'Eriri, Eriri, listen to me! That woman was hugging Aniki's head and kissing him so hard, she was making these weird noises, and Aniki looked like he couldn't even breathe!'
The fluffy white furball Momotarou was hopping around on the floor, reporting to Eriri, who was busy sipping her milk.
His mind was filled with disbelief.
His invincible Aniki, getting overpowered by that woman—truly worthy of being the witch Eriri feared most!
The scene he'd accidentally witnessed had left a permanent scar in his tiny dog brain.
Hojou was pinned against the wall, bullied—unforgivable! Eriri, it's time to step up and protect Aniki!
"Momotarou, didn't Shouko already give you breakfast? Dogs shouldn't overeat; you'll end up with fatty liver!"
Eriri put down her warm milk, bent down, and lightly tapped Momotarou's fuzzy head with her slender finger, scolding him sternly.
'No, no! I've had enough. I'm talking about Kasumigaoka Utaha! Quick, look—she's still staring at Aniki's mouth!'
Momotarou anxiously pawed at Eriri's toes.
In this house, she was the second most trustworthy human, but… her brain was seriously lacking.
"Ah, I just can't with you. You're just as annoying as your master."
Eriri muttered under her breath, picked up a piece of beef from her plate, and dropped it into Momotarou's bowl.
'Wow! I said no more… but Aniki's cooking is just too good! Is that witch trying to steal his food straight from his mouth?'
As he munched happily, Momotarou kept squeaking out little protests.
"You're such a gluttonous pup, just like your owner." Eriri straightened up and glared across the table at Kasumigaoka Utaha.
She was the one who spent the least time playing with Momotarou, even though she was supposedly his real owner.
'That's right, Eriri! You're finally getting it. Kasumigaoka's a glutton—she kept kissing Aniki's mouth over and over!' Momotarou stamped his paw in triumph on Eriri's foot.
"Oh my, but I think I saw our dear tsundere-chan just now slip all the snacks Kyousuke brought home last night into her bag."
"She's not a glutton like you say—she probably just grabbed the wrong stuff. Need me to fish it out for you?"
Kasumigaoka licked the sauce off her finger and thumb in an exaggeratedly slow motion, all while speaking to Eriri—but her crimson eyes never left Kyousuke.
"Who the hell is tsundere-chan?! Your brain is finally broken, huh?!" Eriri snapped.
"Ah? So you're not denying everything else I said? I'll just take care of it, then. Besides, I don't feel like going to the cafeteria for lunch today anyway."
"—As if! I'm just trying to sneak by unnoticed!" Eriri muttered that last bit to herself and quickly grabbed her bag, putting it on the empty chair next to her.
"That stuff's been sitting there since last night—way past edible. I'll just toss it at school later."
"Oh, is that so? You're so diligent, tsundere-chan."
"Enough chatter! Eat your food and stop talking while you're at it!"
For Sawamura Spencer Eriri, three words summed up her entire life: forceful, forceful, and forceful!
She used proud words to cover up her shyness, a firm attitude to shut everyone up, handing out an unspoken "shut up" notice to everyone at the table.
Yukino Yukari, sitting to Kyousuke's right, had her head down, quietly giggling.
Everyone else wore similar expressions—Sakura had even started blowing bubbles in her milk with her straw.
If Shouko was the house's little sweetheart, then Eriri was the jester—every time she spoke, people braced themselves for laughter.
Especially when she was getting teased by Kasumigaoka.
Eriri took the last bite of her corn muffin, downed the last gulp of milk, and wiped the milk mustache off her lips.
With a loud bang, she set her cup down and declared:
"After school today, we must come straight home, no excuses! That Yukinoshita at your school is useless when it comes to dance."
"For an idiot like Kyousuke, something as artistic as dance needs me to personally step in."
After all, hadn't Kyousuke himself said it?
Just by staying near the world's best illustrator (her!), his dull self kept improving—he went from a compass-wielding robot to a manga master.
And it was all thanks to her, Eriri!
Sakura lifted her head from her bowl of papaya and snow fungus soup, looking blankly at Shouko.
"Shou-chan, didn't you show Eriri the video of Kyousuke practicing dance?"
If she had, Eriri probably wouldn't be so sure of herself now.
"Mmm~~" Shouko shyly pressed her lips together, then leaned in and whispered in Sakura's ear:
"When I got back from the training center, Eriri dragged me off to watch anime. We ended up playing a voice-acting game for a while, so… I completely forgot."
"Is that so~" Sakura nodded in understanding, deciding not to burst Eriri's confident bubble. Her lips curled into a mischievous smile.
"Got it! I'll take on this mission, Sawamura-supervisor-sama! I promise I'll bring Kyousuke straight home after school!"
Sakura stood up, legs together, and saluted smartly.
"Very good! That's why I trust you, Private Sakura!" Eriri stood up too, patting Sakura's shoulder approvingly.
"Wait a sec! Since when is it mandatory to practice dancing three days in a row? I was actually planning to have hot pot at home tonight."
"I even ordered the ingredients already!" Kyousuke raised a protest.
He'd discovered the fresh crunch of vegetables that morning while cooking with Shouko, and the sweetness in his mouth had awakened a nostalgic memory.
Eating hot pot under their home's dreamy cherry blossom tree in the final days of spring—how perfect would that be?
"Hot pot, huh…" Eriri's expression shifted.
A visible hesitation and longing appeared on her face.
When they'd all been home together, the whole family had bonded over trashing British food, which led to a conversation about other countries' cuisines.
Kyousuke mentioned the unavoidable subject of making a hot pot.
A sukiyaki, seafood pots, and beef offal hot pots—often enjoyed during celebrations, but they were all mild compared to that bright-red, pepper-laden monster.
After hearing Eriri's fears about hot pot, Kyousuke had immediately dashed out to buy ingredients and whipped up a bubbling pot of chili-studded broth in the garden.
It was fiery hot and absolutely delicious—none of those embarrassing "after-effects" she'd read about online.
When she'd asked Kyousuke, he just smiled and said it was his secret recipe.
"So…" She hesitated and finally opened her mouth to speak.
'Eriri's a glutton!'
Momotarou lifted his head and started squeaking again, pawing at Eriri's foot.
"That kind of thing is way too spicy for puppies—you'd keel over! You greedy little furball, getting all worked up at the mention of food—honestly, that's not okay!"
Eriri scolded him, then caught sight of the playful smirk on Kasumigaoka's lips across the table.
"Hmph. First we'll dance—then we'll have hot pot to recharge. After all, teaching an idiot like you is going to take a lot of energy."
"Got it, dancing can wait—hot pot's the priority for now. You just focus on preparing it; I'll make sure there's nothing left!"
As the self-proclaimed "Sawamura Spencer Eriri Exclusive Translator," Kyousuke gave an earnest nod.
And so, another lively day began at the Ruyi Dorm.
After bidding farewell to Momotarou one by one, the group stepped out the gate and split off in two different directions.
Even though it was clear from early on that today was going to be sunny, Sakura-sama still insisted that Kyousuke carry the umbrella she'd given him, just in case of sudden rain.
Frankly, Kyousuke was certain that if the sun were actually warm enough to matter, Sakura would've demanded he use the big black umbrella as a sunshade.
Luckily, although the Soubu High uniform was a formal blazer style, it was unmistakably a school uniform—anyone with eyes could tell.
Otherwise, with his imposing figure and that ominous umbrella on his back, he would've looked like a killer-for-hire carrying some exotic weapon.
One glare, one sharp lift of the eyebrow, and no one would doubt there was a master-crafted blade hidden inside that handle.
After all, this was practically a stock scene in any classic jidaigeki film—whether it's a covert agent of the Shogunate or an assassin posing as a merchant, a concealed blade hidden in a traditional oil-paper umbrella was part of the uniform.
And this particular umbrella, gifted by Yamauchi Sakura, was a bangasa—thick, hefty, and sturdy enough to be used as a club without even breaking.
The red cover and black handle exuded an aura of both elegance and menace.
"Hojou-buchou, good morning!" A loud, cheerful greeting came from the side.
Kyousuke didn't even need to look to know it was his friends, Hikigaya Hachiman and Zaimokuza Yoshiteru.
He turned to see them—both sporting similar "tactical" back-mounted sticks.
"You guys…" He knew they were carrying bamboo swords, but still—it was a bit much.
This wasn't the archery club, and you weren't some elegant kyudo girl.
Couldn't they just carry them normally?
When you saw a high school girl with a bow taller than she was, you didn't even need to ask—definitely an archery club member.
"Hojou-san, is that an umbrella-sword you've got there?" Zaimokuza couldn't hold back his curiosity, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
Beside him, even though Hikigaya tried to play it cool… his own eyes were just as bright, only his question had been stolen by Zaimokuza.
'Damn it!' thought Hikigaya.
'I'm the one who's supposed to be Hojou-bro's go-to test dummy!'
'If it's really a sword in there, I'm the one who should be first in line to get whacked—don't steal my thunder, Zaimokuza!'
Ahead of them, Sakura and Shouko shared a quick smile, then picked up their pace a bit to give the boys some privacy.
"It's not a sword," Kyousuke said with a chuckle. "Come on, Zaimokuza—the Shogun of Swords—don't get carried away!"
As he spoke, he pulled the red sheath down with his left hand and gripped the umbrella's handle with his right, as if about to draw a blade and demonstrate.
To the two watching him, it looked like flames of pure darkness were erupting behind Hojou Kyousuke, and a wave of killing intent was crashing over them.
"Zaimokuza… think we've got time to kneel and beg for mercy?" Hikigaya asked with his eyes.
"Once he draws, even if you ran forty meters, it wouldn't matter—might as well die on your feet!" Zaimokuza shot back, already shifting his bulky frame to slip behind Hikigaya with uncharacteristic agility.
'Coward,' thought Hikigaya.
'You're no Shogun of Swords—you're the Shogun of Cowardice!'
Meanwhile, Kyousuke—oblivious to their chuunibyou-level fantasies—easily drew the umbrella free and flipped it open with practiced ease as he continued walking.
The pitch-black canopy was as smooth and luxurious as silk, with delicate pink sakura blossoms scattered across it, still vibrant and full of life.
Even when it didn't rain, Kyousuke treated this umbrella like a cherished bamboo sword, regularly oiling and caring for it so that every time he opened it, it was as beautiful as when Sakura first gave it to him.
He lifted it over his head, the deep black expanse shading him perfectly.
Sakura glanced back, catching sight of him framed beneath the black umbrella.
She tilted her head, a smile slowly blooming across her lips.
"Wow… that's seriously cool!" Hikigaya couldn't hold back his gasp.
It was even cooler than the wand he'd pilfered from Pygmalion's fortress in his old daydreams.
Even if he'd outgrown his chuunibyou phase, seeing something this stylish still made his heart race with envy.
No—Hojou-buchou carrying something like this wasn't chuunibyou at all.
It was just plain cool—a pure statement of style.
'Yeah… I'll have to get one after school.'
It was the peak of morning rush hour, and the main avenue to the school was packed with students.
The sudden opening of the giant black umbrella made Kyousuke an instant focal point—though, to be fair, he was already a natural attention magnet.
Now, even those who'd normally be too shy to approach were drawn in.
"Alright, alright—class is about to start. Let's move."
Seeing that this was about to turn into the Sakura Umbrella Fan Club, Kyousuke quickly closed it and shouldered it once more.
"Hojou-buchou, mind if I ask—where did you get that umbrella? We'd love to get one too," Hikigaya said as they walked.
"It's handmade by Sakura," Kyousuke replied with a gentle smile, a wave of happiness filling his chest and even softening his tone.
"But if you're looking for something similar, there's a big wagasa specialty shop in Kagurazaka, Shinjuku. The owner's from Kyoto—you could check there."
'Handmade…'
Hikigaya and Zaimokuza exchanged a look of mutual suffering.
They hadn't expected to be blindsided like this—if it had just been outrageously expensive, they could've shrugged it off.
But handmade by a girl he liked? No contest.
Before long, they reached the classroom.
Kyousuke greeted Kisaki and the others while heading for his seat.
"Zaimokuza, you should make me a wagasa! I'll make one for you too. It's the ultimate symbol of our friendship!"
Hikigaya's mind spun in overdrive—love and friendship were the two pillars of human emotion, after all.
No shame in either. In fact, brotherhood could be even more moving.
"Hah! That's why you're the second sword master of Tokyo!"
"Alright, it's decided. I'll weave one for you, and I'll layer it with 130 protective charms to ward off all evil!" Zaimokuza bellowed, full of enthusiasm.
"Eugh… actually, forget it. That sounds disgusting," Hikigaya said, instantly regretting his earlier idea as he took in Zaimokuza's pudgy, sweaty face.
"Huh? Hachiman, you—"
"Eh? Hachiman, are you guys making wagasa umbrellas?"
A clear, bright voice as smooth as the highest-grade violin in the hands of a world-class musician cut in from in front of Hikigaya.
Whoa, who switched on the floodlights?
That's way too intense—fire them immediately!
Oh, it's just Saika's angelic glow—never mind, that's fine.
The fact that the first person to talk to me this morning is Saika… that's just perfect!
In an instant, Hikigaya's mind took ninety-eight rapid turns, and he forced a smile.
Speaking in a voice he'd practiced for a month back in middle school before his first confession:
"Yeah, I've recently gotten interested in traditional wagasa… wanted to do a little research."
"But I'm the only one interested in making a traditional umbrella—Zaimokuza doesn't care about that kind of thing."
"Say, Saika, would you like to join me? Once I've finished, I could give you one as a gift."
Don't blame me, Zaimokuza.
You sold me out first—remember that time in the bike shed on the first day of school?
"Sure!" Totsuka Saika clapped his hands together, his quiet excitement evident.
'Ah, that smile… I'll add 1,800 layers of protection to this umbrella and spend my whole life guarding it.'
Hachiman Hikigaya's spirit sank into oblivion.
Kyousuke casually responded to Goro Hatake's clueless comment of, "Crap, is it going to rain today? I didn't even check the weather," while setting his umbrella against the storage locker behind his seat.
Just as he was about to start his usual morning banter before homeroom, a boy approached him.
If he remembered correctly, his name was Hayama Hayato.
They'd had so little interaction that Kyousuke had almost deleted the name from his mind altogether.
"Good morning, Hojou," Hayama said, his smile as radiant as his golden hair. As he spoke, a gentle breeze swept in from the window, causing his bangs to lift slightly.
"Good morning, Hayama."
Kyousuke smiled back politely, still unsure of the reason for the visit.
In class 2-F, there were two famous blonds—Yumiko Miura with her luxurious wavy hair and Hayama's bright dye job.
It was obvious they'd spent a lot of money on their salon visits.
But to Kyousuke, who was used to Eriri's perfectly crafted golden locks, these dyed jobs looked almost cheap—less striking than Yui Yuigahama's pink hair, honestly.
Of course, in his eyes, the most beautiful hair in the class belonged to Sakura and Shouko with their rich brown tones.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked proactively.
"Yeah, I heard you were running a bit behind on your theater project, so I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help."
Hayama bent down slightly as he spoke, softening his tone so he didn't come across as condescending. Another breeze ruffled his bangs dramatically.
"???"
This guy was… way too nice.
It was only the second time Kyousuke had met someone so helpful.
The first was Makki Hojou, who'd handed him a four-million-yen motorcycle the day they met.
And now here was Hayama, volunteering to tackle a project that even the famously infallible Yukinoshita found challenging.
The guy was practically a saint!
"You're really such a good person, Hayama," Kyousuke said with genuine admiration.
"Pffft—" Sakura and Shouko both burst out laughing from their seats in front of and beside him.
Yui Yuigahama, chatting with Shouko, also giggled after a beat, even though she had no clue why they were laughing—she just didn't want to feel left out.
"Haha, come on, you're exaggerating, Hojou," Hayama said, scratching his head in confusion.
This time, no breeze arrived to ruffle his hair.
Kyousuke glanced out the window with mild surprise.
Three times now, every time Hayama spoke, the wind blew in at just the right moment, like someone was out there with a fan, filming a TV drama.
"But don't worry about it," Kyousuke said, flashing a bright smile. "I already have a great teacher helping me out with the theater project. It's all under control."
"Oh, I see. Well, that's good to hear," Hayama replied, forcing an awkward smile before offering an encouraging "good luck" and heading back to his seat.
Yumiko Miura watched him walk away, her expression thoughtful as she wondered why he'd even bothered to come over.
Yui Yuigahama had the same question.
The only ones who didn't care were Kyousuke himself and the two beautiful girls by his side.
With Hayama gone, the three of them—and Yui—finally launched into a pleasant chat.
For them, this was far less important than deciding what drinks to get at lunch.
In the end, it was just one overly enthusiastic classmate, nothing more.
Instead of the expected morning reading period, a surprise math quiz awaited them.
Seriously, we've only been back in school for two weeks—what's with the sudden pop quiz?
Are they trying to knock us down a peg after we got too excited about the sports festival?
Kyousuke casually complained to himself as he finished the quiz in five minutes.
Without wasting a second, he walked up to the teacher, handed it in, and strode out of the classroom.
His posture was perfect, his pace steady—each step measured and precise.
In moments like this, it was crucial not to look back at the students still working.
He couldn't smile or frown; his expression had to remain effortlessly neutral.
This was the conclusion he'd reached after years of finishing early.
He might not be a true master of style, but if he maintained an air of calm, others would fill in the blanks themselves.
———————————————————————
Daily Uploads!
Unlock bonus chapters by reaching specific milestones with [Power Stone] votes!
Go to p-atreon.com/InsomniaTL to access more than 50 advanced chapters.