All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

The afternoon classes were mostly spent in self-study. With the cultural festival approaching, even Mr. Nakamori knew that most students’ minds weren’t on studying anymore. So, he only assigned a few pages of math homework—and even that was meant to be done during class. As long as one focused, half a study period was enough to finish it.

During the short break after the first period, Kotomi Izumi slipped into the teachers’ office. Several teachers were there at the time. With the cultural festival just around the corner, only the homeroom teachers were truly busy—most of the subject teachers were taking it easy.

The school had been considerate about the fact that students wouldn’t have the motivation to study over the next few days. So today and tomorrow’s schedules were mostly filled with PE, art, music, and self-study classes.

In a meeting earlier, the administration had even reminded the teachers not to use those periods for extra lessons. The director had hit the nail on the head:

”Even if you do take over a class, how many students do you think would actually listen? If even one out of ten pays attention, you should be grateful. Rather than forcing lessons, it’s better to leave the students to enjoy the anticipation of the cultural festival. Let them chat in class, plan, and build excitement. That way, when the festival begins, it’ll be livelier.”

As a result, most of the teachers were now the most relaxed people in the building—staying in the office, preparing slides or chatting idly. Some who normally worked overtime into the night were finally going home on time.

The days before and during the festival weren’t just a break for students; they also gave teachers a rare chance to relax and unwind from their daily workload.

Of course, homeroom teachers still had a lot on their plates. After all, they were responsible for managing the entire class during the event. Even with class leaders and committee members helping out, it wasn’t exactly easy.

For new teachers serving as homeroom advisors for the first time, the cultural festival could be overwhelming—they often had no idea how to organize or supervise everything.

Fortunately, Shizuka Hiratsuka had years of experience. She had led several classes through festivals before and knew exactly how to plan and delegate tasks.

When the school first decided to hold this year’s festival, it took her less than two days to assign every duty clearly—to the class president, committee heads, and representatives.

Thanks to that, she could now sit comfortably in the office, eyes closed, taking a quiet rest.

Kotomi Izumi, meanwhile, had no desire to be part of the class committee. She knew exactly how much trouble came with those roles. Class events big and small would all become her responsibility—and just imagining that workload exhausted her. She would much rather spend her three years of high school as a carefree, happy fool.

”Phew!”

With a dramatic entrance, Kotomi appeared beside Shizuka Hiratsuka, startling her awake from her brief rest.

”Ah… Kotomi, it’s you. What brings you here all of a sudden?”

”Nothing much. I was just bored, so I came to visit my beloved Teacher Shizuka! After all, both our afternoon classes are self-study—it’s so boring~~~”

”Oh, please. Don’t think I don’t know you. You love self-study periods more than anything. You’d be thrilled if every class from morning to afternoon were self-study, so you could play on your phone all day.”

”Our school doesn’t even have Wi-Fi! If I played all day, I’d get a data overage text before the month’s half over,” Kotomi said righteously, as though she were the most frugal person alive—one who never, ever played on her phone during class to save data.

Her words sounded nice, but as her homeroom teacher, Shizuka knew better. Not a single punctuation mark of that statement could be trusted.

After joking around with her teacher for a while, Kotomi pulled a chair over and sat down beside her.

Having visited the teachers’ office often—and being both an excellent student and remarkably emotionally intelligent—Kotomi spoke with such charm that one might doubt she was really her age. For someone in high school, her conversational tact and confidence were impressive.

It was the age where teenagers naturally exuded an ”I’m the best in the world” kind of aura.

In simpler terms, it was the rebellious phase—defiant toward everyone.

But Kotomi was different. Though she carried herself with pride, her arrogance didn’t come from immaturity or defiance. It stemmed from a deep, unwavering confidence. And that confidence, in turn, gave her an effortlessly refined charm—an emotional intelligence that allowed her to express her pride in a graceful, natural way.

Anyone who had ever spoken with Kotomi could feel it immediately. She was exceptionally considerate of others’ emotions, quick to adapt and shift topics smoothly. Talking to her was always a pleasant experience.

At the same time, she never hid her pride. Rather, she presented it openly and elegantly, leaving a strong yet approachable impression.

Within less than two weeks of the new semester starting, she had already become friendly with nearly every teacher in the faculty room. She got along with all of them effortlessly. Whenever she visited, the teachers would offer her snacks or drinks they had just bought, and they had even set up an extra chair in the office—just for her.

Kotomi didn’t know every student at Sobu High School yet, nor did she think it necessary. But she did know every teacher.

After sitting down, Kotomi said softly, ”Teacher Shizuka, thank you for being the first to praise me at the parent-teacher meeting—and for doing it so passionately.”

Hearing that, Shizuka Hiratsuka blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected the little troublemaker to come thank her, and for a moment, she felt almost flattered.

”No need to thank me. You deserved it. After all, you’ve ranked first not just in your grade but across all of Tokyo for two consecutive terms. As your homeroom teacher, if I didn’t brag about you at the meeting, I wouldn’t deserve to be your teacher.”

”Still, thank you so much,” Kotomi said earnestly. ”My mom was really happy when she got home today. You see, before this, whenever my parents went to parent-teacher meetings, all they ever heard were complaints about me—and honestly, that was fair. I really was a terrible student back then.”

She rubbed her nose sheepishly, laughing a little. She knew that with her current grades, being praised was only natural—but when she pictured her mom coming home, holding that certificate with such joy, she had felt compelled to come here and thank her teacher in person.

Then, smiling mischievously, Kotomi added with a playful glint in her eyes:

”Teacher Shizuka, next month, I’ll be your girlfriend. Don’t worry—I’ll give it my all. I’ll make sure to act perfectly so your parents won’t suspect a thing. During dinner, just leave it to me. I’ll do my best to turn their disapproval into approval.”

Shizuka froze for a second, then chuckled softly, a teasing smile spreading across her face.

”So this is your way of thanking me? Very well then, I’ll be counting on you… my little girlfriend, Kotomi Izumi~”

...

Kotomi Izumi, of course, skipped the second self-study class without hesitation.

The teacher in charge of 1-F’s second self-study period was none other than her homeroom teacher, Shizuka Hiratsuka. Before leaving, Kotomi had even told her straight out that she wanted to ”go take a walk,” promising she wouldn’t leave campus—just visit the Kendo Club for a bit.

A student bold enough to openly tell her homeroom teacher, ”I want to skip class,” probably didn’t exist anywhere else at Sobu High.

Shizuka had originally intended to refuse, but after being stared at by those sparkling, imploring eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to say no. Against her better judgment, she sighed and nodded in reluctant approval.

By the time she regretted it, Kotomi had already dashed off like a little rabbit.

Shizuka hurriedly chased after her, but within a minute, Kotomi had completely vanished. When she finally caught sight of her again, Kotomi was already downstairs, strolling leisurely toward the Kendo Club.

”Seriously? How did she get from upstairs to downstairs in under a minute? Did she jump out the window?!”

Watching Kotomi’s retreating figure, Shizuka was both stunned and impressed. She began to suspect that Kotomi hadn’t shown her full athletic ability during the last sports festival.

If the school held another sports meet in their second year, Shizuka was already wondering what kind of incentive she’d have to offer to get Kotomi to participate.

Unaware of her teacher’s thoughts, Kotomi hurried to the Kendo Club. She pushed open the door and heard the rhythmic sound of sword swings echoing inside. Smiling, she went to the changing room, put on her kendo uniform, then grabbed her shinai and called out cheerfully:

”Good afternoon, Senpai Tendo!”

”Eh? Kotomi?” Kisara Tendo, who had been practicing, froze for a moment, thinking she was hearing things. She quickly sheathed her sword and turned around.

When she saw Kotomi, surprise flashed across her face, quickly followed by joy. She noticed that Kotomi had been coming to the Kendo Club quite often lately.

Though this was technically only Kotomi’s third visit, Kisara couldn’t help feeling pleased. The gap between her last two visits had been less than two weeks—it almost felt like Kotomi was becoming more and more serious about kendo.

As the captain of the Kendo Club, who normally required members to attend practice daily unless they had special circumstances, Kisara nearly teared up at the sight. She felt genuinely touched that Kotomi was visiting so frequently.

Still, even in her happiness, the upperclassman in her couldn’t resist asking why Kotomi was showing up during class hours.

As for why she herself was there during class? Well, that was obvious—she had skipped class, too.

”It’s still class time right now. Aren’t you worried about being late?” Kisara asked.

”Tch, Senpai, you say that like you’re not in the same boat. We both know what’s going on here. Why else would we come to the Kendo Club at this hour? Of course it’s because we’re skipping class!”

Kotomi said this casually as she plopped down cross-legged on the dojo floor.

Although Kisara had taught her to always sit properly in the dojo—back straight, head up, regardless of how many people were present—Kotomi had long since forgotten. Right now, she was sitting as comfortably as if she were at home.

Not that it mattered much—after all, there were only two people in the dojo.

”Kotomi, stand properly, sit properly,” Kisara reminded her out of habit.

Kotomi waved her shinai lazily. ”I didn’t go to class all morning. When I came back this afternoon, it was just two self-study periods. After one of them, I got bored, so I decided to skip the next and come hang out with you, Senpai.

”You didn’t go to school this morning? Oh, right—it was the parent-teacher meeting for the first-years after midterms. I remember those days… I was always half-dreading and half-hoping to hear what the teachers said about me.”

”Well, yeah. Parent-teacher days meant you could skip school for half the morning—but if your grades were bad, the moment your parents got home, the first thing you’d get was a lecture.”

”From the way you said that, Senpai, I’m guessing you got scolded a lot,” Kotomi said teasingly.

Kisara smiled wryly. ”My dad was always strict about my kendo training, while my mom was the one who pushed me about academics. Most parents take turns—one’s strict while the other plays the good cop. But not mine. My dad would say things like, ’If you don’t take kendo seriously, forget about succeeding the family head position. Even as an ordinary clan member, people will laugh at you for being a Tendo child with such pathetic swordsmanship.’”

”Then, right after that, my mom would add, ’Even if you do inherit the family head position, if you don’t study hard, how will you maintain the family’s prosperity? This isn’t an era where you can secure power with swords anymore. The Tendo family may be known for its kendo heritage, but if you can’t even handle basic arithmetic or manage the family finances, you’ll ruin us all.’”

Kisara sighed, her tone a mix of exasperation and nostalgia. ”It was like being crushed by two different kinds of pressure. My dad demanded perfection in kendo, my mom in academics. Especially my mom—she used to be incredibly strict. But now she’s eased up. Her standards dropped from ’you must be the best’ to just ’as long as you get into a good university and graduate, that’s enough.’”

”How did that change so suddenly?” Kotomi asked curiously. She genuinely wanted to know how Kisara had managed that.

Kotomi already knew that Megumi Kato’s mother placed equally high expectations on her daughter’s studies. Unfortunately, since her relationship with Megumi was still a secret from both families, Kotomi had no way to intervene or even comment about how harshly Megumi’s parents pushed her.

But hearing that Kisara’s mother had once been just as strict—and had somehow softened over time—sparked Kotomi’s curiosity. Maybe she could learn something from this. If she could figure out how Kisara’s mom changed, perhaps she could apply it to help ease Mrs. Kato’s expectations someday.

Parents wanting their children to succeed—to become dragons or phoenixes, as the saying went—was perfectly normal. But when expectations crossed a certain line, they became invisible chains of pressure that burdened both parent and child alike.

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