(A Reverse Harem)
If there's anything Anri Hinomori loves more than fictional characters, it's drama. By day, she's responsible for the anonymous gossip column for her high school's newspaper, and by night, she blogs extensive, long-winded reviews o...
THE UNARGUABLE TRUTH WAS THAT LOSING DEALT IRREPARABLE DAMAGE TO YOUR PSYCHE.
A single loss was difficult to accept, let alone consecutive. Your confidence wanted to prove its worth. Your ego wanted self-assurance.
And when you received none of that, eventually, you bowed out. You focused on other activities that would give you that validation.
Because, as a human being, you could only accept so much degradation. Or else, you'd break.
I'd broken numerous people.
So why not him?
"Here. My scores on the latest tests."
Listlessly, I scanned the assortment of sheets Takumi had flung onto my desk. They were all either high nineties or solid one hundreds. Since it was nearing midterm season, our examinations were getting harder. Even Mr. Brainiac couldn't score perfectly on everything.
Not that I could relate.
Needless to say, I topped him on all of them.
My perfect test scores brought this prideful king to his knees.
"Y-you even had time to doodle on each of them," he sputtered, clutching my tests in miserable defeat. "Can they even be called doodles? I'd spend a fortune on these just so I could frame them and admire them all day long."
"Don't be shy," I egged him on, smirking. "Praise me some more."
That was the last thing Takumi wanted to do.
"Dammit." The dark circles under his eyes were glaring. "If not academics. . . if I can't beat you in pure academic knowledge. . . !"
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EVERY TUESDAY AND THURSDAY, RIGHT BEFORE LUNCH, CLASS 2–A HAD PE.
It was a co-ed gym class. Our teacher typically split the groups into girls and boys. Occasionally, though, we'd participate in the same activity.
Today, we were playing softball out on the school field.
As luck would have it, Takumi and I were on opposing teams.
He was stuck playing as pitcher.
I was last at bat.
It was already the last inning of our short game, with his team winning 2–1.
My team currently had two runners on first and third plate. Meaning, if I didn't hit Takumi's upcoming pitch, we would lose.
"Good luck, Anri," Moe told me.
Adjusting my helmet, I nodded, receiving the plastic bat from her.
"I'm right here cheering you on so don't worry if you don't get a hit," she added. "All that matters is that you tried."
