432 That Was Wild

Kyousuke stared at the pyramid in front of him and felt mildly satisfied.

Even if it was just a meaningless creation deep in the mountains where no one would see it, he still didn’t want Celty to think he hadn’t improved at all in the past two years.

It was a perfect human pyramid.

Every head was visible, meticulously arranged in ideal proportions.

Not just by height and weight—their hairstyles had also been factored in.

He had even taken notes on their screams during the beatdown, documenting pitch and volume for balance.

The finishing touch? A guy at the very top doing a dogeza with his butt stuck in the air, like some ancient worshipper begging the gods for mercy.

The whole thing exuded a bizarre sort of artistic expression.

“Damn, that’s actually impressive,” Kisaki Tetta said with genuine awe as he snapped photos with his phone.

“This is my artistic side at work,” Kyousuke replied modestly.

“Once we leak these photos online, any organization thinking of messing with us will have to seriously consider whether they can survive this level of public humiliation.”

Kisaki was even more impressed.

Of course—this was their boss.

Even with all his strength, he hadn’t stopped walking down the path of pure evil.

“What the hell are you talking about? This is art! If a freaking toilet can be called modern art, then this is definitely performance art!” Kyousuke snapped, clearly annoyed by the misunderstanding.

Kisaki paused, then nodded deeply, even more reverent.

“You’re right. If anything, it might motivate our enemies to fight harder just to avoid this kind of shame. Which means… they’ll get an even clearer taste of how hopeless it is to face you.”

“…Kisaki, you’re beyond saving,” Kyousuke sighed with a tone of genuine pity. “If you had even 1% of this wit when talking to girls, you wouldn’t still be single.”

‘Click.’

That wasn’t the sound of a heart breaking—no way.

Kisaki, who had been following him around for years, must’ve developed an unbreakable will by now.

Ah, right—he wasn’t the only one here today.

There was also their newest member of the Heartbreak Club, Gorou.

Kyousuke turned to look at him, dripping with sweat and still brawling with a grin on his face.

“Don’t give up, Gorou. There’s still hope for you.” His words were accompanied by a broad, confident smile—the kind only a true leader could pull off.

With his charisma, this kind of pep talk was usually enough to…

“Totally! I mean, if you fell for my crossdressing, that just proves your taste is top-notch!”

Black-haired Kuroda Kaito, also drenched in sweat and holding a baseball bat, smacked Gorou on the back while laughing boisterously.

“Exactly! With that kind of unshakable discipline, if I were Kuroda, I’d probably fall for you too!”

Mitsuhashi Ryouma chimed in, holding a steel pipe that had already bent from overuse.

“Idiots! If that’s what it takes, then I’ll start that kind of training too!” Kisaki, now the butt of the joke, shouted in protest.

“…?”

Kyousuke blinked.

Did he just hear what he thought he heard?

Crap.

He forgot that whenever bikes or brawls were involved, his crew’s brains turned to concrete.

Not just the biker gang guys stacked up in that pyramid—their own underlings too.

Whoa—

Was Gorou really radiating this much pressure?

Sure, he wasn’t quite on Yukinoshita’s level, or Utaha’s, but that black flame swirling around him felt like it was just about ready to distort space.

Kyousuke glanced at Gorou, then at the three idiots obliviously chatting around him, still deep in debate about what kind of training would help them win over a girl.

“Shut up, you morons! Talk like that after you actually get a girlfriend!”

Victory ultimately belonged to Kuroda—the one person who already had a girlfriend.

\He flashed a smug, cocky smile as he rubbed salt in the losers’ wounds.

“You’re all wrong! Step one is definitely plastic surgery!”

Gorou’s explosive yell cut Kuroda’s victory short.

“Gorou, not to crush your dreams or anything… but even if you got plastic surgery, it’s not gonna get you to Boss’s level. You’d be better off using that money to go on more dates…”

Still riding the high from beating Kisaki earlier, Kuroda tried to advise Gorou earnestly.

But halfway through, he sensed something was off.

Wait… when did the Boss step that far away? And why was he looking at him with such… pity?

And Kisaki—why are you borrowing a medical kit from those girls over there?

Mitsuhashi, my true bro, at least you're still here with me—huh? Gorou, why are you grabbing my shirt? Oh, no… Mitsuhashi too?

“Um… did I maybe say something really, really dumb just now?”

Kuroda scratched his head—well, tried to, but a baseball bat knocked his hand away. He looked up at Gorou and managed a dry, strained smile.

“You know me, right, Gorou? The moment I get on a bike or into a fight, my brain short-circuits. Totally not my fault.”

“This has nothing to do with me!” Mitsuhashi flailed dramatically, trying to run, but Gorou’s grip on his shirt was like a vice.

Among the three, Gorou had always been the second-in-command—unless tactics required otherwise, he was the strongest after the boss himself.

Guys like Kisaki? Gorou could solo ten of him.

Mitsuhashi was a bit tougher… maybe seven.

“Shut up!”

Gorou didn’t even waste words anymore. With a yank, he pulled Mitsuhashi off balance and trapped his neck in a tight elbow lock.

His free hand dug into his pocket and pulled out a crisp white envelope.

The cool night breeze carried the scent of gardenias to his nose—it was coming from the envelope.

He knew it well. The first thing he did after receiving it was press it to his nose and sniff it deeply for over three minutes.

Kuroda even called him a creep for it.

With one hand, he opened the envelope.

The letter inside was printed on pale pink floral paper—not important.

What was important was the photo he pulled out between two fingers.

A graceful, elegant back view.

The woman in the photo was the reason he hadn’t changed his underwear for four months.

Gorou looked at the photo, then at Kuroda’s awkward, grinning face.

Looked at the photo again, then at Kuroda pulling a goofy face.

‘SMACK!’

Without mercy, Gorou slapped the back of Kuroda’s head hard enough to twist it ninety degrees, glaring at the back of his skull that looked nothing like the one in the picture.

Even if he had been brutally rejected, Gorou planned to treasure this photo for the rest of his life—hell, he’d take it to the grave.

After all, she was the first girl he’d ever fallen for.

“ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!”

A thunderous roar.

He crumpled the photo and envelope into a ball in his fist while still choking out Mitsuhashi, whose eyes had already rolled back, tongue lolling out.

“Wait wait wait, Gorou! You misunderstood! The girl in the picture—that’s my sister! Yeah, my older sister!”

Beat of sweat poured down Kuroda’s forehead like boiling water condensing on a metal lid.

The guy who used to be his most reliable ally in fights… now looked more terrifying than anything he’d ever faced.

“You pulled this off… so I assume you're prepared to eat the underwear I’ve worn for four months of training, right?”

Gorou lowered his head, his face hidden in shadow.

His flat tone carried the chilling weight of a demon sent straight from hell.

‘Eat his underwear?!’

Kyousuke’s survival instincts kicked in.

He ran even farther away. Whew—lucky. He’d planned to hit the hot springs after the mountain run. Thank god he dodged that bullet.

“I get it! I’ll introduce my sister to you—she can be your girlfriend!”

It was the only card left to play.

If his sister also had to suffer a consequence, she’d have no right to mock him.

“You dare trample on the sacred ground of my love like that, Kuroda?!” Gorou roared, tossing the unconscious Mitsuhashi Ryouma aside like a ragdoll and grabbing Kuroda Kaito by the collar.

“Calm down, Gorou, calm down! I’ve already written down the fact that you fell in love with my crossdressing self. It’s hidden somewhere safe. If I don’t make it home tonight, it’ll be delivered to every major news outlet!”

As expected of a young master from a merchant family—Kuroda quickly turned the tables.

His voice grew louder and bolder by the second:

“You don’t want the world to know you’re into crossdressing guys, do you? You still wanna date girls, don’t you? You don’t want people looking at you like some kind of freak, right?! You don’t want—”

These idiots...

Watching the mess unfold, Kyousuke slapped his forehead with a sigh.

“What’s going on over there?” Celty asked curiously.

“Don’t be so nosy, Celty. You know what happens to curious children—they meet unfortunate ends!” Kyousuke said ominously, as if reciting a horror story.

“U-Unfortunate ends?!” Celty flinched and instinctively took a step back.

The way she shrank away almost melted Kyousuke on the spot.

Adorable.

But seriously—you’re the one who’s supposed to bring misfortune, Celty. You’re a literal black-clad Dullahan.

People are supposed to ward you off with dog’s blood! You can’t go around being this cute. It makes people want to tease you...

Wait a minute... The things those pervy seniors fantasized about Sadako... Could I be the one to actually live that fantasy?

As that thought took root, Kyousuke looked over to Gorou, who was being verbally crushed by the ever-scheming Kuroda, and shouted:

“Gorou! There are only two people who know this secret—Kuroda and Mitsuhashi!”

Gorou’s expression instantly shifted.

His grip had almost loosened on Kuroda’s collar—but now, his posture snapped upright.

Kuroda spun around, eyes wide in disbelief, staring at the very man he respected most.

Kyousuke simply gave him a warm, knowing smile.

They were brothers, after all.

Better to rip off the bandage early than have it explode later like a landmine. He sighed.

‘The things I do for these dumbass underlings.’

“Kisaki, take my bike back to Tokyo.”

He tossed the keys without looking back.

Kisaki Tetta caught them with a resigned expression. He already knew what was coming.

Of course boss would be heading off to enjoy a night out with beautiful girls—while he was left to clean up the mess.

First, he had to haul the three idiots (who were definitely going to be too beat up to ride) to the hospital.

Then he’d have to make sure the local biker gangs kept their heads down and didn’t interrupt boss peace. And finally, return his boss’s precious bike to Tokyo safely.

“Come on, Celty. You ladies too. Let’s go enjoy the Tokyo nightlife. I know a place that serves great drinks.”

Kyousuke turned to the three women with a smile as bright as the city skyline, then retrieved a bag of hot spring buns from Rocket 33’s saddlebag—a gift for his family.

Gifts weren’t just about manners or creating anticipation.

They represented something deeper: no matter where I go, I’m always thinking of you. They carried longing, affection, and love.

With that thought in mind, he asked Celty to secure the bag onto her bike with her shadowy mist.

“Are you sure we should just leave them like that...?” Celty glanced back at the trio now tangled in a dust cloud of fists and shouting.

“Drink~! Drink~! Drink~~~!” Hoshizuki wasn’t having it.

She grabbed Celty by the waist and started pushing her forward.

“W-Wait a sec!” Celty yelped.

“Hojou, Hoshizuki-san and Furusawa-san said earlier that they wanted to ride with you.”

She blurted it out before the others could, because no way in hell was she letting anyone else ride her beloved bike.

Besides, there was no one else she trusted to handle it—only Hojou.

“Wha—!?” Hoshizuki let out a little shriek, her face immediately turning crimson.

Sure, she’d sounded bold earlier, but now, looking at the gentle, handsome Hojou up close, she didn’t want to come off as that kind of girl.

She gave him an embarrassed smile, then quickly yanked Celty down so their faces were cheek-to-cheek and whispered:

“You can’t just say that kind of thing out loud!”

God, Celty really was something else—wild in action and speech.

Amazing. But we're not like you! You’re used to riding Hojou’s bike all the time!

We’re just—just standing here drooling at the idea!

Even if I do want to ride him—I mean, his bike—so badly I’m practically panting, I still need to act reserved, right!?

At least... at least we should tell him our names first!

“Huh? If not now, then when?” Celty asked, puzzled. “Aren’t we riding back to Tokyo?”

“Obviously after drinks! That half-tipsy, floating feeling is perfect for that kind of thing,” Hoshizuki said, blushing so red her face looked like a romantic sunset.

Her voice practically drifted like steam.

“That’s insane! You can’t ride drunk! It’s dangerous!” Celty snapped, scandalized. “This isn’t the Showa era where drunk driving just got you a 50,000 yen fine!”

“Eh? I didn’t expect you to be so conservative about this kind of thing, Celty,” Hoshizuki said in surprise.

“Of course I am! This is life we’re talking about! You don’t mess around with that!” Celty said firmly, full of conviction.

“Of course I care about safety! Just so you know, I’m in perfect physical condition. And I’ve only done it like… under ten times!” Hoshizuki quickly clarified, seeing Celty’s face darken.

“What I mean is—even if something does happen, I’ll take full responsibility! I’d never let Hojou get in trouble because of me.”

She paused, then lowered her head.

“Honestly… I’d be happy if something did happen. If people found out, I bet they’d be super jealous.”

Her voice dripped with seduction, her throat bobbing slightly as her thighs rubbed together nervously.

Celty jolted and felt something twist inside her.

“I’m sorry… I misjudged you, Hoshizuki-san. I didn’t realize you were that committed. In that case… fine! I’ll let you and Hojou ride my bike together!”

“T-Three people!?”

Hoshizuki screamed in shock.