A chill crept up Egawa Mitsuki's legs, pulling her from the edge of consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open to find Sasaki Fuyumi had lifted her skirt, exposing her pale thighs and the safety shorts beneath to the open air. Even through the protective layer, the outline of her form was visible—curves that spoke of hours of ballet and discipline she now desperately wished she could disappear into.
Sasaki Fuyumi's throat bobbed visibly as he lowered his face toward where her safety shorts guarded what remained of her dignity.
Before he could make contact, Egawa Mitsuki gasped and scrambled backward. But she'd forgotten—she was balanced on one foot, her ankle still throbbing from earlier. The sudden movement sent her toppling, and she hit the ground with a sharp cry, the impact jarring through her spine.
When her vision cleared, she found herself sprawled on her back, legs splayed open like some kind of—some kind of—
Her skirt was still hiked up around her waist.
Worse. So much worse. Sasaki Fuyumi knelt between her thighs, head lowering slowly toward her core like some kind of predator closing in.
Humiliation crashed over her in waves, hot and suffocating. She tried to snap her legs shut, but his hand came down on the inside of her thigh with a sharp smack.
"Don't move," he said.
Her thigh trembled, a pink handprint blooming against pale skin.
"Hnngh..." The sound escaped before she could stop it—high and breathy and absolutely mortifying. Her face burned as she glared at him, panic bleeding into her voice: "You promised you wouldn't touch me!"
Sasaki Fuyumi paused, looking up at her with an expression so innocent it made her want to scream. "Didn't you disobey me first? I told you not to move. Why'd you move?"
Egawa Mitsuki's mouth opened, then closed. Technically, according to their arrangement, he was right—when he gave an order, she wasn't supposed to move.
But that was—
"That's not—!" She found her voice, fury crystallizing through the shame. "You lifted my skirt first!"
A boy lifting a girl's skirt—that was practically an attack on her honor! And he had the audacity to turn it around on her like this? What kind of twisted logic was this?
"You made me lick your feet first," Sasaki Fuyumi said, with the shameless confidence of someone who genuinely believed his own argument. "I'm just getting revenge."
Egawa Mitsuki had never encountered anyone so utterly devoid of shame. She trembled with righteous anger. "Lies! You licked my feet because you wanted to, you disgusting pervert, you—you degenerate male!"
The insults spilled out, hot and venomous. But the more she raged, the more Sasaki Fuyumi seemed to see right through her. Like a cat watching a mouse wear itself out.
He smiled, slow and infuriating. "Really? Then why didn't you pull your foot out of my mouth earlier? Could it be you didn't want to?"
Her body went rigid.
Why hadn't she pulled away? He'd held her toes in his mouth for what felt like forever, and she'd just... let him. Did that mean...?
Her expression crumbled. Her eyes went wide with dawning horror.
Seeing the crack in her armor, Sasaki Fuyumi pressed forward. He crawled closer on his knees, upper body leaning over hers, hands planting on either side of her head. When he lowered his face, they were close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips.
Egawa Mitsuki's heart stuttered. She turned away from his burning gaze, voice small and shaky: "What are you doing?"
She'd cleared this entire floor earlier—sent everyone away, even the principal. For reasons she'd told herself were purely practical, of course. But now, alone with him like this, the reality of her situation crashed down. If he wanted to do something to her, there was no one to stop him. No one would even hear her scream.
The thought made her stomach drop.
Sasaki Fuyumi snorted. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt to lick your feet? I made that huge sacrifice for you, and you can't even cooperate for five minutes? I wasn't going to do anything—I just needed you to stay still. You couldn't even give me that much?"
Egawa Mitsuki's anger flickered, uncertainty creeping in. When he put it that way, she almost felt... guilty? Her thoughts spun in chaotic circles, made worse by how close his face was, how she could count his eyelashes if she wanted to, how her cheeks wouldn't stop burning.
Under the weight of his stare, she finally looked at him—really looked—and something in her chest twisted. "Fine," she whispered. "I'll cooperate. But you have to promise—no touching next time."
She chose surrender because the alternative—pushing him further, seeing what happened when his patience snapped—was too terrifying to contemplate.
Sasaki Fuyumi studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "I promise. But you can't move from this position. Stay right here, legs open."
Egawa Mitsuki glanced down at herself—at the gap between their bodies, at her own shamefully spread legs, at her skirt bunched around her waist and his body half-covering hers. The sight made her flush so deeply she could feel it in her chest.
She sucked in a shaky breath. "I already agreed, so get off me!"
Sasaki Fuyumi flashed a mischievous grin but withdrew—though only enough to end the physical contact. He still knelt between her legs, looking down at her pale thighs, at the way her safety shorts clung to every curve beneath.
He stared for a beat too long, then deliberately reminded her: "I'm going to start now. Don't move."
Egawa Mitsuki could only watch, humiliated and helpless, as he chuckled and lowered his face toward her safety shorts. At this distance, she knew he could see every detail—the black lace trim, the outline of her panties beneath, the way the fabric rose slightly at the center like a small hill.
She saw his throat move as he swallowed.
Her own breath caught.
Sasaki Fuyumi leaned closer, inhaling deeply. Watching him do this—watching him smell her there—made her face burn so hot she thought she might actually combust.
But after a few sniffs, Sasaki Fuyumi frowned. The scent wasn't coming through properly. The fabric was blocking it.
He hesitated.
If he kept going, he'd destroy whatever fragile tolerance she had left. But if he stopped now, she'd hate him anyway. What was the difference, really?
Besides, this wasn't just about remembering her scent. Every second of this pushed him closer to leveling up his scumbag status, earning more points, growing stronger. And in this world, strength was the only thing that mattered.
Screw it.
Egawa Mitsuki had squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch anymore. She felt rather than saw his movement—the shift of weight, the brush of fingers against her hip. Then the unmistakable sensation of fabric being pulled aside.
A delicate fragrance drifted through the air, intimate and warm.