Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [22]

The final class of the day was PE.

If this were back in China, our chronically sick gym teacher would’ve probably called in “sick” again, and we’d be doing math or English instead.

But this was Japan. PE teachers here didn’t fold that easily. So class proceeded as usual.

At Seijō High, PE was held with three classes combined.

After the standard warm-up exercises, the gym teacher waved the students off.

“Takeru, come on, let’s play!”

Just as Kitahara Takeru was about to sit under a tree and relax, Ōtani Shōta came bounding over with a spark in his eye and dragged him toward the ping pong tables.

“Kitahara, do you know how to play?” Shōta asked, grabbing an unused table.

Takeru picked up a paddle off the table and gave it a test swing. It felt unexpectedly comfortable. Curious, he glanced down at the brand.

Hmm. Not Double Happiness — a Yasaka paddle.

Still watching the paddle, Takeru replied casually, “Not really. Just played a few rounds with some old men in my neighborhood.”

Of course, by "neighborhood," he meant his past life’s neighborhood.

There’s no such concept as a residential xiaoqu in Japan.

Shōta’s eyes immediately lit up.

“Then let’s settle this — for the pride of Seijō’s number one!” he declared dramatically, pointing his paddle at Takeru and shouting loud enough for the whole field to hear.

“…Hm?”

Takeru squinted at him. This guy’s definitely up to something.

“Oh? Kitahara, are you really challenging Shōta?”

“Kitahara-kun, you’ve got this!”

Just standing there, Kitahara Takeru was already the center of attention.

Plenty of girls had already been stealing glances at him.

Now, with Shōta yelling like that, they rushed over in groups to watch.

“It’s okay if you lose. I’ll still comfort you,” said Mako, a cute, bob-haired girl from Class B, pumping her fist for encouragement.

“Mako, what kind of comfort are we talking about here?”

“Ahh! You’re so annoying!”

Mako flushed, swatting at her friends teasing her.

“You’re making all of us girls look bad,” Kamikawa Rie muttered with a glare.

So shameless, she thought, disgusted.
Throwing yourself at a guy like that in public… does she have no self-respect?

“Tch. That smug bastard Kitahara dares act cocky? Watch me wreck you!” Ōtani Shōta growled.

Takeru shifted into a forehand stance — knees bent, body leaning forward, eyes locked on Shōta.

“Come.”

How dare you underestimate someone who went toe-to-toe with the park grandpas?

Shōta tossed the ball up, paddle slicing against its bottom edge.

The ball spun hard, floating just over the net in a deceptively slow arc.

It was a solid serve for most people — fast, flat, and hard to return cleanly.

But that’s for normal people.

Takeru’s eyes sharpened like a pervert spotting sheer stockings. He sidestepped, rotated his hips, twisted at the waist, and lashed out in one fluid strike.

CRACK!

The ball shot off like lightning, smacking down just past Shōta’s reach before flying off the table.

The speed was unreal. Shōta didn’t even react in time.

“Wait… didn’t you say you weren’t good at this?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“I’m not good.”

And honestly, he wasn’t lying. In his last life, he got steamrolled by the neighborhood grandpas every time.

Couldn’t even place top three at the park tournaments.

“That shot was just a fluke. I was experimenting, didn’t expect it to work.”

He started bluffing, plain and simple.

“Again?”

Shōta had his doubts, but with the crowd watching, he couldn’t back down.

“Your serve.”

He tossed the ball over to Takeru, determined to test him.

“Alright.”

Takeru caught the ball, crouched slightly, left hand cradling it. His eyes lifted just enough.

“Ready?”

“Bring it!” Shōta shouted, pumping himself up.

Takeru tossed the ball, twisted his wrist clockwise, sliced in from the ball’s lower left, then reversed into a powerful flick.

The rubber met the ball with sharp friction. Spin surged off the paddle.

The ball bounced once — then shot toward the far edge of the table.

Just a centimeter more, and it would’ve gone out.

But no — it clipped the edge, then curved straight toward Shōta’s chest.

He tried to dodge and counter, but didn’t even get the chance.

The ball thumped his chest and dropped to the floor.

“Again,” Takeru said coolly.

To Shōta, that voice felt like a demon lord giving a casual death sentence.

“Your backhand’s weak. Forehand’s sloppy. Footwork’s a mess. Reaction time is tragic. Not a single thing you’re doing looks right.”

Takeru sidestepped to the edge, stepped back with one foot, and blasted a forehand smash.

The ball hit the table with a bang and zipped off before Shōta even moved.

“You really think you belong on the same table as me? Keep dreaming.”

He looked at Shōta — who was now just sprinting around, picking up balls — with a bored, disdainful expression.

“I’m done. I’m out,” Shōta said, throwing his paddle and flopping on the ground.

He didn’t care about his pride anymore. There was no way he was playing ping pong with Kitahara ever again.

Screw his table tennis dreams.

If he even touches a paddle again, he swears he’s a dog.

“So strong!”

“Unstoppable Kitahara!”

“No wonder he’s the king of Seijō!”

Takeru’s table was now surrounded, layer after layer.

Even the PE teacher had come over to watch.

Everyone knew he was a top student, but this?

Who knew he played ping pong like a pro?

“Anyone else?” he asked.

Takeru had had his fill of wrecking beginners, but now he was honestly having fun.

His gaze swept across the crowd of boys — classmates, upperclassmen, underclassmen — all of whom immediately looked away.

No one wanted to be the next victim.

They’d seen what happened to Shōta. They weren’t suicidal.

“Sensei, how about a round?” he asked, smirking at the PE teacher.

“Ahh—sudden stomach cramps! I’ll be back later!”

Well then.

Turns out Japanese gym teachers could get mysteriously “sick” too.

“Being unbeatable is… so lonely.” Takeru set down his paddle with theatrical flair, shaking his head like a drama queen.

Damn it. He actually pulled that off, every guy thought at once.

I wanna be that cool, too!

Takeru was about to stretch when BAM!

Kamikawa Rie barreled into his back like a charging bull.

Crack.

He thought he heard a faint sound from his spine.

Maybe. Hopefully not.

“Takeru, that was amazing!” Rie threw her arms around his waist, face glowing with joy.

“Yeah yeah, calm down. Can you not grab me?” Takeru looked down at her hand, which had slipped through the gap between his shirt buttons. “Seriously?”

“You’re a disgrace to us all,” Mako muttered, voicing every girl’s unspoken thought.

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T/N: im decent at most sports im just held back because of my depth perception...

This is a fan translation of 不是说只拿我当替身的吗？by 雪碧加冰. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!