Chapter 199: Ryuen: I Never Bother Remembering the Names of the Weak

The electronic crackle of the broadcast carried a faint, piercing hum, reverberating across the sky above the sports field.

As the sun steadily climbed higher, the distinctive rubber scent of the track mingled with all manner of other curious odors, saturating the faintly heated air.

When Fuyuji Mikage once again stepped onto the red rubber track, his fingertips were still absently savoring that incomparable sensation from just moments before.

Suffice it to say—there was a reason Cha-Cha was considered the grade's famously adorable, beautiful girl.

A lovely, cute face that needed no excessive embellishment, carrying just a touch of baby fat that made one want to give it a squeeze or two;

Those slightly plump, wonderfully supple, soft, fair thighs;

Even wrapped in loose athletic pants, the curves of her hips still traced a startlingly pert, alluring arc;

And that waist—so slender it seemed as though it might snap in two at a single bend—yet inconceivably bore such astonishing, bountiful fruit...

Perhaps it had been too long since she'd last cursed someone face-to-face. That moist, dewy little mouth of hers seemed coated in honey. All manner of Zaun-style profanity flew wildly through the forest, and every so often, she even launched a burst of AoE damage, dragging Fuyuji down as collateral.

For example...

"What use are you?! Why don't you dare team up with me to get Horikita Suzune expelled?!"

"You come begging me for perks every single day! You've skimmed so much off me! But the moment I tell you to get to work, you hem and haw!"

"What kind of spell has that bitch Horikita poured into you?! She's got a dead person's face, and her body's nowhere near as good as mine!"

As for why Cha-Cha, in the midst of her cursing, had gone limp as a noodle and collapsed into his embrace, her originally fierce, surging Zaun tirade gradually transforming into kitten-like whimpers and fragmented, tuneless little humming melodies...

And why, her cheeks deeply flushed, she had bitten down fiercely onto his shoulder, cursed him as a "perverted bastard," and then raised a hand to tidy her disheveled hair before striding swiftly away—

That, Fuyuji could not say.

Mm... this was probably the social maneuvering of the grade's top-tier social expert—designed to bewilder and beguile the heart of a pure, innocent young boy such as himself!

"Roar—!"

A mighty, heroic bellow resounded across the track. Accompanied by a series of shrill, piercing wails—so agonized they nearly cracked into shrieks—it forcibly yanked Fuyuji's drifting, wandering thoughts back into the reality before him.

There—that red-haired Sudo Ken from Class D, in the theoretically coordination-dependent three-legged race, had directly scooped up that Yukimura-kun he'd met on the cruise ship last time, treating him as nothing more than an accessory hung upon his body.

Under the stunned, astonished stares of the spectating students, he sprinted wildly across the track, utterly oblivious to the world around him.

His speed—how should one put it—was lightning swift. While everyone else was still hesitating at the starting line, those two had already charged straight to the halfway point.

Ho~

Fuyuji's eyes abruptly lit up. He raised a hand and rubbed his chin, watching this scene with keen, amused interest.

Who would have thought that the Class D bunch could, on occasion, have a sudden flash of inspiration and come up with a pretty good idea?

If one ignored those increasingly agonized, miserable screams, this was indeed a fairly excellent method.

Judging by their overwhelmingly commanding distance, and the fact that the referee on the sidelines wore a face of sheer shock yet made no move to pull out a red card and issue a warning—it seemed they had truly and cleverly exploited a loophole.

Of course, what Fuyuji was thinking of was definitely not trying this right now.

This afternoon, he still had a three-legged race of his own to run.

His thoughts reaching this point, Fuyuji's smile grew increasingly radiant. He turned his head and cast a gaze brimming with eager anticipation toward the girls spectating beside the track.

[Wh-what?]

Sensing Fuyuji's scorching, burning gaze, Kamuro Masumi subconsciously retreated a single, tiny step. Both hands immediately flew up before her chest, assuming a defensive posture.

Knowing Fuyuji as she did, anything that could make him smile this brightly was, eight or nine times out of ten, nothing good.

[Bro, later on... let's do that too...]

In that instant, Kamuro, like a cat with all its fur bristling, shot Fuyuji a vicious, furious glare.

[Piss off! If you want to do it, do it yourself!]

[It'll be so thrilling, you know—in front of the entire student body and faculty...]

[Even so, no! If you dare pull something like that this afternoon, I'll kill you!]

Kamuro glared at him, grinding her teeth. Her fist clenched tight. Her gaze could have frozen and chipped ice.

She might love thrills, but she still had her dignity. This kind of utterly shameless behavior, right in front of everyone—if she really had to do it... forget it. She'd rather just drop out of school.

And drag this bastard down with her.

[Fine...]

Seeing that even his usual trump card had failed, Fuyuji could only withdraw his gaze in faint disappointment.

Bro's skin was still far too thin. Even though she was usually so passionate about seeking out all kinds of excitement...

If it were Morishita-sama or Shiraishi-mama, their reactions would probably have been completely different.

Morishita-sama might very well have puffed out her chest and demanded he hold her while she did the running;

The other one would probably have accepted with a beaming, smiling face, and then—before the starting whistle had even blown—taken the initiative to wrap her arms around his neck and hang her entire body weight off him.

He himself might have ended up becoming the timid one instead.

As for his dear little Yamamura—mm... her head would probably have started billowing smoke the moment the race began, her eyes turning into spinning spirals...

Before long, the previous group of three-legged race contestants—some stumbling, some coordinated—had completed their run. It was now Fuyuji's group's turn to take the field.

It was just...

Fuyuji silently turned his head. "Um, may I ask if there's something you need?"

There, in the adjacent lane, stood Ryuen Kakeru—face bruised and swollen—fixing Fuyuji's direction with that sinister, venomous gaze of his, like a serpent locking onto its prey.

No, not quite—it was more like he was looking at the person behind Fuyuji.

"Out of my way!"

Ryuen's gaze lingered on Fuyuji's handsome face for an exceedingly brief moment, then swept past like a pebble kicked aside on the roadside. With a cold snort, he waved his hand grandly.

"Scram! I've got no interest in a generic pretty-boy student like you."

Ryuen naturally recognized this A-class student with the generic-looking back who could run fairly fast. If it were that Koenji Rokusuke, he might have had a little interest. But this kind of loser wasn't even worth his attention.

He was, after all, the man destined to rule over Advanced Nurturing High. He couldn't waste his time on such an utterly unremarkable nobody.

Fuyuji blinked. The corner of his mouth curled upward, almost imperceptibly, then immediately resumed an expression of blank bewilderment.

Ryu-chan—I'm truly moved. Out of the entire first year, you alone have had the keen insight to acknowledge that I am nothing more than a perfectly ordinary, unremarkable student.

Very well... since your judgment isn't half bad.

Fuyuji shrugged and obediently retreated half a step, angling his body to the side and revealing the figure of Hashimoto Masayoshi standing nearby.

At the same time, he shot a sidelong glance. The meaning went without saying.

[I'm leaving him to you. Handle it!]

[OK!]

Hashimoto received the signal and instantly understood.

"Ara~ Isn't this my bosom friend, Ryuen-bro?"

He stepped forward a single pace with the utmost, most natural ease, inserting himself just so between Fuyuji and Ryuen. In an exaggerated, theatrical tone, he cried out in surprise.

"I never imagined we'd meet here! How are your injuries from when you fell just now? You really were far too careless."

Ryuen at this moment was a rather sorry, miserable sight—a band-aid plastered across the bridge of his nose, obvious bruises discoloring his cheekbones, the corner of his mouth split and peeling, his athletic clothes smeared with dust and dirt.

"I'm perfectly fine right now! You'd better worry about yourself instead!"

Having stubbornly endured three consecutive days of illness without medication, having only barely managed to elbow his flu into submission the previous night, and having just been miserably, utterly screwed over by Class A in the previous match—Ryuen, veins bulging angrily at his temples, forced himself to straighten his back and, with the most defiant, unyielding tone, spoke words that were clearly lacking in any real substance.

Oi, oi. Are you serious, Ryu-chan? That stagger in your step—are you sure you haven't been drinking some counterfeit bootleg liquor before coming out here?

Fuyuji tugged at the corner of his mouth and retreated yet another two steps, pulling Hashimoto in front of him as a shield.

Hashimoto-san—keep a close eye on him for me. If he drops dead on the track in a moment, don't let him splash blood all over me.

"Worry about myself?" The frivolous smile on Hashimoto's face receded just a fraction. He countered with playful curiosity. "So... what business do you have with me?"

"That little piece of work in the last match—it was you, wasn't it?" Touching the wounds on his face, a wild, unrestrained grin surfaced on Ryuen's face. "That bastard Katsuragi—he wouldn't do this kind of thing."

The surrounding air sank into a brief silence. A faint breeze swept past. The withered leaves on the trees spun twice through the air before landing on the ground with a crisp, distinct sound.

"If I said it wasn't me—would you believe it?" The corner of Hashimoto's mouth twitched violently.

"Don't bother bringing out that kind of lame excuse—it wouldn't fool even a child."

Ryuen waved his hand impatiently, cutting off Hashimoto's defense. With absolute, unwavering conviction, he declared. "I underestimated you. I never imagined you'd be this cunning. It seems your Class A isn't entirely full of rules-abiding honors students after all. That damned VIP exam last time—you were the one pulling the strings behind the scenes too, weren't you?"

Fuck. To think he was only now realizing something was off. That steady, honest, prudent Katsuragi—how could he possibly have issued such despicable and shameless orders to the Class A students?

It had to have been another student—one with considerable standing in Class A—who had given the command.

After meticulously combing through the noteworthy students of Class A, Ryuen had decisively locked his sights onto Hashimoto Masayoshi.

Come to think of it—last time, after he'd been screwed over, he had called Katsuragi. Katsuragi's tone had clearly been one of genuine ignorance.

In other words—there existed, within Class A, someone who could disregard Katsuragi's orders. And that person—was clearly you!

Hashimoto Masayoshi!

"..."

Hashimoto wanted to say something. But under the benevolent, kindly gaze of that perfectly ordinary Class A student beside him, all he felt was a chill rising from the very soles of his feet. The words that had surged to the tip of his tongue were forcibly, ruthlessly swallowed back down.

"Hashimoto, you bastard! Anything else you want to say in your defense?" Ryuen's mouth split open in a triumphant grin.

"If you say so, then so be it..." Having utterly abandoned all hope and given up any further struggle, Hashimoto replied with listless, lifeless resignation.

"It really was you after all. Don't worry—I'll take my time and play with you properly. I'll make you cough up every last debt you owe me, one by one!"

"Then do your best. I'll try to do my best too..."

"What's this? Scared so witless you're talking nonsense?"

"Yeah..."

...

Thus, following in the footsteps of Katsuragi Kohei—Class A's second Scapegoat King was born!

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