Sweet! Sweat! Swoop! E-Book

Anne Atsusa

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Sweet! Sweat! Swoop! - english edition
• Sprache: Deutsch

Seitenzahl: 181

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Taro Yamada loves superheroes. After he literally lost his shit at the entrance exams for high school, he decided to enroll at Saint Claus Academy in Northern Europe for a year. But instead of the Super Club for ongoing heroes, he discovers the wrongly translated Spa Club - and four rich, butt naked guys sweating in a sauna. Luckily, he owns a bottle of special sauna essence which can make every dream come true. Now it's time for sauna, not drama!

Leseprobe

Sweet! Sweat! Swoop!

Cover Making-OfInfusion 01: E 174 – SilverInfusion 01: E 174 – Silver, Part 1Hot and steamy sauna timeInfusion 01: E 174 – Silver, Part 2Sakura Infuser attacksInfusion 01: E 174 – Silver, Part 3Infusion 02: E 171 – Titane dioxideInfusion 02: E 171 – Titane dioxide, Part 1A magical team appearsInfusion 02: E 171 – Titane dioxide, Part 2Infusion 03: E 127 – ErythrosineInfusion 03: E 127 – Erythrosine, Part 1By the power of Mezcal!Infusion 03: E 127 – Erythrosine, Part 2Infusion 04: E 124 – Cochineal redInfusion 04: E 124 – Cochineal red, Part 1Doomed by toilet paperInfusion 04: E 124 – Cochineal red, Part 2What does the fox say?Infusion 04: E 124 – Cochineal red, Part 3Magical boys, unite!Welcome to Saint Claus Academy!Profile: Taro YamadaProfile: Anders AndersenProfile: John DoeProfile: Tauno TallinenProfile: Ivan Ivanovich IvanowProfile: Salter BrookhouseProfile: Demosthenes PeppasProfile: Norton KasperskyProfile: Loonius van KingsleyAfterword: Anne AtsusaGreetings from Anne AtsusaAfterword: YAAGreetings from YAAPlunger and toilet paperImpressum

Cover Making-Of 

Picture. Sweet! Sweat! Swoop! English Edition Volume 1. Story by Anne Atsusa. Art by Nana Yaa. The picture shows the cover photoshooting. Anders and Taro are posing in front of an artificial flower shelf. John is holding flowers down from the backside of the shelf. Tauno is taking a selfie lying on the floor, not paying attention. Ivan is waiting annoyed, surrounded by shopping bags.

Infusion 01: E 174 – Silver 

Picture. Taro is rushing to school. He forgot to eat breakfast and has a slice of toast in his mouth. The picture also shows portraits of the other four boys Tauno, Anders, John and Ivan in the background.

Flatulence seemed to always occur at the worst times. In the supermarket, when you had a hard time deciding whether to buy mackerel, sea bass or cod. In the metro, on the way to school when it was getting cramped and you were hoping that the class teacher sitting three seats away from you would not discover your release. Even elevators, group study and exams were also few of the moments your stomach started to feel like butterflies trapped in a bottle.

Even today, this distress in his abdominal region had driven Taro Yamada to seek refuge in the place that even kings only visited alone. At least the kings who went to a boarding school in Northern Europe.

His stomach had been rumbling since last night, so he had hardly gotten a bite down in the morning. While his roommate, also a rather shy fellow, who had given him a long lecture about waste separation and energy saving when they met each other for the first time, had sawn down an entire forest last night, and Taro could not get a single minute of sleep. His belly groaned and ached, wailed and complained, but he didn’t even dare to go to the toilet of the room, fearing his roommate would be woken up by the loudly rattling defective fan or the equally loudly rattling wind orchestra coming from his buttocks.

While he was lying in bed, watching the moon shine through a gap in the curtain, he had missed Japan a lot. Japan, his home country, the land of electric toilets and vending machines, the land of etiquette bells which made gentle water sounds that could drown out even the worst flatulence, and the land of hot springs with the smell of rotten eggs, against which every diarrhea, no matter how bad, smelled as tenderly as a baby diaper.

So why was he, Taro Yamada, even here? It was cold and dark over here in Northern Europe, and while the cherry blossoms in Japan were migrating from Hiroshima towards Kyoto, he was on a small island still covered in ice in the Gulf of Bothnia.

The toilet seat, which Taro had been occupying for ten minutes, was also ice-cold. There was no control panel for the warmth of the toilet seat, and no cleaning water jet. At the toilet tank you could only choose whether to press the big or the small button.

Barbaric. Simply barbaric.

The toilet paper was not exempt. It It was gray and rough and scratchy, like a Viking had sliced it out of a piece of wood. No comparison to the one or two-layered papers from his homeland, which caressed his buttocks like a gentle rain of cherry blossoms.

Once more he could feel brutish complaints from the inside against his abdominal wall. Taro bent forward and breathed heavily, whimpering like a wounded puppy. Tears had formed in the corners of his eyes. He lifted his glasses a little and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

It couldn’t be true! Today the same thing happened as on the day of the entrance exams for high school!

He remembered exactly how he was studying like a madman last summer, then climbing Mount Fuji, then studying again and climbing Mount Fuji again. In the end, his grades were good enough to be admitted to his desired high school. But at the moment of the oral exam, he, Taro Yamada, 15 years old and the youngest son of a typical average Japanese family with three children, crapped out big time. Literally.

Never before in his life had he been so nervous that he had left before the teachers’ committee had even looked at him. His raging heart and belly roaring like a wild beast put a damper on his plans.

The next time he climbed Mount Fuji in the pouring rain, he couldn’t stop crying. Why was he such a coward? Why couldn’t he accept, like any other person, that sometimes in life you had to take a different path than the desired one, and that you had to at least try to get through it, even if you were nervous and about to fail? While he stood on a viewing platform and watched the autumn woods dressed in bright colors, vibrant and alive, something in him seemed to come alive as well. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath and shouted: “From now on I am strong and serious! Matchless and marvelous! Energetic and fearless! I will definitely change myself!” But when a group of Chinese and European tourists took a critical look at him shortly afterwards, his self-confidence crumbled into pieces again and he rushed to the nearest toilet house.  

Just reminiscing about the embarrassing situation back then made Taro blush with shame. He wiped his eyes again. But this time he had to smile.

Yes, he was still a hopeless coward. But now he had at least made it to a toilet at the other end of the world.

Because he couldn’t get into his desired high school, he had fervently searched for something else. But the school websites he had visited had a boring selection of clubs. He found clubs for sports, music and literature, natural sciences and handicraft. But he neither wanted to knit nor dance, nor become world champion in Fortnite or Counter Strike.

Since he and his two big sisters had been watching TV and playing together ever since he could remember, Taro had only one wish: to become a hero. And over here, at this boarding school, in a place where the sun shone for just four hours a day in winter, his wish was about to come true. Because at Saint Claus Academy, there was not only a club for figure skating and cattle breeding, but also the one, the special one – the Super Club!

Encouraged by this thought, Taro ended his session. He took out his smartphone from his bag and looked at the clock. If he hurried, he could still make it to class in time. His lockscreen showed the image of a pair of female twins in short frilly dresses embroidered all over with sequins and pearls. The twins were accompanied by two cute plush dinosaurs.

Taro’s thoughts drifted away for a split second. He had visited one of their concerts shortly before his departure for Northern Europe. While Asami and Yumi were doing what they did best on stage, Peppi and Peppo, the two dinosaurs, were dancing on a 3D screen behind them. When he closed his eyes and focused on it, he could still smell the mixture of cotton candy and dry ice that filled the air of the concert hall.

He sighed and pressed the phone to his chest. “Asami, Yumi, I love you!”

The school bell rang and he blinked back to the present.

“Aaaaah!” Panicking, Taro wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and stuffed his smartphone back into his bag. A small bottle, which he also carried around, clanked softly against it. He pressed the flush button one more time, made sure that his shirt was in his pants and his fly was closed properly, then pushed the door open and sprinted to the sink.

The soap dispenser on the right side was empty. His heart started to leap in his chest. On the left side there was only a small amount of liquid soap in the dispenser. As he soaped up his hands the best he could, he looked at his reflection in the mirror critically. To do so, he had to stand on his tiptoes, because someone must have thought it was a great idea to hang up the mirror only for people between one meter sixty-five and two meters tall.

He himself, without stretching, could only see his tired eyes and the slightly reddened tip of his nose - as well as another boy who stared at him with a sinister look. Taro let out a surprised cry. Since when had the other guy been standing there? His hands trembled as he washed them off. But maybe he had only imagined it, because as pale-white as the other guy was, he couldn’t possibly be a real person.

A ghost. Yes, exactly, a ghost. The male, European version of Hanako, the toilet-bound! No doubt the ghost was gone as soon as he turned around one more time.

Taro reached for the paper towels, dried his hands, and then lifted his school bag. He slowly turned around after he was finished.

“Good morning!” The ghost said in a firm voice.

Taro once again let out a frightened whimper. He had a lump in his throat, but he still tried to maintain etiquette and bow slightly. “G… Good m… morning!”

He didn’t dare look at the other boy, so he stared at his shoes. They were really fashionable, well-groomed sneakers in bright colors with reflective stripes, quite different from the average brown leather shoes that Taro wore. The ghost’s trousers told Taro that he had to be a student of the Saint Claus Academy too, even though he wore his shirt casually opened and the tie not around his neck but as a ribbon on his belt. Another cautious glance revealed a yellow T-shirt, several golden gangster-like necklaces, alabaster white skin, and almost snow-white, frizzy hair.

Taro had never seen such an immensely white person in his life before. The people from his home country usually had dark, almost black hair, dark eyes and a slightly tanned skin.

Did the other boy have blue eyes and a big nose? Because that was what Americans and Europeans were supposed to have!

At least on television you always saw these kinds of people in the upper left or right corner of the screen, always nodding and smiling during a report, even though they didn’t understand a single word of Japanese. What was the colour of his eyes? When he carefully raised his view again, he squeaked for the third time. “I’m sorry!” He bowed hastily. His eyes … His eyes … They were… Grey … Red … Something was wrong with them! Yes, he definitely had to be a demon. A demon! And he, Taro, was at his mercy, because he was late on his first day at the new school. His stomach started to rumble again.

The other boy clicked his tongue “You should so.” He twitched his eyebrows and looked at Taro critically. His flickering gaze immediately made Taro become pale-white, too.

The boy took out a clipboard and turned a few pages. “You are Taro Yamada, right?” He began to squint as he read through the rest of the data. “Class 10-C, starting today as a part of the scholarship program of our school.” He grimaced with an unusual ease. “And late on his first day.”

“I’m sorry.” Taro raised his head mid-bow. He noticed that the other boy wore a red armband, which meant that he had to be an important member of the student council. There was a menacing roar in his belly. Taro became dizzy.

The grin grew wider. “Bag check,” the other boy commanded and made Taro hand him his navy blue shoulder bag with trembling hands. Taro was on the verge of throwing himself on the floor in front of him, begging for his life the old-fashioned Japanese way.

“Textbooks, a notepad, an electronic dictionary, a smartphone, a pencil case, oh …”, happily he reached into the bag and took out a glass bottle, “… bingo!”

Taro solidified into a pillar of salt. Until now he hadn’t even remembered he was carrying this bottle with him. It was as small as a teacup, sealed with a cork. An old sign around the bottleneck with handwritten Japanese characters read: “Only for the brave.” The liquid inside seemed clear, but when shook it turned into rainbow-coloured stardust.

The other boy laughed dirtily and patted him on the back lightly. “Bingo,” he repeated. “The little Japanese boy probably thought he could drink a little courage before class.” He swayed the bottle back and forth and watched the colour change with growing interest.

“No, that’s …” Taro kept pushing around. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he could hardly hear himself speak. A parting gift from my father. He couldn’t say it out loud.

The other guy pulled up his nose. “Yeah, that’s right, it’s orange juice, and I’m Santa Claus! Ho ho ho!” He gave him another pat on the back and forced him to leave the toilet with him. “I don’t care if you skip class, because we have a special class for kids like you. But alcohol?! Now that’s just too much!” He grabbed him by his left forearm and dragged him down the hall.

Taro could barely keep up with him. “That’s not true. This is a special aromatic elixir my father gave me to calm my stomach.” He staggered and stumbled, but the pale ghost boy did not untighten his grip. “I beg you, don’t take this bottle away from me!”

Taro’s pleas fell on deaf ears as the boy kept pulling him around.

Their path finally ended in front of an old dark brown wooden door. Taro was out of breath. The door creaked and groaned as it opened. Fifteen tired pairs of eyes immediately turned to him.

The teacher had put his feet on the table. He wore birkenstocks and wool socks, and slurped loudly from a coffee cup. “Ah, Ivan!” He turned around sluggishly and yawned. “Did you find another straggler?”

The pale boy beside him nodded and loosened his grip.

Taro rubbed his aching forearm and stared at the teacher first, then at Ivan, with a questioning look on his face. “Is this my class?” The whole sight was even more confusing and chaotic than Shinjuku Station during rush hour.

Ivan shook his head. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

The teacher wanted to take another sip from the coffee cup, but then realized it was empty. Sighing, he stood up and went to a small coffee maker on the windowsill.

The other pupils had since returned to their own interests, playing video games, reading adult magazines, or dozing away happily.

“No,” Ivan said. “This is the truant class.”

Taro was unsure if he should feel relieved or be disappointed. He had imagined his debut to be a complete nightmare. How he would stand in front of the class, misspell his name in English letters or accidentally write it in Kanji, or how he couldn’t get a single word out and would pass wind resulting in everyone laughing at him.

But reality was a lot different. He told the teacher his name but the teacher mumbled in a disinterested tone, clearly engrossed in his battle with the milk frother: “Yeah, well, okay, sit down somewhere.”

Huh?

…

What the …?!

He couldn’t believe it. Shouldn’t he have been punished? Like getting embarrassed in front of his own class, as it always seemed to happen with new students?

Instead, he was left alone. No one asked questions and no one noticed him.

A Hispanic-looking boy with a ponytail to his right had put a cake almanac over his head and was snoring peacefully.

To his left, a lightly freckled boy was passing the time with an embroidery frame, smiling to himself as if deep in thought.

Ivan had disappeared after delivering him to the class teacher, but came back shortly afterwards with two other students, of which one was now immersed in tarot cards, taking notes now and then.

The world outside the window still lay in a dim twilight. Wistfully, Taro thought of the bottle the pale Ivan had stolen from him. If only he had opened and smelled it, he would have known that there was no alcohol in its content. Taro thought there had to be something like sugar water inside. A joke his father had made.

Anyway, Taro hardly knew his father. Goro Yamada - his full name - belonged to the species of businessmen who loved their work so much they never came home.

When Taro was a first-grader and his two sisters were in middle school, his father was at least at home on Sundays. Back then he would take them out to see a movie, the zoo, or just to watch baseball games.

Unfortunately, three years ago, he had taken his sleeping bag with him to the office and since then he had only come home when he needed to skin himself. Skinning, meaning he exchanged his suit - with which he had almost become inseparable - for a fresh one.

Taro didn’t even know if his father had noticed anything about the whole exchange year thing. He had never told him because he was never at home. But when he finally sat on packed suitcases and said goodbye to his beloved electric toilet, he discovered a farewell letter on the kitchen table, which gave him courage, and the little bottle with the rainbow water inside.

He gave a long sigh. Now the bottle was gone. The only smidgen and proof of affection he had received from his father in recent years was now kept by Ivan the Terrible, and had probably already been washed down the drain.

Again he took out his smartphone and looked at the photo of the two idols. Immediately, a comforting warmth spread through his insides. That helped him get through the morning.

When the bell rang for lunch break, the truant class finally began to stir. The chairs were moved. Even the most tired students stretched themselves profoundly and made their way to the dining hall. Taro, who had spent the last hours learning new English vocabulary, stood up.

A student in the row in front of him turned around. “Well? How do you like our school so far?”

Taro was startled for a brief moment. He didn’t expect to be addressed by anyone at all that day.

“F… Fine, thank you,” he said cautiously.

The boy reached out his hand. He was of average height, average weight, and had average eyes and hair. At the instant Taro shook his hand, he already forgot what the other boy looked like.

“My name is Peter. Peter Placeholder.”

“Yamada desu. Uh, I mean, my name is Taro. Nice to meet you.” He released his hand and bowed slightly in a courteous manner.

The other boy, Taro had forgotten his name again, gave him a friendly smile. “Everything must be so confusing for you. Well fear not, you can ask me whatever you want to know,” he said in a jokingly triumphant tone.

Taro nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, a normal conversational partner! “The truant class - what is it exactly?”

Peter Placeholder clapped his hands and began to explain bluntly. The question seemed to have thrown off a switch inside him, because the answer came as if rehearsed. “The truant class is a place where a student can spend the morning when he is not in the mood for class.”

Taro nodded his head, more in surprise than in understanding.

The boy - Peter, or something like that, as names seemed to give Taro a hard time - continued his monologue. “At our school there are almost only multimillionaires, except for the few scholarship holders who are invited every year for the purpose of intercultural studies. Rich parents, however, are very idiosyncratic and like to interfere everywhere. The teachers have therefore decided that one should not take the risk of being sued by the parents. Therefore, it is up to each pupil to decide whether or not to go to class. Those who don’t want to go to regular classes just come here, or they’ll be escorted, if Ivan catches them playing hooky.”

Taro’s head started spinning because of the long explanation. When the boy had finished, he had already forgotten the beginning.

His aggressively average appearance made it difficult for Taro to concentrate on what he was saying.

“But why the heck am I talking about that unimportant truant class! I’m sure you want to know a lot more.”

Taro felt as if he were in tutorial mode of a video game. Three choices appeared before his inner eye. Behind each was probably just as lengthy an explanation as the previous one. He decided to ask the boy about the school’s club system.

“Building a club,” he began, “depends on the budget of the respective group of students. Anyone is free to start a club as long as he has two other members with him and can afford the monthly rent of one of the many log cabins in the school forest. Therefore, there are many clubs at our school, which deal with a wide variety of things. Maybe you’ll discover your fondness for beekeeping here? How about Viking-style boat building? Or the screaming men choir?”

Taro covered his ears. The boy talked and talked. Unfortunately, he was too kind to bring himself to interrupt Peter.

When he finally stopped talking about stunt kite duels, ice hockey and bicycle road racing, Taro finally remembered what he wanted to ask him: “Where can I find Ivan in the afternoon?”

The boy smiled nicely. “You can usually find Ivan in the big log cabin by the lake. Today, he should be running Russian Friday. Over there, at the Spa Club.”

For the fourth time that day, Taro squeaked in surprise. “Ivan is in the … Super Club?”