Chapter 527 - The One Who Paid
—Back in middle school. For various reasons, I was seeking some mental stability, so there was a time at my new school when I made a conscious effort to be a ‘likable person.’
I suppose I wanted to secure a tiny bit of self-worth as an emergency measure 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. “Man, my mental state was rough back then, what a tough time I had.”
By ‘conscious effort,’ I just mean I was acting like 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 it’s all good. If you act a part long enough, it becomes second nature.
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 was invited to join a club, and I got to fool around like a normal kid with a group of active guys.
—And one of the heroic tales included in that ‘fooling around’ was an event during the autumn sports festival, carried out with 100% pure hype and momentum: ‘Let’s make a legend by having the guys in our class sweep first place in every event possible.’
Naturally, there was a rule that ‘sports club members are banned from competing in their respective events,’ but in that case, we simply had the serious club members act as coaches to thoroughly train the competing athletes.
That whole thing ended up getting surprisingly hyped up, and while sweeping every event was impossible, we managed to win about eighty percent of them and placed in all the ones we lost, leaving a pretty decent mark… but anyway, the point I’m trying to make is—
“Amateur table tennis is…”
It’s all about, you know, tilting the face of your racket at just the right angle…!
“And if you just smash the ball with all your might, you’ll probably win!”
“Gyaahhh!?”
Backhand, then forehand.
After mercilessly running my opponent left and right, a smash I unleashed—with enough force to create the illusion of a dramatic CRACK!—shot across the table and vanished into the distance.
Despite a valiant effort, Goldow’s personal racket sliced through empty air as he let out a death rattle and tumbled over. And with that, he was shut out. Thirty-three consecutive points, three games to none. A perfect game.
…So, in other words.
“Sorry, Goldow. My table tennis skills, though from my middle school days, are specialized in killing amateurs. Don’t think you can win just because you’ve dabbled in it a bit.”
“Damn it…! You’re pretty good…!”
I was trained by a powerhouse classmate who may or may not have gone to nationals in our third year, and I 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 twist me into a pretzel… but the know-how that was relentlessly drilled into me—‘this is how you beat amateurs’—is apparently still ingrained in my body, leading to this result against the old man who seemed a tad too confident.
Forgive me, General Commander. You were shining when you strode in, brandishing your treasured personal racket with such glee. I’ll accept a rematch anytime.
“Alright, then—hey, how long are you gonna pretend to be a bystander? This is a winner-stays-on tournament. You’re next, bring it on, Samurai Japan.”
“……………Well, I am half-Japanese, I guess.”
I turned to the spectator who had been watching my less-than-mature beatdown of an adult with an exasperated look. Irori got to his feet with an extremely annoyed expression on his face.
“Haha, go get ‘em,” Uni said.
“Honestly, what an easy-to-read guy…”
As Uni, who had been sitting next to him on the bench, waved him off with a flutter of her hand, I completely ignored the mutterings of the guy approaching with a racket. I knew he’d figured out that something had happened, but if he knew, I wished he’d just leave me alone.
Just play along quietly, will you—and give me a match that requires my full attention so I can forget the immense shame that is currently tormenting me…!
“Hah… well, fine. If we’re doing this, I’m going all out. I’ve sworn never to lose to you again, regardless of the event.”
Didn’t you just lose big time in our fishing contest this very morning?
“Bring it on, you bastard. This’ll be a good rehearsal for our rematch in two months.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to call it a preliminary bout? 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. Now eat this, no-motion, low-altitude slicer!”
“Hah, don’t underestimate the kinetic vision of a former kendo practitioner…!”
I was momentarily stunned when he returned my nasty, unannounced surprise attack with an unexpectedly fluid backhand. But a smirk spread across my face as I slammed the return shot to the opposite side, and when Irori masterfully handled that too, I gave him a mental round of applause.
Not bad, Blonde Samurai, not bad at all. Keep up if you can!
“Man, they really get along. They’re basically best friends at this point. I’m jealous.”
“What’s this, what’s this? Irori’s not half bad.”
Match two of the post-dinner recreation, the table tennis tournament. 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 gets long, but that doesn't mean I'll describe it in the next chapter or the one after. The protagonist's gushing is being postponed for the future. Now is not the time.