Living in the Heart of Tokyo

"That's a serious problem… I need to think about it more and consider other options."

Yukinoshita Yukino turned slightly away, silently commanding her flushed face to return to its usual icy calm.

She could still feel the lingering sensation of his chest under her hands—firm, springy, and powerful.

No wonder his performance in training was so intense.

Without muscles like that, there's no way he could have delivered such forceful slashes.

And those arms wrapped around her waist… the size of those hands, that grip strength—it had to be a huge advantage in kendo.

Her thoughts drifted aimlessly, mentally sketching out a human skeletal diagram.

Then, as if filling in the blanks, her mind began overlaying the missing parts with the sensations she had just felt, slowly forming a rough, incomplete anatomical diagram of muscle structure.

The lack of muscle detail around the thighs and waist irked her inner perfectionist, but at least her face had finally cooled down.

"What's wrong? We still have time. I feel like we made great progress just now," Kyousuke said casually.

For a laid-back guy like him, once his precious lunch break had been sacrificed, he figured he might as well enjoy the moment.

Perfectionism is often rooted in obsessive-compulsive tendencies—an overwhelming desire to win, a need for absolute justice, a drive to rely solely on oneself.

In fact, you could explain most of it with OCD.

Interestingly, Kyousuke had a mild case himself, but his boundaries were flexible.

As long as something didn't involve the people he cared about, he could slack off without hesitation.

But now that he'd already committed to slacking and suddenly got pulled back in, it was driving him crazy.

He felt like punching someone—or skipping afternoon classes for a nap.

"I thought someone like you would say, 'Only through constant effort can we find a solution.' Giving up like this just doesn't suit you, Yukinoshita-san."

Yeah, Sakura had once said, "Provoking Yukinoshita Yukino is like giving catnip to a cat."

After spending some time with her, Kyousuke fully understood what she meant.

Regular catnip might have some cats who can resist, but matatabi? No cat can refuse that.

Same with Yukino.

Even if she knew she was being baited, she'd just scoff, accept the challenge, and completely crush it with pride.

So, faced with his comment, she would surely—

"Are your ears just for decoration? Or did you hit your head when you fell earlier and lose the ability to understand plain language?"

Yukinoshita Yukino, queen of rapid-fire sarcasm, had launched her "Redundant Phrase Barrage" attack.

The summary? Are you deaf or just stupid?

"I haven't given up," she said, voice cooling. "It's just that the current situation is far worse than I expected, so I need time to find a more effective method."

"I admit I failed to recognize the extent of your... 'talent' for dance before now."

Her blush had faded completely, and her usual icy expression returned.

There was a trace of frosty blue in her eyes as she paused, then added, almost sorrowfully, "Indescribable."

"And the fact that I only realized this now is my failure as well. If someone as capable as me still couldn't teach you properly, I imagine you must feel utterly hopeless…"

"N-No, not at all!" Kyousuke waved his hands frantically.

What the hell? Was she acting like not being able to dance was a terminal illness?

But Yukino cut him off.

"Still, I'm not giving up. But if we just keep repeating the same thing as you suggested, it's a complete waste of time.No matter how many times I teach you, it's like trying to empty Tokyo Bay with a spoon."

"But... isn't Tokyo Bay connected to the Pacific Ocean? That's impossible," Sakura interjected as she wandered over.

"Exactly. Isn't it just hopelessly depressing?" Yukino sighed, her elegant face glowing with a strange sense of divine pity.

"Effort in the wrong direction only leads you further away from the goal. The most efficient approach is to focus on helping the others first, and come back to you later."

"Well, if there's nothing more for me to do, I'll go take a shower."

With a casual smile, Kyousuke seized the chance to slip away.

Just like back at Higashi Middle School, he had his own private break room here.

"I'll scrub your back!"

Yamauchi Sakura raised her hand cheerfully, practically bouncing in place.

Shouko's eyes flickered at that—she had just been wondering if she could use the shower after Kyousuke to wash off her own sweat.

"Have some shame, will you?!" Yukino groaned and yanked on Sakura's jacket, pinning her in place.

This girl had zero restraint, and the scarier part was that someone else spoiled her unconditionally.

The two of them together? A terrifying combination.

Shouko snapped out of it, her cheeks reddening slightly.

"In that case, send Shouko-chan in your place!" Sakura cheerfully nominated her first-string general.

———————————————————————

Meanwhile, Kyousuke had already entered his private room, taken a quick shower, and changed back into his school uniform.

For Japanese high school students living in rentals, a washing machine was essential—even if they didn't have much else.

No one bought five uniforms to wear a different one every day, and if your uniform was even a little dirty, your classmates would definitely notice and judge you.

Dressed and refreshed, he grabbed a cold can of cola from the mini-fridge, walked out, and sat cross-legged against the wall.

In front of him, Sakura and Shouko were patiently helping the girls practice their dance moves.

Female students had slightly different movements from the guys.

Yukino, ever the capable one, was handling the girls for now.

Looks like they're doing great.

Shouko, in particular, didn't seem shy at all.

Maybe she was practicing so she could teach Kyousuke better later, or maybe she just genuinely liked helping others.

Watching her gently correct their movements one by one, Kyousuke waved Kisaki over.

Lounging around eating watermelon might work during military training when you're surrounded by strangers—but here, lazing around drinking a cold cola while everyone else was working hard? Not a good look.

"Go grab some drinks," he said casually.

Kisaki nodded and took Hata Gorou and the others with him.

This wasn't a burden or some obligation—it was a token of appreciation.

Everyone would accept it gladly.

Consider it a thank-you for keeping the place clean.

After all, everyone had taken their shoes off to train.

Even Yukino's pale feet had turned black from the floor, which is probably why Shouko was already planning her turn in the shower.

Before long, the lunch break came to an end, and Kisaki's group returned.

"These are courtesy from Hojou. Pick your favorite!"

Knowing that their "big bro" never lacked money, he'd brought back tons of each drink.

No stinginess like "be grateful there's anything at all."

If Kyousuke was in the rare mood to win some popularity points, then they had to do it right.

The extras could just be left in the kendo club for later.

The students had just finished practice and were about to go buy drinks anyway.

Their eyes lit up when they saw the pile at the door, then turned toward Kyousuke.

Raising his cola can, Kyousuke shouted with a grin, "Great job today, everyone!"

"Ahaha, thanks, Hojou~"

"Make sure you work extra hard during practice next time, okay, Hojou~"

———————————————————————

It was probably because everyone had witnessed his tragic performance during practice that they now felt comfortable teasing him after their thanks.

They'd seen a very… human side of him.

After some lighthearted banter and a bit of rest, everyone cleaned up together, and before long, it was almost time for class to resume.

Even though Yukinoshita wanted him to keep training after school, Kyousuke refused firmly.

Not even the most elite baseball schools practiced five days a week without a break... Okay, fine, they actually did.

But still, today he had other plans—he had to go home and carry out his own "club activities."

"For someone as hopeless as me, Yukinoshita-san, you should probably prepare several more lesson plans. Wasted effort is like trying to scoop Tokyo Bay dry with a spoon."

And with that parting shot, he left the school building with Shouko.

Sakura, as the team leader, naturally had to stay behind—today, she was going to check on how the stage curtain work was progressing.

With the play's content decided, the curtain crew, costume team, and other departments could finally get moving.

Ironically, the person who should've had the most to do, the head of the athletic committee—was currently the most free, since all the athletes were off helping with various preparations.

Which meant, if Kyousuke hadn't escaped, he'd be stuck with one-on-one lessons from Yukinoshita Yukino.

Not that he minded, really.

Even if Shouko had class, he had another unofficial team member in mind.

Actually, calling her that was still too vague.

Let's just say—he was going to find the best dancer he knew.

After returning home and changing into a casual outfit a simple white T-shirt and straight black jeans—Kyousuke walked just four blocks without needing to catch a train, arriving at their prearranged meeting spot.

"Kyousuke~~!"

A clear, cheerful female voice called out from a distance, and a girl quickly walked toward him.

"Oh my, miss, you must be mistaken. I don't recall knowing such a stunning college girl."

And he wasn't even joking.

Among all the women he knew, there was only one college girl—Miyamizu Mitsuha.

Yukinoshita Haruno didn't count—they weren't that close.

Based on personal preference alone, Mitsuha scored a perfect ten. And now… she was truly beautiful.

"Are you trying to say I'm old, Kyousuke?"

Hearing such a compliment the moment they met, Mitsuha beamed with joy, a radiant smile playing on her lips.

But she still tilted her head slightly and gave Kyousuke a teasing, puppy-like look with her big sparkling eyes.

"Huh?" Kyousuke furrowed his brows in exaggerated confusion, as if questioning her sanity.

"With a face like that, people would believe you were a middle schooler."

"Hehehe~ That's a bit much, don't you think?" Mitsuha giggled as she gave Kyousuke's arm a playful pat.

True, it was a bit of an exaggeration.

No middle schooler could possibly look that stunning.

And Kyousuke was more qualified than anyone to make that call.

She wore a simple, stylish dress—the white hem just brushing her knees—and matching white flats.

On top, a cornflower-blue short jacket shielded her from any accidental "wardrobe mishaps," and she carried a Cambridge-style bag in the same shade of blue.

She radiated youthful energy, yet carried the poise of a college student.

She was the very image of the fashionable Tokyo girl she'd always dreamed of becoming.

"You look amazing. Especially your hair."

Genuinely impressed, Kyousuke stepped forward, lifting his hand slightly as if to pat her head—but hesitated.

Seeing this, Mitsuha leaned in and slipped her head under his large hand, tilting her face up with a sweet smile:

"Right? I love this hairstyle too~" Her voice was as light and graceful as a ribbon dancing in the wind.

Gone were the elaborate braids tied with ornate cords.

Today, her thick black hair simply flowed down her back.

It was nothing like the intricate style they were referencing—yet both knew exactly what the other meant.

That kind of hairstyle had symbolized her role as the heir to the Miyamizu Shrine, a miko entrusted with her family's and the town's hopes.

Even her hair had to be perfectly styled every time, not to mention the way she walked, spoke, and behaved—always watched, always tense, never allowed a single slip.

But the girl standing here now was just Miyamizu Mitsuha.

Not the shrine's successor, not the famed priestess everyone recognized on sight.

Just a girl about to go on a date with the guy she liked.

"But I did bring the braided cord with me~" Mitsuha raised her right hand, and around her pale wrist was the Tachibana-colored braid that connected the two of them.

She looked so proud—like a kid eager to be praised.

So Kyousuke raised his left hand in return, showing the identical braid wrapped around his wrist.

"Come on, let's go! I found this amazing café I have to show you!"

Without another word, Mitsuha grabbed his hand and cheerfully pulled him forward, completely at ease.

She practically sang with excitement as she skipped ahead.

'What's going on here?'

Kyousuke returned the grip, holding her small hand firmly as he followed, but a hint of confusion lingered in his heart.

It had only been a week since they last met, yet somehow they felt even closer than before.

The natural rhythm between them rivaled even his connection with Sakura.

"…Mitsuha, did all your memories come back?"

After a brief moment of thought, he stopped walking and asked the question aloud.

Miyamizu Mitsuha also stopped.

She turned to him, tucking her bag under one arm and placing her other hand behind her back.

Her head tilted playfully as she met his gaze, her smile mischievous.

"Hmm, let's see… what do you think, Kyousuke? Would it be better if I did remember? Or didn't?"

"What kind of dumb question is that? Of course I want you to remember!" Kyousuke answered immediately, without hesitation.

"But if I did get my memories back… then wouldn't that mean we're already a couple, since we've, you know, kissed?"

Mitsuha's smile remained sweet as she looked him straight in the eyes.

…Seriously? Why not just say it plainly?!

Why toss out this kind of relationship landmine?

Kyousuke was speechless.

Anyone with half a brain could figure out the answer—Miyamizu Mitsuha had regained all her memories, along with the feelings that came with them.

That kiss—timeless and death-defying, atop the mountaintop—had brought everything back.

And now, the man once dubbed the "Tokyo Kendo Future," a relentless flirt who could verbally spar with a machine gun of sarcasm and emerge victorious, was utterly defeated.

By a shrine maiden turned Nara sword-maiden.

Using nothing but the sword of love.

Even with all his training, he had no defense against it.

He opened his mouth, but the words just wouldn't come.

Objectively speaking, he should just say yes.

Pull her into a tight hug, and kiss those soft, pink lips again.

Just from the way her small hand tightened slightly in his, Mitsuha could feel his inner turmoil.

She gave a helpless little smile.

'You big idiot. I wasn't really planning to tell you.'

With that thought, she stuck out her tongue playfully and chirped:

"Just kidding~ Thanks to Sakura returning my diary, I remembered some things. But it's all still fuzzy."

Then she pouted cutely and added:

"If you want me to be your girlfriend, you'll have to try harder~ Don't forget, I've already had a bunch of senpai ask me to go on mixers, you know…"

"Ah—" Miyamizu Mitsuha didn't even have a chance to finish her sentence before letting out a startled gasp.

The next moment, she was pulled into a firm, protective embrace.

Despite all the training she'd undergone, which had given her more strength and presence than other girls, she still seemed delicate in his strong arms.

Their bodies fit together perfectly, as if they were made to.

"I'm so glad, Mitsuha," he whispered.

Yes, in this moment, he wasn't thinking about his own dark, twisted thoughts.

All he wanted was to be genuinely happy.

The bond between them was whole again.

His voice trembled with emotion.

Mitsuha, who had lost her memories, had felt lost and sad.

But for him, to stand here with the girl he had once loved and to be so uncertain about even something as simple as stroking her hair—was even more heartbreaking.

He had told Mitsuha that even if they had once been in love, they could fall in love all over again now.

He'd said it for her comfort, and for his own.

Though he had felt conflicted for just a brief moment, his heart was quickly flooded with joy.

"Yeah," Mitsuha said, a soft smile blooming on her lips. "I'm glad, too."

She shut her mouth and beamed up at him, her expression full of tender nostalgia.

Wrapping her arms around him, she clung tightly.

His reactions, his words—everything told her he was still the boy she loved.

He hadn't changed at all.

He had always been waiting for her to come back.

"I love you," he whispered shakily but with firm resolve.

"I know," she murmured, burying her face into his chest. "I love you too."

"Mitsuha…"

"Kyousuke…"

His arms wrapped even tighter around her, as if he wanted to merge her into himself—like he was pouring out all those overwhelming feelings he'd kept locked inside.

She understood it completely.

This was the true reunion they had both been waiting for.

And she was so happy, too!

Her slender fingers curled against his back, clutching him with all her strength.

In her mind, she called his name over and over, just as she had back on Mountain God.

Back then, she had lost all their memories and could no longer call out to him.

But now, no one could ever come between them again.

"You jerk," she muttered softly.

"Huh?"

"Kyousuke, you're such a two-timing jerk!"

Even though he already had Sakura and Shouko, why was he still so kind to her?

Why did he have to make her fall for him all over again?

Why did he have to make her need him so badly?

Mitsuha tilted her head up, her eyes brimming with shimmering tears that made her pretty face even more heartbreaking.

Kyousuke looked down at her, speechless.

Why—why did they all have to be so wonderful?

It made it impossible for him to let go of any of them.

"Mitsuha, I—"

Don't get it wrong—he wasn't speechless out of shame.

With his thick skin, he'd never be too embarrassed to speak.

He was just cut off mid-sentence by Mitsuha's lips pressing firmly against his.

Her kiss was clumsy and innocent, just their lips meeting without any finesse.

They were still standing on a busy street, but he didn't hesitate for a second.

Lifting his hands, he cupped her delicate face and parted his lips, slipping his tongue out—only to let out a pained yelp the next moment.

"Mitsuha—ow! What the hell?!"

His tongue throbbed with fiery pain.

Now it really was a "hot" kiss—so hot it had drawn blood.

"Kyousuke, I love you. I'm not going to leave you," Mitsuha said, looping her arms around his neck with a soft, yet determined smile.

Her lips were tinged with a vivid red.

Why did she have to say she loved him and then bite him like that?

Don't tell me you turned into some yandere in college, Mitsuha.

Kyousuke swallowed down the mouthful of blood and forced a small, strained laugh.

"I know. Compared to Yamauchi Sakura, I was the one who barged in later. But feelings don't work like that, do they?"

Mitsuha's brown eyes sparkled with a complicated emotion he couldn't quite read, no matter how hard he tried.

But one thing was clear—the gentle scent of white plum blossom around her hadn't faded.

If anything, it was stronger than ever.

"My love for you will never lose to theirs," she declared softly. "So let's make a promise."

"I don't care what happen in the future, and what ever happen you'll always be with me."

The greatest swordswoman in the history of the Miyamizu family had spoken. This was her final move.

'Huh?'

Kyousuke blinked in confusion.

"You're wondering how I know what you're thinking, right?"

Seeing his startled expression, Mitsuha giggled.

He widened his eyes again.

"You're wondering again. Kyousuke, are you a big dummy?" Her laughter grew even more joyful, like she was voicing the thoughts he didn't dare say out loud.

"It's not telepathy. It's because we're connected by love. Of course I'd know what you're thinking," she said with a gentle smile.

"It's not some lingering side effect from the body-switching, either. That would be way too rude, don't you think?"

One after another, she spoke like she was reading his mind.

Maybe the system that turned his life into a romantic comedy had finally turned it into a fantasy, Kyousuke thought with a faint smile.

Mitsuha's small hand took his larger one and pulled him over to a nearby café, where she deftly ordered two ice creams and an assortment of little cakes.

The shop was designed for couples from nearby schools to have a cozy date, with little private booths.

She leaned her elbows on the table, staring at him with a soft, dreamy expression—like the girl who'd been so fiercely emotional just minutes ago was someone else entirely.

"In the time before I got my memories back, I used to wonder—how did we even fall in love in the first place?"

"Sure, we had the body-swapping connection, but we'd never actually met."

Her voice was almost like a whisper, so light it seemed to float in the air.

"I found the answer in the diary. I saw how I fell for you, back then."

"Through your eyes, I saw the world only you could see. Through your hands, I touched the world you lived in. Little by little, I came to understand you."

"It was a feeling no one else could ever imagine—using your body to feel everything you showed me, everything you laid bare without reservation."

"Eventually, it became impossible to tell if I was inside your body or if I had finally come home to my own. My understanding of you became as familiar as knowing myself."

"That feeling came back to life inside me. My memories, once locked away, bloomed again like fireworks."

"I'm so glad my memories came back. I'm so glad I got to see you again."

Mitsuha reached across the table and gently covered Kyousuke's left hand with both of hers, tracing the red thread around his wrist.

"From the distant, unattainable longing, to the moment you asked if you could call me 'Mitsuha,' and finally to that day in Itomori.

"It's like the weaving of a thread—gathering, shaping, twisting, and winding together. Such fragile strands, and yet, once they become spirit, they're strong enough to tie two people across time and space."

"I think, no matter what… I'll never be able to leave you."

As she spoke, she slowly lifted his hand, interlacing their fingers like the threads she described.

"Mitsuha…" Kyousuke sighed softly.

Her bite on his tongue had been like a small, fierce promise—a declaration of who she was.

He knew he'd never let her go.

And in the end, he would pour all his love, without holding back, into everyone who had captured his heart.

"I promise you, I'll never let go of your hand in this lifetime."

"Idiot," Mitsuha mumbled under her breath, "like I'd be the one to let go. I'm the one who reached for your hand, you coward."

Honestly, if this fool had even a tenth of her decisiveness in love, things wouldn't have ended up like this.

And to think he practices swordsmanship—Master Yamaguchi from the mountain village would be livid if he saw this.

But their joined hands never parted.

The waiter soon arrived with their orders.

Mitsuha had gone for chocolate ice cream, while she'd ordered matcha for Kyousuke.

Both of them were swordsmen, so they didn't think twice about the little bite on his tongue.

Besides, Mitsuha hadn't bitten him that hard—she knew better than anyone how sturdy his body was.

Even with such a soft tongue, she'd already tested its strength firsthand.

"My tongue's hurt, so I can't eat ice cream myself," Kyousuke said, spreading his hands in mock helplessness.

Mitsuha's lips curved up slightly, her eyes glinting playfully as she picked up the silver spoon and scooped up some ice cream for him.

Just minutes ago they'd been sharing a passionate kiss on the street, and now they were shamelessly flirting in a café.

Even though the secluded booth kept them hidden from others, he still felt like they were committing some sweet, guilty act—and so, he decided to drag his accomplice down with him.

He scooped up a huge spoonful of ice cream and stuffed it into Mitsuha's mouth, silently blaming her for making him commit this delicious crime.

"Ah! It's so cold—way too much!" Mitsuha squeaked, her lips stained with chocolate.

"Ice cream's meant to be eaten in big bites. You're supposed to lick it bit by bit like a puppy?" he teased.

"That's nonsense! Something this delicious is meant to be savored slowly," she retorted.

He lowered his voice, leaning closer.

"Well… if you think this is good, wait until tomorrow… or maybe the day after. Come over to my place. I'll make you something even better."

"Hmm? Why do you sound so unsure?" Mitsuha asked, not really worried about the idea of going to his place.

She was the one who'd chosen not to move in, after all.

"Ugh—" Kyousuke sighed heavily after swallowing a bite of the cake she offered him.

The powder on top stung the cut on his tongue a bit, making him wince.

"Our school's getting ready for the sports festival," he explained.

"Ohh, that time of year already?" said Mitsuha, the seasoned upperclassman, with a hint of nostalgia.

"Yeah, the sports festival itself is fine," he said with another sigh, "but the group performance… that's the real problem."

"Group performance? Hahaha, does that mean I get to see you dance, Kyousuke?"

Mitsuha burst into delighted laughter.

"You'll be laughing even harder when you see it," Kyousuke muttered, already cringing at the thought of performing in front of so many people.

This wasn't like singing in a chorus—he couldn't just hide in the crowd.

"What's the big deal? With how flexible and agile you are, dancing should be a breeze," Mitsuha said lightly.

She'd experienced his movements firsthand during their body swaps—it was a strange but vivid memory, like glimpsing a part of her father she'd never known.

Of course, it wasn't just shrine maidens who danced at festivals.

Mitsuha's memories still held fleeting images of her mother teaching her father to dance—back then.

He'd looked like a glitching robot, tripping twice every five seconds, while little Yotsuba had laughed until her cheeks hurt.

"That's easy for you to say," Kyousuke said, hesitating for a moment before confessing, "but I'm really no good at dancing."

He paused, then added with quiet conviction:

"Actually, I can't dance at all. I just… can't learn it."

"What? No way!" Mitsuha's eyes went wide.

"It's true."

The memory of her parents' dancing lessons was still vivid, and now Kyousuke was facing the exact same struggle as her father.

Mitsuha couldn't help but find it oddly endearing.

"Then let me teach you!" she said without hesitation.

She didn't even ask what kind of dance it was—because no matter the style, even if it was something completely foreign to her, Miyamizu Mitsuha had absolute confidence she could master it quickly.

After all, she'd been training since she was a child.

"You… you're really going to teach me?" Hojou Kyousuke blinked, caught off guard.

Sure, he'd vaguely considered that he might end up needing her help—she was the best dancer he knew—but he hadn't seriously thought she'd offer.

After all, his problem wasn't a lack of a good teacher—it was his own clumsy feet.