A short while later.
Under Hozuki Nozomi's deft hands, the cramped kitchen transformed into something almost professional.
Oil hissed and spat in the wok, ribbons of steam carrying the sharp fragrance of minced garlic and fresh ginger through the small apartment. Kirisu Mafuyu found herself drifting closer to the kitchen threshold, drawn by aromas she hadn't experienced in months—certainly not from any takeout container.
Three dishes and one soup emerged in rapid succession.
Braised pork belly glistening with caramelized soy glaze. Stir-fried greens still crackling with residual heat. A delicate egg-drop soup with threads of silken tofu floating beneath wisps of scallion. And finally, a clay pot of seasoned rice, the lid lifted to release a cloud of sweet, nutty steam.
Kirisu Mafuyu inhaled deeply and swallowed—an involuntary, almost embarrassing sound.
He's injured because of me, and he's cooking like this?
"I didn't expect you to be so skilled at housework," she admitted, watching him set the final dish on the table with casual precision, "let alone cooking at this level."
"Hehe, believe me now?"
"Mn, I believe you."
Kirisu Mafuyu nodded vigorously, her gaze locked on the glistening pork belly. The caramelized edges caught the overhead light, and she felt her stomach growl—a sound thankfully masked by Nozomi pulling out a chair for her.
"How about we start eating?" He gestured to the spread. "Won't taste as good cold."
"Yes—let's eat!"
The food was devastating.
Kirisu Mafuyu ate three full bowls of rice, scraping the last grains from the ceramic with her chopsticks before realizing she'd been hunched over her bowl like a starving college student. She straightened, cheeks warming, but Hozuki Nozomi only smiled and pushed the remaining pork belly toward her.
The flavors were rich without being heavy, each dish balanced against the others. Nothing like the oversalted, MSG-laden takeout she'd been surviving on.
When the last dish was scraped clean, Hozuki Nozomi reached for the bowls—but Kirisu Mafuyu snatched them first.
"I'll wash. You're a guest." She clutched the ceramic against her chest. "And my benefactor. I may be hopeless at cooking, but dishes I can manage."
He didn't argue, simply watching her retreat to the kitchen with an expression she couldn't quite read.
When Kirisu Mafuyu emerged, drying her hands on a thin towel, she found Hozuki Nozomi carrying several bulging trash bags toward the door.
Her accumulated shame—weeks of takeout containers, instant ramen cups, convenience store bento boxes—bundled together in his arms.
"Ah—"
The word died in her throat.
She had originally intended to ask for his help with exactly this. The mess had grown beyond her ability to face alone. But after his injury, after everything, she couldn't bring herself to voice it.
Yet here he was.
Her eyes stung, heat prickling behind her lashes.
This guy...
Hozuki Nozomi returned moments later, hands empty, the faint scent of something burnt lingering on his sleeves—though no smoke followed him. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink, then turned to find Kirisu Mafuyu staring at him with an expression caught between gratitude and something rawer.
"Um." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I noticed it was a bit cluttered over there. Took care of it."
"...Thank you."
The words came out smaller than she intended.
"No problem." A grin split his face. "Just remember to look the other way when I'm on my phone during your lectures."
"Absolutely not! No phones in my class!"
"Haha, kidding, kidding."
"Mou~ Nozomi, you're insufferable!"
Kirisu Mafuyu glared at him—but the expression came out soft, her lips pursed in a pout that emphasized the fullness of her lower lip. The playful frustration in her eyes carried an undercurrent of warmth, something almost flirtatious in how her lashes lowered.
Hozuki Nozomi's gaze lingered on that expression—the charming allure she probably didn't realize she was projecting. His tongue unconsciously swept across his lower lip.
Not yet, he reminded himself. No need to rush.
*Down boy....
"Well." He stretched, feigning casualness. "It's getting late. I should head back. Anything else you need help with, Mafuyu-sensei?"
"Probably not... for now."
"'For now'?" His eyebrow arched. "Meaning there will be later?"
"I didn't say that."
Her gaze flickered sideways, fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater. The denial was unconvincing—they both knew it.
He already knows my shameful secret, she reasoned internally. At this point, who else could I ask?
Besides... his cooking really was exceptional.
"You just want to eat my cooking again, don't you?"
Kirisu Mafuyu's cheeks flared crimson.
She insisted on driving him back.
Her car—a modest sedan that smelled faintly of coffee and paper—pulled up to Sakurasou's gated entrance, and Kirisu Mafuyu's eyes went wide.
"This is where you live?"
The manor stretched before them in the evening light, traditional architecture blending seamlessly with modern renovations. Cherry trees lined the pathway, their branches bare but elegant against the darkening sky. Warm light spilled from several windows, giving the entire property a storybook quality.
"Beautiful," she breathed.
"Sakurasou." Hozuki Nozomi smiled, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I'm the landlord, actually. Plenty of empty rooms. If you ever want to change residences—"
"I'll let you know."
The response came quicker than she expected, surprising them both.
"Oh, and Nozomi?" Her voice softened. "Don't let your wound touch water tonight. Come by tomorrow—I want to check the burns."
"No problem."
Since the beautiful teacher was concerned about him, he naturally had to agree.
But as her car pulled away, his smile took on a sharper edge.
She hadn't seemed particularly interested in moving in.
That wouldn't do.
Tonight, he decided, I'll deploy the Cat Wingman Special Forces.
A few strategically placed cockroaches, maybe some silverfish for variety. Nothing dangerous—just enough crawling nightmares to make her apartment feel suddenly uninhabitable.
It was underhanded. Manipulative, even.
Hozuki Nozomi confirmed, once again, his own despicable nature—and felt absolutely no remorse.
*Damn, all is fair in love and war but...
....
Sakurasou's interior greeted him with familiar warmth.
The entryway smelled of fresh polish and something floral—Mahiru's fabric softener, probably. Evening light filtered through the windows, casting long golden rectangles across the hardwood.
And there, in the common area, Ogiwara Sayu knelt on the floor, working a damp cloth across the wood grain with methodical focus.
Her school uniform had been exchanged for casual loungewear—an oversized t-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, exposing pale skin, and shorts that barely reached mid-thigh. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, exposing the nape of her neck.
*Image is the book's current profile
She hadn't noticed him yet.
A mischievous idea sparked behind his eyes.
Hozuki Nozomi crossed the room in silence, footsteps masked by the soft padding of the runner carpet. When he was close enough to smell her shampoo—something light, citrus and vanilla—he struck.
His arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her small body flush against his chest.
"Ah—!"
Sayu jolted, the cloth dropping from her fingers. Her spine went rigid for a split second before recognition set in—the familiar press of his chest against her back, the warmth of his breath against her ear.
"Annoying—Nozomi, stop it, I'm cleaning..."
The protest lacked conviction. Her body had already softened against him, melting into the embrace despite her words. A flush crept up the back of her neck, visible even in the dim light.
His hands are so warm, she thought helplessly. I can never resist when he holds me like this...
"Sayu."
His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and she shivered.
"Come to my room tonight. I have something good to show you."
"Bah!"
Sayu twisted in his arms, fixing him with a half-hearted glare. Her cheeks burned pink, lower lip caught between her teeth.
What 'good things' of his hadn't she already seen? She knew exactly what he meant—knew she'd end up pinned beneath him, gasping his name into the pillows until her voice gave out.
He just wants to bully me, she thought.
But even knowing that...
She wanted to be bullied by him.
His stunning fiancées—Yukino with her ice-queen beauty, Haruno with her sophisticated allure—occupied so much of his world. Yet he still sought her out. Still held her like this, breath hot against her skin, making her feel desired.
Maybe that's why I can't say no.
Sayu's motivation to clean evaporated entirely. She needed reinforcements.
Not because she didn't want whatever Nozomi had planned—god, she wanted it—but because she had class tomorrow. She couldn't afford to be a wreck, limping into school on trembling legs with hickeys blooming beneath her collar.
She had ambitions now. Goals. She didn't want to be just a trophy, some pretty thing kept on a shelf. She wanted to matter. To help him in ways that went beyond warming his bed.
If she excelled—if she became someone worth noticing—maybe he'd love her even more.
Even though he'd never abandon me, she admitted to herself. I still want to be his favorite.
After thoroughly flustering the adorable Sayu, Hozuki Nozomi made his way to the kitchen.
The scent hit him first—fresh vegetables, the clean mineral smell of tap water, and underneath it all, something distinctly feminine. Jasmine shampoo. Light sweat. The particular warmth of Aoyama Nanami.
She stood at the sink with her back to the doorway, slender shoulders hunched over a cutting board. Unlike her usual work clothes, she wore casual house attire—a cream-colored sweater that hung loose on her frame, hair pinned up to expose the graceful curve of her neck.
Nanami-chan's cooking tonight, he noted. Perfect.
She hadn't heard him approach.
Hozuki Nozomi closed the distance in three silent strides, and then his arms were around her waist, pulling her back against him.
"Nanami. What's for dinner?"
"Hya—!"
Her entire body stiffened, a gasp escaping her lips. The knife clattered against the cutting board.
"It's—it's boiled fish—"
She managed exactly three syllables before his mouth found her neck.
His lips pressed against the sensitive skin just below her ear, warm and deliberate. His tongue traced a slow line down to where her shoulder met her throat, tasting salt and jasmine.
Aoyama Nanami's knees buckled.
"Ah—no—don't—"
Her protest came out breathy, fractured. Heat flooded her core, spreading outward until even her fingers tingled. She gripped the edge of the sink to stay upright, but her body had already gone soft and pliant against him.
Not here, she thought desperately. Someone could walk in—but oh god, his mouth—
"Hozuki... Nozomi~"
She whimpered his name, one hand flying up to cover her lips as if she could trap the sound. Her reflection in the window above the sink showed her own flushed face, eyes half-lidded, thoroughly undone.
He knew exactly what he did to her. She could feel his smile against her pulse point.
But because he understood her shyness—because he was, despite everything, considerate in his own wicked way—he didn't push further. His arms loosened, though his hands remained warm against her hips.
"Nanami."
His breath ghosted against her ear.
"Come to my room tonight. I learned a new massage technique—wanted to teach you."
Her face went nuclear.
Massage technique. Right.
She knew exactly what kind of 'teaching' that entailed.
Somewhere in Sakurasou, Ogiwara Sayu felt a sudden chill run down her spine—a premonition she couldn't quite name.
Hozuki Nozomi, meanwhile, returned to the common room with a self-satisfied smile.
Sayu, no need to thank me.
I've found you a helper.