Chapter 11: Operation Skinship!

The late afternoon sun baked the rooftop tiles as three figures stood around a rusty table like war generals.

Mitsumi Kageri, still in her kendo gi top with the sleeves rolled up, slammed her shinai on the table.

“Okay, you love-drunk psychos—today we make history.”

Across from her, Chihiro Arima—long legs still in her track shorts—leaned on the railing, grinning like a wolf.

“You mean the day Sensei finally realizes he’s destined for me? Sure, I’m game.”

Next to her, Minami Agatsuma, cool and elegant in her crisp uniform, calmly flipped open a leather notebook. Her glasses glinted like a villain’s in a late-night anime.

“Spare us the dramatics, Kageri. Let’s strategize efficiently.”

Mitsumi jabbed a finger at her. “Strategize? You sound like some cult leader!”

Chihiro snorted. “Says the one who blushes every time Sensei so much as breathes.”

“I—! I do NOT!” Mitsumi snapped, cheeks flaming.

“Yes, you do,” Minami murmured, pen scratching across the page.

--

“Okay,” Minami said, ignoring Mitsumi’s sputtering, “let’s outline the objectives.”

She wrote in elegant strokes at the top of the page:

Operation: Skinship

The title gleamed ominously in the golden sunset.

“Each of us,” Minami continued, “will choose a physical-contact mission to execute this week. Low-risk but impactful. Suggestions?”

“I got mine!” Mitsumi slammed her shinai down dramatically. “I’m gonna hug him during kendo practice!”

Chihiro arched a brow. “Hug? That’s weak. My move’s better—hand-holding outside school. Like a real date.”

“Hand-holding?!” Mitsumi yelled. “You’re skipping steps!”

Chihiro smirked. “What steps? Straight line to his heart, baby.”

Minami calmly wrote her goal. “Feed him sweets.”

Both girls blinked at her.

“…That’s it?” Mitsumi said.

“That’s all it takes,” Minami replied without looking up. “Shared food equals psychological intimacy. It’s science.”

“You sound like a stalker with a diploma,” Chihiro muttered.

“Better than a jock with delusions,” Minami countered.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST—?!” Chihiro shot forward, but Mitsumi slammed her shinai between them.

“Time out! No killing each other until Sensei picks me—I mean—until our mission succeeds!”

--

Cut to Sweet Bunny Café, the school’s pastel-colored sugar paradise. The three conspirators huddled in a corner booth, parfaits, pancakes, and strawberry sodas spread out like a battlefield.

Mitsumi slammed her spoon on the table. “Alright! While we’re here, let’s talk about…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Ideal… kiss spots.”

Both girls stared at her.

“What?” Mitsumi sputtered. “It’s relevant!”

Chihiro grinned like the devil. “Easy. Fireworks night, festival bridge. Lips first, tongue second—”

“STOP TALKING!” Mitsumi nearly flipped her parfait.

Minami sipped her iced coffee, unbothered. “Cheek first. Build tension. Lips later. Neck…” She paused, voice like ice. “…when he belongs only to me.”

The table went dead silent.

“…Holy crap,” Chihiro muttered. “You’re scary.”

Mitsumi slammed her fists on the table. “Neck?! That’s cheating! And creepy!”

Chihiro smirked and leaned across. “So, Mitsumi, where would you do it, huh? The dojo? On the tatami mats?”

“I—I—!” Mitsumi’s brain short-circuited as an image of Zako leaning over her flickered in her head. “W-WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT?!”

Mitsumi panicked so hard she leaned forward, chest smashing against the table, nearly dunking herself in parfait.

Chihiro yanked her track jacket off dramatically mid-rant, her tank top clinging in all the wrong places.

Minami calmly licked whipped cream off her spoon with suspicious elegance.

The boys at the next table turned scarlet.

---

“Operation: Skinship is officially ON!” Mitsumi declared, spoon raised like a warrior’s blade—

—and then froze.

Because outside the café window, walking lazily with a cigarette dangling from his lips, was Zako-sensei himself.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Three girls in one booth.

Notebooks labeled “Operation: Skinship.”

Drawings of Zako’s face with little hearts.

Doodles: “Ideal kiss angle??” and “CPR practice???”

“Oh. My. GOD.” Mitsumi hissed. “He’s HERE!”

Chihiro dove for the notebook, slamming it shut. “Act natural!”

Minami didn’t even flinch. “He hasn’t looked in yet. Relax.”

Mitsumi panicked so hard she inhaled a huge spoonful of parfait— and choked.

“MMMPH—!!”

“Don’t die, dumbass!” Chihiro smacked her back while Minami slid her water glass over with surgical calm.

Outside, Zako paused mid-step, eyes narrowing at the commotion inside. For one tense second—

—and then he shrugged and kept walking.

The girls collapsed in the booth, sweating bullets.

“…That was close,” Mitsumi wheezed.

Minami adjusted her glasses, reopening the notebook. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Kiss spots.”

“ARE YOU INSANE?!” Mitsumi shrieked.

--

Down the street, Zako lit another cigarette and exhaled into the warm summer night.

“…Why do I feel like someone’s planning my murder?” he muttered.

He shook his head, shoving his free hand in his pocket. “Kids these days… exhausting.”

He didn’t know three pairs of eyes were already locked on him, plotting, dreaming, scheming.

---