Aihara Yamato was floored by Satoru's verbal onslaught—again.
It wasn't just him. His delinquent posse froze, suddenly second-guessing their life choices, weighing the pros and cons of their shady plan.
Even Yotsumoto Ryoka stood stunned.
She glanced at the petrified Matsubara Ayumu behind her, then at the infuriatingly calm Kobayashi Satoru. Clenching her fist, she steeled herself and stepped forward.
Satoru grabbed her wrist in a flash.
What's this idiot girl planning?
Ryoka turned, startled. Wasn't the only way out for her to sacrifice herself to save them?
Satoru's eyes widened, glaring.
NND, I'm buying time here! You think I'm actually letting you throw yourself under the bus?!
"Dummy…" he muttered.
And yet… she was ready to do it.
Ryoka's heart sank, a mix of disappointment and nerves.
But after hearing Satoru's calm breakdown, she couldn't think of a better plan. Sacrificing herself to save Ayumu—and Satoru—seemed like the only way. His words, harsh as they were to her, the victim in this mess, cut deep.
Still, she didn't blame him. He was just a bystander, dragged into this because of his kindness.
But that line—"Ryoka and I take the cash and bounce"—did he mean it? Even if she became "tainted"… would he still take her to Kagoku?
"Enough! Beat this punk to a pulp!!" Yamato roared.
They couldn't overthink this. As the saying goes: strike while the iron's hot, falter and it cools, hesitate and you're done. They were already wavering—another slip, and they'd lose again.
"Tch," Satoru clicked his tongue.
So it came to this—a classic fists versus numbers scenario.
He'd been scanning for a weapon since the start. A sword would be ideal—even a "physics holy sword" like a crowbar would do.
But this street was clean as a whistle. No crowbars, no sticks, not even a broken mop handle…
No weapon in hand, Satoru was barely above Ayumu's level—a scrawny rookie. Ayumu was a small fry; Satoru, a slightly bigger one. Pretty? Sure. Strong? Not so much.
If they grabbed him, he'd be a hostage, used to pressure Ryoka.
No time to think.
With Yamato's order, the blond-led delinquents charged, blood pumping, straight at Satoru.
Ryoka yanked Satoru's collar, pulling him behind her.
Her skirt flared as she raised a leg, flashing black safety shorts. A knee strike sent the lead punk crumpling like a shrimp.
From last time, Ryoka could handle three at most. The rest would swarm Satoru and Ayumu.
And Satoru's opponent? The beefiest, most dangerous of the lot—Aihara Yamato.
His glasses glinted with malice as he cracked his knuckles, stalking toward Satoru with a mocking grin.
"What's going on here?"
A voice cut through from behind Satoru.
But even a new ally wouldn't turn the tide—numbers were against them. Another Ryoka wouldn't be enough.
And this wasn't some buff dude—it was a soft, gentle girl's voice.
Satoru spun around. The newcomer wore the same school uniform.
Dark purple hair tied in a side ponytail with a red ribbon, a few strands falling over her ample chest.
Her gaze was cool, almost detached, but the chaotic scene sparked a flicker of shock in her eyes.
Curvier than Ryoka, her face carried a mature allure.
"—Damn!" Satoru blurted.
This… this… this girl! He knew her.
Not in this world's "reality," but from his old life.
Yup. From a doujin.
An NTR doujin, no less.
The heroine of Hypnosis Instructor 3.
Name: Miyajima Sakura.
His Kobayashi Satoru memories confirmed it—she was indeed Miyajima Sakura, one of Shirao High's untouchable idols.
And then it clicked.
"Miyajima-senpai!! Sword! Sword!!"
He waved frantically at the bewildered Sakura, like he was begging for salvation.
Miyajima Sakura, class 3-D, captain of Shirao High's kendo club.
She didn't fully grasp the chaos, but hearing a kohai call for help, she instinctively tossed her bokken (Japan doesn't split hairs on "sword" vs. "blade"), still wrapped in its cloth, toward him.
The second it left her hand, she regretted it.
Wait. She'd never seen this kid in kendo club.
He wasn't a member. A bokken in his hands was useless—she should've stepped in herself to block the glasses guy's attack.
Even Satoru didn't know the true power of Swordsmanship Mastery EX or if it could match Yamato's musclebound menace.
But the moment his hand closed around the bokken's handle, all doubts vanished.
It was like Nobita grabbing the Legendary Blade Denkomaru. One thought blazed in his mind:
I can take him. No question.
"Heh."
Yamato scoffed. Trash was trash, weapon or not. A bokken? If it was a real blade, he might've hesitated, but a wooden stick? Pfft.
"Break!" Yamato swung a fist, wind whistling with the force.
It aimed straight for Satoru's face.
"Kobayashi!" Ryoka shouted, kicking another delinquent aside, lunging toward him.
Too far.
But Satoru was fast.
He ducked, the fist grazing his hair.
Unwrapping the bokken's cloth, he slid the blade to his waist.
A deep breath.
"Scatter!!"
He drew!
The bokken's tip shot forward, piercing the air like a spear through bamboo.
Yamato had no time to react. The blunt tip slammed into his chest.
A bokken wasn't sharp, but the sheer force sent Yamato flying.
He soared five or six meters, crashing into a wall with a thud.
"Cough… hack…" Yamato wheezed, spit dribbling from his mouth. He was pretty sure a few ribs were toast.
Satoru twirled the bokken at his wrist, his gaze icy as he surveyed the stunned delinquents, frozen by his sudden eruption.
"Had I, Kobayashi Satoru, not been born, the way of the sword would've lingered in eternal darkness."
He tossed out the line coolly, then beckoned Ryoka. "Get over here, Ryoka. Stay behind me. Let's see who dares breach my sword's domain."
Satoru had always wanted to drop a badass line like that.
And damn, it felt good.
…
…