Ch. 11 - Nogami Izumi’s New Toy

“Morning, Murai-kun.”

“Huh? Morning… wait, you are…?”

Murai Ren turned at the tap on his shoulder. Expecting a familiar classmate, he instead found himself staring at a tall, strikingly handsome youth he didn’t recognize.

Do we even have someone like this in class?

Ren racked his brain. He had even memorized the class roster yesterday, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall ever seeing this guy’s face.

If someone this good-looking had been around yesterday during the class rep election, surely he would’ve noticed.

For Harutaki, though, such reactions had already become routine—first with his sisters, then with Akihisa.

He could already picture Ren’s expression once he realized the truth.

“The salon you recommended yesterday was fantastic. I had to come and say thanks. Mm, how about I treat you to coffee sometime?”

“Yesterday…?”

Just as Harutaki predicted, Ren’s face showed visible ripples as the memory clicked. He didn’t gape like Akihisa had, but his composure was still rattled.

“Y-you’re… Hoshikawa-kun?”

“Looks like the title of ‘Class Heartthrob’ is about to change hands, Murai-kun.” Harutaki teased lightly, easing the awkwardness.

At that moment, the girl standing nearby tugged Ren’s arm excitedly.

“Hey, hey, hey, Ren, when did you start hanging around with such a hottie? Which class is he from? Is he a transfer student?”

“Mm, with that height, you’d be great at basketball. Want to try out for the team?”

The buzz-cut boy sitting in front of Harutaki leaned over with an eager grin, already assuming he was a transfer. After all, in this looks-driven world, there’s no way someone with idol-level features could just be a nobody.

“Uh… you’re Nishihara-san, right? The one who can rattle off all the active Johnny’s groups by heart…”

“Ehh! That’s all Haruto’s fault! He asked me what I was good at yesterday, and now look—he’s exposing me already!” Nishihara Miho pouted, giving the redhead boy a shove.

“Anyway, um… Haruto-kun, was it? Sorry, I don’t know your surname—”

“Koyama. Koyama Haruto. Nice to meet you. Just call me Haruto, like Miho and Ren do.”

Haruto’s sunny grin and laid-back energy practically screamed “sports club member.”

“Ahem. Actually… my seat is right behind you guys.”

“Ehhhhh—!?”

Both Miho and Haruto cried out in disbelief.

“No way…”

Miho still couldn’t process it. A guy this dazzling, practically idol-debut ready, had been sitting right there in their class all along, and she’d never noticed?

The thought that no other girls knew yet sparked a little thrill in her chest, like she had just pulled an SSR character from a gacha.

And so, while Harutaki was happily chatting with Murai and Haruto about soccer and basketball, Miho whipped out her phone, unlocked the screen, and looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Hoshikawa-kun, could I… maybe take a selfie with you?”

“…Huh?”

“Just to post on Twitter! Don’t worry, I won’t reveal your name!”

“Oi, Miho, can’t you see we were having a serious bro-talk here?” Haruto complained, clearly miffed at the interruption.

“Pfft, go marry your precious posters of… Kuubi and Komusu or whatever, and live happily ever after!”

“It’s Curry and Lebron!” Haruto shot back indignantly.

Oi, that’s not the point here.

In just a short while, Harutaki had already sized the trio up.

Murai Ren was obviously the core: good looks, top grades, captain of the soccer club, and, judging from his smooth conversational skills, a high EQ to match.

Nishihara Miho seemed like a childhood friend type, a polished “normie” JK with glittering pink nails to complete the image.

And Koyama Haruto… a classic musclehead. His grades weren’t bad, but judging from his conversation, his emotional intelligence was beyond saving. In short: a cheerful, sports-scented idiot.

As Miho and Haruto’s squabble veered dangerously into NBA stars versus idol-bishounen-who-play-basketball, Harutaki cut in smoothly. “How could I refuse when such a cute girl is asking me for a favor?”

He bent down so the height difference of over twenty centimeters wouldn’t keep Miho out of frame.

She wasn’t exactly his type, even with all the makeup, but still—

When in doubt, don’t say a girl is beautiful. Call her cute.

Especially in Japan, “cute” is the all-purpose compliment for food, fashion, and even faces.

Click.

The shutter sound sealed the deal. Miho happily started typing up her tweet, all while scolding Haruto without even glancing up.

“Hmph, see? Harutaki-kun can tell there’s a cute girl here. Unlike you, who only has muscles in that thick skull.”

Oh? Already upgraded “Hoshikawa-kun” to “Harutaki-kun,” have we?

Harutaki couldn’t tell if he should be impressed by their innocence or by the sheer power of good grooming. When everyone wears the same uniform, face and figure become the deciding factors.

“Haruto-kun just really loves sports. If someone cut you off while you were talking about your favorite topic, Nishihara-san, wouldn’t you be annoyed too?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Encouraged, Haruto practically lit up.

“Finally, someone who gets me! Every time Miho chews me out, Ren just stands there laughing like an idiot instead of backing me up!”

“Ahaha. Hey, don’t drag me into this. Or I’ll curse you, tall guy, with early baldness.”

Whenever Miho and Haruto clashed, Ren could never step in. Choosing sides would only backfire, but watching them fight gave him a headache all the same.

Now, though, he could see the benefit of having Harutaki around. With a teasing jab at Haruto, he smiled at Harutaki.

“A café sounds too fancy. Why don’t you just buy me a can of coffee from the vending machine at lunch?”

“I’ll take a bottle of yuzu-flavored Pocari Sweat!”

Haruto shot his hand up like an elementary schooler.

“Oi!” Miho glared at him and smacked his side. “This is a thank-you drink for Ren, you idiot. Why are you butting in?”

“It’s fine. If Nishihara-san and Haruto-kun don’t mind, let me treat you too, as a little gift for our first meeting.”

Harutaki waved it off with a smile.

Perfect. He’d been wondering how to get closer to these two, and this gave him the opening.

In this society obsessed with etiquette, even for high schoolers, offering a small gift went a long way.

Of course, if he had brought it up himself, he’d risk looking stingy if the gift was too cheap, or like a show-off if it was too expensive. Either way, people might not accept it.

But since they’d suggested drinks first, all he had to do was go along.

And judging from Ren, Miho, and Haruto’s upbringing, there was no way they’d demand anything unreasonable.

“Hope you won’t mind such a shabby little gift,” he said with a smile.

“As if!”

Miho shook her head, lips curling up in thought before replying: “A carton of strawberry milk will do for me.”

“Yuzu-flavored Pocari Sweat for me!”

“Haruto,” Ren sighed, “Pocari doesn’t have yuzu flavor. That’s Gatorade.”

“…Tch.” Haruto pouted, muttering with disappointment, “Then just Pocari, I guess…”

“Alright then. Murai-kun, how about we grab lunch together in the cafeteria?”

“Don’t expect to steal any meat from my bowl, though.”

Ren didn’t give a straight answer, but his joking tone only made the atmosphere with their new companion that much warmer.

Harutaki knew exactly what he was doing: deepen ties through small favors, then use this chance to get closer not just to Ren, but also his friends—and by extension, their social circle.

It might sound calculating, but there was no denying it worked.

After all, every student who made it into Nichiya High was either rich or gifted. Even those from less wealthy families had to be sharper and more capable than average.

A third of the students here would go on to Todai or Keio(university). And once they entered university and, later, society, this network of classmates and senpai would become the most solid, valuable human connections one could ask for. Especially in Japan, where school ties often outweighed everything else.

Take the so-called gakubatsu—the academic cliques that had dominated every industry for over a century. More than half of Japan’s prime ministers since the 1900s were Todai alumni, and nearly every high-ranking bureaucrat came from the same.

If you wanted a smooth, successful life, this was the reality you couldn’t avoid…

Harutaki exhaled in irritation at the thought.

And more than that, he wanted to pursue Shihou-san.

Most likely, her illustrious family would need an heir. If there wasn’t a suitable son in the main or branch family, then sooner or later, they would choose muko-iri—marrying in a talented, attractive young man as the heir.

This was a tradition in Japan’s noble houses that went back hundreds of years.

For Harutaki, there were only two paths: become the hunter or the prey. No matter how much money he earned from the memories of his past life, in a society ruled by hereditary power, wealth without influence was no more than water without a source.

Throwing away his hard-built achievements just to lick the boots of wrinkled old men?

No thanks.

But still, thinking about what would happen after he started dating Shihou-san was putting the cart before the horse. For now, he needed to stay grounded.

He set himself a clear goal—simple, small, but vital:

Become number one in his year.

…

After parting ways with Ren and the others at the cafeteria, Harutaki returned to class and lazily sprawled across his desk. One cheek pressed against the cool wood, the other warmed by the gentle afternoon sun.

Lunch had been katsudon: three thick, juicy pork cutlets drizzled with soft-scrambled egg and special sauce over rice. A soul-satisfying feast.

In his previous life, Harutaki had never allowed himself such idle midday naps. Every minute of lunch break was spent on cram sheets, rewriting notes, or finishing assignments.

But now… high school life was making him soft.

Teachers didn’t dump endless drills or assignments. They didn’t even force students to preview or review. Since Nichiya’s students were already carefully filtered, everything came down to personal initiative.

Not that the teachers were irresponsible. Just this morning, when Harutaki had gone to ask Asama-sensei for help with classical literature, the man had grumbled about the hassle but still guided him patiently. When they parted, he even offered advice with unexpected sincerity:

“You’re still young. Your health matters more than grades, kid. Enjoy your youth. Don’t end up like me, so worn out that even lying on a woman’s body, I can’t move a muscle.”

…Harutaki had honestly questioned whether the man even had a teaching license.

Still, grumbling aside, he’d obeyed the advice. Returning to a classroom empty except for gloomy Akihisa, he allowed himself a rare short nap.

After all, who doesn’t like sneaking a little rest now and then?

But his rest didn’t last long. Just as he was drifting, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed closer and closer until a sharp, lively voice cut through the air:

“Hey! Wake up already! Move, will you!?”

Blinking drowsily, Harutaki lifted his head. A girl stood over him, arms crossed, glaring down with stormy blue eyes.

“Whoa, Minako, Minako, look! Total hottie!” The tan-skinned gyaru’s expression flipped instantly the moment she got a good look at him. Turning, she squealed at her friend.

“Hey, where’d you come from? Haven’t seen you around before.”

“Transfer student?”

The one called Minako leaned in, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

Great. First, a dark-skinned gyaru, and now a blonde busty one?

Harutaki instantly realized who they were—

Nogami’s sidekicks, Hinata Sae and Sanada Minako.

And if they were here, then inevitably…

“Want to nap? Then why don’t you go lie in the courtyard like some stray mutt?”

Rose-colored eyes narrowed in contempt as Nogami Izumi herself looked down at him with a mocking smirk.

…

What an irritating face…

She didn’t even know who this boy was, yet hatred and anger welled up inside her.

Normally, when faced with such a pretty boy, she’d treat him as just another toy to break and toss aside. But this one, why did he stir something else?

Nogami had her own rules. She might act like a tyrant, but when she decided on a target to toy with, she always found a “reasonable” excuse—something she could twist into righteousness.

If the toy was a creepy old man, she’d accuse him of harassment.

If it was a disliked teacher, she’d exploit her role as a student.

If it was a gross otaku… well. Who needed an excuse to bully scum like that?

Now, though, staring at this boy’s dreamlike handsome features shifting with unease, she felt a strange shiver. She pressed her thighs together, sensing damp heat.

Ahh… yes. This thrill. The ecstasy of tormenting others.

She knew her hobby was twisted, her nature rotten. But the rush was too intoxicating to give up.

Especially with him.

She wanted to see that flawless face break—crying, screaming, begging.

But what excuse should she use to torment this one?

Her gaze drifted past him, landing instead on trembling, overweight Akihisa. Nogami’s lips curled into a cruel smile.

Never mind. Warm up with the weakling first.

“Oi, Tazaki. How much cash you got today? What’s wrong, cat got your tongue? About to cry already?”

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