---
Riku's palms found her shoulders, easing her upward from the couch. The room still carried last night's rain—petrichor seeping through the cracked window, mingling with something warmer, sweeter. Yukigami's scent. Floral soap and sleep-warmed skin.
His fingers trailed downward, hooking beneath the collar of her shirt. One button popped loose. Then another. The fabric parted, cotton whispering against cotton, and his hands slipped inside.
"Ah—!"
The cry barely left her throat before it was swallowed whole.
Riku descended, mouth claiming hers with the force of something long-restrained finally breaking free. Heat. Pressure. The taste of her gasp dissolving against his tongue.
Mmph—
Yukigami's spine went soft, her defenses crumbling like wet paper. She melted against his body, small muffled sounds escaping where their lips sealed together.
She tastes like vanilla and something faintly citrus, Riku thought, tongue pressing against the seam of her lips, nudging past the barrier of her teeth. Like she brushed her teeth while still half-asleep.
He explored the silk-soft interior of her mouth, swallowing her whimpers one by one. His heart slammed against his ribs.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Blood thundering southward with each passing second.
His right hand cupped the yielding swell of her breast, fingertips testing the give of flesh beneath thin fabric. Soft. Impossibly soft. He squeezed gently, then with more purpose, palm molding around the shape of her.
"Nnh—"
Meanwhile, his left hand traveled lower. Over the plane of her stomach. Past the waistband of her skirt.
Lower.
The instant his fingertips grazed her core—
"Hyaah—!"
Yukigami's entire body jolted like she'd been struck by lightning. Spine rigid, thighs snapping together, a sharp cry tearing free from her throat.
She shoved him backward with surprising strength and fled—scrambling off the couch, stumbling toward the door, bare feet slapping against wooden floorboards.
Gone.
Riku stared at the empty doorway, then slowly raised his left hand.
A thin strand of liquid—translucent, glistening—stretched between his index and middle finger, catching the pale morning light filtering through the blinds. It dripped, warm and viscous, onto the floor below.
「Strong! A little more intensity and she would have been completely conquered. Shame she ran. If you pick up that decorative figurine on the nightstand and clock her over the head with it, you could catch her while she's still warm and go another round—」
Riku rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw his own frontal lobe.
But god. God. The phantom sensation still lingered—that yielding softness, the way her breast had filled his palm like it was made to be held.
"D-cups really do hit different," he muttered, flexing his fingers experimentally.
Above the doorway where Yukigami had vanished, a red +10 floated upward before dissolving into nothing.
[Yukigami Nahiro — Affection: 20]
---
Truly a dream-like morning.
Riku emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, freshly scrubbed and presentable, school uniform buttoned to regulation standards. He grabbed his bag from the hook by the door.
The instant he stepped outside—
Fragrance. Rich, feminine, unmistakably adult.
Expensive perfume layered over clean skin. Something floral with a musky undertone. The kind of scent that settled into the back of your throat and stayed there.
His neighbor stood at her own door, keys in hand.
Mrs. Yamashita Tachibana.
She wore a powder-blue blouse—the kind with a neckline that plunged just low enough to be technically professional. The fabric strained visibly across her chest, each button fighting a valiant losing battle against the generous curves beneath. A jade pendant nestled in the shadowed valley of her cleavage, the carved stone swaying gently with each breath, practically begging observers to lean closer and identify its shape.
Below the waist, a charcoal pencil skirt hugged the swell of her hips before tapering down to mid-thigh. Her waist was impossibly narrow—the kind of waist-to-hip ratio that made men do stupid things—and the skirt's waistband sat almost too loose, as if she'd lost weight recently without bothering to adjust her wardrobe.
Her face belonged on a magazine cover. High cheekbones. Full lips painted a demure rose pink. Eyes lined with subtle shadow, the kind of makeup application that took forty-five minutes but looked "natural." Her hair fell in dark waves past her shoulders, a few strands escaping the careful styling to frame her delicate jaw.
She looked exhausted. Beautiful, but exhausted.
「Another mature wife presents herself! Her husband died recently—you've seen the debt collectors pounding on her door at all hours. Today, something seems off about Mrs. Yamashita. Your eyes rake over her body, searching for weaknesses. Find the right leverage, and this widow will be yours to—」
Riku's smile twitched dangerously before he smoothed it into something neighborly.
"Good morning, Mrs. Yamashita."
She turned, surprise flickering across her features before warmth softened them. She remembered him—the handsome boy from next door. Always polite.
"Ah, Riku-kun. Heading to school?"
Her voice is hoarse, he noticed. Like she's been crying. Or screaming. Or both.
"That's right." He tilted his head, concern bleeding into his expression. "You don't look well, Mrs. Yamashita. Are you feeling alright?"
The widow's smile faltered. For a moment, something raw flickered behind her eyes—desperation, exhaustion, a bone-deep weariness that makeup couldn't conceal.
"Thank you for asking," she murmured, the words barely audible. "I'm fine."
A crimson +5 materialized above her head.
[Name: Yamashita Tachibana]
[Status: Widowed. 1,000,000+ yen in debt. Currently working three part-time jobs daily to keep creditors at bay. She's reached her breaking point—the collectors are growing aggressive. If payment isn't made soon, she may be forced to sell the only thing she has left. Her body. She hasn't eaten in over 24 hours.]
[Backstory: A beautiful woman who dreamed only of a perfect family. Her childhood sweetheart became her fiancé, but he died in a car accident before they could consummate their marriage. His debts became hers. She never even got to be a bride.]
[Affection: 35 — (She thinks you're sweet.)]
Riku's jaw tightened.
'System,' he thought carefully. 'If I paid off Mrs. Yamashita's debts, would that trigger cashback?'
「Yukigami Nahiro has been registered as the Primary Target. Under standard conditions, external individuals do not qualify for the cashback incentive.」
Right. The System had activated because of Yukigami. She was the anchor.
Still—
"I should get going." Riku adjusted his bag strap, lingering a half-second longer than necessary. "Please take care of yourself, Mrs. Yamashita. You work too hard. It's not worth destroying your health over."
I should know, she thought bitterly, watching the boy descend the stairwell. I should know that better than anyone.
But when was the last time someone had actually said it?
Another +2 flickered above her head.
---
Riku wove through the school corridors, students streaming around him in the usual morning chaos—laughter bouncing off metal lockers, sneakers squeaking against linoleum, someone shouting about forgotten homework three doors down.
He was going to be late.
Then—
Female voices. Shrill. Cruel.
Filtering from a clubroom with its door pulled mostly shut.
"—Yukigami was out whoring around again last night! Hey, are you even listening? Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
"This bitch. Seriously, let's just strip her and lock her in here."
"Perfect idea. Thinks she can go after my man? This'll teach the slut her place."
"Do it!"
The sound of tearing fabric.
Riku's blood froze.
His body moved before his mind caught up—spinning on his heel, closing the distance in three long strides. His leg swung back, sneaker connecting with the door hard.
BANG.
The door exploded inward, rebounding against the wall with a thunderous crack.
His backpack sailed over one shoulder, forgotten. Eyes sweeping the room—rows of empty chairs, dust motes swirling in the window light, and there, in the far corner—
Four girls circled like hyenas around a figure huddled against the wall.
Yukigami Nahiro.
Her shirt hung in tatters. Collar torn loose, fabric ripped clean down the front, exposing the lace edge of her bra and an obscene amount of pale, trembling skin. She clutched the ruined garment closed with both hands, knees drawn to her chest, expression utterly blank.
She didn't look surprised.
She didn't look scared.
She looked like someone who'd stopped expecting rescue a very long time ago.
Riku's fury erupted.
"Get out."
His voice dropped into a register that didn't belong in a high school—something cold and feral, the kind of tone that made lizard brains scream predator.
One of the girls recognized him. Her face went milk-white.
"Shit—it's Riku—move, move, move—"
They scattered like roaches in sudden light, shoving past him, heels clattering against tile as they fled.
He let them go. He had ways of settling scores later.
Right now—
He approached Yukigami slowly, carefully, the way you'd approach a wounded animal.
She didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge him. Just sat there, fingers bloodless against her torn blouse, trying uselessly to cover what had already been exposed.
But he noticed—she was trying.
In front of him. For him. She cared about what he saw.
Riku shrugged off his uniform jacket and draped it over her shoulders, the navy fabric swallowing her slender frame.
Then he took her hand.
"Ah—"
Her fingers were ice-cold. Thin. Fragile in a way that made his chest tighten.
He pressed his knuckles to her forehead—and winced.
Burning. Fever-hot.
Damn it. She'd caught a cold from last night's rain.
Without warning, Riku hooked an arm beneath her knees and scooped her up against his chest. Princess-style.
"Wh—what are you—"
She struggled for exactly half a second. Then her body went limp, exhaustion and fever winning out over pride. She curled into him instinctively, cheek resting against his collarbone, her breath shallow and rapid against the hollow of his throat.
He's warm, she thought dimly, eyes drifting closed. Why is he so warm?
+10 flickered above her silver hair.
Riku carried her out of the clubroom, past the gawking students frozen in the hallway, through the front gate of the school.
She weighed almost nothing.