COTE :  Oh No, I've Become the Substitute

Advanced Nurturing High School teaching building, Class A classroom, back row by the window.

The early morning sunlight slanted in, carving a brilliant patch of light across the desktop. Countless tiny dust motes danced within the beam.

"Boyfriend-kun, are you saying... the reason you didn't come to school with us this morning is because you got up early and ran a half marathon at the sports ground to train your body?"

Having dragged her chair right next to Fuyuji Mikage's seat, Morishita Ai placed both hands properly on her knees, pressed tightly together. Her upper body leaned slightly forward, her large eyes fixed unblinkingly on Fuyuji's lively, exuberant, radiantly healthy face.

The air conditioner's cold breeze swept past, gently stirring the few strands of blue hair by her ears.

"I'm not sure if it was actually a half marathon, but... yes."

Fuyuji nodded confidently while stuffing bread into his mouth, his voice muffled.

The air around them fell silent for a few seconds. Only the steady hum of the central air conditioning vent continuously blasting cold air, and the faint, distant sound of footsteps in the corridor, remained.

Class A's renowned half-marathon athlete, bearer of the long-distance running bloodline—Morishita Ai, Morishita-sama, did not speak. She merely blinked and turned toward the pale golden-haired girl propping her chin on her hand, silently watching from nearby. "Shiraishi Asuka, do you believe him?"

"Fufu~"

Her slender fingers curled, tucking the stray strands of hair behind her ear, revealing her delicate, petite ear and the elegantly contoured line of her jaw.

The corner of Shiraishi Asuka's lips curved into a gentle arc. A shallow, smiling light rippled through her violet-amethyst eyes. Smiling brightly, she replied.

"I believe him. He rarely lies, after all~" Her voice was soft and light, the tail end of her words lilting slightly upward.

"Yamamura Miki?" Morishita turned her head once more, her twin braids tracing small arcs through the air, questioning Yamamura Miki, who had just walked over from her seat, milk in hand.

"Th-this... this should be true, probably..."

Handing the milk to Fuyuji, Yamamura unconsciously rubbed the hem of her pleated skirt between her fingers. Her gaze drifted out the window toward the lush, verdant canopy of the trees. Her voice wavered with uncertainty, a faint pink blush surfacing on her cheeks.

Having obtained the answers from the two of them, Morishita finally turned her head and locked her gaze onto the energy-replenishing Fuyuji.

"A half marathon?"

"Yep." Fuyuji swallowed his last mouthful and answered crisply.

"You woke up early today?"

"Correct."

"It wasn't because you suddenly got overcome by lust and got dragged off by some wild vixen from another class?" Morishita narrowed her eyes, her body leaning forward just a little more. The distance between them had closed to the point where they could feel each other's breath.

"Nothing of the sort." Fuyuji set down his milk carton and met her gaze, struggling to make his expression appear as sincere as humanly possible.

Having received Fuyuji's triple affirmation, Morishita stared at him for a full three seconds before slowly withdrawing that skeptical, scrutinizing gaze. Her petite nose flared almost imperceptibly. In a tiny mutter, she said, "I'll trust you this once."

Fuyuji's taut shoulders swiftly sagged in relief. He secretly let out a breath deep in his heart. The corners of his mouth instinctively wanted to curl up into a victorious smile. His voice came out considerably lighter.

"Thank you, Ai-sa—"

"As if!" Before the words could finish, a short, clipped sound drilled straight into his eardrums.

Immediately after, the blue strands of hair before his eyes swayed.

A figure—like an arrow loosed from its bowstring, carrying a blur of blue afterimages and a faint, familiar fragrance of shampoo—slammed fiercely into his chest!

"A-Ai?!"

Fuyuji instinctively tightened his grip on the bread in his hand. He looked down at Morishita, who had crashed into his arms like a tiny cannonball. She was pressing her forehead dead against his chest, both hands clamped tightly around his waist, as if trying to embed her entire person into his body.

"Don't move!" Morishita's voice came out muffled from his chest, but because it was buried in his clothes, it also sounded somewhat indistinct.

The very next second.

"Sniff sniff... sniff sniff..." An exceedingly faint sound drifted from the friction of the fabric against his chest.

Morishita's petite nose was buried deep in the material of Fuyuji's shirtfront, like a little tiger patrolling its own territory. Her warm breath, seeping through the thin summer uniform shirt, pressed and smoothed against his skin, raising a fine, involuntary shiver.

It's over!

Cold sweat instantly seeped out from his back. Fuyuji inwardly cried out in despair. My life is done for!

As everyone knows, when it comes to boys and showers—let's just say, what's called a shower is actually more of a quick rinse.

Add to that the fact that he'd been so utterly intoxicated by the soft thighs of an ice-cold beauty that he'd completely lost track of time. By the time he'd snapped back to his senses, it was already dangerously close to the start of class. He could only frantically rush through the process, hastily washing away the sticky sweat clinging to his body, throw on a clean change of clothes, and hurry over.

So... it was perfectly, entirely... not strange at all... that Morishita-sama had caught the faint, cool, clean scent belonging to Horikita Suzune—perhaps even mingled with the fragrance of shampoo—clinging to his body.

"Mo-Morishita-san! Get down, quickly! This is the classroom..."

Yamamura instinctively clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide and round as she watched Morishita, clinging to Fuyuji like a koala. Then her pretty face instantly flushed red. She lowered her voice and urged.

Shiraishi's hand, propping her chin, paused ever so slightly. Her fingertip tapped lightly against her smooth cheek. Her gaze flowed back and forth between Fuyuji's rigid expression and the focused back of Morishita's head.

Time itself seemed to stretch in this moment. The air conditioner's cold breeze continued to blow. The sunlight slowly shifted the edge of its bright patch. The distant, muffled pre-class clamor drifted over.

Morishita's nose slowly moved upward from his chest, sweeping past the gaps between the buttons of his shirt, brushing past his collarbone, and finally coming to a stop on the skin at the side of his neck, just below his jawline.

The warmth of her breath puffed against the most sensitive skin of his neck, bringing a numbing tickle that made his scalp prickle—and a colossal, overwhelming sense of terror!

"Mm..." An exceedingly faint, nasal hum spilled from Morishita's throat.

Morishita abruptly lifted her head. Those violet-pink eyes of hers, which always carried a trace of dreamy, distant haziness, had now sharpened to razor keenness, as if quenched in ice.

"Boyfriend-kun." Morishita grabbed hold of his collar. Her pretty face betrayed no readable emotional fluctuation, carrying the calm that precedes a coming storm.

"Hey..." Fuyuji leaned back against his chair, his voice trembling faintly.

He... had given up struggling.

"Did you go lie down and play on the ground at the sports field?"

In that instant, Fuyuji's brain short-circuited like an overloaded circuit board. All his pre-planned reactions and prepared excuses were wiped clean. After a zero-point-one-second system crash, he dazedly uttered a single word.

"Ha?"

"A whole smell of dirt and fresh grass." Morishita's small hand suddenly tightened on the soft flesh at Fuyuji's waist, making him suck in a sharp breath of cold air. "Lying on the ground sunbathing—something that fun—and you didn't call me to come along!"

"Is there?"

Belatedly catching on, Fuyuji hurriedly lifted his arm and brought it to his nose, sniffing. Yet he didn't detect any particular smell at all.

Still, because he'd been so reluctant to leave the ice-cold beauty's lap, he had indeed been pushed to the ground by a red-faced, mortified, and merciless Horikita Suzune. Maybe it had clung to him then?

Just then, a fair, slender hand suddenly reached over from Fuyuji's other side and pulled his wrist away. The fingers were delicate and beautiful, the nails trimmed round and clean, carrying a natural, innate elegance.

At some unknown point, Shiraishi had leaned in close. Her pale golden hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall with the movement, a few strands brushing lightly against Fuyuji's arm.

And then, that exquisitely refined face—flawless beyond reproach—drew directly toward the side of Fuyuji's neck. Her nose, just a few centimeters from his skin, gave an exceedingly brief, light, and deft sniff.

"Mm..." A flicker of unusual brilliance flashed through her violet-amethyst eyes. Shiraishi then straightened up, her fingertips elegantly tucking her hair back behind her ear. That same smiling, radiant expression remained on her face. "There really is a smell of soil and fresh grass, mixed with morning dew. A very healthy scent, Fuyuji~"

"Ahaha." Fuyuji gave two dry laughs and instinctively wrapped an arm around Morishita's waist, his fingers gently stroking. "Is... is that so?"

Yabai!

Something's off. Something's very, very off.

But before Fuyuji could think it through, a hushed, startled exclamation cut off his train of thought.

"More importantly, Morishita-san, get down quickly!" Yamamura stepped forward and grabbed Morishita's wrist, her voice growing increasingly urgent. "If this keeps up, the classmates will think your personality is getting weirder and weirder."

"Is that so?" Not only did Morishita not let go, she instead puffed out her modest chest with considerable pride. In a drifting, airy tone, she declared, "Then the title of Class A's Number One Oddball will be mine."

No... Number One Oddball is still me. Because you're sitting on me...

"In any case, get down first!" Yamamura emphasized her tone.

"Oh."

Although Morishita did not care about the gazes of others, the inherently shy Yamamura very much did. She lacked the courage Morishita possessed to plant her hands on her hips and face the entire class's stares without flinching.

After a round of entanglement, they finally managed to get Morishita back to her own seat.

Just then, the melodious chime of Big Ben rang out abruptly—like a life-saving bugle call, piercing through the delicate, charged atmosphere at the back of the classroom.

"Uh... PE class is starting. Hashimoto and the others said they had something to ask me earlier. I'll be going now."

The guilt-ridden Fuyuji was the first to rise from his seat. As if nothing had happened at all, he grabbed the half-finished milk carton and the remaining bread wrapper from his desktop, haphazardly stuffed them into his drawer, and strode toward the classroom door without a backward glance.

"..."

Silently watching Fuyuji's fleeing figure, Yamamura gently pulled the crumpled wrapper from the drawer, balled it up, and placed it into a plastic bag.

Then she looked at Morishita and Shiraishi, still seated in their places, and tilted her head.

"So... Fuyuji really did have some other scent on him, didn't he?"

"Of course he did. A minty smell. Very fragrant. And very fresh."

Morishita folded her arms and stared in the direction of the doorway, grinding her teeth with a mouthful of bitter resentment.

"On his body, not so much. But it got really noticeable near his head. Probably from a lap pillow, or something like that." Shiraishi deduced the source of the scent in the blink of an eye and supplemented with a smile.

"Eh?" Yamamura covered her mouth in surprise. "Then why..." She didn't finish the sentence.

Given Morishita-san's personality, why had she let Fuyuji off so easily?

Morishita turned her head away and gazed out the window at the swaying shadows of the trees, her lips pursing. "That, of course, is because Morishita-sama was in a good mood today. I'll let boyfriend-kun off for now. I'll interrogate him in a few days."

Was that really it?

Yamamura kept her doubts to herself.

Just then, Shiraishi stood up, stepped forward two paces, and pulled the still-pouting Morishita into her arms. Her cheek pressed intimately against Morishita's hair, nuzzling lightly.

"Morishita-san smelled it too, didn't she... that sweat scent that still hasn't completely dissipated? Even though it's very faint, if you sniff carefully, you can still detect just a little..."

"Damn you, Shiraishi Asuka! Get your elbow off me!" Her cheeks squished and slightly deformed, Morishita protested in a muffled voice. Her small hands pushed weakly against Shiraishi's shoulder. "So hot..."

"Sweat..."

After murmuring to herself for a moment, Yamamura seemed to recall something. She abruptly turned her head toward the direction Fuyuji had left, the corners of her lips curving upward slightly.

"So that's how it is..."

"Fuyuji, you see," Shiraishi still held the struggling Morishita in her embrace, her gaze distant, as if reminiscing, "although his athletic talent is very good—things like swimming techniques, he can master them after watching just once—but in truth... he's a boy who never lets himself get too uncomfortable, and is also a little... mm, slothful."

"Then." She paused and looked down at the blue-haired girl in her arms, who had gradually stopped struggling and was now merely pursing her lips. "What kind of thing could possibly make him resolve himself like this—to get up so early, and go through such intense training, exhausting himself to the point of drenching sweat?"

Everyone present knew full well that the Sports Festival was absolutely out of the question. Even the previous VIP exam, which had offered an additional six hundred class points, had only been enough to make him dip his toes in—and he'd even generously yielded three hundred fifty of those points to other classes. Let alone this Sports Festival, which added fifty points at most.

As for the five million, at most it had merely piqued his interest. And recently, the one thing that could have caused such a great change in him...

"So, you see," Shiraishi's brows curved like crescent moons as she held Morishita tight, "Morishita-san is actually very gentle with Fuyuji."

"Don't care. Lemme go!"

...

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