kscans

Chapter 527 - The One Who Paid

The battle lasted a little over thirty minutes, and I had a terrible time.

As my right, my opening move was to loudly proclaim, "I absolutely do not have such a specific 'hobby,'" but frankly, the three guys probably didn't care about the facts and just wanted to mess with the perfect new material. They wouldn't listen.

Sora-san, who was twirling a strand of her silky hair and glancing my way, was cute enough, but Nia, who had apparently developed a mysterious sense of rivalry, had to go and shout something unnecessary like, I'm gonna make him stare at my hair too!!! which only fueled the fire.

In the end, I was labeled a 'lover of older women with long black hair,' and even Helena-san, who had remained neutral and not joined in the commotion, was shaking her shoulders with laughter.

This was not my intention, not my intention at all. And it was all because—back in middle school, when I was going through some stuff and seeking emotional stability, there was a time at my new school when I tried to be 'a person who is liked by others.'

I was probably trying to secure a sliver of self-worth as an emergency measure by having others look favorably upon me. Looking back now, I can't help but feel a bit of sympathy for my past self. "Man, I was really struggling mentally back then."

As for what I did, it was nothing special. I just acted 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 all worked out. When an act becomes a part of you, it becomes who you are.

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 I got to do some age-appropriate stupid stuff with an active group of boys.

—And one of the legendary exploits included in that 'stupid stuff' was an event during the autumn sports festival where we decided, on 100% pure whim and excitement, 'Let's sweep first place in every event the boys in our class can enter and become legends.'

Naturally, there was a rule that 'club members are banned from participating in their respective events,' so we had the serious club members act as coaches and thoroughly train the participating athletes.

That whole thing ended up getting surprisingly hyped up, and while sweeping every event was impossible, we did win about 80% of them and placed in all the ones we lost, leaving quite a mark... But anyway, what I'm trying to say is—

"When it comes to amateur table tennis..."

You just have to, like, tilt the face of your paddle at just the right angle...!

"And if you just wallop the ball with all your might, you'll pretty much win!!"

"Gwaaargh!?"

A backhand, followed by a forehand.

After mercilessly running my opponent left and right, a smash that I launched with enough force to create the illusion of a dramatic thwack! pierced the table and vanished into the distance.

Despite his best efforts, Gossan's prized personal paddle sliced through the air, and he went down with a death rattle, thus completing the shutout. A perfect game, with thirty-three consecutive points to win three games.

...In other words.

"Sorry, Gossan. My table tennis skills may be from my middle school days, but they're specifically designed to crush amateurs. Don't think you can win with just a little bit of experience."

"Dammit...! You're not half bad...!!"

I was trained by a powerhouse of a classmate who may or may not have gone to nationals in his third year, and I have a track record of blowing through the table tennis event from the first round to the finals with almost no points lost.

Anyone who's serious about the sport would probably twist me into a pretzel... but the know-how of "this is how you beat amateurs," which was drilled into me relentlessly, seems to have stuck with me, and this was the result against an old man who seemed rather confident in his skills.

Forgive me, General Commander. You were shining when you came at me, brandishing your prized personal paddle. I'll accept a rematch anytime.

"Alright, then—hey, how long are you gonna pretend to be a spectator? This is a winner-stays-on game. You're next, come at me, Samurai Japan."

"...Well, I am half Japanese, I suppose."

When I turned to the spectator who had been watching my less-than-gentlemanly rampage against an adult with an exasperated look, Irori got to his feet with an extremely annoyed expression on his face.

"Ahaha, go get 'em."

"Honestly, what an easy-to-read guy..."

Uni, who was sitting next to him on the bench by the table tennis table, waved him off, and I completely ignored the muttered words of the guy who came forward, paddle in hand. I knew he'd sensed that something had happened, but if he knew, I wanted him to leave it alone.

Just play along quietly—and with a match that requires all my focus, help me forget the immense shame that is currently tormenting me...!!

"Hah... well, fine. If we're doing this, let's go all out. I've sworn that 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."

"Shouldn't you call it a preliminary match? If you lose here, you'll lose then too—not that I intend to change the outcome either way."

"Yeah, yeah, your confidence is much appreciated, now take this, no-motion low-altitude slicer!!"

"Hah, don't underestimate the kinetic vision of a former kendo practitioner...!"

He returned my surprise attack, which I'd launched without warning just to be mean, with an unexpectedly fluid backhand, and my eyes widened in surprise for a moment. As I grinned and slammed another return shot to the opposite side, I mentally applauded Irori for his brilliant response.

You're not bad, Blonde Samurai. I like it, now keep up!!

"Man, they really get along, don't they? They're basically best friends at this point. I'm jealous."

"What's this, Irori's not half bad either."

It was the second round of the after-dinner recreation, a.k.a. the table tennis tournament. Ignoring the peaceful chatter coming from the two guys in the peanut gallery, an endless, fierce rally began.