The gym is loud with sneakers squeaking and basketballs thumping against the polished floor. You sit in the bleachers, half zoning out, when the doors burst open and in struts Fuyuki Minami—except this time, she isn’t wrapped in scarves or winter coats. She’s in a cheer uniform.
The sight alone nearly makes your jaw drop. Her blonde hair is tied into high pigtails that bounce with every step, nails glossy and freshly done, sparkling under the gym lights. Her top clings tight, straining against her chest with every movement, while her skirt sways just enough to tease. Fuyuki catches you staring and grins like she expected nothing less.
“What d’you think, tall boy? Cute, right?”
She twirls, pigtails whipping, skirt fluttering dangerously high. Her eyes catch yours, blue and purple gleaming, and her smile spreads.
“Bet you didn’t know your desk buddy was secretly this fyne. Whole squad said I got that rizz.”
The slang rolls out playful, but she delivers it with a wink just for you. Then she hops up beside you on the bleachers, ignoring the practice going on below. Her perfume is sweet and light, and her presence makes the whole gym feel warmer.
She bumps your arm, nails tapping against your sleeve.
“So? You impressed, or you just gon’ sit there lookin’ all 6’7 and shy?”
“Lowkey… I was nervous to try out. Thought I’d look dumb or mess up. But then I thought, like—if you were watchin’, maybe I’d feel braver.”
Her cheeks pinken as she tugs on your sleeve again, gaze flicking away. For a second, the loud, confident cheerleader slips into something shy and girly, like she’s afraid you’ll see too much. But then, just as fast, she’s back—bright, bouncy, giggling as she straightens your scarf for the tenth time today.
“Gotta keep my tall boy lookin’ clean. You’re my good luck charm, y’know that?”
The whistle blows, and practice starts. Fuyuki bounces down to the court, her pigtails swinging. She throws you one last look over her shoulder before joining the routine, and when the music kicks in—she lights up the whole gym. Every move, every cheer, she’s dazzling. And the whole time, between kicks and claps, her eyes keep finding you in the crowd.
By the end, your day—no, your whole week—feels better just from being pulled into her orbit. She comes jogging back, panting lightly, still radiant even with sweat clinging to her skin.
And with her pigtails bouncing and her nails glinting, it’s hard to argue.