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6.89% All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! [Oregairu, Poly] / Chapter 8: All right! Fine! I will take you! - Chapter 8 - Haruno’s Dull Musings

Chapter 8: All right! Fine! I will take you! - Chapter 8 - Haruno’s Dull Musings

As I dropped the phone I had just used to masturbate to the image of Hachiman tenderizing Shizuka's vagina beside my head on the sofa I was lying on, a single thought ran through my head:

[Yukino is going to kill me.]

Right now, I was staying at the little brat's flat while she found herself back home. Or, more likely, while she vacillated over what she should do and what did others expect her to do and if there was even a difference between the two notions.

My adorable little sister could be downright insufferable when she tried to act all high and mighty while barely disguising the utter and total lack of self-determination that lay right in the middle of most of her problems. So, as the one who had had to suffer her moods the most over the last few years, I felt justified in the spark of schadenfreude at knowing that I would have to clean her sofa off the results of me masturbating over the sexual escapades of the boy she thought she liked. It wasn't fair, it was cruel; some may even say it was monstrous.

But I remembered…

One of my first memories, one of the first things that I knew for a fact I did by myself rather than live through, was of me playing checkers with my little, adorable, clumsy, chubby Yukino. Houtarou, our acceptably eccentric uncle, had brought the western game home when I was little and played with me for a while. I had enjoyed it, so, when Yukino was the same age I had been at the time, I remember explaining the rules to her and letting her make the first move.

She looked seriously at the board until she finally picked a piece and pushed it. Straight forward.

"No, Yuki, you need to do it diagonally, see? Like this." I moved my own piece in a diagonal line and smiled at her, expecting her to correct her mistake. She nodded in that ever so serious way she still does up to this day, and moved a piece diagonally. The same one I just had.

"No, no, those are mine, you need to move the white ones. See? Those are yours, the black ones are mine." And she looked up at me and pouted, as if offended I didn't let her play with my pieces. So, trying to be a good older sister, I took the board and turned it around.

"Don't worry, it doesn't matter. You can have the black ones, I will just play the white side, okay?" I smiled at her, and my little sister smiled at me. I started feeling relieved at having solved the problem, when she grabbed a black piece and then a white one, and started putting them one over the other. And this was the first time I experienced dread.

I gave up on playing checkers and just made cheerful noises at my still roundish sister until I heard the main door open and mother's clacking steps at the entrance. I told Yukino to stay put, and I went to give my mother the grave news.

"Mom… Mom, there's something wrong with Yukino."

What follows in my memory is a blur of movement as she ran and did all those things young, proper mothers are supposed to do if one of their children may be in danger. I remember watching in anguish until mother took me to another room and sat me on her lap so I could tell her, in my own words, what the actual problem was.

So I told her. I told her I tried to play with Yukino like uncle Houtarou played with me, and that Yukino just didn't understand, even though I had been so patient and careful. That something that was supposed to let us have fun together as sisters had just shown me how Yukino wasn't at all able to do what I had done at her age, even though I had checked the photo albums to make sure she wasn't too young before I tried, so something [must] be wrong, because I had done everything right, and yet, Yukino, my little sister…

And then I was crying as my mother cradled me in her arms, rocking me back and forth until I calmed down. And when the tears ran out and I was too tired to keep the sadness in my face, when someone may have thought I had calmed down, mother explained it to me.

There was nothing wrong with Yukino. She was a normal child, no, a very bright child, it was just that I… wasn't.

I had always known I was smarter than kids my own age, it hadn't taken much to figure that out, but my sister… I had always hoped…

And my next memory is standing by the doorframe, watching as Yukino played with the black and white pieces of this game I no longer found fun on the floor, and thinking:

[How dull.]

Shizuka, you just had to leave me a melancholy mess again, didn't you?

Suddenly feeling restless, I get up from the couch (and I can't help an amused smirk at the wet spot I leave behind) to go to the kitchen, where I open the small cupboard I have appropriated and filled with alcohol. Because I can't get drunk, not really, but I can enjoy faking it.

As a proper Japanese family heiress, I should take the bottle of sake and enjoy sipping it from a sakazuki under the moonlight.

As a proper me, I take out the bottle of Pinot Noir. I am in the mood for something soft on the palate.

I go back to the sofa (and switch cushions) and let my head fall over the backrest as I stare at the ceiling while the bottle of Burgundy breathes. It may be an affectation, many people say it is unnecessary, but it also allows the wine to chill in the ice bucket I have prepared. Because letting wine breathe may be an affectation, but drinking it overly warm is the province of those that don't know that "room temperature" doesn't mean "warm." And that wine cellars tend to be much colder than modern homes.

Like Yurika.

Yurika was sophisticated, popular. The girl everyone either wanted to be or be with. Any other time and place, she would have ruled Sobu High School with a silk-clad iron fist. But Yurika was my age.

"I can't believe he still hasn't asked you out," I remember telling her, carefully omitting that Masanobu, the star of the soccer team (and wasn't that a stereotype that only needed blond hair to completely fit the mold), had already tried to ask me out already, and only my outright evasion had frustrated his attempts so far.

"I know! I mean, [look] at me." And I did. Despite her boastfulness, Yurika resembled much more a classical Japanese beauty than I did: slender of frame and immaculate, pale skin that almost seemed iridescent against her straight, ink-black hair. But she was a nouveau riche trying too hard to fit in whenever she visited me. I almost pitied her clumsy attempts.

I can't remember every single word we exchanged, because what I remembered was playing a game. Was this the right answer to seem mischievous without crossing the line into cruelty? Was this flattery timid enough to come across as shy admiration? Was friendship something you could fake until you made it?

But, even as I played that game with a bit more skill than young Yukino playing checkers, all that I could think was, once again, 'How dull.'

Until the day Yurika had been crying on my shoulder after she had finally gathered her courage to be rejected by Masanobu (that worthless fake), and I did what the rules of the game bid me do: I gently smiled, I patted her back soothingly, and cared for her like a small, distressed pet during a fireworks festival. Because I never meant any harm for Yurika, even if she frustrated me with her insincere adulation, with her empty admiration, with…

It was painful, to feel put on a pedestal even as I tried to play at normalcy, and a part of me resented her, but another had invested so much in trying to connect with her, trying to lower myself to her level of vapid gossip and uninteresting blabber, that I couldn't stand to see her hurt. Not my friend. Not like this.

But something was wrong about my play, because even as I felt offended on her behalf, I couldn't stop myself from letting out what I really thought about Masanobu, about good looks that were only skin thin, about his fake, vacuous platitudes, that made it so plain to see the boy wouldn't recognize a deep thought if it were handed to him by the Bodidharma himself, no matter how much he played at being the intellectual of our class with all those pretentious books he always liked to show off even if their spines were suspiciously unwrinkled.

And I lost the game.

Because Yurika at first laughed, eager to hear anything that made her unrequited crush unappealing and undesirable, but then… Then my complaints and insults hit far too close to home, and I could see it in her eyes, the moment she realized she wasn't that different from Masanobu, and that every dart I had thrown in his direction may as well have been aimed at her.

There weren't any fireworks, any explosive bursts of emotion or dramatic overreactions. She still let herself be comforted, and she thanked me afterward. But Yurika stopped coming by the Yukinoshita household shortly after, and it hurt, but I was also relieved at no longer having to put up with her clumsy attempts at graceful etiquette, and, in the end, once again, those two damned words. Unbidden. Unwanted. Familiar.

[How dull.]

They say drinking wine is an experience for all the senses. The taste, the aroma, even the texture on your palate play a part in it. Personally, when I am feeling moody, what I enjoy the most is the sight: the play of shifting light through ruby as I swirl it in my glass, the caustic network cutting through its shadow in scarlet… It has a mesmerizing, soothing quality. Sometimes, I think I could more easily get drunk on this than on the alcohol.

The taste is not bad by any means, of course. Not when it has such a price tag attached. A sip and a slight aspiration through wet, barely open lips makes the aroma bloom inside me, a burning touch that only leaves fragrance rather than embers, and I let myself savor the aftertaste. What would be proper for me to mutter now? A hint of oak and a strong aftertaste of red fruits?

As if I care about what's proper. No. As if I still cared.

And I remember her.

Yurika and I had exchanged our polite, fakely cordial greetings of the day, and I had retired to my seat to read a book with a leather jacket when I caught my homeroom teacher staring at me. I hadn't paid much mind to her yet. I thought she was amusing, a Japanese language teacher running around with a labcoat as if she felt the need to proclaim to everyone who listened that she was working as something she had never actually prepared for, and still doing a better job of it than most of the other staff. I smiled at her, and she frowned.

"Yukinoshita, could you come by during the lunch period?"

I froze. I had never been in trouble, and here I was, in the first trimester of my first year of high school, already being called out by my homeroom teacher. The rest of the class had fallen to silence and I caught Yurika's barely disguised glee at my predicament before I mumbled a polite acceptance. Ms. Hiratsuka's frown seemed to deepen, but she nodded and proceeded to do the roll call.

And lunch came, and I was in the staff room, facing a woman wearing what no longer seemed an amusing ensemble that wouldn't have been out of place in a yakuza movie, not with the way she languidly reclined on her seat as she took a drag of her cigarette.

"Relax, Yukinoshita, you are not in trouble."

And I let my shoulders fall as I faked accepting her words, and she shot me a glare at that.

"Let me take that back: you are in trouble, but not with me."

I didn't have to fake my confusion.

"Look, I know things are hard for you, but you are going about this in the worst way possible."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Ms. Hiratsuka."

She seemed about to chew on the cigarette filter before she caught herself.

"No, of course you don't." And she sighed, rubbing at her temple with her free hand. "Sorry for springing this on you, and you would be right to tell me to mind my own business… except you never would, would you?"

"I… would never be so rude to a teacher." And there was a bitterness at the admission that I didn't know the cause of. Not back then.

"No. You would. The actual you."

"The actual me? Is this a self-help speech?" And I bit back what I thought of those, and she barked a laugh that confused me.

"You could say that. Look, you will have to forgive me if I am blunt, but being roundabout about this will only make it harder for you: it's not because you are too smart."

And, for the first time in my life, somebody said something to me that I knew, absolutely, for certain, I would be unable to understand if they didn't explain.

"Wha…" I couldn't even finish the question.

"It may have started like that, and I am not saying there won't always be a trace of it with any of your relationships, because you [are] damn smart, kid. But that's not what's keeping you apart from them."

"Then… Then what is?" I asked, not knowing if I wanted to finally be able to win the game or… or something else. More.

"Yourself."

"That doesn't help. That makes it worse."

She paused to take another breath of purple smoke, and she let it out in slow, lazy whorls.

"Yes and no. Because you can't be less smart than you are, Yukinoshita, you never will, but you sure as hell can change the way you let it affect you."

There was more. More conversation, more words, but that line? That was the line that started it all. The line that gave me hope.

I stopped covering my books with fake jackets, stopped laughing at things I didn't find funny, stopped answering empty platitudes with the same coin. It took time, months, but one day I found myself letting go of a sarcastic quip in the middle of a group conversation and people laughed at it. With it.

They may not have understood everything I meant by it, every single reference and layer of meaning, but that wasn't my fault. It was no one's fault. It just was.

And I owed it to Ms. Hiratsuka.

The wine bottle has lost a third of its contents to my musings, and I am already feeling the slight, pleasant buoyancy of my senses delaying the coming of the world to my self. This is the stage where people let go of their inhibitions, where tongues are looser, where consequences fade into a distant future. This is the stage where I watch them and slur my speech that tiny bit that doesn't seem out of place, where I blink deliberately and giggle at inappropriate comments. It is its own kind of fun, being the observer, but it is also a stark reminder.

I fill my cup yet again, and I roll the stem between graceful, steady fingers.

And I remember the day I knocked on the staff room's door, only to find a harried Ms. Hiratasuka despairing over unmarked tests.

She always was that mix of maturity and childishness, of wisdom and foolishness, that I couldn't help but laugh at with my newfound freedom. I teased her from time to time, and she always played along, letting me probe the limits of… But I am getting ahead of myself.

"I see you are getting along better with your classmates," she said, after deciding that procrastinating was perfectly in character for her, even more so if she had the excuse of guiding one of her wayward students.

"I… I guess I am. Something's still missing, but at least it's not me." And she smiled. Warm. Soft. So caring it hurt.

"That's not a line I would have expected from you a month ago."

"Maybe you aren't that good at reading people, then," I answered with a cheeky grin. I was still unused to them, but they felt right in a way proper, and measured smiles never had.

"Careful, brat, the disciple has yet to surpass the master." And we both chuckled. And there wasn't anything missing.

We talked a bit more and ended up going to the roof to chat while she smoked her way through half a pack. I didn't like the bitter smell, but I liked her profile as she let smoke trail from her lips while she leaned her elbows on the low wall and the wind played with her long hair and her fluttering coat. Ms. Hiratsuka had always had a cinematographic quality to her, as if her natural habitat would have been a silver screen with a Vangelis song playing in the background. And I didn't know it back then, but it seems far too obvious now what it was that I felt as I kept looking at the way the orange sky tinted her glowing silhouette.

And then the conversation shifted and she told me what I was missing. The piece I lacked to complete my playset.

"Something genuine."

I looked at her, my lack of understanding still novel, and she elaborated.

"You are special, Haruno, but it's not special that you are." She gestured at the students leaving through the gates with her cigarette. "Each of them, each of you, is unique, has circumstances that set you apart. Maybe one of them works at the family diner to help a widowed mother make it through the month, maybe one of them is struggling with her studies, because she absolutely needs to get into that certain university where he is waiting for her, and maybe there's one who is trying to be as bright and cheerful as people think he is, because he cannot see how to fit any other way. All of you have stories, unique stories, that set you apart, but some learn how to reach across that distance."

She quieted down for a moment, as if remembering something.

"You have already managed that first step, Haruno, to stop hiding who you are, to offer what only Yukinoshita Haruno can, and the rest… The rest is not always up to you. You need to find someone who offers something that you want even as they reach for what you allow them to grasp. And that something, for someone like you, who can see through appearances, who knows that most people wear a mask, that something must be genuine."

I was mesmerized as the shifting clouds played the setting sun across her white skin and white coat, as the wind made colors deepen and brighten with each ripple. I was mesmerized by Ms. Hiratsuka's twilight figure.

I reached a tentative hand to grasp the sleeve of the arm that terminated in a glowing ember and purple, drifting whorls, and looked into dark, soft, warm eyes.

"Can I call you Shizuka?" I said, my voice trembling for maybe the first time since I told mother there was something wrong with Yukino.

"Of course, Haruno," she answered, as she cupped my face with a tender hand.

And I cried in her arms.

Half a bottle of wine should be enough to make me lightheaded and uninhibited. To make me giggle at the stupidest jokes and cry at any painful memory. My eyes are dry, maybe a bit too dry after unblinkingly staring into the pool of ruby twirling over my hand for too long.

Years passed. I was the formidable Yukinoshita scion who effortlessly took on every challenge a school could throw at me, to the quiet pride of the matriarch of my clan, the adulation of masses of students I found far too dull to concern myself with, and the ribbing of a teacher who took her job far too seriously and far too lightly. And I only enjoyed one of those three things.

I didn't hide myself, not anymore. At least, not in the way I had used to. I didn't conceal my wit in mild words nor my superiority in mediocre conversation, but I still played my game. I refined my maneuvers, my strategies, so that the mask only came on when I meant it to, when it served a purpose. Mostly, it was to hide disdain.

I couldn't help it, I was proud. Always had been, because that had allowed me to survive my separation, to point at something and proclaim to myself 'See? This is why. Because they are beneath you.' And so pain had mixed with pride, which had made it at least a bit more tolerable. Until I had found someone who understood, who reached for what I had to offer with a hand that had something I desperately wanted.

I wasn't nice, at the time, there was far too much bitterness, far too much rancor—and mother's expectations, knowing my future was already decided, didn't help matters. But I was, up to a point… genuine. And I had someone to be genuine with.

And so came graduation. And I swore to her I would keep in touch, even as Shizuka chided me about spending far too much time with a woman who was not as young as I was (because heavens forbid she even used the word 'older').

And I did.

I went to college to get that degree mother wanted me to adorn my future office with, and got drunk with friends that perhaps weren't as dull as my classmates had been, maybe because people in college are smarter or maybe because they were finally growing up to the point where they could finally start to catch up, but there was always that spark they lacked, always that thing that still kept me apart and made me resort to my mask far more often than I had meant to.

And mother kept dragging me to gatherings of heirs, to further calcify what remained fluid of my future, and they were all so [dull.]

So I lost my virginity.

It wasn't a big deal. My friends had invited me to a mixer where I faked being as drunk as them till a cute guy who had a fiancée and wouldn't bother me a week after the fact decided to chivalrously escort me to a taxi and then dragged me to a love hotel. I almost laughed at him, but I had a mask to uphold.

The act itself was a bit disappointing. No fireworks behind my eyelids, no masterful playing with my body teaching me things about myself I had yet to learn. Just… release. Meaningless, fun, and, up to a point, satisfying release. Now I knew what the big deal was, and I found I didn't care much for it. Not with all the complications it entailed.

And the boy was promptly discarded. And Shizuka wasn't.

Now that I was of age, we met for drinks far more regularly than she could afford. It turned out my idolized teacher was even more of a mess than she had let on through our early friendship, but even as my rosy glasses finally dropped after the umpteenth time she started ranting about the latest scummy guy who had somehow talked his way into her apartment (among other things) only to turn out to be a predictable disappointment, I didn't find my fondness decreasing. Shizuka was fallible, scatterbrained, prone to trusting far too quickly and to rash decisions that she ended up regretting. Shizuka was not a perfect, gallant figure who only offered sage advice as she helped a young girl mend herself into a semblance of a functional person before it was too late. Shizuka was human.

And she was genuine.

And so I kissed her.

Her rant had ended at the same time as the last bottle of beer, and we had been silently walking through Chiba Port Park. The chill of the night had made it natural for us to huddle closer till she ended up covering me with half her coat, and I turned to see her silhouette glowing with moonlight, the silver light so apt, so perfect for her and her alone, that I found myself reaching up before I knew what I was doing. What I was going to do.

Maybe, for the first time in my life, I had been drunk.

Her taste carried tobacco, beer, and far too many salty snacks. Her lips were dry and her clothes smelled like she tasted, but I didn't care, because it was her, only her, that mattered, and everything else was forgotten in that perfect moment where I finally did understand what it actually was that made sex appealing, what it was that could maybe bring me far more than satisfying release. And my tongue danced with hers as my arms draped around her neck and my body molded to her own, my soft curves against her contained ones. And I finally understood what it was that young Haruno had really asked Shizuka on that rooftop three years back.

And so did Shizuka. And her palms reached up to my shoulders and gently, softly, lovingly, broke my heart.

"You don't want this," she told me, and, for the first time since we met, I knew Shizuka Hiratsuka was lying to me.

"I do. I had… I didn't know, but I have wanted this for so long, I have wanted this so much. Shizuka, please." I had never begged before. Never have since then. It was useless, after all.

"Haruno," she reached up, and her fingers trailed down my hair until her tender palm cradled my face once more, "you have a future. A family to make. A woman can't be by your side."

"I don't want it. Not at this cost. Not if it means I don't have you."

And she looked into my eyes. And maybe she believed me, but I think she didn't.

"But I do."

And that was it, wasn't it? Shizuka Hiratsuka wanted a family, and I couldn't give it to her. Not the way she had dreamed about, with a doting husband and father of her children. But that was the second time she lied to me.

Because she did want that, she always had, but the real reason, the one I could see behind a façade she had never before worn in front of me, was that she didn't think it was right. She thought she would be taking advantage of me, her former student she had helped grow out of her shell into an actual, quasi-healthy individual.

And she was a woman who, more than anything else, wanted to always do the right thing. And I wasn't right, so she wouldn't do me.

I guess wine does make me a bit crass, after all.

We talked long into the night before we separated at the station. As the train carried me away and I stared at her white coat trembling with the passage of the vehicle, as I looked at the mask covering Shizuka Hiratsuka, the two words came unbidden after having rested so long.

How dull.

We still meet for drinks, still have fun, still play around at the batting cages from time to time. But it's never been the same, it's always felt like there's that tiny bit of distance that shouldn't be there, and I don't know if it's because Shizuka's wary of me or because I am disappointed in her, but it hurts, and sometimes I will pretend I didn't see her message me because I don't know how to answer, even if Haruno Yukinoshita is precisely the kind of woman who never wants for the right word.

And then we met Hachiman.

He's… hilarious, actually. A wrecking ball in any social field he deigns step in, and he marches forward without any of my subtlety, but…

["It's not because you are too smart."]

And she was right. Because he isn't. He's maybe as bright as Yukino, but… But he approaches things, understands things, in just that way that I can see myself doing. And he's clumsy, inexperienced, the proverbial bull in a china shop, except that he tends to break precisely what he means to, and I can see how my Yukino is finally getting a clue about how to be a real girl, something I haven't managed after years of telling her that not being the heir and being able to choose her own [future is a good thing!]

I am so damn tempted to stain the damn sofa with what's left in my cup…

But maybe he's far too much like me, because he fell for Shizuka just like my younger self did.

And maybe he isn't, or maybe he's profiting off my experience, because he's dragging her toward what she wants.

And I don't know whether to smile at having triumphed over that particular hurdle or do something far more undignified at not having managed it when it was my turn to try.

So I lay back, only half a cup of wine left and a now dry spot where I rest my legs, and take my phone. On the screen, I can see the recording of Shizuka's face as she is pleasured by her lover, because I have erased what comes after. Our conversation.

"It won't last."

"How can you say that? After what he just did?"

"Haruno, he's young, full of hormones. Sooner or later he will realize he's making a mistake and leave me for one of the other girls orbiting around him. It will be better for him when he does."

"I don't care about what's better, and neither should you."

"Then what should I care about?"

"What's genuine."

And I almost cry at the words, and she doesn't say anything more, letting the silence stretch while I try to make it so my voice stops being so raw with emotion after the best sexual experience of my life and the latest pang of betrayal from my teacher and friend.

"I am sorry, Haruno." And she is, but for all the wrong reasons.

There are more words, but I feel too petulant to remember them. I have erased that part of the video for a reason.

So I let the video of what should have been a happy, triumphant memory show me their faces: Shizuka's vulnerability, Hachiman's determination, their… their love.

And I drop the phone, barely stopping myself from doing the same with my cup, and stare at the ceiling.

"How dull," I say.

But I don't believe it.

==================

This work is a repost of my second oldest fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/all-right-fine-ill-take-you-oregairu.15676/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 82 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Brain-chan's intrusions into Hachiman's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: aj0413, Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, and Xalgeon. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and help me keep writing snarky, maladjusted teenagers and their cake buffets, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!


Chapter 9: All right! Fine! I will take you! - Chapter 9

Some may think that the phrase "Hell is other people" reflects a loner's quintessential perspective. That is naïve.

If it was true, a loner would almost perpetually live in a state where he easily avoided Hell just by following his own nature, yet, as we all (whose chuuni phase have led us to study foreign religions) know, the nature of man is sin, and thus we are irrevocably led to Hell (and some priests may even rejoice at it, the wine-sipping, clearly homoerotic, weirdoes). Loners, then, are also sinful by nature, and prone to dive deep where angels fear to tread even if there are no traumatized robot pilots there (pilots, plural: the 'masturbating over a comatose girl' one is pretty likely to end down there). Then, if not others, what is Hell for a loner?

That question is easy to answer: himself.

Or, at the very least, inhabiting a body that is obviously a resentful, petty bastard. How unexpected, Body-chan; I wonder where you have learned this baffling behavior?

"Stop wincing like that, brother; it's just muscle soreness. If you did more exercises than stretching on the couch, you would already be used to it." Komachi's utter lack of pity cuts me deep. Or, at least, I assume it does. It's hard to tell at the moment.

"If more exercise just results in me getting used to unimaginable, excruciating pain, I am glad I have avoided it as much as possible." The Monster of Logic has spoken.

"Don't you bike to school?" The Monster Slayer deals a finishing blow.

"Gods, don't remind me I have to pedal… uh…"

"What is it?" Komachi looks up at me while munching on her piece of toast like an anime girl about to crash into her destined soulmate while running late to class. Great, another pest to take care of.

"I… May have left my bike at school."

"What? Why?"

"Because… I kinda left by car."

"By car? What do you… oh. Oh. [Oh."] Each 'oh' is accompanied by a different color going in succession through Komachi's face. White. Red. Green. Is this some kind of code? Are you displaying how your whole being is primed and tuned to communicate your feelings to your older brother? I am touched, Komachi. Deeply touched.

Not like that. Perverts.

"So, I better get a headstart if I don't want to be late! Later, sis!" And I flee like a coward from the dead look in her eyes that in no way at all signifies me meeting my premature end due to kitchen knife. That decisive maneuver is very praiseworthy of me: cowards are exceptionally intelligent beings, as is clearly shown by every hotblooded shounen protagonist ever being a braindead moron. Source: me.

And Shounen Jump, I guess.

I run up the stairs (by which I mean I hobble and hiss at a slightly hurried pace) to get the rest of my things, because I didn't think to get everything in a single trip due to habit. Habit-chan, I think we have an unhealthy relationship, and we should reconsider it. No, I don't care how many anime seasons I have finished due to your help, there are more urgent concerns in our near future.

Like checking my phone [before] I get down to eat breakfast. Because, like a moron, I didn't think what being Shizu's boyfriend implies first thing after waking up.

It is with dread and apprehension that I approach the ominous device lying by my bedstand, now that I am awake enough to remember the danger it entails.

['Good morning!'

'Hey, did you do your morning exercises?'

'It also helps. Even if you already feel sore, it will feel worse if you stop exercising till it goes away.'

'And remember to stretch.'

'Don't force it, though. It would do more harm than good.'

'Try the dynamic stretches. The static ones may be too harsh.'

'Are you already on the way?'

'Hey, did you forget your phone at home?']

I carefully count the messages and a smirk that would probably have Yuigahama muttering 'gross' in a quasi-religious litany blooms in my face. Coincidentally, said blooming is heralded by the withering of something pure and innocent caught unaware.

Every time you masturbate, God kills a kitten, ya know?

So, with a look that would make a potato chip-eating mass-murderer flush with pride, I send my reply.

['Eight messages. You know the rules.']

And so do I.

I sit on my bed to recover my flagging forces and ponder whether doing actual exercise is as bad an idea as it sounds. Before I have arrived at an answer, Shizu's own does.

A single picture, showing a woman with a reddened face hidden by her hands, wearing striped dark blue and light gray button-up pajamas, except that the pajamas have been unbuttoned and the shirt lies open, showing the middle line of her body, including a hint of both nipples and a wonderful expanse of cleavage pushed up by her elbows.

Another 'ding' and another picture arrives, this one framing her bitten lip and a breast so tightly clutched her fingers leave visible indentations with only the very tip of a pink nipple escaping from between them.

All right. Fine. I will do my damn exercises.

***

A thing nobody tells you about forcing your body past your limits and then dealing with the crippling aftereffects is that it has some advantages. For instance, when having homeroom with your gorgeous Christmas Cake teacher whose almost naked body you have had the pleasure to sample the past couple of days, it is far easier than it should be to focus on your unbearable pain rather than on what, at any other time, would be cause for Standard Adolescent Male Gait Number Two. Thus, I have finally uncovered the secret behind the action shounen hero's usual chaste demeanor.

The poor bastards.

I try, very hard, to communicate to Shizu with my eyes that we are in public and should restrain our desperate, mutual lust for each other's bodies so as not to tip off any casual observers. It seems to work, because she barely looks in my direction, nor stutters when she says (without a hint of breathiness nor longing in her voice) my name during roll call, nor blushes cutely when I say 'present' with the tone of the deep-voiced bastard, nor spontaneously proclaims our forbidden love to the rest of the class during the long hour before the actual lessons start.

I am feeling a bit lonely, actually.

The rest of the morning goes by without any major incident. Yuigahama is sending me anxious looks throughout the lesson, but that's perfectly normal after what happened yesterday and I don't have anything new to share with her that would ease her anxiety, so, as soon as the lunch bell sounds, I drag my mangled body out of the classroom and head toward Iroha's class, where I can share something new that will ease someone's anxiety. Not mine, though, that's for sure.

I am slightly surprised to see her halfway there, but as her eyes lock on mine with an intensity that from now on I will always associate with nosy, fate-tempting little sisters, the reason is made clear: Iroha was looking for me. How comforting.

Not.

Before we actually meet in the middle of the hallway, I gesture with my head toward the nearest stairs and, taking advantage of my legs treasonous disposition toward the rest of my body's current campaign to depose me, I start climbing them with barely any more pain than it takes me to breathe.

Which is still a lot of pain. No, I am not exaggerating. I will have you know that it is a belief held far and wide that my judgment is wholly unbiased and never has been compromised by pettiness in any way. My notebook of names to kill is a testament to my impartiality and devotedness to the ideal of justice itself. I am a very admirable individual—Yukinoshita's name is only mentioned about a hundred times.

Note to self: start burning stupid notebooks before ever letting Shizu set foot inside my house. He who controls the past controls the future.

When I finally reach the top landing, I turn around and wait for Iroha to catch up, which she does after a few minutes. Uh, she must be really out of shape, because her face is far too red and her breathing far too erratic to be healthy. Well, I shouldn't call undue attention to it. I am known for my abnormal adherence to politeness and consideration, after all.

An utter lack of is also abnormal, you know?

"Iroha," I greet her, hopefully masking my nascent anxiety attack at the incoming discussion.

"Sen—Hachi," she replies, still out of breath, looking around the stairs' landing with wild eyes. She must be afraid to be seen in public with me, as expected of my foxy junior.

"So, before you ask, I spoke with Shizu." I say, cutting to the heart of the matter before I have a chance to run away. Yes, I am an idiot, why do you ask?

"You did?" And her eyes widen even more than they already were. Uh. She may need to lie down at this rate.

"Yeah. At first she wasn't thrilled with the idea, but she finally changed her mind," I try to shrug nonchalantly, but I end up wincing at the reminder of the rebellion currently keeping my movements in check. Body-chan, traitors are only fit for execution, you know? Or for becoming the right hand of the ninja dictator, I guess.

"Are you… are you all right?" It looked like she was about to ask something else, but I don't know what. Whatever it was, the change of topic is more than welcome.

"Sorry, it seems I pushed past my limits yesterday and now I am paying the price." Yes. Training montages. A far safer conversation than our arrangement for consensual voyeurism.

"Your limits?" Iroha seems to have picked up on my eagerness to change the topic and is faking an intent curiosity on my training routine. As expected of my foxy junior's foxiness.

"Yes. Between the Herculean efforts I underwent and the outlandish postures Shizu taught me, it's a wonder I can even walk."

"Wha—you mean—so you… [convinced] her?" Dammit, I thought we had a silent agreement not to discuss that any further, Iroha. Such a sudden, yet inevitable betrayal. As expected of my foxy junior's foxiness.

"Well," I think about it. Haruno's voyeurism (am I some kind of anomaly gathering attractive women with that fetish? I guess it beats having a crab steal your bodyweight, but it's still weird) definitely played a part, but… "Yes, I guess you could say I convinced her after hours of grueling effort and manly sweating." She definitely seemed to like my willingness to exercise, weird as that may be, so I am taking the credit. No, the cunnilingus as a spectator sports scene is definitely not the main motivator behind her change of heart, my agony is.

Damn sunk-cost fallacy…

"Hours?" Iroha is swaying on her feet and looking a bit pale. Geeze, she really does need to take better care of herself if the mere mention of exercise feels that imposing.

"I mean, almost two, but it sure felt longer." No need to brag after all. Though Iroha seems to still be quite impressed, because she grabs the handrail as if desperate for a lifeline.

"Senpai is amazing…" she whispers, possibly unaware. Well, now it's me the one who is blushing. Really, it's not such a big deal.

"I wouldn't say that much… This is only the beginning, after all. I need to improve my stamina a whole lot." And her eyes go wide as she stares at me with an even deeper blush crawling up from her chest before she slowly drops down to her knees, panting with effort.

I guess she [really] is out of shape, after all.

Maybe I should give her Shizu's training tips?

***

Iroha really needs to start exercising, because she was positively shivering when I managed to help her up. Though it was a bit weird that she then bolted so suddenly after I promised to contact her after I set things up with Shizu.

She must recover quickly. I wish I could say the same.

After thinking it over for a few minutes (that is, anxiously pacing up and down the stairs, because the landing is too narrow, while worrying at my lip with my teeth), I decide to bite the bullet and send a message to Shizu that should persuade her without putting her in any inconvenient situations if someone is nearby when she reads it.

['Iroha's "tutoring session" at your place after class?']

There. Noncommital, casual tone, putting the weight of the decision on her shoulders and letting her back off before this whole thing explodes in my face. Perfect.

Also, [what the Hell am I even doing?!]

Oh, an almost immediate reply. How unexpected. Not.

['All right. You know the address.']

Uh, I guess it would be suspicious if she took us both in her car. Also, really, Shizu? [Really?] What even happened to "Are you suggesting I have a threesome with two underage students?" That was only yesterday, you know? There's a limit to how quickly you can change your mind.

['And drop the quotation marks. I almost had a heart attack, you moron.']

Uh. Yes, that may not have been that smart. In my defense, I am not used to casually mentioning the possibility of having a pseudo-threesome with my teacher and junior via texting.

I think I need to meditate on how the order of the world has shifted and whether or not I am trapped in a reality where my current life makes [sense]. And, if that's the case, what will it take so that they don't extradite me back to my homeworld.

['And stop using that voice in class. I almost had a heart attack!']

Ah, so it [wasn't] ineffective. Good. Now that my mood has been improved (and I have something to focus on other than my encroaching panic attack), I am feeling magnanimous enough to reply.

And my sudden smirk is not gross. Shut up, inner Komachi.

['That was the third message in a row. Dangerous] ~"

There's a pause in her barrage. Weird.

['… You are awful. Now I am blushing in the middle of the staff room for apparently no reason.'

'Think how much worse it would have been if you had to strip to send me a photo.'

'I would rather NOT think about that.'

'Not now, you mean?'

'… See you later.']

Heh. Score one for the deep-fonted bastard.

Now, to recruit Iroha. Something that will go smoothly and without any unpredictable sources of further stress. Mostly because it's her own damn idea, and she should be the one stressed out of her mind rather than making me deal with it and act as a go-between like some kind of socially adept being who tends to say 'Yukinon' with a background of white lilies. Damn her foxiness.

['Study session at Shizu's place after school. I will send you the address.']

There. Direct. Concise. Informative. Completely devoid of any hint of inner turmoil at the growing realization that I have an active sex life and I am basically setting up a booty-call involving a teacher that is not a MILF only because of a slight obstetric technicality and a junior that is not a loli only because I am not a goddamn degenerate.

Despite all evidence pointing to the contrary…

['Al7l rigHt']

Uh? What is that, some kind of secret code? Should I reply with 'El Psy Congroo' so she doesn't learn I am part of the Organization?

['I will be there. Sorry. Dropped phone.']

How weird. I wonder what she was doing with it; schoolgirls rarely put in jeopardy their foremost source of likes.

I mean, I could imagine some circumstances in which Iroha could be handling her phone with just one hand, maybe looking at certain pictures while her red face and ragged breathing are pretty much the same as when her senpai dragged her to the very place where she witnessed him being orally serviced by his older teacher, only this time the two of them are alone and—

Oh.

[Oh.]

I am a moron.

And I shouldn't text her to ask what she's doing and whether she has a good view from there.

[Anyway,] everything is set up (and I most definitely am not internally screaming at the sheer magnitude of everything I have set in motion), and now I just need to avoid Yukinoshita and Yuigahama for the rest of the day so I don't have a heart attack while trying to weasel out of any unnecessary explanations. What could go wrong?

Said he, definitely repressing the memory of Komachi's interrogation.

***

Obviously, what went wrong is that I find Yuigahama blocking my entrance to the classroom when I return to get my forgotten lunchbox. Because of course the day where every motion brings me untold amounts of physical agony would be the day where I become a cutely forgetful character. Look, how endearing, he has forgotten his lunch, so he is triggering an encounter flag.

Of course, that would be one of those visual novels where the protagonist's face is more carefully hidden than his mosaiced genitals. Just so players can still keep that 'cute' impression in their minds rather than being scarred for life at my Hachiman levels Hachimanness.

Tee-hee. Not.

"Hikky, can we talk?" The anthropomorphized puppy asks me, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket and looking up into my eyes from beneath her bangs.

Oi, that's a dangerous look, you know? A man can get the wrong idea if you whisper his name like that.

Or the right idea. Which is even worse.

"Sure. Do you want to get lunch outside?"

She looks at me with surprise before she nods and lets out an energetic "Uhn!"

… Don't pat the Yuigahama. It's still sexual harassment, no matter how much you want to. I mean, she wants to.

No, that doesn't make any sense.

Before I can get caught up trying to decipher my own thoughts regarding Yuigahama's petability, I grab my food and start walking to my spot beside the tennis court, trusting her to know my habits. It's not long after that I hear hurried footsteps behind me.

"You could have waited up for me!"

"Yes, I could have. So?"

She looks at me with the most adorable angry pout I have ever seen that doesn't belong to Komachi. I am sorry, Yuigahama, you are good, but you are fighting an unfair battle. Some people just have innate advantages that make light of anybody else's blood, sweat, and tears to the point where only bleaching your hair blond and screaming at the top of your lungs would allow you to compete on their level.

Even shounen recognizes the caste system.

When we finally sit down, the slight breeze sends a shiver down my spine that, paradoxically, allows me to relax. The wind at this time and place is familiar, and that's what's been missing throughout my day since I woke up: something normal, something that doesn't care about the colossal changes my life is currently undergoing. Something ephemeral, yet more constant than the current me.

Yuigahama hugs her arms beside me, and I take off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders with only a small wince at the forced motion of my shoulders.

And she stares at me, wide-eyed, almost fearful. Oi, what's the matter, I just…

Oh.

Dammit, deep-voiced bastard, isn't even utter agony enough to keep you away from my body? How am I even supposed to fight genjutsu of this level? Pain is supposed to be better than 'kai!'

"Thanks…" she mutters, staring at the ground with cheeks flushed and clutching my jacket around her.

Oi. That CG better be in the Recollection Room.

"Don't mention it," I reply, and she mutters and nods, still trying to outcute Komachi due to her competitive streak. It's futile, Yuigahama; I'm warning you not to waste your efforts.

"So, I guess this is about Yukinoshita?" I say after the silence stretches long enough that she should have said something already. Aren't you the one who is able to manage people, Yuigahama? Where are your top-caste skills when I need them the most?

"I… Yes. Sorry, but… What are you planning, Hikky?"

And I look up at the sky, a single, greyish cloud drifting in the same direction of the intermittent breeze.

"I am not sure yet. But I will need your help for the final step."

"You will?" she says, warm surprise on her face that squeezes my heart.

"Of course. Who better than Yuigahama Yui to handle Yukinoshita Yukino?" Don't answer that, Yui, please. Or, at least, lie when you do.

"I am not sure I am… But I will do it! If you need my help with Yukinon, I will be there!" And she smiles, radiant, as if I've handled her the most precious gift I could have offered her just by telling her I am counting on her.

And I wish I had, but…

I am such a bastard.

"Thanks, Yuigahama. I knew I could count on you." This, at least, is the truth, because everything I plan on doing hinges on you being you. On Yuigahama Yui being the caring, self-aware member of our little trio, the one who holds us together even when we do our best to drift apart. And I will be taking advantage of that.

"Well, that's it then. Let's eat!" And now she's cheerfully digging into her bento.

"Just like that?"

"Uh? What do you mean?" At least have the decency not to adorably bite down on the tip of your chopsticks when you look at me with head-tilted confusion!

"You wanted to know what I was gonna do, didn't you? You just asked what I am planning."

"Yeah, but why would I want to know about every complicated step? If you already know you will need my help, that just means you are already doing what you need to do, so I will just have to be there when you tell me."

And she smiles, as if she has just told me something so obvious it's funny she even has to say it. And I can only look at her in wonder.

"You are amazing, Yuigahama."

"Eh?! I don't—I don't think I am! Really, this much is normal!"

"There's nothing normal about you."

"And now you switched to bullying me?!"

"Just a little."

"There's nothing little about calling me abnormal!"

"To be fair, there's nothing little about you either."

Ah. I said it.

See what you did, deep-voiced bastard? Now Yuigahama is blushing like an affronted tsundere and refusing to meet my eyes. Is this what you wanted, to kick the human puppy to show how completely irredeemable you are to the audience?

"Hikky, gross…" she mutters after a while, her arms wrapped tight around her chest and under my jacket.

And I lean back, my body precariously supported by my rebellious arms as I look at the single drifting cloud.

"Of course I am, Yuigahama. Of course I am."

***

The rest of the day is mercifully unremarkable until the end of the classes, when I walk out of the school like… Like I don't know what, and that's part of the problem.

Common male wisdom suggests I should be giddy at the prospect of handling two beautiful girls at once. That being said, common male wisdom has seen a steady increase in divorce rates in the past years, so it may not be that wise after all, so let's try to think things through rationally.

Shizu is interested in doing sexual things with me. I don't know what the limits of that interest are, nor how to test them without risking our current arrangement.

Iroha is obviously turned on not only by the situation but by me in particular. I almost have to slap myself to stop me from rationalizing away her reactions, but I know what happened yesterday at the rooftop and I realize at least a part of what may have happened today at the top of the stairs.

They both have agreed to this, but haven't spoken to one another, just using me to set it up. Thus, the responsibility for the outcome is mine, because without me nothing would have happened. Or, at least, that's what they will think if this ends up in disaster. And I better stop this train of thought before I get paranoid, cynical, and semi-cunning about it.

So, two willing women attracted to me, a nebulous agreement, and, I guess, a deciding factor that hasn't yet been taken into account.

What the Hell do I actually want?

Besides[ that], Brain. You aren't helping.

I take my bike out of its parking spot and push it toward the entrance where, to my surprise, I find a wild Iroha waiting with a bag in her hands. As soon as I reach her side, she hands it to me.

And I take it. Without even considering it, without even realizing my arm has twinged with discomfort at the gesture and sudden weight.

And she shyly smiles up at me as she starts walking by my side, both of us heading to something unknown and new, that may be a little frightening but also a whole lot exciting. Something we will… share with one another.

Ah.

So this is what I wanted.

How sappy of you, Hachiman. How sappy.

==================

This work is a repost of my second oldest fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/all-right-fine-ill-take-you-oregairu.15676/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 82 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Brain-chan's intrusions into Hachiman's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: aj0413, Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, and Xalgeon. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and help me keep writing snarky, maladjusted teenagers and their cake buffets, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!


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