Ranma ½ started serialization back in '96.
Shirase had read it once before, but that was ages ago. The scenes he could still recall were few and far between.
The male lead turning into a girl when splashed with cold water, then changing back with hot water—that quirky setup was unforgettable.
Holding volume one, Shirase flipped through and found himself drawn in again. The art felt undeniably old-school, but Rumiko Takahashi clearly knew what male readers liked—every female character seemed cuter than the last.
Naturally, the cutest of all was the protagonist himself after transforming.
If I'm not keeping this, I could always sell it.
Setting the manga aside with care, Shirase felt pretty satisfied with the draw—at least it hadn't messed with him this time.
Just then, the [Immersive Hosting] slot showed new text:
[[It Takes Two] locked, current progress: 1%.]
"It Takes Two? What's that supposed to mean? Damned system, get out here and explain," Shirase said, instantly sensing something off.
[Please rest assured, Host. As stated previously, every feature exists solely to provide a more comfortable life and more efficient one-click hosting, and will absolutely not negatively impact your daily life.]
"You think I'm going to buy that?"
He didn't get anything useful, but he hadn't expected to anyway.
Still, a name like [It Takes Two] screamed "co-op mode."
If so, there were a lot of interesting possibilities.
That night, Shirase ran [Immersive Hosting] soccer training on repeat.
Until 1 a.m., his side didn't win a single match.
But he became extremely familiar with their number 7.
That was good news.
...
Saturday arrived—the day he'd arranged with the two Nakano sisters.
Keeping his morning jog habit, he got out of bed with last night's simulations still vivid in his mind.
He didn't stop there. He shared Yukinoshita Yukino's intel with his teammates, and when he ran another [Immersive Hosting] match later, he found it less of a struggle than before.
Which led him to realize: when his teammates improved in reality, their virtual avatars updated as well.
Undeniably good news.
After that, Shirase started actively calling out mistakes during club practice, leaving Hayama Hayato and the others bewildered.
In their eyes, Shirase rarely talked during training—he preferred to lead by example. Yet over the past two days, they'd heard him correct them again and again.
Sometimes it felt like he knew them better than they knew themselves.
Even Hayama asked him privately, "Have you been secretly observing us?"
Isshiki Iroha was more direct, if bashful: "Shirase-kun, have you been secretly paying attention to your teammates? Does that include me too?"
Shirase only said he was doing his best to prepare, offering no further explanation.
On his jog this morning, he ran into the same man he'd seen training last time.
Thankfully, he spotted him early and avoided another awkward side-by-side run in silence.
The man, naturally sociable, greeted him first. "What a coincidence—we meet again."
Shirase looked surprised. "Oh, you can talk?"
Last time, he'd been fully in hosting mode and hadn't heard a thing.
"…What do you mean can talk? I was never mute," the tracksuit guy said with a strained laugh.
"Sorry," Shirase nodded. "Guess I didn't notice last time."
The man let it go and asked, curious, "Are you on a marathon team? Last time you ran forever and looked totally fine. Only pros can do that, right?"
"Nope. Just a passing first-year high schooler," Shirase said honestly.
"Hah? You're kidding."
"I'm not."
"… "
Under the man's incredulous stare, they started running.
Maybe "just a first-year" got under his skin, because the man clearly took it seriously today, silently trying to race him—only to…
Lose even faster than last time.
Panting as he watched Shirase vanish into the distance, he suddenly wondered: Maybe I shouldn't enter this year's race after all.
Getting crushed by a high-schooler made him question everything.
Of course, Shirase had no idea.
After his run and a shower, he found breakfast ready—Kojima Kana had already cooked.
Hearing he was heading to the Nakanos' to tutor, the beautiful older sister looked surprised and pleased. "You already talked to Nakano-san? He mentioned it before, but I figured he was waiting for your end-of-month scores before making it official."
Sipping milk through a straw, Shirase said casually, "Not exactly. I talked with Nino and the others first and decided to give it a try. If anyone's strongly against it, at least I can prepare."
Kana smiled, approving. "Makes sense. But the quintuplets' grades are famously awful—are you confident you can raise them?"
"I have to try."
"Sounds like you've made up your mind. As your big sister, I'll back you all the way."
She paused, eyes suddenly skittish, then carefully added, "Um… tonight, after training, how about we… you know…?"
"Know what?"
He didn't catch on at first—until he noticed her bashful, sidelong glances. Realization hit.
"You want another 'lesson'?" Shirase felt a jolt—last time was still fresh in his mind.
Kana's cheeks went scarlet, eyes wet and shy, voice prickly with embarrassment. "Anyway, you liked it plenty last time, didn't you? And you can learn even more this way. I also…"
She couldn't finish.
Last time had been mortifying.
But the feeling had been addictive—she could've drowned in it forever.
Shirase thought it over, then concluded, "So the whole 'teaching' thing is just a cover. You've got other motives, don't you?"
"Absolutely not!" Kana yelped, face burning. "Your big sister isn't that kind of person!"
Shirase didn't believe a word.
Under his steady gaze, she grew more flustered and pouted. "Don't look at me like that. Besides, I already know you're… pretty perverted yourself."
Shirase owned it instantly. "Yeah, I am."
He'd never thought there was anything wrong with a guy being perverted.
"There, see? Now hurry up and eat. Don't delay the important stuff." Kana didn't dare continue, afraid he'd ask something she couldn't answer.
Better to focus on what to wear tonight.
After all, last time's outfit was way too plain—it hadn't shown off her good points at all.
At least, that's how she saw it.
---
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