By Wednesday, the heat had grown unbearable.
Yukinoshita Yukino’s fever had finally subsided the day before, but she still seemed drained. Or at least, that was Shirase’s theory—confirmed, in his view, by the month-end exam results posted that morning.
1st place: Shirase Haruto.
2nd place: Yukinoshita Yukino.
3rd place: Hayama Hayato.
Hayama, ever calm, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. With his usual polite smile, he congratulated both of them. To anyone watching, he looked entirely unbothered—as if academics were the last thing on his mind.
But Shirase was more interested in Yukino’s reaction.
Or rather, her lack of one.
There was no hint of frustration, no flicker of disbelief, not even her usual icy “I’ll beat you next time” expression. Just quiet acceptance.
Clearly, her recent illness had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.
The soccer club, however, couldn’t have cared less about subtle emotional shifts.
They mobbed Shirase like a pack of celebratory hooligans.
“The bad news is, we’ve got a new number-one student in the school! My mom’s gonna kill me when she finds out I’m failing while my teammate’s topping the charts!”
“And the good news?”
“The good news is, the boys of Aoyama High finally stood tall today!”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Were we kneeling before?”
“Of course! Shirase beat Yukinoshita-san—our official female overlord. From today on, guys rule again!”
“Hey, careful! Shirase loves teaching bullies a lesson. You keep talking like that, he’ll probably punt you across the field next practice.”
Laughter filled the classroom.
Shirase, stuck in the middle of it all, could only smile helplessly and play along.
Even the girls who barely knew him used the commotion as an excuse to approach, asking for his contact info. Shirase politely declined every time, subtly shoving his rowdy teammates forward as human shields.
Before class started, Hayama wandered over, sighing theatrically. “You know, I feel like the distance between us just keeps growing.”
Shirase gave him a sidelong look. “Hayama, the way you worded that sounded suspiciously gay. Just to clarify, the soccer club doesn’t welcome that kind of romance.”
Hayama’s face froze. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away—expression screaming that he now needed to find a girlfriend immediately just to prove his innocence.
At noon, Shirase was called to the faculty office.
He assumed it was about his test results.
Instead, Kirisu Mafuyu looked up from her desk, utterly serious, and said, “You’re famous now.”
“…Huh?”
She pulled out her phone, opened a short-video app, and held it up. “You went viral.”
On the screen, Shirase saw a clip of himself scoring during the last match—along with millions of likes.
“Ah, so someone uploaded the game after all,” he muttered, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t think it’d blow up this much.”
Kirisu nodded. “It’s the internet. Anything remotely interesting spreads fast. And your performance was remarkable. Even I…”
“Even you what?” he prompted, leaning forward expectantly.
Her face stayed perfectly stoic. “Even I was impressed.”
Shirase sighed dramatically. “You know, Sensei, it kind of ruins the compliment when you say it like a robot.”
“Then how should I say it?”
“Maybe clench your fists, blush a little, and shout, ‘You’re amazing, Shirase!’”
“…Do you want to die?”
“I apologize.”
Kirisu exhaled, exasperated, tapping her fingers against the desk. “Now I’m curious how Kojima deals with you at home.”
“Why bring her up?” Shirase asked innocently.
“Because you lose all seriousness the moment you get comfortable with someone. I’m genuinely wondering how Kojima keeps you in line.”
“She doesn’t,” he said easily.
“…She doesn’t?”
“Yep. Kana-nee’s motto is, ‘If you can’t beat him, join him.’ She’s on my side now.”
Kirisu blinked, at a rare loss for words. Then, dryly, “I’ll make sure to quote that to Kojima directly.”
“Please do. And if you’d like, you can join my side too, Sensei.”
Kirisu narrowed her eyes. “And what side would that be?”
“The side of happiness. Forget everything else and just enjoy life.”
“You really are hopeless.” She folded her arms—an entirely unintentional motion that nonetheless drew Shirase’s eyes briefly downward. “I think I finally understand how Kojima handles you. With her personality, she probably lets you steer every conversation.”
“Impossible!” Shirase said with mock seriousness. “We don’t even own a leash.”
Her hand clenched into a fist. “You think you’re funny?”
“No, no—I’m just touched that you care so much, Sensei.”
“Since when have I shown any care for you?”
“You called me here just to check in, didn’t you? Because I took first place without burning out. Deep down, you’re proud.”
He grinned. “Honestly, I’m pretty proud too.”
Kirisu’s expression faltered for a moment. How does this kid always read me so easily?
She was proud of him. She had been since seeing the rankings that morning.
But having him point it out so smugly? Absolutely intolerable.
She straightened, coldly scoffing. “Hmph. Still just a child—already letting a small success get to your head.”
“Oh, Sensei saying the opposite of what she means is so cute~”
“Shut up!”
Just like that, the faint authority she’d built up evaporated.
Honestly, how could anyone keep composure around this infuriating boy?
“You’re becoming more and more unbearable, you little—huh?”
She cut herself off mid-step, letting out a small sound of discomfort as she rose. Her hand went instinctively to her waist, brows knitting together.
“Back pain?” Shirase guessed.
“It’s nothing for a student to worry about. I’ve just been sitting too long.”
“Oh, I see.” Shirase’s gaze dropped to her hand pressing lightly against her lower back. “You probably won’t believe this, but I’ve studied massage techniques on my own before. Even Kana-nee praised my skills. At this point, I could go pro.”
“…Really?”
The response came faster than he expected. When he looked up, he saw the faintest pink coloring her cheeks.
“Sensei,” he said slowly, “don’t tell me you’ve actually been dealing with back pain for a while now?”
Kirisu froze, face reddening further. Truthfully, she had been—days of sitting and grading papers had left her lower back sore.
But there was no way she’d admit that to this insufferably smug student.
—
This is a fan translation of 谁能拒绝中野二乃呢？by 六花吖六花. Rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
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