Chapter 211: Written into the Annals of History (Bonus Chapter)

On the sports field, the students resembled a flock of geese craning their necks. They stood near the exit, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the first victor.

By now, the sun had fully slanted westward. The horizon blazed with billowing, fire-lit clouds. The dark crimson sunlight dyed the sports field a deep shade of madder red.

The street lamps beside the field had already lit up ahead of time. A few insects fluttered and danced around them.

Among the crowd, some were supporters of the participating competitors from their respective classes. Some were simply lingering on the sports field out of pure interest in the outcome. Still others were score-obsessed fiends who just wanted the competition to end so they could find out the final standings of the Sports Festival...

Curiosity surged like an undercurrent beneath the water's surface, silently rippling through the crowd.

As firsthand intelligence trickled in from certain well-informed individuals among them, the atmosphere on the scene grew increasingly heated. The buzzing murmur of discussion gradually coalesced into a low, rumbling tide.

Even the staff members responsible for the final check-in had been swept up in this atmosphere. Standing atop the speaker's platform, they gazed with eager anticipation toward the fastest school path leading to the sports field entrance.

The sunlight stretched long shadows at the far end of the school path, as though the champion were about to arrive striding upon the light itself.

In the alley behind the complex building, the walls were mottled and stained. A few fallen leaves had piled up in the corners. The light here appeared dim. Few people usually passed through this place. But today, it welcomed a long-absent liveliness.

A figure swept past like the wind, then came to an abrupt halt, stirring up a few fallen leaves which spun and swirled through the air.

He let out a helpless sigh. Raising a hand, he wiped at a nonexistent bead of sweat on his temple and looked toward the figure standing silently across from him.

"As expected—I can intercept you over here." Horikita Manabu's voice was steady, but his gaze was tightly locked onto Fuyuji Mikage.

"Are you that idle? If there's nothing else, I'll be on my way."

Fuyuji rolled his eyes in exasperation. His body leaned back slightly, assuming the posture of someone ready to bolt at any moment.

Without answering his question, Manabu gazed on his own toward the nearby grove of trees. "Suzune has already been decisively eliminated by me."

"Oh." Fuyuji's response was brief.

Although he had constantly been egging Horikita-girl on to backstab her brother—if she had actually succeeded, that would have been the truly eye-popping event for Fuyuji.

The evening breeze threaded through the sparse branches, stirring a soft, rustling whisper. The birds returning to their nests leaped and hopped among the canopy, their chirping accentuating the quiet stillness of the alley.

"She's made tremendous progress over these past few years. Whether in academics or physical ability..." Gazing blankly at the nearby grove, Manabu's tone drifted.

"So can you let me leave now?" Fuyuji spread both hands wide, his voice saturated with helplessness.

A brief silence spread through the narrow alley. Only the faint, indistinct clamor drifting over from the distant sports field remained.

"My apologies. As expected—I'm still a little unwilling to accept it. As Suzune's older brother—to actually lose to someone else." Manabu pushed up his glasses. His arm dropped crisply to his side. His gaze refocused onto Fuyuji's face. "I want to compete against you one more time."

"Oi, oi. Aren't we in the middle of a competition right now?"

"This doesn't suit my style. For me—I still wish to compete in a manner that I myself can acknowledge." Manabu's tone remained unchanged. He calmly stepped forward a single pace.

"Then what do you want?"

"This!"

Before the words had even finished, a fist—carrying the sharp whistle of tearing air—came crashing forth in an instant. This time, he did not hold back as he had the very first time.

...

Two figures who had already completed all their check-ins were sprinting side by side along a certain school path. Beads of sweat slid down from their temples and dripped onto the scorching ground, evaporating in an instant. The sound of their ragged breathing was clearly audible.

"I never imagined you would push yourself this hard, Hirata-kun." Kanzaki Ryuji's voice carried the sound of panting. He turned his head and glanced at the figure running with equal effort beside him.

"Yeah. I've always thought of myself as someone who isn't particularly fond of money." Hirata Yosuke let out a bitter smile. Sweat had soaked through the bangs plastered across his forehead. Yet his fist quietly clenched tight. "But if I had been able to get my hands on this money back then—Ike-kun might have been able to stay."

"On this matter—I'm in no position to judge you. But I, too, am carrying the expectations of my class as I push toward the very end. I can't afford to lose to you here." Kanzaki gritted his teeth and accelerated once more.

"Me too!" Hirata let out a low roar. His legs erupted with even greater explosive force.

The two figures, like a pair of intertwined bolts of lightning, accelerated once more.

Amidst the interplay of light and shadow—the two figures separated with a dull thud.

Manabu retreated two steps. Panting faintly, he straightened his crooked glasses and reassessed that unruffled figure across from him.

"If you keep tangling with me here—what about your duel with Nagumo-senpai?" Fuyuji's voice carried a trace of teasing amusement. Both hands were leisurely stuffed back into his pockets. "And without that five million—how are you supposed to keep protecting your little sister from now on?"

"The duel is canceled. Nagumo already sent me a message. As for the points..."

Manabu fell silent for a few seconds. Calmly, he spoke. "In the future—if you try to extort money from me again, I will tell Suzune."

"..."

Fuyuji's expression of chest-thumping confidence instantly froze solid. The corner of his mouth twitched.

This bastard was actually shameless enough to go tattle to his own little sister?!

The reason his fleece-her-brother scheme had succeeded all along was precisely because this fumbling pair of siblings refused to communicate with each other. If one day they stopped being so hopelessly tangled—the one who'd suffer for it was, eight or nine times out of ten, himself.

"Then just let me go, alright?! Don't be so damn heartless!" Fuyuji was starting to grow genuinely frantic. "Maybe you don't want that five million—but I still do!"

Manabu gazed at the boy across from him—the one who, just like last time, he hadn't managed to land a single blow on. "My apologies. As expected—this side of things is still just a little more important. Next time, I'll find a chance to make it up to you. Of course—you are also free to throw a punch and defeat me."

He once again stepped forward a single pace and assumed the opening stance of his offense.

"..." If I really did hit you—Suzune would probably come looking for me tonight to settle the score.

With the resignation of one accepting his fate, Fuyuji let out a faint sigh. He shed that lazy, indolent demeanor. His spine straightened. He assumed a serious stance. Those originally drowsy eyes instantly sharpened into unsheathed blades.

Just then—a strange, acrid odor quietly wormed its way into Fuyuji's nostrils. He furrowed his brow.

This smell... it was like something violently rotting, mixed with the stench of sweat?

"Do you smell something weird?" Fuyuji held his breath. His gaze subconsciously swept across the surroundings.

"Indeed—just a little." Manabu also furrowed his brow tightly. He swept his eyes in a circle around them. "The Student Council shouldn't have received any reports of nearby sewers requiring maintenance."

Suddenly, Fuyuji's pupils abruptly constricted. In an instant, he stared toward the bend at the far end of the school path. The corner of his mouth twitched violently. "No way..."

Manabu, at this very moment, also sensed something. His body instantly tensed and coiled. With the vigilance of one facing a mortal enemy, he stared warily toward the bend.

In the distance—there seemed to be the sound of heavy footsteps. Drawing closer and closer...

With a sharp whoosh! A figure—wrapped in howling wind pressure and a dense, suffocating stench!

Accompanied by the violent pounding of footsteps—a male student, both eyes blazing blood-red, his entire body radiating a terrifying presence—like a demonic god crawling forth from the very depths of hell—burst out from the end of the bend and charged straight toward the two of them!

"Out of my way, out of my way, OUT OF MY WAY—!!"

...

At the artificial lake—Mashima Tomonari, dressed in his athletic wear, was clutching his phone in one hand while striding forward with sweeping steps. He, too, was bolting toward the sports field.

At the very last mandatory checkpoint—Sakagami Kazuma, whose physical stamina was clearly inferior to his own, a habitual gym-goer—had ceded the opportunity to him. If he could seize those five million points, the two of them would split it evenly.

His thoughts reaching this point—Mashima drew a deep breath. He stuffed his phone into his pocket. The swing of his arms widened. His stride frequency quickened once more.

Bearing the hopes of his colleague—staking his name as an elite instructor of Advanced Nurturing High—he absolutely could not lose!

However—before he could snap out of his fervent resolve—a chaotic and urgent surge of footsteps came from behind him, drawing near from afar. Mingled within were several cries of warped terror.

Following the sound, he looked. His own student—Fuyuji Mikage. The Student Council President—Horikita Manabu. And two outstanding first-year students—Hirata Yosuke and Kanzaki Ryuji. They were hurtling toward him at breakneck speed.

Fuyuji was flailing both arms with desperate madness. The expression on his face was one of pure terror.

"Sadistic Teacher—run!"

"As a student of Advanced Nurturing High—to be thrown into such panic over a mere trifle—what kind of conduct is that?! And as a teacher—I have not yet fallen so low as to flee in the face of hardship!"

Mashima furrowed his brow and came to a halt. Closing his eyes with the composed poise of a member of the elite—he drew a deep breath and tidied a single crease at the collar of his athletic jacket.

The group swept past Mashima's side like a fierce gale.

"Allow me to show you—the steadfast composure of an elite instructor of Advanced Nurturing High—" He opened his eyes. In a tone carrying a trace of admonishment, he began to speak. Before the words had even finished— "Hm? What's that smell? Why is it so foul?" His nostrils suddenly flared with several violent twitches. The unruffled mask of the elite instructor instantly split open with a single crack.

A few seconds later—a robust figure, at incomparable speed, caught up to the main group.

"As my student—why didn't you warn me?!"

"I told you to run! I thought you weren't afraid!"

"I still have my dignity, you know!"

The panicked cries drifted over in scattered disarray upon the wind of their sprint.

On the sole path leading to the sports field—a figure stood as straight as a javelin upon the school path. His blond hair fluttered faintly in the wind. The lingering glow of the setting sun gilded him in a halo of gold.

The Student Council Vice President—Nagumo Miyabi—had made his grand revival!

Under normal circumstances—he should not yet have been permitted to leave the school infirmary.

But Advanced Nurturing High possessed something called points—with which one could purchase anything.

And so—after paying a bail fee of one million points—Nagumo Miyabi... had crawled his way back from the very ends of hell.

Both hands were shoved in his pockets. A faint smile hung upon his face. Yet his eyes were fixed deathly upon the direction from which they would come.

For this competition—whether the victor was Manabu, or Fuyuji, or even any of the other few students—he could accept it. But the one thing he absolutely could not accept—was that despicable, shameless scumbag.

Today—he, Nagumo Miyabi—was going to make the Crap-Eating King pay the price!

Student Council Vice President—executing justice!

Just as expected—after only a brief moment—a vast wave of students came pouring out from the far end of the school path.

Horikita-senpai. Fuyuji-kouhai. Hirata-kouhai...

Ho~ The competition is actually this fierce?

The corner of Nagumo's mouth curled into a grin. Immediately after—his fist clenched tight with indignant fury.

It was all because of that damned Crap-Eating King! Otherwise—he could have competed on the same stage alongside so many of his fellow students!

He absolutely had to kill him—only then could he wash away his disgrace.

Just then—a faint shout drifted over upon the wind. Strangely—the tone was utterly devoid of its usual steadiness.

"Nagumo... run."

"Blond Senpai—run! The Crap-Eating King is right behind us!" Amidst the fleeing, stampeding pack—Fuyuji called out in urgent warning.

"So he's behind us, is he?"

The corner of Nagumo's mouth instantly curled into a cold sneer. Carrying the resolve of vengeance—he stepped forward against the wind, utterly fearless. Both fists clenched tight. He assumed the posture of one bracing for combat. His gaze was locked deathly onto the even thicker cloud of dust rising from the rear of the group.

"Don't worry—he's exactly the one I'm looking for!"

Ten seconds later.

"Run faster! Why are you all running so slow?!"

Nagumo's vengeful aura had vanished without a trace. Spinning on his heel—he scrambled his way straight into the fleeing army.

"What's this, Vice President? Didn't you want to face me in battle?" Ryuen Kakeru's taunting voice followed close behind, drawing nearer. "Come, then! Allow me to show you who the true ruler of Advanced Nurturing High really is!"

"..."

Nagumo said nothing. He simply quickened his pace with relentless focus.

A horde of competing students—along with the hero who had just revived—came surging toward the sports field in a vast wave. Behind them—that man, like a demonic god, pursued with unyielding tenacity.

Blending amidst the crowd—Fuyuji panted for breath even as he secretly observed the expressions on everyone's faces. The corner of his mouth quietly curled into a smug grin.

As the saying went—when you encounter a bear, you don't need to run faster than the bear. You just need to run faster than your companions.

Thank you, System. Thank you, CCTV. Thank you, Central Television!

Behold—as I activate my Rapid Recovery BUFF—

Fuyuji fiercely gritted his teeth. The muscles of his legs bulged. He attempted to accelerate—only to discover that Manabu, Hirata Yosuke, Mashima Tomonari, and even Nagumo Miyabi—all several of them, simultaneously, like iron vises, had seized hold of his wrist.

"Let go of me! If I get caught—Ai is going to laugh at me for the rest of my life!" Fuyuji's face had gone white with terror. Struggling with all his might, his voice was thick with desperation.

"Horikita... cough, cough. Nazuna is the same." A voice carried the same fear and the same unwavering resolve.

"Suzune too." Manabu's voice was low, yet the strength of his grip did not diminish.

"My students—and my colleagues—as well." Mashima supplemented through ragged pants.

"Class D too." Hirata added.

"Class B too." Kanzaki added.

In the midst of the pandemonium—the several of them stared fiercely at each other. Each saw within the eyes of the others the same grim resolve. Exchanging a glance—they spoke in unified unison:

"We absolutely cannot let you run off alone! If we're going down—we're going down together!"

"Let go of me!" A heart-wrenching voice resounded across the school path.

Within the sports field—a sea of heads surged.

With a single cry of "Someone's coming!"—like a spark igniting a fuse—the students standing on both sides of the exit craned their necks and gazed toward the school path leading directly to the exit.

The originally noisy venue instantly fell silent. Only the strained sound of breathing remained.

"Wait—something seems off?"

Someone in the front row narrowed their eyes and muttered with puzzlement. The cloud of dust rising from the exit seemed just a little too large, didn't it?

"Why does it feel like... the expressions on those people's faces are a bit strange?" A certain second-year student murmured to themselves.

"And why are they all grabbing each other by the arms? Could it be—to prevent the others from taking first place?" A third-year upperclassman tilted their head, their tone carrying a note of bewilderment.

A gentle breeze swept past—lifting the bangs from everyone's foreheads. At the same time—it also delivered an indescribable, bizarre stench!

"Do you all... smell something weird?" One student, whose focus had been slightly off, subconsciously covered their nose.

"Now that you mention it—it does seem like..."

"Oi... what's that behind them?" Another voice rang out, trembling.

With a single, eardrum-shredding shriek—like a drop of cold water plunged into a pan of boiling oil—the students present finally understood exactly what kind of enemy they were about to face.

"HOLY SHIT—THE CRAP-EATING KING?! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ON HIM?!" The horrified screams instantly detonated the entire venue!

"What do you mean, 'King'?! Just run!" Someone snapped back to their senses, their voice cracking.

"This is fucking bio-terrorism!" The crowd had completely erupted!

The students present—like a flock of startled birds—like a colony of ants whose nest had been blown apart—scattered in every direction in an instant. The scene had spiraled utterly out of control.

The referees, too, had recognized the severity of the situation. Fumbling in panic, they snatched up the microphone. Their voices carried a clear crack.

"Due to force majeure—the results of the Sports Festival will be announced on a later date. All students—disperse once more! Do not linger on the sports field! Repeating—"

Every single student present displayed a sprinting speed that far surpassed anything seen in today's 100-meter dash. Within a mere dozen or so seconds—the students had evacuated from the sports field with thorough efficiency. Only a few scattered pieces of trash remained, slowly dragged by the sea breeze.

Five minutes later.

The several competitors—as though every last bone in their bodies had been pulled out—lay collapsed upon the grass, far from the sports field. Limbs splayed in every direction. Gasping for breath. Chests heaving. Sweat had soaked through their athletic clothes, clinging to their bodies in clammy patches. Their faces were a tangled mixture of exhaustion, lingering fear, and the blank bewilderment of survivors who had narrowly escaped catastrophe.

"It was just five million. Did he really have to go that far?" Fuyuji patted his own chest, his heart still pounding with lingering terror.

"Thank goodness he fell into the fountain. Otherwise, we'd still be running." Kanzaki's voice was saturated with profound relief.

Just at that critical moment—Fuyuji had seized the split-second window and kicked a small stone directly beneath Ryuen's feet. Victory had already been within arm's reach. Ryuen—whose gaze had been fixated upon the crowd—had, at the very last moment of triumph, let his guard slip. His entire body had toppled, caught off guard, straight into the fountain beside the sports field. Only then had this biochemical catastrophe been neutralized.

"Kouhai—well done!"

Student Council Vice President Nagumo Miyabi extended his thumb, lavishing his praise without the slightest stinginess.

"Well done!" Several thumbs shot up before Fuyuji in crisp unison.

"Easy job, no sweat." Fuyuji waved a limp hand.

"Tomorrow—that fountain will need to be scrubbed clean one more time." Manabu's voice carried a bone-deep exhaustion.

"Speaking of which—who actually got first place?" A feeble voice posed the soul-searching question.

"At a time like this—stop worrying about first place. Let's just split it evenly. Surviving is already more than enough..." Mashima offered his mature perspective.

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

The several of them swiftly unified their opinions.

"Still, come to think of it—" A voice, carrying a trace of hesitation, rang out from within the group. "How come that bastard Ryuen still hasn't gotten up after all this time?"

The atmosphere fell silent for a single instant. Everyone turned their heads and stared at that soaking, dripping-wet figure—still desperately fleeing into the distance. In perfect unison, they let out a single cry.

"HOLY SHIT!" xN

...

According to the historical records of Advanced Nurturing High—on the first Monday of October that year—the Toilet God of War, Ryuen Kakeru, relying solely on his own strength, had utterly routed and annihilated—just outside the sports field—the student who would later be hailed as the most outstanding Student Council President in Advanced Nurturing High's history, the most radical Student Council President in Advanced Nurturing High's history, the most outstanding graduate in Advanced Nurturing High's history, the future Chairman of Kanzaki Heavy Industries, a future member of the Japanese National Soccer Team, and the future Principal of Advanced Nurturing High.

This event was historically recorded as the "Great Triumph at the Sports Field"!

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PS: For the sake of pursuing entertainment and dramatic effect, certain logical details in the additional event were glossed over. Please treat it as an extra, bonus side-story chapter.

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100 [Power Stones] = Bonus Chapter!