The redheaded kendo club girl. I'd half-forgotten her, but the next day, when she stormed into our classroom and introduced herself to Sakamoto Ryuji, it clicked.
She's Karen Tojo, the Scramble Love heroine ranked sixth in popularity.
I first learned about this manga through an online meme, where the poster ranted that the heroine who ends up with the protagonist was only fourth in the popularity poll. They included a final volume's poll results, with the top six heroines featured in a color spread. That's how I vaguely remembered their names and looks.
Today, Karen returned to Class 2-B and dropped a bombshell on Ryuji: "Be my boyfriend!"
The class erupted. Everyone was buzzing about who Ryuji would choose.
"No way, it's gotta be Yaguchi. She's sweet, kind, and, y'know, stacked."
"Tch, you're clueless. A fierce girlfriend who's only soft for you? That's the dream."
"Tojo from Class A's too tomboyish and flat. I prefer the housewife type."
"Size doesn't matter. It's about the heart."
The single guys were debating like it was a national election. As a guy, I get it, but could they not discuss this in class? The girls were starting to glare like we're bugs.
With no one to talk to except Satoru, who was upfront, I stayed quiet in the back. Rika, sitting next to me, nudged me. "Ryu-chan, who do you think Ryuji will pick?"
"Dunno," I said, dodging. It's a sensitive topic.
If the story follows the original, Maiya Yaguchi, the childhood friend, is destined to win. That's set in stone.
"Bor-ing!" Rika pouted, then lost interest and dove back into the latest Jump issue—my copy, by the way.
"See ya tomorrow!"
After school, I parted with Rika at the subway station and headed to the gym near my house.
Climbing the steep stairs to the second-floor gym, I pushed open the door. The usual sight of sweaty, jacked dudes greeted me, but something felt… off.
As I scanned for the source, the gym owner, Mr. Nakayama, called out. "Busy with school, yet you're still clocking in, Kim-kun!"
"Hey, Mr. Nakayama. What's up today? Everyone's going harder than usual."
He shook his head. "A new female member joined. They're all losing it over how pretty she is."
Oh.
It hit me. The guys were peacocking to impress the newbie.
"Anyway, get changed. I'll spot you today," he said.
"Thanks," I replied, heading to the locker room.
Mr. Nakayama's gym, about 100 pyeong, is small compared to chain gyms but a local legend. Its athletes and bodybuilders have swept competitions, all trained by Nakayama himself.
A former pro bodybuilder, he retired to open this gym, pouring his heart into coaching the next generation. I started here in spring break of my third middle school year, so it's been nearly two years.
He saw potential in me, a clueless beginner, and taught me techniques and knowledge for free. I owe him big time.
After changing into a sleeveless tee, I stepped out and froze. Standing by Nakayama was a familiar face.
"…Yukika Fuma?"
She straightened, puffing out her chest. "Fancy meeting you here, Kim Yuseong."
The new female member was her? What a plot twist.
I bowed slightly, dizzy. "You live around here?"
"I moved nearby recently," she said shamelessly. "Club activities weren't enough exercise, so I was looking for a gym. Didn't know you trained here."
Nakayama, overhearing, grinned slyly. "Perfect! Kim-kun can train Fuma-chan. Schoolmates talk easier than with an old guy like me."
"What about my opinion?" I protested.
He slung an arm around me, whispering, "She's got a crush and followed you here. Go for it."
"That's not it," I hissed.
"Shy, huh?" he teased.
He was way off, so I dropped it.
"Anyway, Fuma-chan's just observing today, so let's get to it," Nakayama said.
"Got it."
I headed to the free-weight zone for heavy squats.
"Warm-up with 220 kilos," Nakayama said, loading plates onto the bar.
He added 25-kilo plates to the 20-kilo bar—four per side, 100 kilos each. Total: 220 kilos, set on the squat rack.
Yukika, watching, gasped. "Starting with that much?"
Nakayama patted my shoulder, grinning. "I've been in this game 20 years, and I've never seen a freak like him. Don't worry."
I tuned out his flattery, securing the bar under my traps. I lifted, squatted, and racked it smoothly.
"Add two plates, 270 kilos," Nakayama said.
"Yes, sir."
Yukika's jaw dropped at the 50-kilo jump, but this was still warm-up.
I positioned the bar, gripped it tight, and braced my core with a deep breath. Squat, up, rack—easy.
Nakayama added two more plates. "Warm-up's done. Now the real deal."
The bar, packed with plates, had no room left. I set it on my traps, tensing my body.
"Hup!"
The heavier bar forced me forward a few steps. I felt eyes on me but ignored them. Distraction during heavy lifts is a recipe for injury.
With my muscles warmed, I squatted and rose five times, precise.
Thud!
I racked the bar. Yukika, watching, looked horrified. "Do you always train this brutally? Even as a beginner, this seems…"
I stretched, feeling lighter post-lift. "Sorry, what?"
She clammed up, speechless.
Nakayama laughed. "Told ya, Fuma-chan. He's a monster. Don't apply logic to him."