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445 – Stop Fighting. Which One of You Even Has a Boyfriend?
🕑 Added 2025-08-13 15:00:16 +0000 UTCWhen the vice president of the art club blurted out something outrageous from the center of the gym, Kasumigaoka Utaha froze for a moment.
Then her brows relaxed, and a smile lit up her wine-red eyes.
Her already exquisite features seemed to bloom even brighter, like a lotus swaying gracefully in the rain, radiant and full of life.
“Oh my, oh my~”
Her voice carried a lilting, almost fairy-like laugh as she turned toward Eriri.
As expected, she was met with a face full of despair—those usually bright, near-sighted eyes had lost all their sparkle.
“So the shallow one was me all along. I’ve been blaming Sawamura-san unjustly this whole time.
Then again, with a chest this big, I can see why you’d have trouble while typing every day. Sometimes I have to rest mine on the desk just to take the strain off. It’s so exhausting, you know~”
Her words were utterly sincere—and between the two of them, sincerity alone was enough to strike a nerve.
They didn’t even need to raise their voices to fan each other’s flames.
But Eriri didn’t have the time to spar with this smug enchantress right now.
The moment of despair passed, replaced by blazing fury as she glared at the twin-braided vice president still speaking so confidently.
What the hell is Mami trying to pull!? Does she even know what she’s saying?
Has she stopped caring about anyone in this world?
Even if she has, I still care, damn it!
Who gave her the courage to say something like that!?
A thousand questions swirled through Eriri’s mind.
No matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t remember ever wronging Mami.
She’d always treated her kindly in the club, even giving her pointers from time to time.
She had even been planning to bring her into her future company as… okay, not “cheap labor,” that sounded bad—as a key animator.
She was going to use company resources to give the girl valuable experience! And this is how she repaid her?!
No matter how hard she racked her brain, she couldn’t understand how the idiot on stage could say something like that with such pride.
Don’t you dare look at me!
And yet, after finishing her speech, Mami even looked her way with a knowing smirk—just like one of Utaha’s die-hard fans.
Eriri wanted nothing more than to grab the woman sitting beside her and throw her across the gym.
Wait… hang on…
Watching her vice president’s little performance, a thought struck Eriri.
Mami wasn’t only looking at her—Kasumigaoka Utaha was sitting right there, too!
She turned her head toward Utaha, who was still smiling brilliantly, and instantly confirmed her suspicion.
“You… you shameless woman! You bribed Mami, didn’t you?!”
As much as she hated to admit it, the reality was clear—her trusted vice president had defected to the enemy.
“Hm?”
Utaha blinked, then caught on to Eriri’s meaning. Her smile only widened.
That smile was so out of place that the girls around them thought their eyes were playing tricks on them.
The “Snow Woman of Toyogasaki” was actually smiling… happily?
They racked their brains, but could only recall two expressions Utaha normally wore: a blank, emotionless face.
Whether answering a teacher or reading quietly at her desk—and a look of pure disdain, like a queen looking down on her subjects.
That second one usually came with scathing words, and the only ones “fortunate” enough to experience it were the idiots who tried to confess to her.
To most students, the rooftop was the perfect place to confess—private, quiet, free from interruptions.
But when it came to Utaha, the process was reversed.
Boys confessed first, then went up to the rooftop… to cry.
Some even tried to jump afterward, though Toyogasaki’s rooftop had high chain-link fencing.
They never got far before someone pulled them down.
The place ended up serving a different purpose entirely: a quiet space for the brokenhearted to weep in peace.
It became a school legend—the rooftop where every corner had been soaked with tears. Someone even wrote a song about it.
‘A beautiful raven-haired girl, like a dream come true.’
‘Love crossed the night to reach my dreams, keeping me awake until dawn…’
‘A beautiful raven-haired girl, as if drifting from the heavens.’
‘Love rode the wind, lifting her black hair, making my head burn hot…’
‘Love, love, falling into the river of love.’
‘The beautiful raven-haired girl—she is love itself, keeping me awake, making my head burn…’
‘Love turned to legend, became tears on the rooftop, wetting a boy’s cheeks.’
‘Heartbreak rooftop—let me leap from it, for anything is better than her rejection.’
‘Heartbreak, heartbreak, shedding tears of heartbreak.’
It wasn’t exactly a masterpiece, but it moved Toyogasaki’s male population to tears.
And yes, plenty of girls cried too—after all, the boys who dared to confess to Utaha were usually the confident, high-caliber type.
The kind who, of course, had their own admirers.
Watching the guy you liked get crushed into despair by Utaha’s words… well, it stung.
But after comforting them and ending up together, those same girls’ moods tended to make a full 180.
In short, it was nothing short of miraculous to see Kasumigaoka Utaha smile like this.
‘Sawamura-san’s amazing,’ Eriri’s friends thought.
‘Even the Snow Woman can’t resist her charm!’
Of course, the truth was nowhere close to what they imagined—but the fact that Utaha was smiling because of Eriri was accurate enough.
After all, Eriri was the sunshine of her household.
Faced with Eriri’s accusation, Utaha wasn’t the least bit offended.
She cheerfully admitted it and began to look forward to what sort of chaos would unfold in the art club after the debate.
What would happen between that sharp-tongued vice president and Eriri? She could hardly wait.
“You’re despicable!” Eriri snapped.
Of course Utaha would be the master of underhanded tricks.
Tactics like this didn’t suit her at all—she was a princess who needed to take the high road!
Just like the first time she played a game with Kyousuke—crushing all schemes with sheer, overwhelming strength!
“Oh? Is Sawamura-san praising me now? Planning to surrender early? With such a polite attitude, I might just accept~”
Utaha’s eyes curved into crescents.
She could never get enough of Eriri in full angry-kitten mode.
“I wasn’t praising you, you shameless hag! Have a little decency, will you?!” Eriri’s temper flared hotter, the frustration boiling in her chest.
“It’s precisely because you have such a petite figure, Sawamura-buchou, that you were able to win the Tokyo Youth Award at such a young age! I’m sure the members of the archery club can relate, can’t you?”
From the stage, the art club’s vice president, Mami, spoke loudly and clearly.
Her words resonated with the archery club girls, who responded with enthusiastic applause.
It wasn’t just them—any girl involved in sports was nodding along and clapping in agreement.
“Therefore,” Mami declared, her braided pigtails swaying as her voice rang with conviction, “breast size absolutely does not represent justice. That notion is wrong from the very start!”
“Flat chests forever! Long live Sawamura-san!”
The third speaker for the opposition—who had been sitting there quietly with her head down, silently crying—suddenly lifted her face, pumping her fist and shouting at the top of her lungs.
“Flat chests forever! Long live Sawamura-san!”
With her as the lead, the opposition’s supporters roared in unison.
The shout was so loud it felt like the roof might blow clean off.
‘Traitor! Since when did you get bought off too?’
‘Is there seriously no one left who genuinely supports me?!’
Eriri’s nose practically twisted in anger under the weight of so many expectant eyes.
It felt like everyone around her was conspiring against her.
‘And another thing—you idiots! I’m not flat! My chest is way bigger than yours!’
She cursed furiously in her heart, but on her face she had to force a graceful, princess-like smile, acknowledging these so-called “supporters” who were, in reality, nothing but turncoats.
Humiliation.
Pure humiliation.
The golden-haired princess had long lost her initial smugness.
Now, her chest felt tight enough to make her cough blood.
Beside her, Kasumigaoka Utaha’s eyes were crinkled with laughter.
One hand propped her chin, her gaze never leaving Eriri’s face as she drank in every delicious shift in her expression.
Eriri’s small fists clenched tight, nails digging into her palms.
If it weren’t for the crowd, she would’ve smacked Utaha’s big, shameless, pervy chest several times—if only to help it grow even bigger.
But since she couldn’t use her hands, she did the next best thing: glaring daggers at Utaha.
It wasn’t much, but at least it let her vent a little and drown out the voices of the debate contestants.
That’s when she realized that this wasn’t a debate.
This was her public execution.
“Sawamura-san, did you forget your glasses again?” Utaha asked, smiling sweetly.
Faced with such a childish provocation, Eriri refused to dignify it with a response.
She kept up her death glare, hoping to emulate Kyousuke who could make both Kosaka Akane and Taki Tomoya drop to their knees with a single look.
She wasn’t aiming that high; she just wanted Utaha to wet herself in fear.
While the two reigning beauties of Toyogasaki locked horns in an absurd staring contest, the atmosphere in the center of the gym had grown even more heated.
Actually, at this point, “debate” was too generous—it was a full-on shouting match.
It started when the pro side began calling out members of the opposition one by one, asking if any of the “flat-chested” girls had ever been in a relationship, and if so, how many.
The merciless question immediately lit a fuse.
The flat side retaliated by loudly branding the well-endowed girls as “sluts.”
That was all it took for both sides’ supporters to form cliques and go to war.
The judges and moderators made a quick exit, leaving the venue entirely to the students—fully respecting “student autonomy.”
“So, what was the final result of that? I don’t remember hearing you and Utaha arguing about it after you got home,” Kyousuke asked quietly, seated in the Ruyi Dorm’s living room with Yamauchi Sakura curled up in his arms.
Since Utaha-senpai’s name had come up, they’d naturally started talking about that particular incident.
The whole thing had ended so anticlimactically.
Kyousuke had been ready for a drawn-out war—whether it was a frontal assault or behind-the-scenes sabotage, he was prepared to take the lead.
But when he got home after school, everything was eerily calm.
Eriri and Utaha acted as if nothing had ever happened.
Though it was late at night, Yamauchi Sakura grew more animated with every bit of gossip.
Her bright amber eyes sparkled with excitement, as if she wished she could drag the two women out of bed to join in the discussion.
“In the end,” she said, “someone suddenly asked, ‘Umm… could I ask if Sawamura-san or Kasumigaoka-senpai have boyfriends?’”
Her imitation was spot-on—calm eyes, flat tone, zero inflection.
Kyousuke immediately knew who it was.
“That one sentence shut both sides up. Utaha’s smile froze, and her expression turned exactly like Eriri’s. Pfft—hahaha!”
Sakura laughed so hard it was like she’d been there in person.
“Here, let me show you the picture.”
She twisted around, stretching one arm toward the sofa to reach her phone.
But from their current position, even with her little grunting noises, her fingers couldn’t quite reach.
The pose was ridiculous—like someone lying in bed trying to grab something off the floor, refusing to get up and instead lowering themselves into a clumsy push-up position, legs still stubbornly on the mattress.
That was exactly what Sakura looked like now.
She was reaching for her phone, but not for a second did she want to leave Kyousuke’s arms.
Honestly, it was less about getting her phone and more about snuggling closer to him.
Naturally, Kyousuke ended up retrieving the phone for her.
Sakura opened her photo album and tapped on an image.
The composition was deliberate—front and center sat Eriri and Utaha in the stands.
Both wore thunderous expressions, their cheeks puffed, jaws clenched.
The finishing touch was the crowd of students below, all staring at the two of them.
Judging by the timing, the shot was taken right after that infamous question.
And yes—the person who had asked it was Katou Megumi.
Kyousuke knew it not just because Sakura’s impression had been perfect, but because Megumi appeared in the other photos too.
Thinking back to the last Eriri–Utaha showdown, when Sakura had roped Naoka into live-streaming the event, he could piece together exactly what had happened.
Even if they didn’t attend the same school, there was no way Sakura would miss out on a spectacle she’d orchestrated herself.
The only question was whether Megumi’s question had been Sakura’s idea… or Megumi’s own.
Kyousuke stared at the photo on it Eriri and Utaha’s stormy faces, and Megumi’s serene, utterly unbothered one and pondered the mystery in silence.
