A Clash of Skills

That morning, the Tree Cat spoke.

"Meow meow" (Translation: The Seed Holder has arrived, meow).

"Huh?"

It happened while I was kneading hamburger meat in the dormitory kitchen. A man had entered the dining hall right next to the kitchen.

It was unusual for anyone to be up this early. Glancing over at him, I kept kneading the hamburger meat.

He was wearing loose sweatpants, and his black hair was styled in a messy mash cut. His face carried an inexplicable air of confidence, with slightly droopy eyes.

"You're Mr. Iron Balls, right? Makoto Akaya. What are you doing up so early? Cooking doesn't suit you."

"And what of it, you lowlife?"

"Don't judge a book by its cover, you incel shut-in."

"It's not fair that you're the only one who knows my name. Introduce yourself first."

"This isn't a duel. No need for formalities."

Who the hell is this guy?