In Class D, if we're talking purely about looks and figure, Kushida Kikyō might not be the absolute best.
But she possesses a unique charm—that delicate balance between girlish innocence and feminine allure, making her the class's unanimous pick for most captivating girl.
When she talks to boys, her unguarded expressions—the slight head tilt, the natural smile—outshine deliberate seduction.
She doesn't even try to pose. She just exudes youthfulness, her innate sensuality leaving the boys of Class D collectively sighing:
—Kushida-san, that's just unfair.
Shimizu Akira sat at the pool's edge, quietly observing Kushida, who was surrounded by admirers.
She flicked her damp hair, water droplets trailing down her neck and into her collarbones—eliciting suppressed gasps from the boys nearby.
(What a polished performance…)
He recalled how, at the start of term, Yamauchi's gang had trailed after Hasebe Haruka like puppies. Now, they were Kushida's loyal devotees.
This seemingly sunny, cheerful girl was far shrewder than she appeared—she knew exactly how to use lingering eye contact and calculated touches to keep boys orbiting her.
Shimizu narrowed his eyes, a memory flashing back to his university days.
Those girls from the neighboring department who were experts at "keeping fish on the line"—weren't they just like this? His roommate had been played like a fiddle, even skipping meals to buy them gifts.
Yet Kushida Kikyō was nothing like those gold-diggers. As far as he knew, she'd never accepted gifts or points from male classmates.
In fact, she often bought snacks with her own money to share with the class.
She was obsessed with befriending everyone.
A truly calculating girl would've only targeted rich heirs.
What Kushida truly craved was attention—to be admired and adored.
Shimizu remembered once seeing her patiently teaching Wang Mei-Yu how to fold paper cranes in a corner of the classroom.
The light in her eyes then had been far more genuine than when surrounded by boys now.
At her core, she just wanted sincere recognition—a teenage vanity that struck Shimizu as almost endearing.
Compared to materialistic gold-diggers, Kushida's "scheming" felt pure, like something out of a youth drama.
Amateur hour.
Then, Horikita Suzune strode over with crisp steps.
Though not as voluptuous as Kushida, her swimsuit clung tightly, outlining her lean yet toned waist, well-proportioned bust, and firm legs sculpted by training.
Shimizu's gaze lingered on her too.
After all, he'd learned her measurements—79/54/79—via the intel system on day two.
He still didn't get why Yamauchi called her "flat."
This was a rigorously trained physique—every curve balanced, blending slenderness with latent power.
As he mused, Horikita walked straight up to him.
Her sharp eyes scanned his torso unabashedly, narrowing slightly with clinical appraisal.
"Your muscle definition is well-balanced." No preamble. "What's your training regimen?"
"Just basics." He repeated his earlier lie. *"100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10km run—daily."*
Horikita's brow twitched almost imperceptibly. "I wouldn't have pegged you as that disciplined."
"Just maintenance." He rolled his shoulders. "Keeps mind and body sharp."
"Is that so?" Her eyes lingered on his taut back muscles. "My routine's lighter—just morning runs and basic conditioning."
Shimizu noted how she subconsciously straightened her posture as she spoke. "Your fitness is exceptional. Probably the best among the girls in our class."
Her eyes narrowed. "Oh? And this conclusion is based on… thoroughly evaluating every girl's 'physical condition'? Doesn't seem like you."
He shrugged, smirking. "I'm a healthy high school boy. It's normal to be curious about the opposite sex at this age."
"By the way," he caught her wording, "what image of me do you have in mind?"
Horikita turned her face slightly. "...You remind me of someone."
"Wait." A bold guess struck him. "Are you comparing me to your brother?"
Her shoulders stiffened microscopically.
That reaction confirmed it—given Horikita's nonexistent social circle, the only person she'd benchmark him against was her sibling.
"Horikita-san," he took a half-step back, amused, "I'm flattered you hold me in such high esteem."
Horikita Manabu—a third-year Class A leader, the student council president, arguably the top student in school.
Praised by teachers as the "most outstanding council head in the school's history."
Shimizu never expected Horikita to place him on par with her brother.
Her gaze froze over. "...Don't flatter yourself."
Mid-sentence, her right hand chopped downward like a blade—only to be intercepted mid-air.
Shimizu had blocked her wrist, his thumb pressed to her pulse, feeling her accelerated heartbeat.
"Discussing is discussing." He tightened his grip slightly. "No need for sneak attacks. Pretty sure this counts as self-defense."
The sudden closeness made Horikitayank her hand back, while Shimizu just waved, his expression unchanged.