All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

Kotomi Izumi and Megumi Kato had made up, and just like before, they walked to and from school together every day.

On the last day of midterms, after finishing the final exam, Kotomi went to Tokyo with Megumi to see a movie. The theater was the same one as last time: Roppongi.

Kotomi realized that Megumi genuinely liked watching B-grade shark movies.

Previously, they watched 108 Killer Sharks, and this time it was the director’s new shark film series, Flying Zombie Sharks.

She hadn’t expected this new series to be released so quickly.

Same familiar stitched-together feel, same familiar special effects—less than ten minutes in, you could pretty much guess how it would end.

But then again, these kinds of movies weren’t about the plot. Most people watching them were just killing time and wanted to snack on popcorn, so they ended up choosing a shark film.

Among all the movies currently showing, the quality varied wildly. Even films from the same director could range from masterpiece to total flop. If you hadn’t watched a YouTube review beforehand, buying a movie ticket felt like opening a blind box.

Until the movie started, you’d never know if you’d picked a hit or a dud.

And in that uncertain state, shark films felt refreshingly unique. You didn’t need to care about the plot—just from the poster and trailer alone, you could tell the special effects wouldn’t be boring.

No doubt, the shark film director was a genius. He openly admitted he loved making B-movies. At first, he couldn’t afford a scriptwriter, so he wrote the script himself—but even the dialogue was terrible. So he just let loose with the story settings, stitching together borrowed ideas and pouring all the budget into special effects.

Sometimes, a film series’ commercial success made no logical sense. Shark films were bad, but the director made them in a way that wasn’t boring. And that ”not boring” part wasn’t about the plot—it was about the effects and those female characters with incredible Western figures.

Just sitting in the theater eating popcorn, sipping soda, watching thrilling effects and those explosive curves on screen—how could anyone be bored?

Especially this new series, Flying Zombie Sharks—out of its 90-minute runtime, Kotomi spent 80 minutes admiring the female characters’ figures.

It was clear the director had fully figured it out—this time, all the female roles were cast with women with fiery bodies.

Who knew how others felt, but for Kotomi, her eyes were darting everywhere, unable to keep up.

As she watched, she even felt that the flying zombie shark itself was kinda sexy.

No wonder the ending had the male lead make the zombie shark pregnant, spawning countless little flying zombie sharks who then teamed up to defeat the mastermind behind the zombie virus.

The movie was a blast.

After the film, they went for steak and had an indulgent meal. The waiter at the steakhouse had never seen anyone eat 25 steaks alone.

No—when serving Kotomi, the waiter even started to suspect she wasn’t human, but the strongest surface-dwelling creature disguised in human skin, hiding among the human race.

Before heading to the steakhouse, Megumi had thought she was flush with cash after just getting her monthly allowance. Boldly, she declared:

”Kotomi, this steak’s on me!”

Kotomi declined.

Later, at checkout, Megumi instantly understood why Kotomi refused. Even her entire annual allowance wouldn’t cover what Kotomi had just eaten!

25 steaks!

No wonder Kotomi had insisted on the biggest table the moment they entered!

And after dinner?

Needless to say—

Of course, the two of them ”coincidentally” missed the last train, found a hotel, and spent the night there before returning.

As for Aimi?

Aimi was at home doing homework.

After all, Kotomi and the others were on break after finishing midterms, but Aimi, still a middle schooler, had to continue attending regular classes.

In any case, Kotomi Izumi and Megumi Kato had finally returned to their previous way of interacting—professing their love for each other every day, constantly clinging to one another.

Megumi was happy.

Arisu Sakayanagi and Aimi Izumi were frustrated.

Especially Aimi.

She realized that not only had Megumi and her sister patched things up, their relationship had actually deepened. And she had played no small role in making that happen...

Once this dawned on her, Aimi, who was self-studying in the classroom, couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

Startling her deskmate, Iroha Isshiki.

”Aimi, why are you crying?”

”Sob sob sob... My hair already has a bit of a greenish tint, and now I just dumped a whole bucket of green paint over myself...” Aimi choked, head lowered, tears streaming.

Iroha had no idea what was going on or what Aimi’s words even meant. But from the way she was crying, even if it wasn’t loud, Aimi was clearly feeling extremely wronged.

Just as Iroha was hurrying to comfort her, Aimi suddenly looked up, eyes serious and intense as she asked:

”Iroha, have you confessed to the girl you like yet?”

”Huh?”

Even a little devil like Iroha couldn’t keep up with the sudden shift. A moment ago, Aimi was crying bitterly, and now she was suddenly asking about her love life?

Aimi thought maybe she hadn’t made herself clear enough. She wiped her tears with her sleeve and added, ”I mean the girl you were secretly texting during class the other day.”

Oh! I get it now—Aimi’s asking about how things are going between me and Senpai! Last time she only saw me texting secretly but didn’t know it was with her sister. Iroha understood.

Aimi had no idea that the one Iroha often texted and called at length during class was none other than her sister, Kotomi!

Now, a question stood before Iroha:

Should she tell Aimi?

She quickly made up her mind.

Better not for now... Though having someone like your sister is usually good news for a younger sibling, Aimi’s current emotional state was unstable. If I told her now, I fear she’d be so overjoyed she wouldn’t be able to calm down.

Besides, between me and Senpai...

At this thought, Iroha let out a small sigh of her own, feeling a tinge of emotion. Kotomi was such a clueless straight girl! Even now, she still hadn’t found the right moment to confess.

”Things aren’t going well?” Aimi asked with concern when Iroha remained silent and sighed.

”You could say that...” Iroha nodded quietly.

So even Iroha was having trouble in love... Sigh... Truly, the simplest and yet most difficult thing in this world is love.

Aimi immediately felt a sense of camaraderie. When one person dealing with relationship troubles encounters another in the same boat, it often lifts their spirits slightly. They might even transform into a pseudo-therapist, patiently offering advice.

It was just like those silly friends who’d never been in a relationship, couldn’t even muster the courage to ask for their crush’s contact info, but when someone asked them for love advice, they all turned into emotional gurus. Cowards in their own love lives, yet bold in encouraging others to be brave.

”Iroha, when it comes to love, you have to be bold and persistent! If things aren’t going well, then use your own power to make them go well! Sob sob sob... Don’t doubt me, these are hard-earned lessons from bitter experience.”

To Aimi, chasing after Kotomi was like a long, soul-crushing journey—just like a Souls game! Facing powerful bosses at every turn, and she was always the one getting crushed. Each failure forced her to reflect calmly, and little by little, she had gained insights.

Now, seeing Iroha struggling in love too, Aimi shared some of her own hard-won wisdom with her.

”I believe you, of course I do. Aimi, let’s not cry anymore, okay? Look, you’ve cried so much your cute face is all streaked,” Iroha said, continuing to comfort her.

She wasn’t just saying that to make Aimi feel better—after listening to her words, Iroha truly felt Aimi made a lot of sense!

...

The two-day break following midterms was quite relaxing for Kotomi.

Aside from the afternoon right after exams, when she accompanied Megumi Kato to see a movie in Roppongi, and the two of them ”coincidentally” missed the last train and ended up spending the night at a hotel...

That night, Kotomi cried from how good it felt.

She spent almost the entire two-day break holed up at home, mostly because she was still drained from that night in Roppongi. Even after two full days of rest, she still didn’t feel fully recovered.

It made Kotomi start to doubt whether her supposed Queen of All Women constitution was fake.

What happened to her innate gift of super stamina?

Not knowing what else to do while stuck at home, Kotomi just gamed for two days straight—from Apex to League of Legends.

As long as she got assigned a solo lane, she always picked Darius, thoroughly indulging her desire to slash... ahem, slash enemies.

However, regardless of the game, Kotomi always played based on her mood. If her mindset was good, she’d dominate match after match, always snagging MVP. But if her mood was off, she’d feed kill after kill, faster than her teammates could react.

Other players relied on mechanics. Kotomi relied on mentality. Only when her mood was good would her form improve, and only then would her mechanical skills awaken. Otherwise, she was just a merciless feeding machine.

Among the many champions in League of Legends, Kotomi only really knew how to play a few: Darius, Gwen, and Aatrox. But she wasn’t a master of any of them. After playing one champ too often, she’d get bored and want to try others—even ones she clearly wasn’t good at.

Like Yasuo, for example. Last time she played mid lane, she picked Yasuo and didn’t feel any of that supposed Yasuo fun. Instead, she got focused by the enemy and mocked by her teammates.

[Do you even know how to play Yasuo?]

Sorry, I really don’t. But my uncle does. He once tore through Korean Challenger with Yasuo.

If I could just calm down and stick to one champion, maybe I could become a one-trick. Kotomi often joked to herself. But clearly, she couldn’t commit to just one.

Of course, it was mainly because she never intended to put too much effort into a single game—be it Apex or LOL. She played purely for fun and to pass the time, not to gain fame.

There were only two ways to get famous or make money playing games: become a streamer, or a pro player.

But Kotomi wasn’t interested in either. She knew her own gaming talent—just average. She liked playing, and while she wasn’t awful, she was nothing special. At best, she was slightly above average when in good form.

After packing up her things, Kotomi glanced at the time—already 9 PM. Though it wasn’t quite bedtime yet, she didn’t feel like gaming anymore.

League of Legends wasn’t like Apex or PUBG, where even if teammates were terrible, you could just quickly queue up another match.

In LOL, bad teammates meant a miserable game experience. You’d initiate a surrender vote, and every single one would vote no. You’d be forced to keep playing, sitting in front of your computer like you were serving a prison sentence.

Unless she had a lot of free time, Kotomi usually avoided LOL because one unlucky queue could mean another hour of gaming misery.

And it was already late. The last thing she wanted before bed was to get mad.

Better to lie in bed and watch some anime to wind down.

Before shutting down the computer, on a whim, she checked LOL’s official website for any news—there was a teaser for new skins. She wondered if any of her favorite champions were getting one.

Nope. Zed was among the new skin lineup, but Kotomi couldn’t play Zed to save her life.

To this day, she still didn’t understand how to play Zed.

”Sigh... when will Darius get a new skin? I’ve been using God-King and Nightmare for way too long. Why aren’t they releasing any cool new ones?” Kotomi sat idly in her chair, swiveling left and right. Out of the corner of her eye, she suddenly spotted a scrolling bulletin.

[LJL Spring Split! Team Rosters Confirmed!]

”Eh? They already finalized the team list for this year’s spring split?” Kotomi was a little surprised and quickly clicked in to check if GMK was on the list.

Every year when the LJL started, many members of the Izumi family—even those unfamiliar with gaming—would quietly start paying attention. It wasn’t because the Izumi family had any intention of investing in esports teams, but because the second son of the family head, Kazuma Izumi, was a professional League of Legends player.

The second young master was about to compete again, and whenever that time came around, the Izumi household would secretly keep an eye on the event. They never dared to be too open about it—when Kazuma Izumi insisted on becoming a pro gamer years ago, it caused a major rift between him and the family head, Yakken Izumi. As a result, the closer it got to competition season, the more careful everyone was not to bring it up in front of him.

Despite his father’s opposition, Kazuma Izumi had pushed forward with his esports dream and turned out to have genuine talent. He became a two-time League of Legends world champion. There’s even a chance that in the next World Championship, he could become the second-ever triple crown winner in LoL history after Faker’s retirement.

News of this had already spread through high society.

Many rich young heirs from elite families, who loved gaming, viewed Kazuma as an idol.

These heirs had money, so they lacked little in life—but among those who admired Kazuma, there was still one thing they desperately longed for, something that money couldn’t buy.

And that was: Kazuma Izumi’s autograph!

Naturally, the GMK team was listed among the teams in next year’s LJL Spring Split roster.

Without thinking too much, Kotomi picked up her phone and called Kazuma.

The call connected quickly.

”Little Kotomi, did you get into a fight with your parents? Calling me at night like this.”

Kazuma’s cheerful laugh came from the other end. Maybe playing esports kept him young at heart, but he sounded nothing like a stern elder—more like a cheerful college student.

”Uncle, don’t project your rebellious nature onto me, alright? I’m Dad and Mom’s precious little sweetheart,” Kotomi replied seriously.

Since they both loved games, Kotomi and Kazuma always had plenty to talk about, and never had any generational gap in their conversations.

”Hahaha! True, our little Kotomi is the most sensible one.”

”Uncle, I just saw the Spring Split team list on the LoL website. Are you playing this season?”

Kotomi was asking despite already knowing the answer. As the pillar of GMK, if Kazuma didn’t want to compete, the team management would probably kneel to beg him to play.

”Of course I’m playing. I’ve been having meetings with the coach recently to finalize everyone’s roles. I’m still playing solo lane—either mid or top, depending.”

Kazuma was known for his strange, high-pressure playstyle. He’d control the lane with constant pressure, keeping his opponent unsure when he’d strike.

One second, he’d be cautiously farming; the next, he’d explode with aggression. And by then, it was already too late for his opponent. Kazuma would manipulate his champion’s skills to farm while keeping enemies at bay, afraid to step up—lest they become first blood.

Getting first-blooded in a pro match? Prepare to get flamed.

That early gold and level advantage would quickly snowball, leaving opponents helpless against Kazuma’s aggression.

High-pressure, unpredictable, violent elegance. These were now synonymous with GMK’s Secretive.

Kotomi chuckled, ”Uncle, I’ve been playing a lot of Darius lately. God-King and Nightmare skins are starting to feel a bit old. So I was thinking—”

Kazuma paused, then immediately got the message and burst out laughing:

”Hahaha, you little rascal! So that’s what this is about. Alright, if the gods bless me again and I become world champion one more time, when Riot asks me to pick a champion for the commemorative skin, I’ll choose Darius.”

”Yay!”

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