Nyamu chuckled, her crossed legs beneath her short skirt switching positions with deliberate grace. "Oh my~ Exchanging lives... how heavy~"
She directed her gaze toward Kazama Haru, who leaned back in his chair diagonally opposite her. "So, Manager-san, have you also entrusted your life to Sakiko?"
"That's right."
Kazama Haru replied with an easy smile. "Our band shares that kind of fate. If you decide to join, it's like placing your life as a chip on this gambling table called Ave Mujica."
"How scary~" Yuutenji Nyamu's voice lilted with theatrical charm.
"But it doesn't sound bad at all, does it? How about we take a gamble together, the three of us?" Due to her excitement, Yuutenji Nyamu's words slipped unconsciously into a slight Kumamoto dialect—that rural warmth bleeding through her carefully cultivated idol persona.
"But~ there's still one condition before I sign this contract obediently."
"A condition... tell me?"
Togawa Sakiko's eyebrows rose slightly. She had thought the cooperation discussion was already settled, yet here at the critical moment before signing, Nyamu suddenly shifted the game board.
"The condition is this person right here—Tokyo's Sword Saint-sama."
Nyamu pointed a slender finger directly at Kazama Haru, her eyes glittering with a greedy, excited light—like a cat who'd spotted something far more interesting than a simple contract.
"My ambitions are huge, you know? Since the contract doesn't forbid side work, I plan to keep growing my account properly."
"So, Manager-san, my request is very simple~"
"As long as you agree to appear in a few of the videos I film, to help me gain some popularity, then I'll sign right here."
"This..."
Hearing that her request essentially forced Kazama Haru into public-facing content, Togawa Sakiko's expression grew troubled immediately. After a moment of hesitation, she cast an inquiring glance toward him.
"Is that all?"
Kazama Haru smiled and shook his head gently, signaling to Togawa Sakiko that it was no big deal.
"As long as Nyamu can promise to really work hard in Ave Mujica—truly treat the band as her career and work together with everyone toward performing at Budokan—what does it matter if you use me for some popularity?"
He had roughly anticipated this request.
At the same time, to help her achieve her "wish" of becoming a "multi-talented artist" and fundamentally eliminate any motive to disrupt Ave Mujica's carefully constructed worldview, even if she hadn't made this request now, after the band's activities began, Kazama Haru would have exchanged abilities like [New Media Operations] and [Artist Brand Packaging].
He would actively provide the support she needed, accompanying her step by step as she grew into a national artist dominating screens across Japan.
Thus, this resilient Kumamoto girl—who, like wheat, only grew stronger the more she was stepped on—would surely earn that fortune and, through legitimate means, become the proud "family hero" she dreamed of being.
"Also, Nyamu, you don't seem to fully understand my worth..."
To secure Yuutenji Nyamu's commitment to the band and demonstrate his value as their future manager, Kazama Haru decided to reveal a bit more.
"Since you're so sensitive to online traffic, I wonder if you've heard of a highly popular barista at the Mame no Mori coffee shop in Hongo-cho? They say he has magical hands."
"Ah! That was super popular online a while back, wasn't it?" Nyamu's eyes sparkled with recognition. "Although his face wasn't shown in any of the promotions, because of him, that shop has consistently topped the coffee shop rankings in all of Bunkyo Ward."
"I remember the name was... um, Kaze... Kaze...?"
As if connecting the dots, Yuutenji Nyamu's mouth fell open involuntarily, her eyes going wide as dinner plates—the classic anime reaction of someone whose entire worldview had just been upended.
---
The next day after school, after habitually dropping Amaori Renako off at the Game Club, Kazama Haru made his unhurried way to the Archery Club.
"You're late."
The moment he stepped into the dojo, Shinomiya Kaguya's cold, emotionless voice cut through the air like a blade.
Kazama Haru pulled out his phone and checked the time, responding with a helpless sigh. "Kaguya-san, there should still be three minutes until the gathering time. Haven't I actually arrived early?"
Hearing his completely unexpected address—the casual use of her given name—Shinomiya Kaguya's crimson eyes widened in astonishment, her rose-pink lips parting slightly. After a long moment of processing, her tone dropped even colder, frosting over like winter glass.
"Who gave you permission to use my given name? Watch your words carefully."
"Also, according to the rules of the Archery Club, from now on, I will be your shishou, and you must serve me with the proper attitude befitting a junior. Do you understand?"
"...Serve?"
Listening to such a suggestive word, Kazama Haru couldn't help but let his thoughts wander in entirely inappropriate directions. The image of "serving" this ice-cold ojou-sama conjured visuals that had nothing to do with archery—her imperious posture, those long legs, that dismissive gaze looking down at him...
But he also knew that Shinomiya Kaguya, currently locked in her absolute "Ice Kaguya" state, certainly didn't mean it that way.
He nodded with a deliberately exaggerated, sarcastic tone. "Yes, yes~ Then, Shinomiya-senpai, what does this humble junior need to do for you?"
Shinomiya Kaguya merely sneered, offering no answer. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked toward the roll call line, her long black hair swaying with each precise step—the very picture of an untouchable young lady.
A few minutes later, after roll call was completed, the nominal master and apprentice returned to their adjacent shooting lanes.
Contrary to Kazama Haru's expectation of being subjected to all sorts of harassment, Shinomiya Kaguya simply stayed in her lane as usual, focusing intently on the bow and arrow in her elegant hands.
Seeing that she didn't seem eager to make things difficult for him, Kazama Haru was happy to enjoy the peace.
He pulled out his textbook again, reviewed the theoretical passages and diagrams he'd studied before, then mimicked what he'd seen, striking what felt like a fairly standard stance.
He wanted to try replicating that flow-state arrow from yesterday.
However, no matter how much he concentrated, no matter how many shots he attempted, he couldn't reproduce that transcendent state or result. The best he managed was grazing two rings.
Currently, he hadn't even achieved the beginner level of [Archery] recognized by the system.
It seems I still have a long way to go on the path of archery...
---
On the other side, Shinomiya Kaguya—after shooting two full rounds, roughly twenty arrows—gradually began showing signs of the physical fatigue that came with her delicate frame.
Setting her bow aside, she walked beneath the wooden eaves behind the shooting lane, her modest chest rising and falling with quickened breaths. She picked up a plain thermos—nothing like the ornate accessories one might expect from a Shinomiya heiress—and tilted it back, drinking slowly.
A few stray drops of water escaped her lips, trailing down the curve of her porcelain cheek. They merged with the tiny beads of sweat that had bloomed across her skin from the afternoon sun and physical exertion—dewdrops catching light along her slender neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her kyudo-gi.
The white training uniform clung slightly to her dampened skin. The thin fabric had become almost translucent where perspiration gathered—along the small of her back, the subtle hollow of her collarbones. Each breath lifted her chest just enough to draw attention to the gentle curves beneath, the outline of her sports bra faintly visible through the moisture-kissed cotton.
Kazama Haru's gaze was involuntarily drawn to this scene—a beautiful tableau saturated with summer youth and something dangerously alluring.
The afternoon light caught every detail: the way her dark lashes fanned against flushed cheeks, the glistening trail of water and sweat along her jaw, the way her lips remained slightly parted after drinking, pink and damp. Her usually impeccable appearance was disheveled just enough to feel intimate—strands of midnight-black hair sticking to her temple, the composed mask cracking ever so slightly under the weight of summer heat.
What would a girl's sweat taste like?
The thought surfaced unbidden in his mind as he watched a single bead roll from beneath her ear, tracing the elegant line of her neck before vanishing into shadow.
"Heh."
Shinomiya Kaguya naturally noticed his disrespectful gaze—those dark eyes lingering on her body with poorly concealed interest—but this was precisely what she had planned.
Taming a loyal dog was not a goal achieved overnight. She would need to utilize every advantage in her possession.
Her unparalleled beauty, which held a fatal allure for adolescent males, was the first weapon she intended to deploy.
This slightly "disheveled" posture—the deliberate way she let water drip down her cheek, the affected breathlessness, the calculated exposure of dampened fabric clinging to her figure—all of it was carefully orchestrated to ensnare her target.
He's looking.
A spark of satisfaction flickered behind those cold crimson eyes.
Good.
She could feel his gaze like heat on her skin—sliding over the moisture gathered at her throat, the subtle swell beneath her uniform, the bare curve of her wrist as she lowered the thermos. Men were simple creatures, weren't they? Show them something pretty, let them want, and they'd come crawling soon enough.
"Have you seen enough?"
Feeling the moment was ripe, she turned to face him fully—making no effort to compose herself, letting him see the flush across her cheeks, the damp fabric, all of it.
Her voice dripped with contempt even as her posture remained deliberately vulnerable.
She stared directly into Kazama Haru's eyes, watching for the guilty flinch, the stammered excuse—all the predictable reactions of a teenage boy caught ogling.