Chapter 524 - The One Who Paid
—Back in middle school. For various reasons, I was seeking some peace of mind, and there was a time at my new school where I made a conscious effort to be 'a person others liked.'
I suppose I was trying to secure a sliver of self-worth as a sort of emergency evacuation by getting people to see me in a good light. Looking back now, I can't help but feel a bit of casual sympathy for my past self, thinking, "Man, I was really going through it mentally."
This 'effort' was nothing special. I was just playing the part of a good-natured guy.
Well, in the end, it did distract me, and I don't dislike the person I am now, which was formed as a continuation of that, so all's well that ends well. Once an act becomes second nature, it becomes a part of you.
Anyway, for that reason, I had a reasonably wide circle of friends in middle school.
Unfortunately, I wasn't blessed with anyone I could call a best friend, but I did join a club when invited and got to participate in the age-appropriate foolishness with a group of active guys.
—And one of the legendary exploits included in that 'foolishness' was an event at the autumn sports festival, decided upon with 100% pure momentum and hype: 'Let's make a legend by sweeping first place in every event the guys in our class can enter.'
Naturally, there was a rule that 'club members are banned from competing in their respective sports,' but we worked around that by having the serious club members act as coaches to thoroughly train the competing students.
That whole thing got surprisingly hyped up, and while a clean sweep was impossible, we managed to win about eighty percent of the events and placed in all the ones we lost, leaving a pretty decent mark. But… well, what I'm trying to say is—
"Amateur table tennis, you see…"
You just have to tilt the face of the paddle at a really good angle and…!
"If you smash the hell out of the ball, you'll probably win!"
"Gwaaargh?!"
Backhand, then forehand.
After mercilessly running my opponent left and right, a smash launched with enough force to create the illusion of a dramatic WHAM! pierced the table and vanished into the distance.
Despite a valiant effort, Goldow's beloved personal paddle sliced through empty air. He let out a death cry and tumbled over, thoroughly shut out. Thirty-three consecutive points and a three-game sweep. A perfect victory.
…In other words.
"Sorry, Goldow. My table tennis skills may be from my middle school days, but they're specialized in destroying amateurs who were trained by serious players. Don't think you can win just because you've dabbled a bit."
"Dammit…! You're not half bad…!"
I was trained by a powerhouse of a classmate who may or may not have gone to the national tournament in our third year. I was in charge of table tennis and have a track record of blowing through every match from the first round to the finals with almost no points lost.
Someone who's truly dedicated would probably wipe the floor with me… but the know-how for 'how to beat amateurs, no matter what,' which was relentlessly drilled into me, seems to still be ingrained in my body, resulting in this outcome against the old man who seemed a bit too confident.
Forgive me, General Commander. You were shining when you strode up to the challenge, brandishing your treasured paddle with such glee. I'll accept a rematch anytime.
"Alright, then—hey, how long are you going to act like an outsider? This is a winner-stays-on tournament. You're next. Bring it on, Samurai Japan."
"…Well, I am half-Japanese, I suppose."
I directed my challenge to the spectator who had been watching my less-than-mature decimation of an adult with an exasperated look. Irori stood up, his face a mask of extreme reluctance.
"Haha, go get 'em."
"Honestly, what an obvious guy…"
As Uni, who was sitting next to him on the bench by the table, waved him off, I completely ignored the mutterings of the guy now walking toward me with a paddle. I knew he'd sensed that something happened, but if he knew, I wished he'd just leave it alone.
Just play along quietly, will you—and with a match that requires my full attention, make me forget the monumental embarrassment that is currently tormenting me…!
"Hah… well, fine. If we're doing this, let's go all out. I've sworn I'll never lose to you again, regardless of the event."
Didn't you just lose big time in our fishing match this morning?
"Bring it on, you bastard. This'll be a rehearsal for our rematch in two months."
"Wouldn't it be better to call it a preliminary skirmish? If you lose here, you'll lose then too—not that I intend to change the outcome either way."
"Yeah, yeah, your confidence is admirable. Here, take this! No-motion low-altitude slicer!"
"Hah! Don't underestimate the kinetic vision of a former kendo practitioner…!"
He returned my nasty, unannounced surprise attack with an unexpectedly fluid backhand, and my eyes widened in shock for just a moment. As I smirked and slammed another return to the opposite side, he handled that one brilliantly as well, earning my silent praise.
Not bad, Blonde Samurai, not bad at all. Keep up!
"Man, they're really close. That's basically best friend territory. I'm jealous."
"What do you know, Irori's pretty good at this."
It was the second round of the post-dinner recreation, our table tennis tournament on the second day. Oblivious to the peaceful chatter from the two guys on the sidelines, an endless, fierce rally had just begun.
I said I'd cut it because it would get long, but I never said I'd show it in the next chapter or the one after. The protagonist's gushing will be postponed to the future. Now is not the time.