Kapitel 54: All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! – Chapter 51 – Iroha’s Club Time Is Not What It Used to Be
Sometimes, people ask me why I became the manager of the soccer club. My usual answer was that I just want to be helpful to my youthful senpais while they struggle to give it their best.
The truth is… OK, this will sound like a cliché, but the truth is complicated.
Being in the same club as Hayama so I could plot my seduction strategy? As much as I'd like to claim I am that cunning (I'm not, Senpai, shut up), I had barely met him before I took this decision.
Wanting to be seen as the kind of girl who would guilelessly say that earlier line? The meek, subservient, kind, earnest girl willing to go above and beyond just to be of use to others? Oh, that was a far bigger part. I mean, who would ever bully a girl like that? Who would dare ostracize her for her parents' divorce?
And if you believe that, you haven't met any high school girl in your life.
Because the answer to that is 'absolutely everyone.' That is, unless you change the question to 'who would bully a girl like that when she's got the backing of the school's soccer team, which just happens to be filled by sportsy, popular hunks that nobody wants to be on the bad side of?'
Yeah, that works far better as a defense against [overt] bullying.
(Unless your name happens to be Hachiman Hikigaya, who really didn't seem to care whose bad side he was likely to get on while relentlessly picking on the cute, younger girl adopted by the soccer club even as he also showed her the kind of gentle, casual deference that made my heart beat ever faster every time he wordlessly decided to carry my bags aaaaand now I'm blushing. Damn it, Senpai.)
All right, so that's my true, cunning, actual reason to be the manager of the soccer club. Really. That's the full extent of my dastardly designs, just another survival tactic to go through high school while minimizing the instances of the worst parts of middle school. It's perfectly reasonable. Not even that manipulative, when you think about it.
…
[Fine]. There's also the eye candy.
Sweaty, well-muscled men diving to the ground as their bare legs tangle with one another? Yeah, Ebina may be onto something.
And if one of them scrapes their knee and needs me to scold them for their carelessness as I fuss over them while bandaging said legs? I mean…
Look, hormones are a thing. A bothersome thing. A thing that keeps rearing up its impulsive head whenever I so much as catch a glimpse of bare skin, and it's gotten far worse now that the other half of humanity has gotten involved in messing with my mental balance. It used to be that I could browse the lingerie catalog without blushing, you know?
And…
No, this is a lie.
This is all a lie, and [he] won't let me get away with it.
With a sigh, I look up from my jersey-clad lap and at the soccer field, where Hayama, Tobe, and the other extras are drilling penalty shots.
They are wearing long-sleeved shirts and shorts that leave their legs bare and glistening under the low sun. They have trouble breathing, their clothes sticking to them as they wait for their turn or do a few laps to keep warm between drills. They are…
Honestly? All of them are [really] attractive. Yes, Hayama stands out; he's that handsome, but… But it's hard to be a teen who's in a good enough shape to be on this team and not be some flavor of hunk. As it turns out, height, muscles, and youth are a good combination; who would've known?
(And [he] started working out recently, but long ago enough that I can see [striation] when his chest tightens as he holds my naked body against his, and—[fuck!])
So, yeah, this is eye candy of the highest grade.
It's just that…
I no longer care.
It's… It's stupid. I know sexual attraction and romantic attraction are not the same thing. I know one can have celebrity crushes and still be perfectly faithful. I really, [really] know that I can find more than one person attractive at once even as I am deeply in love with…
This… This is all really confusing.
And the fact that I'm now looking at what used to be a guilty pleasure of mine and feel more boredom than anything else? Yeah, that's even [more] confusing.
Because, yes, I'm seeing glistening calves pumping up and down, but that just reminds me of Haruno waltzing into Shizu's bedroom, wearing an apron and a smile (that would've qualified as indecent all by itself), and… Well, the competition is kind of unfair, isn't it?
And then I see Hayama's warm, [rehearsed] smile as he waves at me and comes near to grab a white towel with which to dry his golden locks… And I instead remember a mouth that used to scowl more than anything else, but now tends to be set in that [intense] line that makes me want to bite my lip and rub my thighs together, and…
Yeah. Talk about [unfair].
"Iroha? Everything all right?" Hayama asks me with that concern that some may think genuine.
Mostly? Because it is.
It just isn't… [more].
"Could I trouble you for one moment?" I tell him with none of my cutesy adornments, the trappings of the nice, fake girl Mom taught me so well.
He arches an eyebrow, then looks behind at his teammates queueing at the goalposts.
"Sure. I think I could do with a small break," he lies with a comforting smile.
Because Hayato Hayama needs a break about as much as I need a second kunoichi uniform cosplay.
… I've been eyeing the Taimanin ones. I think I could pull a reasonably attractive Sakura Igawa.
If [he] complains about the bust size not matching, I'm siccing Shizu on him.
"Iroha?" Hayama asks me with an arched eyebrow.
… Damn it. I'm starting to copy his inner fugues, aren't I?
With a brief nod, I stand up and walk behind the corner of the gym's entrance, the sounds of the volleyball team practicing inside barely reaching us as I turn to face…
My first love, I guess.
"You really hate him, don't you?" I ask him.
He blinks in surprise. And then his eyes narrow in understanding.
"I don't enjoy it," he answers.
Which almost makes me smile.
"Of course you don't. Because you think he's a good person, and that you should [like] good people, and every time he makes your bile rise, you wonder if that's because you're, after all, as bad as you always believed yourself to be," I tell him with a rueful smile.
He doesn't answer.
He just… stares.
And, for once, I don't see his caring smile, or his concerned eyes, or even his confident smirk.
No, the prince of the soccer club just looks… lost.
Of course he does.
"No, Hayama, I haven't spoken to Haruno about you. This is all me," I reassure him.
"Haruno? Why would you talk with Haruno?" he says with what in another person may have been mild concern.
… Fuck.
"Haruno, Yukino… choose your poison. I was just trying to tell you I don't know about your sordid, past indiscretions," I try to barrel over my slip with a dismissive wave of my hand.
Which seems to work, given the way he's staring at me.
"You're… Acting different," he ends up saying.
And I, just with the left side of my mouth, smile.
"Acting?" I ask.
And he frowns.
"Yes. Acting." Not, 'You're different, Iroha,' or, 'You've changed,' or maybe even, 'You seem more mature.'
No. Just 'acting.'
Of course.
"Ah. So you knew," I tell him, forcing the words past the knot in my throat.
He nods.
"Is that… why you rejected me?" I stupidly ask.
"No. Not because of that," he immediately says, the concern once more going over his eyes.
Which really pisses me off.
"Of course not. I… We're getting off track. Look, this isn't… This… I am making a mess out of this, sorry."
"What is… this?" he asks.
Good question.
One answer is that this is me following a brief impulse when caught in the middle of an introspective mood.
Another is that I am trying to make peace with my past before leaving it behind once and for all.
Yet another is that this is what happens when [he] spends far too much time in my brain, and I get infected by his ever-present social suicide.
The truth? The truth is that… This is me being… me.
Though maybe a different kind of me.
"I forgive you," I tell him.
His eyes widen.
"Iroha, I'm sorry I couldn't return your feelings, but—"
"No. Not about that, you dummy. There's nothing to forgive in that. But I forgive you for being younger, inexperienced, and stupid. I forgive you for making a mistake when you didn't know better. I forgive you for betraying the one person you didn't want to hurt. I forgive you for… for being human, Hayama," I tell him, my smile as complicated as Mom says it shouldn't be.
He stares. He stares at me, and I can see the masks crumble, one after another, until there's a brief glint of hatred that gets swiftly replaced by guilt.
My smile… simplifies. But not in a way Mom would've wanted.
"I can recognize it, you know? The way you try to show yourself as the person you want to think you should be? It's… It's OK not to. It's OK to… to hate, and despise, and be angry and frustrated. It's OK to be… you," I tell him.
He takes a deep breath, and when he opens his blue eyes, there's…
I don't know what's there.
Which I guess is an improvement.
"You're not calling me 'senpai' anymore," he finally says.
I try not to blush at the title. I also bite my inner cheek so my smile doesn't turn into that silly, stupid, lovestruck thing I keep feeling creeping down on me.
"No. No, I'm not," I tell him with a tone far warmer and cheerier than the conversation warrants.
The tone [Senpai] brings out of me.
Then I pick something out of my pocket, and hand it to Hayama.
"Wha—" he panics.
"No. No, that isn't a confession. Give me that much credit at least," I tell him as I roll my eyes hard enough it's almost painful.
"Then—"
"My resignation. I'm too busy to keep attending the soccer club, and Akane was willing enough to take my place as the manager. I… Today's my last day with all of you."
He stares at the white envelope in his hands, then, after a far too long moment, looks up into my eyes with the sincerest smile I've ever seen on his lips.
It's… Not that long ago, it would've made my heart race.
Now…
"And you better go after Miura before she also gets stolen away from you," I tell him with a cheeky smile as I walk back to the playing field, leaving him behind in more ways than the merely symbolical—
"[Also?"] he asks.
… Fuck.
***
Club stuff.
He has [club stuff] to do.
And that's why I'm waiting for him by the school's entrance (because I'm [not] diving into the lair of his former harem until Haruno and Shizu indoctrinate me into their weird martial arts cult), just staring at my phone's messages (rereading far too many of them over and over) as the students sane enough to attend regular clubs walk by, some of them shooting me weird looks.
I skipped the last part of today's training because I was meant to be busy, not because I wanted everyone who knows I should still be there to look at me playing hooky.
Damn it.
['Good luck,'] Shizu's message says.
['Thanks. It's my first time meeting a boyfriend's parents, any hints?'] I answer her, eager for the distraction of conversation.
There's a pause.
A looong pause.
The 'Shizuka Hiratsuka is typing' prompt reassures me it's not an idle pause.
… It's starting to make me nervous.
['Just be yourself. But not too yourself. Which, in this particular instance, means to try and not seduce his younger sister with innuendo-laden dialogue.'
'Oh? Jealous?'
'Brat, I swear if you bring me yet another traumatized lover to deal with, we're gonna have words.'
'And shall those words include "yes," "please," "more," and "don't ever stop doing that thing with your tongue, Iroha?"'
'… I am working.'
'Not anymore ^_^'
'I hate so much that you're right…'
'Do you want me to pat your head and make it all better?'
'I don't know how you managed to make that sound obscene over text, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to know.'
'That's not an answer~'
'… I'm going to stop texting before somebody walks by, looks over my shoulder, and gets me fired.'
'Oh. Soooo… no sexy pictures?'
"What has he told you?!'
'… Absolutely nothing, but now I know what to ask him about.'
'…'
'Shizu?'
'Tell him I'll double the ratio if he doesn't snitch.'
'No. I'll tell him you told me to do the same thing you are doing, but that he should make some suggestions.']
At last, there's another pause.
Damn, the woman can type [fast]. It makes me wonder what other things her fingers can do.
You know, when not busy gliding through the hair of a sobbing girl who should've dealt with all her baggage by herself before trying to lose her Sapphic virginity.
I'm never gonna live that down…
At least, when his parents ask me, I won't have to lie about never having been with anyone other than him. I was about to rely on technical truths, but it turns out not even that is needed.
Unless you count sucking his cock while our other two girlfriends were in the same bed as us, doing—
['I'm far too afraid of that working well enough for his convoluted brain to trip itself into answering you. The short of it is that he told me that if I had to send more than three messages before he could answer, the fourth had to be a sexy picture.']
…
Senpai, are you a genius?
I mean, I know you're an embryonic Haruno, or close enough, so that question isn't that farfetched, but… Wow.
['I'm both in awe and in envy. I want copies.'
'Not while I'm working!'
'Party pooper.'
'… I really have to work, you know?'
'Stop running away and get into the robot!'
'You—how the Hell do you know that reference?!'
'Because, unlike some people who refuse to share cherished memories with me, I've been making an effort to educate myself so I can properly communicate with you two nerds.'
'… Please tell me you aren't roping Haruno into being an otaku. I need my oasis.'
'One would think you'd be happy to share your hobbies.'
'One would think I'd be happy not to have my hobbies dissected and over-analyzed to the point the joy is surgically removed from them.'
'… Our group is weird.'
'Right. How unexpected.']
I look at the mess of a rambling conversation Senpai's absence has forced on the two of us.
I keep smiling at every line.
It's… a vulnerable, sappy smile. One I don't think even Mom conceived to warn me against, because she didn't think any of us would ever make it again.
For some reason, I feel like crying, and laughing, and…
And sending a last message before I lose control while standing against the open gates of my high school.
['Shizu… I want the damn copies.']
She takes a moment to answer.
['I'm willing to make an exchange.']
My smile turns into a grin, the tears recede, and—
"I'm pretty sure that means somebody just got defeated. Please, don't say 'How amusing!' before you start cackling."
I turn to my right, to the direction of the school.
He's there.
Standing, unfairly taller than me, wearing his dark blue coat and an uninterested look that matches the tone of his quip.
Except not.
Because I meet his eyes, and they home in on mine, going through them, through me, [seeing] what I always hid from everyone, even from him, especially after he told me he saw it.
Because the thrill I get when… when he shatters my masks, when he sees the real me hiding behind them even as I keep acting up, pretending, performing… The way he makes me melt when none of that matters, when he catches all the hints of truth in the elaborate lies, how he makes me…
How he makes me find myself. How I see in his eyes the me that I was afraid I had lost.
People are walking by, not many, but plenty of those who had delayed in their club activities.
So I turn to face him fully, and grab the lapels of his coat like I did yesterday morning, in front of very few students who may not have been enough to get a rumor properly started, going by Hayama's lack of commentary.
Kawasaki is a good girl. Mental note taken.
"Iroha?" he says, a bit of the shy boy peeking out to look at the people stopping to stare at us.
"I love you," I tell him, that stinging in my eyes coming back at the same time as the smile. "I love you, and I want the world to know."
So I stand on my tip toes and reach his lips, the barest of my brushes against him setting him off as his arms engulf me, and he dips me back as his tongue comes inside of me, and my lungs burn about as much as my heart.
I don't know how our witnesses react. Can't know. Not when he's… like this. Focused on me, making me his yet again.
I just know that, without masks and with them…
I am loved.
And I am happy.
==================
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 85 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!
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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