money.
“I’ve received your entry fee and application form.
You’ll get the match details via text message or email.
Please check them carefully and arrive at the venue on time…”
“Thank you,” Natsume Chikei said politely, then turned and left.
Fukuda knew Horikawa Kaori.
They’d played a few games together at the association before—old acquaintances of a sort.
He stepped up to the counter and spoke to her with obvious sarcasm.
“That Natsume-kun just now?
I could tell at a glance he’s a real standout.”
“He’s definitely going to take first place in this big tournament!”
“If any more people like him come to register, don’t waste time chatting with them.
Just let them sign up quickly.”
“Don’t get in the way of the real players winning big prizes, all right?”
Horikawa Kaori knew Fukuda well and disliked him intensely.
Her expression turned ice-cold—the complete opposite of the warm tone she’d used with Natsume Chikei.
“Please fill out the form here.
Once you’re finished, pay the 20,000 yen entry fee.”
Fukuda saw she was ignoring him, but he didn’t get angry.
He just smiled, took the form, and started filling it out.
After he paid, he glanced in the direction Natsume Chikei had gone and silently prayed he’d draw that idiot in the first round.
That would be an easy win and an easy 10,000 yen in his pocket.
The coffee shop shift started at five o’clock.
Natsume Chikei checked his phone—4:58.
He was almost late.
He broke into a run and made it back to the shop just in time, swiping his time card at exactly 4:59.
He let out a breath of relief.
Just then, Fujiwara Aoi stepped out from the back and spotted him.
The Private Gekko Academy summer uniform—simple shirt, tie, and slacks—looked completely different on Natsume Chikei.
He somehow made even the plainest clothes look sharp.
Out of all the students she’d seen today, he was by far the best dressed.
Even Yamaguchi Hirota, the new student representative, didn’t wear the uniform as well as he did.
You almost didn’t make it!”
Natsume Chikei turned at the sound of her voice and saw the energetic Fujiwara Aoi already in her work uniform, hands on her hips and smiling at him.
He gave a sheepish grin.
“Good thing the train wasn’t delayed.
Otherwise I really would’ve been late.
By the way, one of my classmates said someone came looking for me at lunch.
Was that you?”
Fujiwara Aoi’s cheeks flushed slightly as she nodded.
“Yeah…”
“You came all the way to my class.
Was there something important?”
Fujiwara Aoi twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, looking a little shy.
She figured her classmates had probably already mentioned the bento, so she explained,
“Actually… I had something I wanted to talk to you about.
Since we had a long lunch break, I thought I’d bring lunch over and we could eat together while we chatted…”
Natsume Chikei understood right away.
“I see.
So what did you want to talk about?”
Fujiwara Aoi’s eyes flickered.
She coughed lightly.
“It’s about the shift schedule…”
“April’s already started, and now that we’re back in school we still haven’t sorted out the new schedule.”
“The manager asked me to check when you’re available to work and when you’re not…”
Natsume Chikei nodded.
“Got it.
Where’s the manager?
I can tell him right now.”
Fujiwara Aoi hesitated, avoiding his gaze.
“The manager’s off today…”
“It’s just us employees here right now.”
“I haven’t filled mine out yet either… How about we do it together on the computer after we close?”
Natsume Chikei agreed.
“Sure.
We can take care of it tonight before we leave.”
“Mm-hm!” Fujiwara Aoi replied happily.
Soon it was nearly ten o’clock—closing time.
After the other employees finished cleaning and left, the large coffee shop was empty except for Natsume Chikei and Fujiwara Aoi.