"Eiri, Utaha-senpai, Saeko-senpai's here."
With Takanashi Rikka leading Busujima Saeko into the living room, the light novel author and the doujin artist—already silently locking horns—shot each other a glance, then both gave a simultaneous "hmph" and turned their heads away.
"It's been a while, Utaha, Eiri." Saeko pretended not to notice the stormy tension hanging in the air, greeting them with a warm smile. She pressed down her skirt with both hands as she sat gracefully on the sofa.
Though they didn't get along, both girls still returned her greeting with polite smiles.
If you had to line up all the girls around Minamoto Senya and try to rank them purely on looks, it would be nearly impossible. Each of them had a unique charm that made them incomparable in their own way.
But if the question was who had the best personality, who was impossible to dislike and had the widest circle of friends—the answer, without question, was Busujima Saeko.
Among the group, she couldn't match Yukino's sheer academic ability, nor Eiri's talent in sketching, nor Utaha's love for domestic and foreign literature, nor Kasumi's artistic gift in music.
But with all of them combined? She still got along with each just fine.
Saeko was the very picture of a refined Yamato Nadeshiko—gentle, sensible, and considerate. Her personal charm wasn't just attractive to men; even within her circle of female friends, she was warmly welcomed.
The four of them gathered around the low table in the living room while Rikka served Saeko tea. With the air conditioner running, the room felt like heaven compared to the sweltering heat outside.
Saeko thanked Rikka for the tea, then urged everyone to share the snacks she had brought along.
The mood instantly brightened.
The TV was tuned to the sports channel, which was replaying highlights from past national rhythmic gymnastics competitions. The live match was yet to start.
"So, how's everyone's summer break going?" Saeko asked, opening the conversation.
Kasumigaoka smiled. "So-so, I guess. Nothing special. I just stayed home reading and writing novels like usual. Oh, but a while ago, since my family was busy, I asked Senya to attend a publishing banquet with me on behalf of my family. So overall, I'd say it's been pretty fulfilling."
Eiri, who always found Utaha's tone smug and self-satisfied, immediately felt the urge to cut her down to size. She jumped in, all too eager to share the story of how everyone—herself included—had gone to the amusement park just a few days earlier.
Her voice was lively, almost triumphant, and she even pulled Rikka into the story to back her up, quietly determined not to let Kasumigaoka hog the spotlight.
So what if you went to some banquet? That was just a couple of hours. I spent the whole day at the amusement park with Senya!
A banquet and an amusement park…
Saeko pondered quietly, piecing together Senya's summer schedule in her head based on these unguarded comments, alongside what she already knew.
"What about you, Saeko-senpai? Did you do anything over summer break?" Eiri asked curiously.
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Saeko replied with her usual gentle smile. "My father came back from overseas, so we had a lot of guests visiting the house, and I had to help with entertaining them. Other than that, well, you all know about the sports company endorsement Senya and I signed. We occasionally had to go to the agency together for promotional appearances."
Kasumigaoka leaned forward, interested. "What kind of work is it exactly?" Then, after a thought, she quickly added, "Of course, if there's a confidentiality agreement, you don't need to say."
Saeko shook her head. "Nothing that secretive. Just putting on the outfits and gear they provided, taking photos and videos. After that, it's out of our hands—the professional team edits everything and releases it online and in stores."
"That's so idol-like. Actually, I saw one of your ads the other day! Mom and I were shopping at Matsuzaka Department Store, and the big electronic screen had a commercial with you two. You were standing back-to-back with bamboo swords—it looked super cool." Eiri's voice brimmed with envy.
"It was probably the editing that made it look better," Saeko said modestly. "I don't think I look nearly as good as the ad."
"That's not true at all, Saeko-senpai! You're naturally beautiful, and Senya looks great too. Put you together, and of course the ads come out amazing." Rikka tore off a piece of daifuku, then raised her hand to summon the little black-winged bird perched on the air conditioner.
The bird had learned to fly recently and was fully domesticated. It was surprisingly clever, capable of simple interactions with its owner. Even when left outside in the yard, it would fly back inside on its own.
Both Utaha and Eiri chimed in agreement with Rikka's words.
Saeko smiled, but as she reached out to gently stroke the bird's head, her loose sleeve slipped down, revealing a faint red mark on her arm.
Kasumigaoka's sharp eyes caught it immediately, and her heart sank. "Saeko, what happened to your arm?"
At that, the others also noticed, their gazes filling with concern.
"Oh, it's nothing…" Saeko quickly pulled her sleeve back down.
But the mark had already been seen. Hiding it now was pointless.
After a moment of thought, she decided to just explain—it wasn't really a big deal. "Really, don't worry. You all know I practice kendo, right? Injuries happen sometimes."
"Injuries? But don't you wear protective gear?" Eiri asked in surprise.
Kasumigaoka gave her a look, half mocking, half pitying. "Even with gear, kendo isn't exactly injury-proof."
Eiri shot her a glare, but Utaha only smirked in quiet satisfaction.
Saeko added sheepishly, "To be honest, this mark came from sparring without armor."
"Huh?"
"My father's back from overseas, remember? When Senya visited during the break, my father insisted on sparring with him. But with the summer heat, he thought armor was too stifling and dull, so he convinced Senya to go without. They just wrapped cloth around their bokken and went at it."
"Wrapped bokken or not, that must've hurt like crazy if it hit you." Rikka grimaced.
She was the type of girl who couldn't handle pain. A splash of hot oil from the kitchen had her running her hand under cold water for ages. Cramps during her period left her curled up in bed in tears.
She simply couldn't fathom why anyone would willingly choose such a thing.
"It does hurt, but only for a moment. It's bearable." Saeko rubbed her arm, her cheeks faintly flushed.
"Hold on." Kasumigaoka narrowed her eyes. "If it was your father and Senya sparring without armor… then how did you get hurt?"
"You got caught by mistake?" Eiri blurted out.
That earned her another exasperated glance from Utaha.
Saeko shook her head with a smile. "Not exactly. I was watching them, thought it looked fun, and decided to join in. The mark's from when I sparred with Senya."
Rikka sucked in a sharp breath, the room suddenly feeling warmer. "That sounds way too dangerous! Saeko-senpai, you should really wear armor next time. If you got seriously hurt…"
"Mm, I know." Saeko nodded lightly at her concern.
But deep down, she had no intention of stopping. Sparring bare, feeling the sting of impact—there was a raw, exhilarating satisfaction in it.
It awakened something in her, a hidden craving, a rush of pleasure that she could indulge guilt-free since no one was truly harmed. Her strong body healed quickly, and Senya always held back enough not to injure her seriously.
Why give that up?
Besides, training without armor had its benefits. It sharpened her senses, honed her control, and made her more mindful of each strike. It was practical in its own way.
Though in modern Japan, there was little chance of ever needing that kind of "real combat."
The conversation eventually shifted to the day's main event: the competition.
Kasumigaoka, who had done her research, voiced her worry. "Tohka-senpai's under a lot of pressure this year."
"Eh? Why do you say that?" Rikka asked.
"Before I came, I checked the event website. Some of the competitors are already on the national team. They've even won at world tournaments."
"It's fine. I believe in Tohka-senpai." Eiri clenched her fist with confidence.
"Yeah! She's been training nonstop, early mornings and late nights. She'll definitely win!" Rikka echoed firmly.
But the reality wasn't so simple.
Even Minamoto Senya, sitting in the stands to cheer, could feel it—the national rhythmic gymnastics competition this year carried a tension unlike any before.
The atmosphere was heavy. The coaches' stern, unified expressions said it all.
Tohka herself looked calm, face unreadable. Ironically, Senya was the one more nervous.
After all, he knew from Haruno that Tohka might be thinking of quitting gymnastics. This could be her final performance.
If her swan song ended in failure, if she left the stage in defeat… how crushed would she be?
"Tohka, don't overthink it. Just do what you always do in practice." Senya tore his eyes away from the rival competitors and tried to encourage her.
Stretching lightly, she gave him a wry smile. "Honestly, you're the one who looks more nervous. I told you, you didn't need to come all the way here. Just wait for the results at home."
How could he? Win or lose, someone had to be there the moment it ended, to share in her feelings.
Senya kept that thought to himself, saying instead, "All the other girls have family cheering for them. Of course I had to be here too."
"Oh my, to think the genius swordsman and rising piano star of a brother would show up just for me. I feel so honored—no pressure at all."
"..."
Senya was briefly at a loss for words, until he saw the mischievous smile she gave him. Teasing—thankfully, that meant her mood was steady.
"Fine, maybe I should just leave now," he quipped.
"Don't be stupid. You're here, so stay put."
Just then, her coach called her over for final instructions.
"I'll be back after the match. Let's go home together," Tohka said as she left.
"Tohka!" Senya called.
She turned back, puzzled. "What is it?"
His voice softened. "No regrets. Give it your all."
Her lips curled into a small smile. "Mm. I know."
And with that, all that was left was to wait.
Rhythmic gymnastics was scored on three main points: body movement, choreography, and artistry.
Tohka's turn came later in the lineup, after several national-level seeds. Their routines were dazzling—graceful bodies, flawless spins, seamless choreography.
Even Senya, who wanted to cheer only for Tohka, couldn't help being impressed. And more anxious.
He had half-hoped someone would make a mistake—a dropped apparatus, a fumble. That would boost Tohka's chances at a medal.
Not that it was malicious. It was just human nature.
But no such luck. Every performance was near-perfect.
This was going to be pure skill against skill.
[When's sis going on?] Rikka texted him.
Senya, too restless to chat, replied briefly: "Soon."
Finally, it was Tohka's turn. The arena's eyes fell on her.
Senya's hands clenched, palms sweaty, heartbeat racing. Even when he had cut down forty-seven opponents in the Yulong Cup, he hadn't felt this tense.
The music began. With her ribbon swirling like a swan across a lake, she glided across the floor.
The tempo rose, and she transformed into a phoenix in flight, her ribbon soaring skyward. A flurry of spins later, she stood tall, smiling at the audience as the ribbon landed perfectly in her hand.
Artistry and technique in harmony. Applause thundered.
Senya stood, clapping harder than anyone, heart lodged in his throat.
For her, though, the one-minute routine flashed by. No stray thoughts—only the culmination of endless training, poured into each motion.
When she bowed at the end, the applause matched any before her.
After hugs from teammates and teachers, she made her way to Senya.
She blinked in disbelief, then brushed his damp bangs aside. Her fingers felt the sweat on his temple.
"You're sweating? Seriously?" she teased with a half-smile.
The hall's air conditioning was blasting. Her sweat was natural. His wasn't.
"Must be sibling empathy," Senya joked.
He pulled a tissue from his pocket—not to wipe himself, but to gently dab her forehead.
Noticing the stares from teammates who knew her family situation, Tohka flushed red, snatching the tissue to wipe herself instead. "That was just the first round. What're you going to do when I have two more?"
This year, individual gymnasts could compete in up to three apparatus. Tohka had signed up for ribbon, ball, and hoop.
Two more to go.
"I won't be nervous. Just enjoy yourself, no regrets," Senya assured, carefully choosing words that wouldn't add pressure.
Soon after, her coach called again, and they parted briefly.
Watching her walk away, Senya breathed deeply, but couldn't calm down. He told her to focus on enjoying it, but deep down, he didn't believe it himself.
All that effort, all those years—how could anyone truly feel no regret if they fell short?
His rationality slipped. In his heart, he begged—prayed.
Please, let her win. At least one event. Let her have that moment.
Take my luck for the next year. No—three years. Just let her win!
For once, Minamoto Senya's desire to see someone else succeed burned brighter than his own will to victory.
The day stretched on. More than a hundred gymnasts across thirty-two schools competed. By late afternoon, the finals neared.
Tohka seemed calm. Senya, less so.
His face looked the same as ever, but his fists were clenched tight, his foot tapping unconsciously.
Tohka noticed, glanced around, then quickly reached over to rest her hand on his.
"Relax. It's over now. All that's left is the results."
Senya forced a small smile. "Yeah."
Warmth spread in her chest.
Then the big screen lit up with the rankings.
[National High School Rhythmic Gymnastics Championship]
[Individual – Ribbon: 1st place, Takanashi Tohka; 2nd place, Shinoi Tomomi; 3rd place, Kobana Aya]
[Individual – Clubs: 1st place, Takaiwa Kaori; 2nd place, Kobana Aya; 3rd place, Kinugawa Jun]
[Individual – Hoop: 1st place, Takaiwa Kaori; 2nd place, Takanashi Tohka; 3rd place, Shinoi Tomomi]
[Individual – Ball: 1st place, Takanashi Tohka; 2nd place, Takaiwa Kaori; 3rd place, Shinoi Tomomi]
Senya stared up at the screen in a daze, almost disbelieving.