By the infirmary bed.
Fujiwara Chika, having successfully swallowed the pills, tilted her head and fixed Sakurai Saki with a plaintive look.
"Wipe for me~"
"Wipe what?" Sakurai Saki feigned ignorance with the skill of a man who knew exactly where this was heading.
A boy wiping a girl's sweat? While she's sick? In an empty infirmary? That's not just questionable—that's criminal.
"My sweat! You... idiot. Moron~" Chika's mumbled insults lacked any real venom.
If he were a masochist, he'd be thrilled. Unfortunately for her, Sakurai Saki was not.
"You can do it yourself."
"..."
Chika pouted but reluctantly accepted the towel he handed her.
Then she reached under her gym uniform.
The hem of her top lifted as her hand moved, revealing her slender waist and the cute indent of her navel. Glistening sweat beads had collected there, tracing paths down the pale expanse of her skin. It was difficult to look away.
Chika found the fabric annoying. She bit down on the hem of her top, holding it in place with her teeth.
After wiping her stomach clean, she reached behind her back.
A few seconds passed.
"...Could you unfasten this for me?"
She pulled her hair to one side and turned, presenting the elegant curve of her back. Sweat still traced slow paths down her spine, disappearing into the waistband of her shorts.
It was late May. The weather wasn't cool. There was no air conditioning here.
"Unfasten what?"
"The button."
Sakurai Saki sat on the edge of the bed and helped her with the clasp. The mechanism wasn't complicated; it took only a moment.
Chika set the garment aside and turned back to face him. Her right hand lifted—
Sakurai Saki suppressed the impulse and deliberately looked away.
She smelled pleasant. Even with the faint salt of sweat, the underlying scent was still there. Still wonderful.
"Could you help me..."
Her voice trailed off as she placed the towel in his hand. Her skin was warm—hot, really. The fever, probably.
Sakurai Saki looked down at the towel in his hand. He did not look at her.
"Ha~"
Chika covered her mouth with her hand, stifling the sound.
Sakurai Saki pulled her hand away.
Inside the gymnasium.
Shirogane Miyuki stood beside Toyosaki Saburo, watching the crowd filter in for the next matches.
"Toyosaki." Miyuki's tone was thoughtful. "Don't you think pudding is delicious? It's quite a classic dessert."
Toyosaki blinked at the non sequitur. "Shirogane, is something wrong with your head? We're about to play volleyball and you're talking about pudding?"
"I tried making some at home yesterday." Miyuki's expression was distant, contemplative. "The cost was low, but the taste... wasn't as good as store-bought." He remembered his sister's face as she ate it. Worth the effort, even if the pudding itself was mediocre.
"Well, you tried." Toyosaki shrugged. He and Miyuki had been academic rivals for a while last year; he knew about the family's modest circumstances. He'd even used some dirty tricks back then. Water under the bridge now.
Miyuki glanced around, then lowered his voice. "Don't you think the shape of pudding resembles... certain things?"
Toyosaki's brain immediately detoured into yellow-tinted territory. "What kind of things?"
"I feel like if you kneaded it, it would be very soft."
"Indeed." Toyosaki nodded sagely. "Squishy."
"Shonen manga often have scenes where a beautiful girl presses against the male protagonist's chest." Miyuki stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I was wondering if one could replicate that sensation with pudding."
"A beautiful girl's chest would be softer, surely." Toyosaki was fully engaged in this ridiculous hypothetical now. "And it could be molded into all sorts of shapes."
"Ah." Miyuki shook his head. "Pudding won't work. Too firm."
Their deeply intellectual conversation ended as more students filtered into the volleyball hall. Too many girls nearby to continue safely.
"You messaged Sakurai, right?" Toyosaki asked. "He shouldn't be late."
"Sakurai's punctual. He won't stand us up." Miyuki checked his phone. "He's just taking Fujiwara Secretary to the infirmary. Shouldn't take long."
Toyosaki's brow furrowed. "What's taking so long?"
Infirmary.
"Here." Sakurai Saki's voice was gentle. "I should wipe this too, right?"
Chika wrapped her arms around his neck.
"You can~ If it's Saki-kun."
By the sea.
A fisherman kneaded bait in his weathered hands. Under skilled fingers, the mixture formed a small pink ball.
"Nice weather."
The salty, damp sea air filled his lungs. His face, lined by years of sun and wind, held quiet determination.
He looked down at the water below. Endless tides crashed against the rocks, wave after wave.
He shaped the small ball carefully, rounding it, then fixed it to the hook.
He cast.
The line fell into two narrow crevices.
The fisherman frowned. The wind had been strong—he'd misjudged. He reeled in, expression annoyed, and cast again.
The hook fell into the same ditch.
The fisherman stood. Time to find a different spot.
Halfway there, an unexpected wave crashed over the reef, soaking him completely.
Infirmary.
Chika, now dressed in her outer sportswear, sat on the bed. The gym uniform underneath was completely soaked—she couldn't possibly wear it.
The door opened.
Tachibana Chizuru, the school nurse and beautiful teacher of the infirmary, stood in the doorway. Her expression was unreadable. Her voice, usually pleasant, carried a distinct chill.
"What were you two doing just now?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Nothing."
Sakurai Saki pulled the curtain closed, shielding the sleeping Chika from view. His voice was carefully neutral.
Tachibana Chizuru, the school nurse, regarded him with flat, knowing eyes.
"I smell Bartholin's gland fluid." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if commenting on the weather.
Sakurai Saki's composure cracked, just slightly.
"It's normal for high school students to engage in relations." Tachibana Sensei waved a dismissive hand. "You don't need to hide it from me. But you must pay attention to safety measures."
She walked to her desk, opened a drawer, and extracted a small box.
"Here. If you need them next time, help yourself." She set the box of condoms on the desk. "Sakurai-kun. You don't want to become a father this early, do you?"
Sakurai Saki nodded silently.
Arguing with this woman was useless. He'd learned that lesson long ago. Denial would only earn him those ice-cold stares and the most ruthlessly precise words designed to strip away all dignity.
Tachibana Chizuru's gaze dropped. To his inner thigh.
...You noticed that too?
"It seems I came at the wrong time," she observed.
Sakurai Saki kept his mouth shut.
"Difficult to hold back?"
"I'm fine."
"The bed inside is free." She tilted her head slightly. "You can go take care of it. Or, if you'd prefer, I can help you manually."
"I'm fine."
Tachibana Sensei's expression didn't change. She was a medical professional; such matters held no taboo for her.
"Prolonged swelling can induce prostatitis. It's a legitimate health concern."
Sakurai Saki wanted to find a hole, crawl into it, and never emerge.
Then—
Ding-dong.
His phone.
He grabbed it like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline.
Shirogane Miyuki: Boys' volleyball starting soon. Get warmed up.
He had never been so grateful for a text message in his life.
"Tachibana Sensei."
"Just call me Chizuru." Flat. Unblinking.
"Chizuru Sensei." He stressed the honorific. "My volleyball match is about to start." He stood, preparing to flee.
"Holding back is bad for your body." Her voice was firm, authoritative. The voice of someone who would not be argued with.
She stood.
She walked to the door.
She locked it.
Then, to Sakurai Saki's absolute horror, she retrieved rubber gloves and a bottle of lubricant from the cabinet.
"It will be quick." Her gaze swept over him with the clinical assessment of a dairy farmer evaluating livestock. "There's still time."
Twenty minutes later.
Sakurai Saki walked into the gymnasium.
His expression was cold. Distant. Zen-like.
Shirogane Miyuki noticed immediately. "What's wrong? I messaged you earlier—did you not have your phone?"
Sakurai Saki, now firmly in what could only be described as sage mode, replied evenly: "Fujiwara Secretary needed care. Unfortunately, the infirmary teacher wasn't there initially. I had to wait until she arrived before I could leave."
Miyuki accepted this explanation without question. "Well, you made it. The preliminary round's about to start." He glanced at the court. "Another few minutes and we'd have been short a player. No substitutes in this tournament—automatic forfeit."
"Which class first?"
"Your class. Against 2-C."
Sakurai Saki nodded mildly.
The Nakano Five Sisters' class.
It didn't matter. The opponent didn't matter. He had no intention of losing.
That kind of confidence was simply who he was.
(Though, if anyone asked why he walked with a slightly stiff gait for the first few minutes of warm-up, he would absolutely deny everything.)
Footnote: Tachibana Chizuru, medical professional, certified terror, and now the only person in the world who could make Sakurai Saki flinch simply by walking into a room.
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