"Skill equipment."
Oliver tapped the screen in front of him and opened his skill bar. Four active skills were currently equipped: Sonic Dash, Deadeye, Rapid Recovery, and Bull Charge.
"Hmm... I probably won't have much use for Rapid Recovery today," Oliver muttered. "Might as well replace it."
Without hesitation, he unequipped Rapid Recovery and equipped a new skill—Shining Star.
"I wonder what kind of effect this one has..."
He glanced at the description on the interface, but before he could process it, a deep voice interrupted him.
"...Alright, that's all for today's practice. Oliver, do you have anything else planned?"
Startled, Oliver looked up.
"Huh? Me?"
He blinked, confused that someone was directly addressing him out of the blue. He pointed at his own face. "I'm free, I guess? Why?"
"If you're not busy, come help me clean the gym," Akagi said without missing a beat. "We always tidy up after practice."
"Eh? I don't want to!" Oliver quickly formed an X with his hands in front of his chest and took a step back. "Why me? I just finished playing—I'm dead tired. Get someone else to help!"
"That's not an excuse," Akagi replied sternly. "Cleaning up is part of the club's responsibility. I was going to pick someone to help and just happened to see you."
"Just happened to see me? Really now..."
The corners of Oliver's mouth twitched in disbelief.
You didn't even hesitate before pointing me out.
Wait a minute…
Oliver suddenly had a thought and opened his skill bar again to confirm.
Skill Name: Shining Star
Skill Description: When this skill is equipped, you will naturally draw attention from others.
Cooldown: None.
"Oh, come on," he muttered to himself, utterly speechless.
So, the moment he equipped this flashy new skill, its passive effect activated—causing Akagi to spot him immediately among everyone else. What rotten luck.
This is just the beginning… Who knows what other side effects are coming?
"Alright! It's settled then!" Akagi clapped his hands loudly. "Everyone else can go home. Oliver will help me clean today. We'll rotate the duties starting tomorrow!"
The rest of the team instantly scattered, not giving Oliver a chance to argue. Hanamichi, Mito, and the others grinned mischievously as they passed him.
"Good luck, man!" they chimed in chorus before bolting out of the gym like escaped prisoners.
With no choice left, Oliver took the mop Akagi handed him and started dragging it across the floor with a tired sigh.
---
By the time they finished cleaning, it was already noon—Shohoku's official lunch break. The sun outside was bright and warm, and students were scattered across the campus pathways, enjoying their break.
Hands stuffed into his pockets, Oliver slowly walked back to the main building, eyes staring blankly ahead.
"…Something's off."
He abruptly turned around.
"Ah…"
Several students, who had clearly been sneaking glances at him, met his gaze awkwardly, scratched their heads in embarrassment, and quickly walked away.
"No wonder I kept feeling like someone was watching me..." Oliver muttered.
Shining Star, huh? What a bizarre skill.
It didn't just attract attention from his coach or teammates—it was attracting everyone.
---
Back in the classroom, the atmosphere was light and noisy. Students laughed, chatted, and passed snacks around like it was a mini festival.
Oliver headed straight for his seat and plopped down with a stretch.
"Hey! You're back!" Mito turned around with a curious grin. "How'd it go with the cleaning?"
"Ugh... Don't even ask." Oliver slumped over his desk. "Next time that gorilla calls me over, I'm running the other way. The gym is huge. Two people mopping that place is torture."
"Hah!" Sakuragi scoffed from nearby, wolfing down a chunk of bread. "Back in my day, I cleaned the entire gym by myself! I didn't just mop—I waxed the floor and polished the balls too!"
He pointed at Mito and the others accusingly, voice rising with indignation. "None of you ever helped! Always quick to tease me, but when I really need backup, you vanish into thin air. All of you can go to hell!"
"Hey, that's not fair!" Takamiya quickly defended himself. "We were gonna help, but we happened to walk past your house and—boom!—Chika had already started cooking. It would've been disrespectful not to accept her food!"
Sakuragi's eyes blazed. Without hesitation, he hurled a textbook at Takamiya's face.
"Don't even bring that up! While I was breaking my back scrubbing floors, you guys were living like kings! I haven't had Chika's cooking in ages!"
"And even if you did go to her place," Oliver chimed in, raising an eyebrow, "would you even have the guts to look her in the eye after how badly she beat you up last time?"
As the room dissolved into chaos and laughter, Oliver quietly reached under his desk and pulled out a beautifully wrapped, three-tiered lunch box.
The moment he opened it, an explosion of mouth-watering aromas filled the room.
The classroom fell into stunned silence. Eyes widened. Mouths dropped open. Students sniffed the air like cartoon characters drifting toward a pie on a windowsill.
Ever since Oliver had fallen ill from overtraining, Chika had gone all-in on his meal prep. She even invested in a heat-insulated lunch box that kept everything piping hot.
Unlike Huxia students who valued fresh, hot meals, Japanese high schoolers typically ate cold lunches by noon. But thanks to Chika's thoughtful approach—and her deep wallet—Oliver's lunch was an exception.
She spared no expense. Her meals could rival top-tier restaurants. If anything, Oliver's lunch could be summed up in just four words: State Banquet Level.
"Hey... Oliver," Sakuragi called softly, staring longingly. "Let me have a bite. Please?"
He looked down at his rock-hard, dry bread and lost all interest in it.
"Yeah!" Takamiya added, already leaning halfway over Oliver's desk. "We're brothers, right? Sharing is caring... especially when it comes to Chika's cooking..."
He was practically drooling now—creating a puddle on the desk like something out of a cartoon.
"You guys are hopeless," Oliver said, pulling the lunch box closer to himself. "Let me be clear—don't even think about it. This isn't enough for me, let alone for a bunch of hungry wolves like you!"
Inside the lunch box was a feast.
The top layer held sizzling teriyaki-flavored octopus balls, topped with generous bonito flakes that danced with the rising steam.
Next to them was a thick, golden Japanese omelette—Oliver's favorite. Somehow, Chika had perfected the technique, giving the omelet a silky, custard-like texture that barely tasted of egg.
There was also a large deep-fried pork cutlet, paired with Chika's homemade sauce and a side of crispy, refreshing shredded cabbage.
The second layer contained sour plum rice, the slight tartness serving to balance the rich flavor of the pork.
And at the bottom was the grand finale: a hearty serving of pork bone broth, simmered overnight until it reached a deep, savory perfection.
It wasn't just a meal—it was art.
"AHHHH! OLIVER, YOU TRAITOR!" Sakuragi howled.
But Oliver ignored the mournful eyes locked on him from every direction and picked up his chopsticks with glee.
He took a bite of the pork cutlet, followed by a scoop of plum rice, and washed it down with a spoonful of hot soup.
A satisfied smile spread across his face.
At fifteen, Oliver's appetite was enormous. Part of it was just his growing body. Another part was his love for food. But more than anything, it was because Chika's cooking had spoiled him beyond redemption.
---
To Be Continued...
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