"Everyone, this is Kazama-kun, our newest member of the Archery Club! Let's give him a warm welcome!"
"Oi, I know him! He's Kazama—the guy who took on ten delinquents at the school gate with nothing but a bamboo sword! The video blew up online, and now everyone's calling him the 'Tokyo Sword Saint' of our generation!"
Amid the crisp applause, a straightforward second-year senpai shouted with barely contained excitement, practically bouncing on his heels.
"Honestly, I was a hundred percent sure you'd end up at the Kendo Club next door. Never thought you'd become our kouhai instead. Welcome aboard!"
Following his voice, all eight senpai in the group—excluding Shinomiya Kaguya—turned their curious gazes toward the newcomer. The late afternoon light filtered through the traditional wooden slats of the dojo, casting warm stripes across the polished floor that smelled faintly of cedar and bowstring wax.
"Ah, I've heard his name too!" A second-year senpai with twin pigtails clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes sparkling. "I noticed the moment he walked in—this kouhai is seriously ikemen material. Could he really be that legendary first-year everyone's been buzzing about? The one all the girls ranked as the most handsome in the entire freshman class?"
"After hearing Buchou Aoyama's introduction, I can't believe it's actually you standing here!"
"Ahaha, it's really nothing special," Kazama Haru said, scratching the back of his head and flashing a practiced smile—the kind of effortlessly charming expression that looked completely innocent on the surface.
He could feel their gazes crawling over him. The senpai weren't even trying to be subtle about it, using the convenient excuse of "welcoming a new member" to shamelessly appraise everything from his face to his shoulders to the way the afternoon light caught his jawline.
"Ahem."
Club President Aoyama noticed the shift in atmosphere immediately. Worried that this popular kouhai—who seemed to attract both male admiration and female attention like a magnet—might get scared off by his senpai's "hungry wolf" stares, he cleared his throat loudly.
"Anyway, Kazama-kun, that's the situation. Even though Kyudo is a traditional sport with deep cultural roots, it's honestly not as popular among students as you might think."
"You can tell just from our numbers. Besides you, Shinomiya-san over there is also a first-year. With both of you joining, we've finally—just barely—reached eleven members."
Even when her name left Aoyama's lips, the composed Shinomiya Kaguya offered nothing more than an almost imperceptible nod. Her face—exquisite as porcelain, cold as fresh snow—betrayed absolutely no emotion. Those crimson eyes, framed by raven-black hair that fell like ink past her shoulders, remained fixed somewhere in the middle distance.
As for Kazama Haru, who probably should have made eye contact or at least offered a polite greeting to his fellow first-year?
He didn't so much as glance in her direction.
Interesting.
At the same time, Kazama Haru noticed something subtle—when mentioning Shinomiya Kaguya, Club President Aoyama had specifically used the more respectful honorific. The Shinomiya zaibatsu's influence really did reach everywhere. Even the sacred senpai-kouhai hierarchy that Japanese schools had observed for generations apparently meant nothing against true authority.
This mutually chilly reception made Aoyama visibly awkward. He let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck before pressing on:
"Kazama-kun, before joining, you must have heard some rumors about our Archery Club, right? That the senpai-kouhai relationship here is so strict it borders on cruel, or that we like making up excuses to haze the new members."
The tall club president waved his hand dismissively, voice firm with conviction. "I can tell you right now—that's all baseless gossip."
"Our numbers are already small. In my eyes, every single member of this club is our most precious asset. I absolutely won't tolerate anything like bullying or harassment."
"From now on, if either of you has questions about anything, feel free to ask any senpai—including me. And you two, as fellow first-years, need to support each other and get along well. Understood?"
Seeing them both nod—Kaguya's nearly invisible, Haru's politely enthusiastic—Aoyama's expression brightened. A glint of genuine excitement crept into his voice.
"Besides, I've personally witnessed Shinomiya-san's archery technique. She's nothing short of a genius—the real deal. And Kazama-kun, anyone who can swing a bamboo sword like that obviously has physical abilities far beyond ordinary."
"Both of you, train hard. The academy has always funded us generously, and every year we compete at the national level."
"I believe that with you two joining, our Archery Club will definitely reach even greater heights!"
After delivering this classic motivational speech, Club President Aoyama followed tradition and announced free practice time for all members.
"Haru-kun~" The vice president approached him with a warm smile. She was a gyaru-type senpai with healthy sun-kissed skin and long flaxen hair that caught the light like spun honey. The scent of coconut sunscreen and something floral drifted from her as she handed him a crisp new kyudo-gi uniform, along with a bow, arrow equipment, and several theoretical textbooks.
"If you don't have much experience with kyudo, start by familiarizing yourself with the bow's structure. Read through these basics first, okay?"
Then, as if remembering something, she pointed toward the shooting position where Shinomiya Kaguya had already assumed her stance—bow raised, string drawn, utterly still except for the subtle rise and fall of her breathing.
"Just like Yuusaku said, Kaguya-chan really is a natural talent. If you get bored reading, try observing her movements. Once free practice ends, I can personally guide you through some fundamentals."
Her amber eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned slightly closer. "After all, total beginners like you, Haru-kun, always love using all sorts of weird postures. Before you know it, you're completely out of breath after just a few shots. That would make your senpai very, very disappointed~"
She's definitely not talking about archery anymore.
"Thank you, senpai. I'll do my best."
Kazama Haru pretended complete obliviousness to the layered meaning in her words, thanked her with a polite smile, and headed straight for the men's changing room.
The small room smelled of fresh cedar and clean cotton. He stripped off his school uniform—white button-down, dark trousers—and pulled on the traditional kyudo-gi. The fabric felt surprisingly comfortable against his skin, loose and breathable. Standing before the mirror, he took a moment to admire the way the stark white keiko-gi contrasted against his features before slowly making his way back outside.
He walked to the unoccupied shooting lane beside Kaguya, positioning himself beneath the overhanging eaves. The afternoon sun had shifted, casting long shadows across the practice area. Somewhere in the background, bowstrings thrummed and arrows thwacked into straw targets with rhythmic precision.
He opened his theoretical textbook and began reading quietly.
"Feet parallel... shoulder-width apart... toes angled slightly outward, pointing toward the target..."
While murmuring the instructions under his breath, Kazama Haru picked up a practice bow with obvious curiosity. His posture as he tried to mimic the illustrations was awkward at best—feet too close together, elbow at the wrong angle, shoulders tensed in a way that practically guaranteed a pulled muscle.
Classic beginner mistakes. Every single one.
From her position barely five meters away, Kaguya had just loosed an arrow. It struck the target dead center with a satisfying thunk—a perfect bullseye that she didn't even bother admiring.
Instead, watching his clumsy attempt from the corner of her eye, she let out a soft, derisive snort.
"Hmph."
Unlike the near-silent acknowledgment she'd given during the group introduction, this sound was deliberately loud enough to carry. Even across the distance between them, Kazama Haru heard her contempt clearly.
Oh? So that's how we're playing this.
Why would Shinomiya Kaguya, of all people, make such an obviously provocative move?
Unlike ordinary students who acted on impulse and emotion alone, everything Kaguya did was calculated. Methodical. Every gesture served a purpose.
Since that day—since she'd suffered Kazama Haru's "humiliation"—even though he'd offered what seemed like a sincere apology before leaving, she absolutely was not prepared to let the matter rest.
---
That night, back at the Shinomiya estate, Kaguya had collapsed face-first onto her enormous bed. The sheets were Egyptian cotton, cool and impossibly soft against her burning cheeks. Her bedroom smelled of fresh lilies and the faint trace of expensive perfume—the kind that cost more than most people's monthly salary.
Her personal maid, Hayasaka Ai, stood in the doorway with an expression of polite confusion. Blonde hair fell past her shoulders as she tilted her head, trying to parse the meaning behind her young mistress's dramatic entrance.
"Kaguya-sama? Did something happen at school—"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Kaguya's voice was muffled against the mattress. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ornate ceiling, feeling the cool air against her heated skin.
Her hands moved unconsciously to her chest. Pressed flat against the modest curve there—against what was barely anything at all—through the thin fabric of her school blouse.
"Do you think I'll praise you for being a virgin?"
His words echoed in her mind like a curse she couldn't shake.
"Flat is justice, right? That's what you wanted to hear?"
Kaguya's jaw clenched. Her fingers curled into the fabric over her heart.
The humiliation burned hot in her stomach—but what made it worse, what made it absolutely unbearable, was that he hadn't been wrong. Everything he'd said, every pointed observation, had landed exactly where it hurt most precisely because it was true.
She'd lost that exchange. Completely. Utterly. And Shinomiya Kaguya did not lose.
She lay there for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, replaying the encounter over and over. The way he'd looked at her. The casual dismissiveness in his tone. The insufferable smirk that had flickered across his lips when he realized he'd gotten under her skin.
Her sheets grew warm and tangled around her legs. Sleep refused to come.
And somewhere in the restless dark, between one frustrated exhale and the next, a plan began to crystallize.
Since he was the one thoughtless enough to cross me first...
Her crimson eyes glinted in the moonlight streaming through the window.
...I might as well make him my target.
A small, dangerous smile curved her lips.
My target for complete and utter enslavement.
---