The Mastermind is a Middle School Student (KHR FF)

(26: That's crazy that never happened (gaslighting))

[-1-]

“I'll have this packed up.”

“Thank you for your patronage.”

Summer festival came faster than excited expected. Within the blink of an eye, a sense of excitement had already boisterously stepped all over Namimori, manifesting in the form of set up stalls and teenage girls bashfully going out in her best yukata.

As the customer waves a polite goodbye, the person in charge of the counter looked down in the drawer, before letting out a soft ‘ah’.

“Yukimura-kun, would you mind getting more paper bags? We're running out.”

The young man bent down slowly rose up from his post, casting a light glance at the same drawer. His hair flows freely down his neck, slight dampness causes it to stick tightly against his skin. To see the usually ready man in such a casual state, one could only wonder if they've spent their entire life fortune to see this miracle.

Yukimura waved his hand and immediately moved outside, “ M’kay.”

“Go get more book covers as well, won't you?”

“Will.”

“Would you mind buying me some of Yamamoto’s sushi?”

“Got it.”

Rapid requests and rapid accepts.

The 5x5 meter stall is cramped with shelves upon tall shelves of books, leaving little to none walking space. Thankfully, the staffs in charge of it barely even need to walk, despite there definitely bring more than the ethical maximum amount of human squeezed below the same rooftop.

Yukimura straightened up almost immediately after accepting all the requests. Deigning to roll his shoulder backwards a few times before thinking himself stretched enough to move comfortably– despite his stoic face, his fast feet in leaving the tent proves his eagerness to get fresh air.

A fierce looking elderly woman was the first one to speak up, furrowing her brows as she locked the moving fan in her direction, remarking upon Yukimura's disappearing back, “Damnit, what kinda rat crawled up that brat's ass?”

“Miwako, didn't you know?” A middle aged man spoke up, his old fashioned square glasses glimmer oddly. His slightly sparse hairline is proof of his usually gloomy and strict lifestyle, which would explain his next words, “That scandal.”

Another woman spoke up, this time younger by a few years, evident by her less wrinkled face. Her checker styled t-shirt clings tightly against her skin, while a round fan is in hand to combat the head. She scoffed,“Goro-san, don't speak hearsays into Grandma Miwako’s ears.”

Goro waved his hand dismissively, “What hearsay? This is a tested and true news!”

Miwako squinted her eyes in confusion, showing aged wrinkles by the corner of her eyes. “Don’t go leading me by the nose now, what is that kid ain't telling me?”

“Hah. Isn't it that baseless rumour?” A gruff voice spoke up from behind a shelf. Emerged from it is a stoic looking grandpa, holding a stack of folded boxes, “-- That the Yukimura’s brat is marrying Aoki’s son.”

“-- Yukimura-san is marrying Aoki’s son!???”

“Eh?”

“A-re?”

“... Brat, if you have the energy to scream, go shout for customers.”

A young high school student sat up abruptly from between piles of empty boxes, only the slight blush and sweat dripping down his chin as proof that he has not petrified to stone.