Kyoto Prefectural University of Arts, Kendo Club Dojo.
Hōjō Shione sat on a wooden bench along the wall, her gaze fixed on the two figures clashing in the center of the polished floor. The sharp clack-clack of bamboo swords echoed through the spacious hall, punctuated by the stomp of feet and the occasional shout of encouragement from club members watching from the sidelines.
Truth be told, Hōjō Shione didn't understand Kendo. Not really. She'd watched Chihayafuru once and pretended to get it, but the intricate footwork and strike zones were beyond her. Still, even she could tell this match was completely one-sided.
The girl with the white tare cloth tied to her back moved like she belonged in a different weight class entirely. Her footwork was sharp and precise—steady, yet impossibly nimble. Each strike came so fast that Shione couldn't even track the trajectory; she only saw a blur, a flash, and then—
MEN!
The bamboo sword in the white-clad girl's hands slammed into her opponent's face guard with devastating accuracy. The shinai actually bent from the force. Her opponent—wearing red markings—stumbled backward and collapsed onto the dojo floor, completely overwhelmed.
But the white-clad girl didn't celebrate. Didn't relax. She immediately leaped backward, maintaining perfect distance like a protagonist who'd read the battle manga and knew exactly what came next.
Zanshin.
The term surfaced in Shione's memory. Shiratori Seiya had explained it once—the state of awareness after striking, the vigilance against a dying opponent's final counterattack. He'd said it embodied the spirit of "giving your all until the very end, staying consistent from start to finish."
She remembered that much. The rest of the Kendo rules? Completely lost on her.
The two competitors bowed to each other. The winner reached up and removed her men helmet, shaking her head as her long black hair spilled free like a waterfall catching light. Her face was fair, flushed pink from exertion, and undeniably beautiful—delicate oval features with bright, spirited eyes that seemed to sparkle under the dojo lights.
Hōjō Shione's heart gave an uncomfortable thump.
Even she had to admit it: the girl before her was captivating.
She'd witnessed Hasegawa Saori's grace in Kendo competitions before, of course. The news coverage, the highlight reels, the magazine articles calling her a "Kendo prodigy with the face of an idol." But seeing her in person was different. Seeing her live was like watching a championship match in high definition after years of grainy streams.
Shione had often wondered why Shiratori Seiya broke up with her.
She'd asked him twice. Both times, he'd brushed her off with vague excuses—"it didn't work out," "various reasons," the kind of non-answers that made you feel stupid for asking. But back then, she'd been so caught up in how kind he was to her, how gentle, that she'd let it go. She wanted to be an understanding girlfriend. The kind who didn't pry.
Now she realized how naive that was.
A girl like Hasegawa Saori—beautiful, talented, nationally recognized—wouldn't just get dumped unless she'd done something fundamentally wrong. Shione should have seen the red flags earlier. But her own arrogance had blinded her. She'd thought, She's not as good as me. I'm different. Seiya and I will last forever.
A self-deprecating smile tugged at Shione's lips.
What a fool I was.
The Hasegawa Saori of the past was probably just like her current self. Except Hasegawa Saori excelled at Kendo, while she excelled at singing. In terms of their relationship with Shiratori Seiya, they were practically mirror images.
That suspicion had gnawed at her ever since the magazine incident. As soon as she'd returned from Tokyo, she'd reached out to Hasegawa Saori, desperate for answers.
Now, watching the girl exchange a few words with a middle-aged instructor, Shione waited. Hasegawa Saori tucked her helmet under one arm, shinai in the other hand, and scanned the dojo until her eyes landed on Shione. She walked over immediately, her tabi-clad feet silent on the wooden floor.
Shione stood to meet her.
Up close, they were nearly the same height—Shione in sneakers, Hasegawa Saori in traditional split-toed socks. Shione opened her mouth to speak, but the moment she met those eyes, the words died in her throat.
Clear.
That was the only word for them. Clear, pure, bright—like polished black pearls resting at the bottom of a snow-melt lake. There was something almost unsettling about how present those eyes were, how they seemed to look straight through you.
"Hōjō Shione?"
The crisp voice snapped Shione back to reality. She managed a small smile.
"Yes. I'm sorry for contacting you so suddenly. I was hoping we could talk."
Hasegawa Saori tilted her head, glancing behind Shione as if searching for someone. When she didn't find them, her expression flickered—just briefly—with disappointment. Then her gaze returned to Shione.
"How is Seiya doing lately?"
Shione's hand clenched at her side, fingernails digging into her palm hard enough to sting.
She's still thinking about him. Just as I suspected.
Looking at the girl's calm expression, Shione felt a sharp pang of something between jealousy and vindication. She wanted to know how deep this attachment ran. She forced her smile wider.
"Seiya? He should be on a date with his girlfriend in Tokyo right now, I imagine."
"Huh?"
Hasegawa Saori's eyes widened. Just as Shione had hoped, ripples disturbed that calm, clear surface.
"You two broke up?"
There it is.
The question landed like a strike to Shione's own chest. She bit her lip, unwilling to answer. The silence stretched uncomfortably.
Finally, she exhaled, her fake smile crumbling. She looked at Hasegawa Saori with undisguised weariness.
"Yes. He dumped me. Just like he dumped you."
With Shiratori Seiya absent, Shione saw no point in maintaining her gentle facade. She'd been hurt—twice now, if you counted this conversation—and some petty part of her wanted Hasegawa Saori to feel that same sting.
But Hasegawa Saori simply blinked.
"I didn't break up with Seiya."
Shione froze.
Hōjō Shione stood frozen on the dojo floor, her expression cycling through confusion, disbelief, and something dangerously close to existential crisis.
What did 'didn't break up' even mean?
If Hasegawa Saori never actually broke up with Shiratori Seiya... then during the time Shione was dating him, thinking she was his one and only, was she actually the other woman? Had he been dividing his affections between them like some kind of romantic buffet?
A dark thought slithered through her mind.
Maybe I really should lock you up somewhere, Seiya-kun.
The resentment pooled in her chest, cold and heavy, filling the space where her heart used to be.
She was still standing there, wrestling with increasingly unhinged scenarios, when Hasegawa Saori emerged from the changing room. She'd swapped her kendo uniform for a simple tracksuit, her long black hair still slightly damp at the ends from exertion.
Shione snapped back to reality.
"What did you mean earlier? About not breaking up?"
Hasegawa Saori blinked at her.
Blink.
"...Don't singers have to take Japanese language exams?"
She tilted her head, genuine confusion coloring her features. It wasn't mockery. It wasn't sarcasm. She was genuinely curious about the educational requirements for idol trainees.
Shione felt something in her chest tighten—a muscle, maybe. Or her last shred of patience.
"When Seiya-kun was dating me, was he also dating you? Did he never actually break up with you?"
"Oh, he proposed breaking up." Hasegawa Saori sat down on the bench beside her, pulling a plastic bag from her tracksuit pocket. Inside were two rice balls wrapped in crisp seaweed. "But I didn't agree."
She paused mid-motion, about to take a bite, then turned to Shione and extended one of the rice balls.
"Want some?"
"..."
Shione stared at her.
The girl's eyes were so clear, so pure, that it was impossible to detect any trace of malice. She wasn't trying to be difficult. She wasn't playing games. She genuinely believed that if you didn't agree to a breakup, the relationship simply continued.
Is she... an idiot?
By that logic, Shione had never broken up with Shiratori Seiya either. But that was just... spiritual victory? Self-delusion? A coping mechanism wrapped in seaweed and rice?
Shione waved off the rice ball. "After he proposed breaking up, did you two still spend time together?"
Hasegawa Saori withdrew the offered rice ball, but her gaze flickered downward—specifically, to Shione's chest. She muttered, barely audible, "Do you have to eat a lot to grow that big?"
Then she looked down at her own considerably more modest situation. A flicker of sadness passed through those clear eyes before she bit into her rice ball with what could only be described as vengeance.
Two bites. Three. Half the rice ball vanished.
"He used to come watch my competitions," she said between chews. "Cheer me on. But after university started, it became rare."
She swallowed.
"I haven't seen him in a long time..."
Her voice trailed off, and she took two more aggressive bites.
Despite herself, Shione felt a pang of sympathy. She knew that feeling—the emptiness of his absence, the way days stretched longer without him.
But then her brain caught up with the timeline.
"Wait." Shione's eyes narrowed. "You said he cheered you on in competitions? Was that in high school?"
"Yes."
"First year of high school?"
"Yes."
"Second year of high school?"
"Yes."
Hasegawa Saori nodded along like a well-programmed conversational NPC, each response identical and unhelpful.
Shione's sympathy evaporated.
That scoundrel.
While dating her, he'd still been entangled with his ex-girlfriend, showing up to cheer her on like some kind of supportive boyfriend. The audacity. The sheer, unbelievable—
She was definitely going to have a serious conversation with him once they reconciled. Very serious. Possibly involving restraints.
Hasegawa Saori finished her first rice ball, licked her lips, and announced, "But it'll be fine next month. I'm going back to Tokyo. I can see Seiya then."
Shione's eye twitched. "Aren't you attending university here? In Kyoto?"
Hasegawa Saori gave her that look again—the one clearly communicating that she thought Shione might be developmentally challenged.
"Seiya's in Tokyo. I can't see him in Kyoto."
She paused, as if explaining something to a child.
"I'm just accompanying my coach to Kyoto Prefectural University for a training exchange. I'll be back in a few days. Then I can see Seiya."
A smile crept across her face—genuine, warm, the kind of smile that belonged in a shoujo manga finale. Light returned to her eyes. She bit into her second rice ball happily.
Shione's jealousy flared, but something felt... off.
"Will he agree to see you? Do you two even keep in touch? You just said you haven't seen him in a long time."
"We don't keep in touch," Hasegawa Saori admitted. "But it's already been half a month since I last saw him."
She finished the rice ball, neatly folded the plastic bag, and turned to Shione with an expression of serene certainty.
"Have you heard about assassins?"
Shione frowned. "What? What do assassins have to do with anything?"
"I have to protect Seiya for life." Hasegawa Saori's voice carried absolute conviction. "That means I can't just show myself casually. If potential threats knew when I was coming, they'd prepare. Problems couldn't be resolved."
She sighed, looking at Shione with something approaching pity.
"You're so stupid. Are all singers this dense?"
"..."
Shione's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
What did assassins have to do with ANY of this?
She took a deep breath, reminding herself that arguing with idiots was beneath her dignity. One last question. Just one.
"How did Seiya propose breaking up with you?"