Chapter 038: You Came All This Way Just to Tell Me This?
"Referee!!"
Miyake Akito's voice rang out across the sandpit.
The people who were preparing to disperse stopped in their tracks. The boys from the White Team turned their heads toward the direction of the voice. The Red Team boys stopped as well; some had already stepped out of the circle, while others were brushing sand off their bodies, all freezing in place at that moment.
The referee, still holding the flags aloft, was also halted by this shout.
Miyake Akito stood at the edge of the circle, his hand still raised. His tracksuit was covered in sand, and there was a red mark on his face from an unknown scratch. But his gaze was steady, staring at the referee without looking at Ryuen, Katsuragi, or anyone else.
"What is it?" the referee walked over.
Miyake took a deep breath, his voice slightly louder than before. "Ryuen Kakeru cheated. There's something wrong with his headband, so his results shouldn't count."
The sandpit went silent for a moment. Then, whispers began to surge from all directions, spreading like a rising tide.
The White Team members looked at each other, the Red Team members frowned, and everyone from Class C turned their gaze toward Ryuen.
Standing in the White Team's lineup, Katsuragi Kohei's eyes brightened slightly upon hearing those words. Inwardly, he was likely thinking, "To think such a good thing could happen."
He had confirmed during the Pole-Toppling competition that Ryuen used illegal methods, but his voice recorder had been discovered and destroyed by Ryuen. Lacking evidence, he had no choice but to let it go. Now, Miyake Akito was stepping forward to claim Ryuen cheated—regardless of whether it was true, as long as it stalled Ryuen, the White Team had a chance.
Totsuka Yahiko stood beside Katsuragi and lowered his voice. "Katsuragi-kun, this is—"
"Don't speak," Katsuragi interrupted him. His eyes were fixed tightly on Ryuen, waiting for his reaction.
Ryuen stood at the front of the Class C group, hands still in his pockets. Hearing Miyake's words, his expression didn't change at all. A trace of a smile even hung at the corner of his mouth.
"Something is wrong with my headband?" Ryuen repeated Miyake's words, his tone sounding as if he were savoring a funny joke.
"Tell me then, what's the problem?"
Miyake's fingers were shaking, but his voice was not. "You put hair wax on the headband. That's why I couldn't pull it off at all. If that's not a violation, what is?"
Everyone was looking at Ryuen. The referee was looking at Ryuen as well.
Ryuen raised his hand and touched the headband on his forehead. His movements were slow, as if he were confirming something. Then, he laughed.
"I just care about my image," Ryuen's tone was casual. "I applied a lot of wax to my hair; what's the problem with that? The headband is only like that because it touched the wax. Does that count as a violation?"
The referee's brow furrowed. He walked up to Ryuen and leaned down to look at the headband on his forehead. The cord was tied very tightly, and there was indeed a greasy layer on the surface. He reached out to touch it; no obvious substance stuck to his fingers, but the texture was certainly different.
However, Ryuen's hair was the same.
Thus, Ryuen could indeed claim he had simply applied hair wax to himself.
"This does not count as a violation," the referee straightened up and said to Miyake. "However, such actions are not recommended. It doesn't reach the level of reporting a result as invalid."
A low chorus of sighs erupted from the White Team crowd. Some shook their heads, while others turned away.
But Miyake continued, "Then what about the Pole-Toppling competition?"
The sandpit fell silent once more.
Everyone's gaze shifted to Miyake. He stood at the edge of the circle, his hand still raised, but it was no longer pointed at the referee—he was reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a voice recorder—black, tiny, held within his palm. He held the recorder above his head so everyone could see it.
"In the Pole-Toppling competition, Ryuen also committed a violation," Miyake's voice grew louder, carrying the desperation of a final gamble. "I have evidence."
Ryuen's smile finally vanished. He looked at the voice recorder in Miyake's hand, his eyes darkening.
However, his face didn't show fear, but a cold silence.
Inwardly, he was likely already starting to curse.
Katsuragi's pupils contracted slightly. During the Pole-Toppling match, he had indeed placed a recorder on Sudo, but Ryuen had found it. He thought that was the only piece of evidence. Then Ryuen had produced another recorder; he thought it might belong to Ayanokouji, but Ayanokouji had seemingly failed as well.
And now Miyake Akito had produced another voice recorder—this meant someone had prepared in advance. It wasn't him, it wasn't Class B; it was Class D.
Katsuragi's gaze crossed the sandpit, landing on the Class D group. Hirata Yosuke stood there with a look of confusion, clearly unaware of this. Sudo Ken stood nearby, his expression shifting from anger to bewilderment. Ayanokouji Kiyotaka stood at the back of the crowd, expressionless, hands in his pockets, looking entirely unrelated to this turmoil.
But Katsuragi saw it.
Ayanokouji's golden eyes were fixed on the recorder in Miyake's hand. He wasn't just looking; he was confirming. Confirming that the recorder was still there, confirming that Miyake hadn't backed down.
Katsuragi withdrew his gaze. The words Shiraishi Asuka had spoken surfaced in his mind—"Ayanokouji will attack Ryuen. His goal is to take over Class C." Now he saw it. Miyake Akito was not the type of person who would proactively prepare a voice recorder. He didn't have that awareness, nor did he have the guts. Therefore, someone gave it to him. That person was Ayanokouji.
So, Ayanokouji hadn't failed; the recorder placed in Sudo's pocket earlier was likely just a feint used to numb Ryuen's guard.
Katsuragi understood this point instantly.
Meanwhile, Class D's Miyake Akito gripped the recorder, his fingers trembling. He could feel everyone's eyes on him—the Red Team, the White Team, the referee, and Ryuen. Ryuen's gaze was the heaviest, pressing on his chest like a stone. Miyake took a deep breath, forcing himself not to look at Ryuen, only at the referee.
"I can play this recording in public," Miyake's voice was tight, but he said it anyway. "It contains a record of the entire Pole-Toppling competition. Ryuen committed illegal assaults against Sudo. Kicking, stomping, striking the back with his feet—it's all there. If the school verifies this, they should severely punish Ryuen."
He paused here, as if remembering something, and continued. "Moreover, since the beginning of school, Ryuen has shown violent tendencies, attacking his own classmates. This isn't the first time. I think someone like Ryuen..."
Miyake's voice grew smaller and smaller. Not because of a guilty conscience, but because he finally couldn't help but glance at Ryuen. Ryuen was looking at him, and those eyes held no expression. It wasn't anger, it wasn't a threat; it was a calm, cold indifference, like looking at a dead man.
Miyake's lips quivered, and he didn't finish his sentence.
Ryuen withdrew his gaze.
He looked at the recorder in Miyake's hand, then at Miyake's face. He suddenly understood—Miyake Akito used to be a delinquent too. Only someone who had hung out on the streets, fought, and been chased by others would instinctively recoil at a moment like this.
That was why he realized his fear at this moment; after all, he—Ryuen—was the true leader of the delinquents.
"Hmm—" Thinking of this, Ryuen drawled his tone, his voice carrying a hint of mockery. "Miyake, was it? You are more than welcome to play it. Then point the spearhead at Sudo. With Sudo like this, you've really been well-protected by your classmates. Truly touching 'classmate friendship'."
These words were spoken with sarcasm.
On the surface, he was saying "Miyake is helping Sudo," but in reality, he was saying "Sudo, look at yourself; you got beaten up and you still need someone else to stand up for you." Ryuen was using reverse psychology; he was betting on Sudo's pride. He bet that Sudo would rather shoulder it himself than be seen as a weakling who needed protection.
Everyone's gaze shifted to Sudo.
Sudo Ken stood in the Class D crowd, arms crossed over his chest.
His expression turned from bewilderment to a flush of red, and then from red to a grim, steely gray.
His back still hurt, his knees still hurt, and those memories of being kicked and stomped were still swirling in his head. But he didn't need someone else to stand up for him. He was Sudo Ken, the person with the strongest physical ability in Class D besides Koenji, someone who could take on three people alone. He didn't need Miyake Akito to report for him, he didn't need Ayanokouji to prepare evidence for him, he didn't need help from anyone.
Or rather...
Even if he truly needed help, it shouldn't be a public execution like this in front of everyone!
Thinking of this.
"I wasn't bullied!" Sudo's voice was loud, loud enough to drown out all the whispering in the sandpit.
Miyake was stunned. He turned his head and looked at Sudo, his mouth opening and closing, not knowing what to say. He had prepared the recorder, recorded the evidence, and stood up to report Ryuen. He thought he was helping Sudo. But Sudo didn't appreciate it.
"Sudo-kun—" Miyake wanted to say something.
"I said, I wasn't bullied!" Sudo interrupted him, his voice even louder. "Don't do unnecessary things!"
Miyake was completely dumbfounded.
The referee walked over, looked at Sudo, and then at Miyake.
"The victim isn't pursuing it?" the referee asked Sudo.
Sudo turned his head away. "Nothing happened. What's there to pursue?"
The referee was silent for a second, then looked at Miyake. "Since the victim says so, and there are no signs of him being threatened, this recording of yours... won't be needed for the time being."
"..."
Miyake never expected things to develop this way.
Miyake opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, nothing came out. He put the recorder away, lowered his head, and walked back into the Class D crowd. No one spoke to him, no one patted his shoulder, and no one even looked his way. He walked back alone, stood at the edge of the crowd, looking down at his sand-covered sneakers.
Ayanokouji stood at the back of the crowd, watching this scene.
His expression didn't change, but his hand pulled out of his pocket and then went back in.
He had calculated a lot. He calculated Ryuen would violate rules, he calculated Miyake would stand up, and he calculated the recorder would be produced. But he hadn't accounted for Sudo. He hadn't accounted for Sudo's pride being so strong that he would rather be beaten than helped. He hadn't accounted for Sudo saying "I wasn't bullied" in front of everyone.
Ayanokouji looked down at his hands.
The plan had failed.
Unexpectedly, it failed due to a miscalculation regarding Sudo's tendency to be easily provoked, his obsession with appearances, and his sense of shame.
However, it wasn't a total failure, just a failure of this step.
Finally, the referee announced the disciplinary action for Ryuen—due to the issue with the hair wax, Ryuen was given a warning; at the same time, 20 points would be deducted from his score for this sports festival. After the deduction, Ryuen dropped to the middle of the individual rankings for first-year boys.
Not bad, but not particularly outstanding either.
However, he was essentially safe.
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And so.
The White Team dispersed.
No one was happy, and no one was unhappy. In the morning's competitions, they had wins and losses, laughter and curses, anger and helplessness. The final result was—the Red Team won. Class A and Class C had collectively taken most of the points for the first-year boys.
Hachiman stepped out from the edge of the sandpit, brushing the sand off his tracksuit. His gaze swept over Miyake, over Ayanokouji, over Ryuen, and then he pulled it back. He turned and walked toward the other side of the playground.
He planned to check on the girls' situation.
Of course, he wasn't going to watch his own class's girls' match; rather, he knew that there would likely be some problems on the side of the Class D girls.
.
.
.
The site for the girls' Cavalry Battle was on the north side of the playground, separated from the boys' sandpit by the entire track. By the time Hachiman walked over, the match was reaching its end. Only three teams were left in a melee in the sandpit; everyone else had been eliminated and was standing outside the circle watching.
Hachiman leaned against the railing at the edge of the playground, his gaze sweeping over the sandpit.
The Red Team had two teams left. One was the Ichinose team from his own class; Honami Ichinose stood atop the shoulders of three girls below, a red headband tied around her forehead, her expression focused. Her body leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the heads of the girls below, ready at any moment to reach for the opponent's headband. The other was the Ibuki team from Class C; Mio Ibuki was riding the shoulders of the three girls below, her short pale-blue hair shimmering in the sunlight, her movements even fiercer than Ichinose's, every reach carrying a sense of ruthlessness.
And the White Team had one team left.
It was the Karuizawa team from Class D.
Karuizawa Kei stood on the shoulders of the three girls below, a white headband tied around her forehead, her golden ponytail swaying in the wind. The three "horses" below were Shinohara Satsuki, Matsushita Chiaki, and Sato Maya; their faces were filled with exhaustion, and sweat slid down their cheeks.
Hachiman's gaze lingered on Karuizawa for a moment.
"How much longer do you think it'll take to decide the winner?" he asked.
"Probably about a minute. Class D should lose." A voice came from beside him, cold and tinged with a hint of disdain.
Hachiman turned his head.
Kamuro Masumi was standing next to him with her arms crossed. Her long purple hair was different than before, now tied into a ponytail, but the three hairpins still clipped to her bangs shimmered in the sunlight. Her tracksuit was covered in quite a bit of sand, and the headband on her forehead was gone—evidently, her team had already been eliminated.