Friday morning. 9:29.
Takahashi Mio had been standing at the school gate with her parasol for over half an hour.
It was already mid-October, technically autumn, but the sun hadn't gotten the memo. It beat down with relentless summer intensity, turning the waiting game into a slow torture.
She stood alone under the shade of a tree, parasol angled carefully, but she was still conspicuous. Especially today—she'd put extra effort into her makeup, and passersby couldn't help but steal second glances.
In the past, that would've pleased her. Even if her face stayed calm and goddess-like, inside she'd have been smug.
Not today.
Beads of sweat gathered on her fair forehead. One trickled down, stinging her eye as it slid past her curled lashes. She blinked hard, clearing her vision.
More sweat dripped from her golden bangs onto her cheeks. She wanted to wipe it away but couldn't—not without smudging the careful work she'd done this morning. Instead, she dabbed gently with a tissue, barely touching skin.
Her eyes darted left, then right. To anyone watching, she was the picture of serene composure. A goddess enduring the elements with grace.
Inside? She'd already cursed Shiratori Seiya's name at least forty times.
A man who can't even show up early for a date? Hopeless. Completely clueless about romance. A scoundrel destined for eternal loneliness!
It was infuriating.
Finally—finally—when the minute hand on her watch crept to six, a car pulled up in front of her.
Beep!
The window slid down. Shiratori Seiya's face appeared.
"Get in."
Mio blinked, startled out of her internal rant. Then she ducked her head and hurried into the passenger seat.
The moment she sat down, her eyes darted around the car's interior. Sleek. Elegant. Expensive-looking.
She hadn't expected him to pick her up in something like this.
She bit back the question burning on her tongue—Is this yours?—and instead turned to him with the smile she'd practiced in the mirror for twenty minutes that morning.
"Good morning, Shiratori-kun."
Shiratori Seiya looked at her. At the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. At the damp strands of hair clinging to her temples. He frowned.
"Have you been waiting long?"
"Not too long."
Mio's smile didn't waver. She shook her head gently, the picture of understanding grace.
Inside, she was screaming. Not too long? I've been standing there for over half an hour, you absolute—
Her gaze slid over him. Long sleeves. Again. In this heat. Definitely not normal.
Shiratori Seiya studied her for a moment. The long, curled lashes. The fair skin with its delicate pink flush. Those eyes—innocent, gentle, drawing you in.
If he were someone else, someone without experience, sitting this close to a girl like her would probably have his heart racing.
Takahashi Mio had that effect on people.
But Shiratori Seiya wasn't moved. He knew better. A girl like this wasn't naturally gentle. Even Hōjō Shione, the sweetest-natured of his exes, would get upset if he kept her waiting too long.
Still, he appreciated the effort. The acting. He encouraged it.
"Good. Arriving early is a good habit. Keep it up."
"Okay~"
Mio's eyes crinkled with her smile. But beneath her thighs, her hands clenched into fists. Her nails dug into her palms as she mentally added another dozen curses to her growing list.
"Buckle up."
"Oh. Um... what are we doing today?"
"I'm going to show you a different side of yourself."
Shiratori Seiya smiled at her. Before she could process the words, he pressed the accelerator.
>>>
Show you a different side of yourself.
It wasn't until several hours later that Takahashi Mio finally understood what he meant.
Shiratori Seiya drove them to the largest shopping complex in central Tokyo. He led her through the gleaming corridors with practiced ease, straight to the seventh floor. To the entrance of a boutique she'd only ever seen in magazines.
The moment they stopped outside, Mio's feet rooted to the floor.
Even without stepping inside, she knew. The warm golden lighting. The minimalist but elegant window displays. This wasn't a store. This was a statement.
The shops she usually visited with friends had mannequins out front and racks crammed with clothes inside. Fast fashion. Affordable. Normal.
This was different.
The white slip dress in the window caught her eye. It wasn't just hanging there—it was presented. Soft light cascaded from above, making pale blue rhinestones sparkle like tiny stars. A gentle breeze from somewhere made the fabric sway, bringing the dress to life.
A young, elegant charm wafted from the display, almost tangible.
Passersby slowed as they walked past. Their eyes lingered. You could see the question forming in their minds: What would I look like in that?
The crystal glass bore elegant gold lettering: Adorn Your Unique Youth. A designer's signature sat in the corner.
I don't belong here.
The thought hit Mio like a physical blow. She hadn't even seen a price tag, but she knew. This world wasn't for her.
Inferiority bloomed in her chest, hot and suffocating. She wanted to turn. To run.
But before she could move, Shiratori Seiya's hand closed around her wrist. He pulled her forward, through the carved glass doors and into the bright new world.
A delicate, cool fragrance enveloped them. The air smelled expensive.
A sales assistant appeared immediately—attractive, impeccably dressed, her smile perfectly calibrated.
"Irasshaimase~ Welcome."
Mio stood frozen, watching Shiratori Seiya converse with the assistant like he'd done this a hundred times. His tone was casual. Familiar. Like he belonged here.
She had no idea what expression to make. What to do with her hands. All that preparation at home, all those practiced smiles and rehearsed lines? Useless. Completely useless.
She followed him like a doll, listening to him describe what he wanted while the assistant's gaze swept over her again and again. Measuring. Assessing.
For the first time in years, Takahashi Mio felt utterly out of her depth. Even the sales assistant seemed more composed than she was right now.
"Excuse me, may I ask your measurements?"
Mio blinked, startled out of her daze. "Uh..."
Before she could stammer out an answer, Shiratori Seiya spoke calmly:
"88, 60, 88."
The sales assistant turned to him, blinked once, then nodded and jotted it down without missing a beat.
"Understood. Thank you."
Mio's eyes went wide. A deep blush crept up her cheeks, spreading from her neck to her temples.
How... how does he know that?
She turned away quickly, desperate to escape the assistant's knowing gaze.
This scoundrel—when did he figure out her measurements? How long had he been watching her? How much did he actually notice?
Yesterday, when Reika suggested he might have a secret crush, she'd dismissed it as nonsense. Now? Now she wasn't so sure.
Not only a secret crush, but maybe a slightly obsessive one.
Before she could spiral further, the assistant's voice cut through her thoughts.
"Sir, I understand what you're looking for. Please follow me..."
They were led to an adjacent display. The assistant gestured gracefully toward a dress and turned to Mio with genuine enthusiasm.
"You might try this one..."
What followed was a stream of professional commentary—fabric, cut, how the design would complement her figure, why this particular piece was perfect for someone with her proportions. Mio listened, fascinated despite herself. A minute later, she found herself walking into the fitting room.
When she emerged and caught her reflection in the mirror, her lips curved upward in a smile she couldn't have suppressed if she'd tried.
She didn't actually like shopping for clothes. What she loved was seeing a new version of herself emerge. Each outfit was like meeting a different Takahashi Mio—someone fresh, someone reinvented.
>>>>
But three hours later, that joy had curdled into exhaustion.
From ten in the morning until one in the afternoon. Store after store. Outfit after outfit. She'd lost count of how many things she'd tried on.
Her ankles throbbed. The backs of her knees ached. The novelty had long since evaporated.
What she couldn't refuse—what no one could refuse—was that Shiratori Seiya bought almost everything she tried on. The beautiful ones, at least.
She'd peeked at the totals during checkout. Never below 100,000 yen. Sometimes much higher.
The numbers made her dizzy.
Is he insane? she thought, watching him hand over another card. We've only met twice. Twice! And he's spending this much on clothes?
By the end of the morning, she estimated he'd dropped over a million yen.
A small part of her couldn't help thinking: Wouldn't it be better to just give me the cash? That'd clear my whole debt!
But she had to admit—his taste was impeccable. Everything he picked suited her perfectly, like it had been custom-made. Casual chic. Elegant long dresses. Sophisticated evening gowns. She'd tried them all.
Youthful. Sexy. Gentle. Dignified. Elegant.
She stared at herself in mirror after mirror, barely recognizing the girl looking back. She was beautiful—more beautiful than she'd ever imagined she could be.
But then her gaze caught on her hair. The golden ends, tipped with that splash of green. Suddenly, it looked hideous. Tacky. Completely wrong.
Why didn't I notice before?
She imagined it black—simple, elegant, perfect for the woman in the mirror. The contrast made her cringe.
Her taste was that bad?
A wave of self-consciousness washed over her. She wanted to find scissors and cut that offending lock off right there.
"We'll go to a salon after lunch."
Mio startled, snapping back to the present. She turned to look at him—blue jeans, white shirt, short hair. Unremarkable features, but somehow pleasing overall.
Does this person read minds?
She studied his calm expression, and inexplicably, her racing heart settled.
He'd been so forceful before. So direct. But moments like this... he was unexpectedly gentle. Attentive. Like he could see right through her.
Meticulous didn't begin to cover it.
Has he had a girlfriend before? she wondered. He must have. Someone who taught him how to do this.
The thought sparked something she couldn't quite name.