8. Bad Girls, Don’t Waste Your Time

The rain in Tokyo suddenly intensified in the afternoon.

Within mere seconds, a fierce wind whipped up, pelting raindrops against the window panes with a sharp, rhythmic tapping.

“In 1204, the capital of the Byzantine Empire, Constantinople, was captured during the Fourth Crusade…”

Dreamko Shimamoto, who was in the middle of her lesson, paused to glance at the darkening sky outside, then switched on the classroom’s fluorescent lights.

The room, which had been a little dim, instantly became warm and inviting.

“In 1453, the Ottoman Turks conquered Constantinople. Constantine XI fell in battle, and the Byzantine Empire met its end…”

As she reached this point, the light in Dreamko Shimamoto’s eyes seemed to fade.

Just then, the bell signaling the end of class rang.

“Wait a moment!” Dreamko Shimamoto checked her watch. “Everyone, say it with me.”

A jumble of voices rose from the students.

“Long live Byzantium—!”

The homeroom teacher, clad in a violet dress, insisted the students repeat “Long live Byzantium” three times before finally dismissing the class.

“Kiyomizu, let’s go!” Murakami Nagasawa called out loudly from ahead, “Let’s head to Home Ec together.”

The next period was Home Economics, held in a classroom in the integrated building.

The two buildings were connected by a fully enclosed skywalk, so crossing over meant they wouldn’t get drenched.

“Oh right, how’s it going with your club stuff?” On the way, Murakami Nagasawa asked again. As his closest friend, he was genuinely concerned.

“It’s settled,” Matsudaira Kiyomizu nodded.

“Which club? I told you to join the soccer team with me, but you refused. The female managers of the soccer team…”

“The Culture Club.”

“They’re pretty…”

“What’s pretty?” Matsudaira Kiyomizu glanced sideways at him.

“The Culture Club?” Murakami Nagasawa ignored the question, instead frowning. “Don’t tell me you only decided to join because you saw the Culture Club was recruiting Assistant A?”

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

“You bastard, how dare you set your sights on my future wife!” Murakami Nagasawa exclaimed theatrically.

“Your wife?”

“Tokugawa Rinko, of the Culture Club!”

“Are you crazy? Every pretty girl is your wife, is that it?” Matsudaira Kiyomizu retorted irritably.

“How is she not?” Murakami Nagasawa patted his chest solemnly. “Things between us are already halfway there.”

“Since when?”

“Well, I’ve already agreed on my end. Isn’t that halfway?”

Matsudaira Kiyomizu: Old man, subway, cell phone.jpg

After a moment’s pause, he replied dryly, “Just go confess already. That way, when you’re rejected, you can hurry up and die.”

“And how should I die?”

“Jump off the roof. It gets cold at night, so remember to wrap yourself in a blanket.”

“You’re so gentle, Kiyomizu.”

“Learned it from you.” Matsudaira Kiyomizu’s face was expressionless.

Jokes aside, after the banter, Murakami Nagasawa’s tone grew serious. “Be honest, Kiyomizu. Are you really interested in Tokugawa Rinko? Is that why you want to check out the Culture Club?”

“You mean that Tokugawa?” Matsudaira Kiyomizu’s expression turned curious.

“That Tokugawa, yes!” Murakami Nagasawa nodded, looking at his friend with a weighty gaze. “Kiyomizu, let me give you some advice. You two live in different worlds.”

That Tokugawa, huh? Certainly not ordinary.

But what had that to do with Matsudaira Kiyomizu?

“If I said I don’t know her, would you believe me?” His tone was helpless.

“Kiyomizu, this is your problem…” Murakami Nagasawa hesitated, struggling for a moment before continuing, “You’re not honest! If you were, Yanami wouldn’t have broken up with you!”

“That’s a completely separate issue!”

“Just tell me, did you fall for Tokugawa Rinko at first sight but are too shy to admit it?”

Matsudaira Kiyomizu was at a loss for words, inwardly wondering—was this Tokugawa Rinko really so captivating?

Why did both his homeroom teacher and his best friend react the same way upon hearing he’d joined the Culture Club—immediately assuming he was trying to get close to her?

Should he try approaching her, perhaps?

“Kiyomizu, listen to me. You’re not in the same league. Once you leave kindergarten, you have to understand where you belong. The rich and poor, the beautiful and plain, youth and its absence—all of it is class distinction!”

As his friend nagged on, Matsudaira Kiyomizu mulled things over.

He did intend to find a suitable girl to date, but after a moment’s thought, he crossed Tokugawa Rinko off his list.

Mainly because he wasn’t even sure he could genuinely open his heart, and he didn’t want to bring trouble to an innocent girl—better to avoid involving a decent family.

He really should find a “green tea” type, the kind you could level up with, so to speak.

“Judging by your look, you’re still not giving up? This is troublesome…” Murakami Nagasawa seemed torn, as if he didn’t know how to persuade his friend to let go.

But after only a few seconds, he let out a resigned smile. “Well, there’s no helping you. If you like her, go for it! I even have some exclusive info for you…”

“Hm?” Matsudaira Kiyomizu spotted a classmate up ahead.

She looked quite nice, but she had a poor reputation—a classic “green tea” girl. Perfect for practicing.

Murakami Nagasawa stopped his monologue. “What’s up?”

“Tell me what you know about Sakurai Suzune,” Matsudaira Kiyomizu said.

“…Huh?” Murakami Nagasawa was full of question marks.

Admittedly, Sakurai Suzune was attractive.

A sharp face, almond-shaped eyes, willow-leaf brows, long legs, a slender waist, and an impressively developed chest.

Having a girlfriend like that would certainly be something to brag about.

But compared to Tokugawa Rinko, she was outclassed in every way—looks, grades, family background, character.

“Are you sure you know what you’re saying?”

“Of course.”

“This Sakurai…” Murakami Nagasawa stopped in his tracks.

“Is there a problem?” Matsudaira Kiyomizu asked.

“You, you… How should I even put this!” Murakami Nagasawa looked exasperated. “Going after Tokugawa Rinko is tough, but at least she’s a decent girl! Sakurai is not right for you. Your name is Kiyomizu—‘pure water’—but if you go out with her, you might as well call yourself ‘murky water’!”

“Then murky it is.” Matsudaira Kiyomizu didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.

After all, everyone gets muddied sooner or later; better now than later, when you’re out in society and it’s harder not to get played.

“You’re serious?” Murakami Nagasawa’s gaze was grave.

“Absolutely.” When Matsudaira Kiyomizu wasn’t joking, he was never joking.

“She’s the type who’s friendly with a lot of boys, keeps a whole school of fish on the line, and is always asking them for money…”

“That just makes things easier.”

Matsudaira Kiyomizu smiled, glancing ahead at the master fish-keeper.

Sakurai Suzune had a tall, slender frame, her hair tied in a high ponytail with the ends dyed a soft gold.

A floral pin adorned the bow at her collar, a scrunchie circled her wrist, and her extravagant nail tips completed a look with a dash of gyaru flair.

The private Maizuru Academy’s uniforms were excellently designed, accentuating the girls’ charms.

The fabric clung to her figure, the tailored shirt hugged her slim waist, showing off her curves and a model-worthy, perky silhouette.

The deliberately shortened skirt hem made her legs look even longer and whiter.

Right now, she seemed to be waiting for someone, toying absentmindedly with a scrunchie like a headband, bored.

“Suzune!”

Two girls from their class finally arrived.

“You’re so slow! Hurry up!” Sakurai Suzune shot them an impatient glare before turning away.

Just before she left, she seemed to glance back at Matsudaira Kiyomizu.

A girl’s sixth sense told her that the usually aloof, expressionless pretty boy had just been watching her…

Or was it just her imagination?

But if not…

Whatever she’d thought of, a sly smile curled at the corners of the “green tea” girl’s lips.