My High School Nerd Rival - Chapter 22

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 22
“What?”
Continuing to train seemed absurd, but at his follow-up words, she found herself speechless.
-You’re aiming to win first place, aren’t you?
“Well, yes, but—”
-And you have to repeat it as soon as you get a feel for it.
He wasn’t wrong. Ibi swallowed an impudent retort and quietly picked up the ball again.
-Ready.
His low voice echoed through the speakers again.
Ibi threw the ball four more times. She made one, but the rest all missed—the last one didn’t even touch the rim.
It was all because she’d been wandering around looking for Cyrus, wasting energy uselessly.
Of course, the two successful shots were thanks to him as well.
When the last ball arced weakly through the air and dropped, his voice came through the speakers again.
-Stop.
“What?”
Ibi was reaching down to retrieve the ball when she looked back up at the Broadcast Room.
-It won’t go in anyway.
At his cold reply, something flared in her chest, and she snatched up the ball just to spite him, hurling it toward the hoop again.
“One, two.”
This time timing it herself.
The ball flew straight at the hoop.
“Got it!”
Her joy was short-lived.
The ball rolled smoothly around the rim’s curved surface before tumbling out.
Thunk.
The ball bounced sharply off the floor. Ibi watched it with a hollow stare.
-Told you it won’t go in.
His voice came through the speakers again, like a curse.
Ibi whipped around toward the Broadcast Room, her high ponytail swaying lightly with the motion.
“You stay right there.”
She shouted in a sharp voice, then bolted straight for the Gymnasium’s Broadcast Room.
I’m not letting you get away with this, Cyrus Quinton.
* * *
This morning.
“Did you really think no one would notice if you just kept your head down?”
That was the first thing Cyrus heard when he stepped out of the Dormitory building.
“No one believes a word you say anymore, you know.”
He knew the appropriate way to handle quiet insults thrown from behind, and he employed it accordingly.
He didn’t turn around.
Showing a reaction would only make the other person happy.
The person’s presence faded as their interest waned. Quinton didn’t bother confirming their identity.
There was no need.
It was probably someone he’d gone through middle school with.
Back there, he had……
“Quini.”
Logan emerged from his room and approached, putting a hand on Quinton’s shoulder.
Everyone else disliked Quinton, yet Logan didn’t keep his distance.
Though Logan Blake wouldn’t have kept distance from anyone anyway.
People crossed whatever boundaries he set all the time, irritatingly so.
“Don’t call me that.”
“What are you doing today? Basketball?”
“No.”
The reason such a personal thing as a New Year’s Resolution had been blown into this grand event was probably only one.
To build unity among the students of each dormitory.
And Cyrus had no desire to bond with the other students. He felt no need for it either.
Moreover, after years of compulsory education and group living, he’d learned it was better not to grow close to others.
Not that he despised the other students—it was just that this was the reality.
Cyrus knew he lacked compassion.
It was hard for him to read people’s feelings and respond cheerfully to match their mood, and he wasn’t good at it.
No matter how he packaged it, the blunt sharpness in his words wouldn’t dull.
So his words often ended up hurting someone.
He was probably just a broken person somewhere inside.
He’d made that diagnosis of himself and essentially given up on fixing it.
Instead, he chose not to get properly entangled with anyone.
If he only spoke when absolutely necessary, his sharp words wouldn’t stab anyone.
And that method worked rather well.
Of course, even doing that didn’t make people view him favorably.
But at least he could minimize conflict, which was tolerable enough.
Above all, he was here to pursue knowledge. He’d applied to and enrolled at Royal High School solely for this.
It had the most extensive library of any school, and the teachers were of high caliber.
So there was no reason to participate in pointless activities.
Anyway… no one expected him to.
The Gymnasium’s Broadcast Room was a strategic choice. No one would find him there.
It was a bit dark, but it wasn’t difficult to read the book he’d brought.
And the soundproofing was decent.
Beyond the dark window, he could see students screaming and hurling basketballs around, but he sat alone in quiet, as if in a different world.
He thought he’d picked the perfect spot.
He’d been reading in the old chair the whole time without anyone interrupting him.
It was only when his coffee mug was empty that he looked up from the book.
Should he go to the Cafeteria to refill? That’s annoying.
He tilted the cup to drink the last drop and briefly glanced up.
The Gymnasium was quiet now. The clock visible ahead showed it was lunchtime.
Everyone must be tired and hungry, so they’d rushed off to the Cafeteria.
It would be crowded there.
Cyrus sighed and set the Mug down. He’d have to wait a bit longer before refilling his coffee.
That’s when someone entered the empty Gymnasium.
Ibi Underwood.
The dorm representative who was always poking her nose into everything.
She looked around, then sagged, exhausted. Apparently, she was busy with something again today.
Taking care of the 3rd Dormitory students, probably. She’s been throwing her energy into such pointless work lately.
Ibi Underwood shared that “impartial kindness” with Cyrus as well.
She’d periodically come check on him and ask “Nothing to grade?”, easing his workload, and greeted him when they crossed paths.
Though sometimes her timing was odd, and her expression was twisted as if she’d encountered an enemy.
If she disliked him that much, she could stop, but she didn’t, which suggested Ibi Underwood actually had qualities befitting a representative.
He turned his attention back to his book.
But it wasn’t long before he rubbed his weary eyes and looked up, catching quite an amusing sight.
Ibi Underwood flinging the ball around like an absolute mess.
‘Did she skip P.E. class?’
How could it be this bad otherwise?
Her small frame wasn’t the problem. The issue was she was using her body’s strength inefficiently.
That position, that angle, that force. The chance of it going in was zero, even generously.
Watching her foolish form, he shook his head, trying to ignore it.
But when the ball bounced off the backboard and struck her forehead hard, Cyrus, without thinking, gripped the Microphone and flipped the switch.
“You’re too close.”
Interfering in someone else’s business.
Even as he thought it absurd, he continued his explanation.
“From under the basket, you can’t get the right Angle of Incidence. Unless your jump strength is so exceptional you’re going for a Dunk Shot.”
Why was he doing this?
There was only one fitting answer to the question he’d posed himself: that inefficient waste of kinetic energy was simply appalling.
In any case, Ibi glared at the Broadcast Room with deep displeasure but obediently followed his instructions.
The problem was that Ibi turned out to be more uncoordinated than expected.
“Your timing with bending and straightening your knees doesn’t match throwing the ball at all.”
At his analysis, Ibi turned to look back at the Broadcast Room.
She seemed to say something, but her voice didn’t carry through—the soundproofing again.
Still, it wasn’t hard to guess what Ibi was saying now.
She was pouring out complaints, probably.
As she always did.
“I’ll give you the beat. Follow my rhythm.”
From the way her eyes widened and her head tilted, she seemed to be asking back, “Follow your rhythm?”
“On one, bend your knees. On two, throw. Don’t break it up—connect it as one smooth motion.”
After explaining clearly, he waited for her to take her position.
But she was standing there looking back at him instead. Her vacant, foolish expression was actually kind of amusing, so he deliberately counted in a bit slowly.
“Look at the basket.”
Now she took her stance, and he counted carefully.
Why did his grip on the Microphone tighten, even for such a trivial thing? It was just fitting for this foolish task.
“Two.”
Ibi’s body rose smoothly into the air.
As the ball traced an arc through the air from her pale hand, he watched not the result but Ibi herself as she jumped.
Not because her face was funny when she puckered her lips in concentration, but simply because one thought had occurred to him.
The worry that this clumsy girl might throw too hard and tip backward, falling ungracefully on her rear.
Fortunately, that pathetic thing didn’t happen—Ibi landed safely on the Gymnasium floor.
As he felt relief, Ibi turned to look at the Broadcast Room.
When he saw that radiant smile through the dark glass, he finally knew the result. It had gone in.
Why was she so happy? It was just one basket.
Without noticing his own mouth lift along with hers, he tilted the Microphone.
“Ready again.”
That coldly delivered line was probably half joking.
Or so he hoped.
It didn’t take long for Cyrus to regret this meddling.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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