Living in the Heart of Tokyo

Under Captain Sakura's supervision, Kyousuke quickly finished lunch.

Then the three of them walked side by side toward the Kendo Club activity room.

"As expected of me. Everything I cook tastes amazing," Kyousuke said smugly.

"Mhm! Kyousuke-kun's cooking is the best in the world!" Shouko nodded vigorously.

While Sakura had her mouth stuffed full of apple and was mumbling something indistinctly.

"Not really. There are plenty of people better than me—Nishimiya Shouko, Okudera Miki, Yukino Yukari..." Kyousuke started counting on his fingers before letting out a sigh.

"I really envy the people who get to eat their food every day."

"Why wasn't I on that list? When we were kids, you said I had natural talent for cooking!" Sakura protested loudly.

"If I could, I'd love to remember what your food even tasted like," Kyousuke replied dramatically.

"Huh?" Sakura tilted her head, clearly not following.

"Sakura-san, may I ask—how many sets of spare kitchen knives are there in the dorm's kitchen?"

"Two, obviously! One as backup for the current knives, and one set as backup for the backups! Common sense like this won't stump me!"

"Wrong. The correct answer is four! Still got a long way to go, Miss Sakura." Kyousuke shook his head in mock disappointment.

Hadn't she heard?

The only people who can bring happiness while holding sharp knives are chefs.

And a proper chef lacking knives is a disgrace.

At his house, not only did he have heavy-duty cleavers for smashing garlic, but also a one-meter-long tuna blade—yes, the real deal.

His storage cabinet was filled to the brim with knives of various types and lengths, all handcrafted by master smiths.

After all, being a top-tier chef comes standard with owning blades sharp enough to slice a hair in midair.

"I specialize in Japanese cuisine. All I need is a single knife, so two sets of equipment are more than enough! Knowing how many spare knives there are has nothing to do with my cooking skills!"

Sakura fired back with full confidence.

"If by Japanese cuisine, you mean that stinky salted black bean fried rice you made in fourth grade summer break—where you added enough salt to kill someone—then I can say, hand on heart... it was delicious." Kyousuke teased with a grin.

Sakura had always been a kitchen disaster, just like his mom.

Ever since they were kids, both had been forbidden from going near stoves—whether in her house or his.

At least she was enthusiastic about washing dishes.

That deserved some praise.

Even when it came to preparing vegetables, Kyousuke had to keep a close eye on her.

More than once, before the veggies could even reach the pot, Sakura would munch on them like a rabbit. He could still picture those scenes.

He'd be in the kitchen prepping ingredients, while his mom and Sakura were outside in the yard picking vegetables.

After a while with no sign of the veggies, he'd step out and find them both chomping away on celery sticks, dipping them into things like salt and pepper or mayonnaise.

Chatting about local gossip, giggling without a care in the world.

He'd see their smiling faces, hear their bright laughter, and all he could do was chuckle helplessly and hurry back to the kitchen to whip up more snacks for their little tea party.

In his previous life, he'd been taught that you shouldn't eat snacks before meals.

That kind of thinking was deeply rooted in him.

But in the face of those two, he stood no chance.

They were both girls who'd been showered in love.

"Wahahaha! Kyousuke, you're so petty—you've been holding a grudge all this time!"

Sakura laughed heartily after recalling the memory.

"And you were such a jerk when we were kids! You tasted it first, told me it was good, and then spat it out after I ate it! I had to rinse my mouth three times and my tongue was still numb!"

Her rare attempt at cooking had turned into a traumatic experience.

Naturally, she'd avoided the kitchen ever since.

Truly wise people don't waste effort on things they're bad at.

"That was to teach you the value of food!"

Kyousuke justified himself, though really, it had nothing to do with being kind—it was purely to prank this silly girl.

"I never waste food, okay?! I always finish everything you cook! Like today at lunch! Look—I still have apple in my mouth!"

"So that's why you stole my portion of fruit too? And don't talk with your mouth full! You might bite your tongue and ruin the flavor."

"Huh? But don't you think my words smell like apples right now? Come on—take a whiff!"

Sakura giggled as she grabbed Kyousuke's sleeve and stood on tiptoe, puffing warm apple-scented breaths at him with every word.

"Gross… I mean—yeah, it does smell like apples."

Kyousuke nearly said it smelled terrible, but quickly corrected himself.

The breath from her small, adorable mouth really did carry the sweet scent of apples.

"Pfft—ahahahahahaha!" Laughter erupted from his left.

The noisy pair turned to find Shouko clutching her stomach, laughing so hard she was practically doubled over.

The way her chest bounced with each chuckle was... well, intimidating.

"Shou-chan, I get that you want to give Kyousuke a little fanservice since no one's around, but maybe save the laughter for when we're home~"

Sakura dashed to Shouko's side and linked arms with her playfully.

"I-I wasn't doing that!"

Shouko's chubby cheeks turned pink—whether from laughter or embarrassment, it was hard to say.

Probably both.

Her lips still trembled with suppressed giggles.

In their little circle, Eriri was the biggest mood-lifter—though completely unaware of it.

Sakura was different.

Like a radiant sun, just being near her, seeing her unfiltered joy, and hearing her open laughter was enough to make anyone happy.

As for Kyousuke—just watching him was enough.

Even without his attention, a quiet kind of happiness would well up from deep within.

With Shouko stuck in the middle, she had no choice but to join the conversation.

The three of them soon launched into a debate over where Sakura's cooking ranked in the world.

Not that Kyousuke's opinion mattered—Sakura had already declared herself number one in his universe.

It was, according to her, the First Law of Maintaining Cosmic Stability.

Laughing and chatting all the way, they finally arrived at the Kendo Club entrance—only to find it crowded with people.

"Make way, Hojou-kun's here!" Someone stuck outside the door shouted upon spotting Kyousuke.

Immediately, the crowd shifted.

People at the entrance—and those blocking it from the inside—turned, then quickly parted to make way.

"Why aren't you going in, General Swordsman?" Kyousuke casually asked Zaimokuza Yoshiteru, whose towering frame and trench coat made him impossible to miss.

"Uh, well…"

Zaimokuza hesitated, then leaned in, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, clearly about to share a secret.

Kyousuke's scanning instinct kicked in—he instantly noticed the beads of sweat on Zaimokuza's forehead.

Before the inevitable stench reached him, he took a discreet step back and motioned for him to just say it aloud.

"Captain... Yukinoshita is holding a secret religious ritual inside. I suspect... it's to bestow upon you the gift of dance."

Zaimokuza said this in a hushed, reverent tone—his expression a mix of awe and admiration.

Whether he was in awe of Yukino Yukinoshita's mysterious powers, or just jealous of how shamelessly chuuni she could be at school, was anyone's guess.

"A religious ritual? A secret rite?" Kyousuke froze for a second, then shot a disgruntled look at Zaimokuza.

"Hey, don't make it sound like I'm beyond saving and have no choice but to pray to the gods."

To be honest, he thought to himself, even the gods wouldn't be able to do anything about my dance skills.

'This is a system-level curse, after all.'

Yamauchi Sakura overheard their conversation and let out a cheerful laugh.

Then, exuding the commanding presence of a leader, she stepped forward with her two lieutenants flanking her like generals.

"W-What... is this place?" As soon as Sakura entered the clubroom, her eyes went wide in shock.

The spacious room was lined wall-to-wall—starting from the left of the entrance—with a series of detailed motion breakdown diagrams.

They wrapped around the entire room, depicting faceless, red muscle-fiber-covered figures frozen in all sorts of eerie poses.

No, not just faceless—they had no faces at all.

And right in the center of the room stood a black-haired girl, arms folded calmly in front of her, watching the hesitant newcomers at the door with a composed, unreadable expression.

It was none other than Yukinoshita Yukino—the one Zaimokuza had dubbed the "High Priestess of the Sacred Ritual."

The atmosphere in the room felt both solemn and unsettling, and it was no wonder the early arrivals didn't dare enter.

"No wonder the Swordmaster General called this a religious ritual… Kyousuke, I think you've really pushed little Yukino over the edge," Sakura said, half-stunned.

"Religious ritual? More like a cliff of self-reflection," Kyousuke muttered. "Yukinoshita's about to pass on some top-secret technique called the 'Nightfall Dance.'"

As he scanned the room, letting his eyes flick rapidly through each diagram like a flipbook, it became clear what she was trying to do.

"Actually, this looks more like a criminal profiling session by the Tokyo MPD's First Investigation Division. Each figure on the wall is probably a suspect in a simulated case. Kinda artsy—dancing while committing crimes."

Honestly, if it weren't for the creepy red muscle visuals, it really did resemble the kind of 3D animation the police used to simulate criminal behavior.

'If this were the world of Conan, she'd definitely be a high school girl detective.'

Still, jokes aside, Kyousuke was genuinely shocked.

'Did Yukinoshita really go this far…?'

He looked around at the room full of martial arts manual-style poses and suddenly had a strange thought:

'Could I hire Yukinoshita as a 3D animator for my future anime studio?'

With the pitch "Create the world's greatest animation," she might just end up handling the entire production—animation, cinematography, everything.

He was certain at first glance that she had done all of this alone.

He was in the industry, after all—he could tell a newbie's work when he saw it.

And knowing Yukinoshita, she was the type of obsessive perfectionist who would consider hiring outside help a form of weakness.

In other words, this mind-blowing display was entirely her doing.

"What are you spacing out for? Hurry up and start practicing." Yukinoshita's sharp voice snapped him out of it.

Seeing that Kyousuke was just standing there like the others, she frowned.

"Oh, yes, ma'am! As you command, Your Holiness!" Kyousuke placed his right hand over his chest and gave a theatrical bow to her stoic face, full of sacred authority.

Then he turned to the others.

"These are Yukinoshita's dance motion diagrams. Take a good look and focus on the parts you're not confident with."

"Motion diagrams?!" Zaimokuza gasped and pushed through the crowd with his massive frame, stopping in front of the first diagram and starting to mimic the poses.

"Swordmaster General, please step back. If you keep doing it like that, you'll really turn this into a cult ritual," Kyousuke shouted.

The guy was putting so much dramatic force into every move, it looked less like dancing and more like summoning spirits.

Seeing that, the other students burst out laughing and finally stepped into the room, each approaching a diagram and studying it.

As for one certain someone—he naturally headed straight toward Yukinoshita for some… specialized instruction.

"Since you already figured out what this is, let's get started. With your body coordination and intelligence, these visuals should be more than enough to help you learn,"

Yukinoshita said, nodding slightly toward the surrounding diagrams.

Her tone was icy, but her eyes were focused.

Though she was used to being stared at all her life—thanks to her beauty and charm—this was her first time feeling like a character in some bizarre cult ritual.

If it were under different circumstances, she might actually enjoy running a religion.

Something like… a Cat God Cult.

She'd gather all sorts of adorable cats and have them take turns serving as high priest.

Build shrines for them, create secret societies, write sacred texts and mythologies, even sell merchandise featuring their mascot avatars.

Why cats, you ask? Not because she was particularly fond of them.

Simply because humans have worshipped cats for centuries.

Cats, unlike humans, wouldn't become corrupt religious leaders.

They'd remove the messy human element and open up all sorts of new possibilities for spiritual movements.

Such a cat-based religion, built on understanding human psychology from the very start, would be a perfect testing ground for her studies on manipulating the human heart.

As for which cats to pick:

The first would definitely be a tuxedo cat—its black-and-white fur symbolizing neutrality, a statement that her cult transcended national boundaries.

The second would be a classic tabby—to bring a sense of familiarity and closeness to the common followers.

As for the third… a Siamese? Or maybe a Ragdoll? Tough choice…

Yukinoshita lifted her right hand, forming a loose fist under her nose as she focused on her breathing, lost in deep thought.

"Yukinoshita-san? Hellooo? Yukinoshita!" Kyousuke stared, dumbfounded.

She looked like she'd drifted into another dimension—cheeks slightly flushed, her face filled with joy and affection as she got lost in her own whimsical thoughts.

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