During a breath, Shimizu Akira suddenly noticed—four new competitors had joined the pool.
(All five lanes taken?)
The cheers ringing in his ears were unexpected, especially with his name mixed in.
(Weird… I haven't done anything noteworthy for the class.)
Still, the encouragement felt oddly nice.
By the tenth lap, a quick glance revealed only Kōenji Rokusuke remained.
Sudō and Hirata had dropped out—even the enigmatic Ayanokōji had vanished.
(Sudō and Hirata gave their all… but Ayanokōji definitely held back.)
Shimizu recalled Ayanokōji's physique—lean yet powerful, his strokes deceptively efficient. That level of conditioning didn't come from casual swimming.
"Alright, that's enough!" The PE teacher's whistle cut through the water. "You're both winners!"
Checking his stopwatch, the teacher had to admit—these two were far beyond standard.
To avoid disrupting the lesson, he ended the impromptu race, awarding each 5,000 personal points as a prize.
"Ever considered the swim team? You'd be aces."
Wiping his face, Shimizu declined politely: "Sorry, sensei. I'm with the boxing club now."
"Hmph~"Kōenji flicked his damp golden locks. "Such trivial clubs bore me~"
Shimizu sat poolside, catching his breath.
Nearby, Karuizawa Kei held court with her gyaru squad, her laughter brighter than before.
Since joining the boxing club, she'd blossomed—her demeanor more naturally bold, less performatively gyaru.
(Finally relaxing now that she has a protector?)
But what truly surprised him was Kushida Kikyō marching straight toward him.
"Shimizu-kun, you were amazing! First place!" Her voice was sweet as wind chimes.
"Not first," he corrected. "Kōenji tied."
"Aww," she clasped her hands, tilting her head. "Tied first is still first! To everyone, you're the undisputed champion!"
Shimizu knew why she fixated on "first"—it was all about staying in the spotlight.
"Shimizu-kun," she suddenly leaned in, hands behind her back. "Are you and Horikita-san… dating?"
Her tone was light, eyes wide with faux innocence.
"No."
"Really? Really?!" Her relief slipped out before she masked it with a giggle. "Ah, just curious~"
Shimizu studied her. Her body language—the slight lean, the calculated hesitation—was masterful.
Most high school boys would've misread this as interest.
"Oh! I owe you an apology!" Her face morphed into guilt. "Earlier, with Horikita-san…"
Her fingers twisted. "I accidentally said your strength was just talent… like your training didn't matter…"
Her voice quivered, lashes fluttering—a perfect picture of remorse.
Anyone else would've melted.
Shimizu felt nothing. If anything, it was funny.
—Not a "slip-up." You just said the quiet part out loud.
Yet after a pause, he admitted: "You're not wrong. Without this body's durability, I'd have broken down long ago."
Reflecting, his childhood regimen was absurd—100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 10km runs, no exceptions.
Back then, he didn't even know muscle soreness.
A normal body would've collapsed after day one.
But he'd been a machine—muscles toughening with each session, never fatiguing.
He had been blessed genetically.
His discipline was real, but without this freak physiology—no pain, no exhaustion, just endless stamina—even the strongest will would've crumbled.
Some things couldn't be achieved through effort alone.
"..."
Kushida's eyes widened.
As a chronic people-watcher, she'd heard countless "winners" gush about "hard work" and "perseverance."
But this guy…
Admitted he was "just lucky"?
In ten years, she'd never heard someone so blunt about their advantages.
But beyond appreciating his honesty, a sharper realization clicked:
(As I thought… Shimizu-kun is painfully straightforward.)
Just as she opened her mouth—
"Kushida-san… you've been working hard."
"...Huh?" Her smile faltered. "Why say that?"
"You're tanner." He pointed at his own arm. "You practiced swimming last weekend, right?"
"E-Eh? You noticed?" Her lashes fluttered, genuinely startled.
No one else had caught that detail.
"Look around. You're the only one who prepped."
"Ahaha… busted." She ducked her head, her smirk hidden. "I'm just… really bad at swimming."