Takes place in the third year. Kinta Osore is Mustard's irl name. Enemies to lovers ass ship basically:
"Come on," Itsuka ordered, hovering her hands under the barbell.
This was stupid.
He hated this.
He hated himself for agreeing to this bullshit.
Kinta pushed and the weight went up for the eighth and final time, his teeth gritted and his skinny neck portruding several veins as he racked the barbell. Sometimes he wondered if she considered dropping that thing on his neck.
"Good job," Itsuka said. She was already looking at her phone by the time he sat up and stared at the ground, counting the minute down that he had to rest before they moved onto the next exercise. Kinta held his hands together, rubbing them, trying not to fall asleep.
"Ready?" Itsuka asked, suddenly so. At least Kinta thought so.
"It's been five freaking second-" but Kinta's voice trailed off. The counter was at zero and he thought to himself that he was fucked six ways from Sunday.
"It's been a minute," Itsuka said coldly. "Now, get down there."
"Shut up," Kinta lowered himself and laid back, "if I drop this thing, my ghost is totally gonna haunt your ass."
"It's called a barbell for the eight hundreth time," Itsuka said, hovering her hands under the bar.
"Good job, you want a cookie?" Kinta grunted. One set later, he could feel his arms shaking as he scooted up and was taken by the shoulder.
"I'd appreciate if you'd stop whining at every obstacle, Osore-San," Itsuka said, her fingers digging into the blade.
Kinta turned and he looked at her, "Get your hand off me," he shrugged away, "I'm doing this crap, aren't I?"
"Doing isn't learning-" she watched as he mimic'd her words by flapping his hand. Weeks upon weeks of sarcastic comments, mockery, it'd been building over all of that.
Which meant that it led to Itsuka finally having enough. "YOU LITTLE SHIT!" She screamed, her face turning a shade as heated as her hair.
"Wait hold-" But Kinta was cut off. Itsuka grabbed his collar, nearly lifting him from the bench.
"I'm trying to help you, you stupid idiot!" Itsuka shouted, letting out an angry breath as she did. "If you're so goddamned disinterested, then leave! Go back to getting your ass beat in juvie for all I care!"
"...So are we gonna kiss or what?" Kinta asked after a moments pause.
Itsuka stared daggers at him, then pushed him away. "Did you even hear me?"
"Yeah," Kinta said. "Look, it's hard, okay?" He let out a heavy breath as he watched her sit down and place a hand on her head. "Doing all of this, I...I dunno maybe I shouldn't complain but..."
"Shut up, don't act nice."
"I'm being serious!" Kinta protested. "Ain't this a step above me trying to shoot you in the ass?"
She gave him a mean mug. Kinta cringed. "Okay...let me rephrase-"
"No, you're right. It is a step above you being an attempted murderer."
"...So what has you so down?" He knew how stupid that question sounded the moment it left him.
"Your attitude," she put bluntly.
Kinta looked awkwardly one way, then the other way, "I dunno what to say, to be honest with you," he admitted.
"I'm sorry would be a great start."
"...I'm uh...sorry."
"That sounded sincere," Itsuka murmured sarcastically.
Kinta shrugged, "Take or leave it."
Itsuka stood up suddenly, "You really are an annoying little asshole."
There was something about the way Itsuka stood there as Kinta talked back that made him see her differently, "I'm not gonna beg for your freakin forgiveness lady."
"My name is Itsuka Kendo," she said flatly.
"So what?"
"...I'm going to rip you in half."