Chapter 297: If You've Got the Guts, Come at Me Head‑On
"Listen to my explanation!"
Kouya thrust out his right hand to stop her, his tone sharp and urgent.
'Come on! We only took a nap on the river embankment! How in the world did you twist that into 'confess your sins in blood'? Why are you glaring like some final boss ready to execute judgment!'
"Explanation?" Hiratsuka-sensei raised her head slowly, her eyes glowing an ominous red. The air around her almost crackled with fury. Her voice dropped low and dangerous. "After I beat you to a pulp, then you can explain yourself."
Before Kouya could even open his mouth, the air split with a whistle—her fist shot out like a cannonball, tearing through the space between them.
"I still haven't found a boyfriend yet, and you—You've been juggling girls, taking them out into the wild, doing those kinds of things...!"
Kouya winced. "Wow, impressive deduction!"
"Shut up!" he scolded himself instantly, realizing sarcasm only poured fuel on the fire. 'Seriously, who dragged anyone into anything? You're still single because your checklist is ridiculous—sincere, gentle, tall, handsome, mature, emotionally stable, sunny smile? Maybe if you were still seventeen or eighteen... but you're in your thirties! Adjust your standards!'
He dodged the blow easily, stepping aside as the wind from her fist rustled his hair. "Actually, they took me there!"
"What?!" Hiratsuka's fury flared higher. "So you're saying you went along but it's all the girls' fault?! What, did they tie you down so you couldn't leave?!"
"Eh? How did you know that?" Rikka tilted her head innocently. "Raphiel did hold onto the hero and wouldn't let go..."
"Pfft!" Hiratsuka almost coughed blood.
'Wait—what?! That's actually true!?' Her mind struggled to reconcile the image of that polite, composed, silver-haired angel with the wild delinquent now taking shape in her imagination.
"Regardless!" Hiratsuka barked. "I hate cheaters. Die for me!"
Her fist cut the air again, roaring toward him with frightening speed. Kouya tilted his head slightly, the punch missing by a hair's breadth. The gust that followed blew the grass sideways.
He frowned. "If you hit me again, I'll hit back."
Three strikes was his limit—teacher or not, he wasn't going to be her punching bag.
Hiratsuka sneered. "Oh? Then come on. If you've got the guts, face me head‑on!"
"..."
'You're a teacher. A teacher! Do you realize what that sounds like right now?' Kouya thought, deadpan.
A small gasp broke from nearby. "Eh?!" Rikka clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. "I—I didn't hear anything!" she squeaked.
Hiratsuka's face twitched, realizing what she'd just said out loud, but she straightened, refusing to show embarrassment. She folded her arms and sniffed. "You heard right."
"When I trained at the dojo, a bunch of arrogant punks challenged me. My rule was simple: beat me, and I'll go on a date with you."
Her lips curved into a smirk—half pride, half taunt. "You're a student, but rules are rules. If you can beat me, I'll make an exception."
A fifth‑dan black belt in karate, Hiratsuka Shizuka had no concept of losing. She'd sent more than one overconfident man sprawling, their pride and ribs broken in equal measure. Her fists were weapons—and her confidence, unshakable.
Kouya's expression twitched. 'You think your "Iron Fist" nickname makes you invincible? You'll cry when this ends.'
Hiratsuka's eyes narrowed. The wind around her felt charged with heat and tension. 'Three girls, outdoors, doing God‑knows‑what... Unforgivable. I'll use my righteous fists to bring justice to this walking scandal.'
That wasn't logic—it was pure thirty‑something single‑woman fury condensed into violence.
"Let all the popular people explode!" she declared, fist clenched.
Kouya exhaled slowly. "Right... I see how it is. In that case—can I call the police first?"
"Eh?!" Hiratsuka blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Kouya deadpanned, "A teacher her thirties developing improper thoughts about her male student... I feel like that's worth reporting."
Her pale cheeks flushed instantly, not from shame, but from sheer anger. Her voice dropped, as sharp and cold as a blade. "Has no one told you that mentioning a woman's age is a death wish?"
Hiratsuka Shizuka was not one to hesitate or reflect.
Smoking? People had lectured her—parents, coworkers, the principal—useless.
Drinking? Normal. A necessity for surviving adulthood.
Teaching morals through the iron fist? Perfectly acceptable.
Some students only learned through pain; a broken ego stuck longer than a lecture ever could. Complaints to the board had never slowed her down.
Now she intended to leave Kouya with a "lesson" he'd never forget.
Step! She lunged forward, twisting her hips with explosive force. Beneath the fitted white sports shirt, her muscles flexed visibly—tight, powerful, elegant like a hunting leopard.
Boom! Her leg sliced the air, a kick so fast it cracked like a whip.
Normally, she'd limit herself to punches, but Kouya's calm demeanor stoked her temper. Maybe a little extra force would humble him.
Her only hesitation was the short black skirt—one kick too high, and she'd flash him. But with no one else around, she brushed the thought away.
Kouya narrowed his eyes. This time, instead of dodging, he raised his arm casually.
Clang! The impact thundered, sending ripples through the air. A gust burst outward, scattering dust around them.
Rikka yelped softly, shielding her face. The tension between teacher and student felt almost cinematic—except she wasn't sure who the hero was anymore.
"So, finally fighting back?" Hiratsuka smirked, her ponytail swaying. "Good. Next time, I won't hold back."
Kouya replied calmly, "If I lose, can I go home after this?"
"Of course."
"Good. Then come." He lifted his right hand lazily.
He didn't bother with grand declarations like "I'll let you three strikes" or "Show me your best." No point.
Even if Hiratsuka's power multiplied a thousandfold, the outcome wouldn't change.
"Confident little brat," Hiratsuka muttered, veins twitching at her temple. Inside the dojo, few could match her speed. Her nickname, "Iron Fist," wasn't for show.
But beneath her irritation, a flicker of curiosity sparked. Maybe this kid had something.
"Then—let's see what you've got!" she roared.
The air itself seemed to split; her fist moved like lightning.
Kouya didn't even blink. His expression stayed calm—almost bored—as his right hand rose, catching the punch midair.
Smack! The sound echoed sharply. Her pale fist stopped dead in his grasp.
Hiratsuka's eyes widened. She twisted, tried to pull free—but her fist might as well have been buried in concrete. She couldn't move an inch.
She swung her other arm. Caught again.
The battle that started with thunder ended with silence.
No grand technique, no spectacle—just complete, one‑sided control.
Hiratsuka froze, disbelief flooding her expression. Her entire combat style revolved around speed and precision. Few ever saw her punches coming.
But Kouya had read every move like a book, countering with effortless timing. It was as if he could see into her intent before she even acted.
She tensed, instinctively lifting her leg—debating between a sharp knee to the ribs or a self‑defense kick straight to the groin.
Then instinct screamed no.
Her fighter's intuition—honed through years of combat—warned her that if she kicked now, something terrifying would happen.
Hiratsuka froze, her thigh trembling slightly, then slowly lowered her leg.
"Kouya-kun, you can let go now," she said quietly, cheeks flushed.
Being held like that in public by a student—humiliating.
"Ahem." Kouya coughed awkwardly and released her hands, stepping back. "Reflex. The useless angel hits me all the time—I reacted automatically."
Using the moment, he pointed toward Rikka. "Anyway, we really were just napping by the river. Her butt hurts because she sat too long. That's it. Nothing happened."
Hiratsuka blinked, processing his words. Her fury faltered. "Is that true?"
Rikka nodded earnestly. "Mm-hm! After eating, a nap helps restore magic power."
"..." Hiratsuka's lips twitched. She sighed, rubbing her forehead, then gave a small, apologetic bow.
"Kouya-kun, I misunderstood. I was impulsive. Sorry."
"It's fine," he said simply. He could tell she hadn't meant harm, but he was done with this circus. "I'll be going now."
He turned to leave—but Hiratsuka suddenly stepped in front of him again.
"Wait. Didn't you say you wanted to visit the dojo before?" Her eyes glimmered like a cat that had spotted prey. "The students at school are too weak. One soft punch and they collapse. It's so boring."
Kouya stared at her flatly. 'Is this really a teacher talking? Use warmth to guide students, not physical trauma!' (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻!
Hiratsuka clasped her hands behind her back, smiling slyly. "Come on, sign up at the dojo. I'll cover the fee. You might even learn something."
"No thanks." Kouya waved her off instantly.
He could think of a hundred better ways to spend his time—playing games with Gabriel, petting Vigne's cat, literally anything but punching mats and sweating under fluorescent lights. Martial arts looked like insects fighting to him—no appeal whatsoever.
Hiratsuka chuckled under her breath, her smile turning devious. "If you agree, I might go easy on you in class. No random questions for you or Gabriel. But if you refuse..." Her eyes glinted wickedly. "Well, who knows what I'll do. Think about it."
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