[Hirose Residence → University District → University Library, Early Afternoon]
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Hirose Yoru wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Disgust crawled across her features like something alive—her lips pressed thin, her throat working against a gag she refused to release.
"What a wonderful expression."
Riku savored the sight. That revulsion, that barely-contained fury twisting her delicate face—it was better than dessert.
---
After leaving the room, the three of them sat down for a late lunch at the Hirose family's western-style dining table. The meal was simple—leftover rice, miso, grilled salmon—but the atmosphere carried an entirely different flavor.
Throughout the meal, Riku's foot kept making subtle contact with Mrs. Hirose Kaguya's ankle beneath the tablecloth. Not aggressive. Not obvious. Just... there.
A brush. A nudge. The side of his foot pressing against the arch of her heel.
On the surface, Mrs. Hirose maintained perfect composure—lifting her chopsticks with practiced elegance, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. But whenever Yoru glanced down at her own plate, the mature woman would cut Riku a sharp sidelong glare. The kind of look a cat gives an intruder in her territory.
Is he doing this on purpose? Here? Now? Mrs. Hirose's jaw tightened imperceptibly. If Yoru notices...
She shifted her foot away.
Riku's toe followed.
Something unspoken was crystallizing between them—a tension neither acknowledged aloud, a window Mrs. Hirose wanted to open yet didn't dare shatter.
Meanwhile, Yoru shoveled rice into her mouth with single-minded focus, completely oblivious to the silent war being waged beneath the table.
"I'm full. I need to head back to campus." Yoru stood abruptly, chopsticks clattering against her bowl.
"Already? You've barely eaten anything." Mrs. Hirose's voice carried a note of genuine concern, though her eyes flickered toward Riku with something more complicated.
Riku continued eating, unhurried.
Yoru disappeared into her room, emerging seconds later with her school bag slung over one shoulder. She was already moving toward the door when—
Riku set down his chopsticks.
"Yoru, let me walk back with you."
The words hung in the air.
Mrs. Hirose felt something drop in her chest—a strange hollowness, unexpected and unwanted. He's leaving? The realization brought a pang of... what? Disappointment? Longing?
What is wrong with me?
Guilt flooded in immediately after, hot and acidic. She was a married woman. She had a daughter. She shouldn't feel anything about this boy going to school.
As Riku passed the threshold, he discreetly checked his System interface:
Hirose Kaguya: Affection 70
And then—
Hirose Yoru: Affection -30
Oh? A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Negative thirty. She actually hates me now.
Not a problem.
In fact, that made things interesting.
---
The moment they stepped outside, Yoru's expression collapsed into naked hostility.
"Why are you following me?"
Spring sunlight filtered through cherry blossoms lining the residential street. The air smelled faintly of pollen and fresh-cut grass. None of it softened her glare.
"I'm heading to campus," Riku replied evenly. "Or would you prefer I stay here with your mother?"
"You—!"
Yoru's mouth opened and closed, but no words came. Her cheeks flushed with frustrated anger.
Riiiing~
Her phone interrupted the standoff.
Riku's eyes flicked to the screen: Satou Shirou.
Yoru snatched the device and turned her back to him, her posture softening immediately.
"Mm, I'm coming now. Just finished eating." Her voice shifted—lighter, warmer, like a completely different person. "Yeah, the library. I'll see you there."
Through the tinny speaker, Riku caught fragments of a male voice. Young. Eager.
"Mmhm... okay, see you soon."
She hung up, and the ice returned to her features.
"Do whatever you want. Follow me, don't follow me—I don't care. I have somewhere to be."
The Narrator's voice bloomed in Riku's mind:
「You've discovered a secret belonging to Hirose Yoru. The person on the phone—'Satou Shirou'—appears to hold special significance for her. You've noted the location: the university library. If you were to... coerce the campus beauty into certain activities at that location, in proximity to this person...」
The voice trailed off suggestively.
Riku's hand shot out, catching Yoru's wrist before she could escape. He yanked her close—close enough to smell the floral shampoo in her hair, to see the individual lashes framing her widening eyes.
"Didn't you say 'anytime'?"
Yoru's face drained of color. "W-What do you want?"
"I've already decided on the location." His grip tightened. "Let's go with..."
He let the pause stretch.
"...the library."
The reaction was immediate. Her porcelain skin went ghost-white. Her pupils contracted. In the cramped bedroom earlier, she'd maintained composure even while being touched. But those three syllables—library—shattered something inside her.
Bingo.
This 'Satou Shirou' wasn't just important. He was everything.
The revulsion vanished from her expression. What replaced it was far more satisfying: desperation.
"Please..." Her voice cracked. Moisture gathered at the corners of her eyes. "Can we go somewhere else? Anywhere else?"
She's actually begging.
"Of course we can change venues." Riku's tone turned magnanimous. "But first, let's stop by the library. I want to see what's there."
Relief flooded Yoru's features. Her shoulders dropped. "O-Okay..."
She had no idea he'd already made up his mind.
He wanted to give her hope—watch her cling to it—and then crush it in his fist.
"Although..."
Riku stepped closer. His body heat pressed against her. The scent of sandalwood from his cologne mixed with something sharper underneath—something masculine, predatory.
Yoru retreated half a step, but his grip on her wrist kept her tethered.
"...I'll need some interest first."
Before she could process the words, his mouth was on hers.
Not a gentle kiss. Not a question. His tongue pried her lips apart with the certainty of ownership, sliding past the barrier of her teeth to invade the soft heat beyond.
"Mmph—!"
Yoru's palms flattened against his chest, pushing uselessly. She might as well have been trying to move a wall. His free hand slipped beneath the hem of her blouse—cool fingers gliding over the warm swell of her breast, finding the lace edge of her bra, squeezing.
Her body jolted. A muffled sound escaped her throat—protest tangled with something involuntary, something she'd never admit.
Then, just as suddenly, he released her.
Yoru stumbled backward, gasping, wiping her mouth with violent strokes.
"You... you scum!"
"You really need to expand your vocabulary." Riku ran his thumb across his lower lip, savoring the lingering taste. "But I'll admit—you're delicious."
The casualness of it made her want to scream.
He was already walking ahead, hands in his pockets. "Come on. I have studying to do."
I have a terrible feeling about this.
But even if he tried something at the library, she wouldn't comply. Not there. Not with Shirou waiting for her.
She had to protect that one sacred thing.
---
The university library rose three stories tall, its modern glass facade reflecting afternoon clouds. Inside, the familiar scent of aging paper and lemon floor polish filled the air. Students hunched over tables, the soft rustle of pages and occasional cough the only sounds.
Yoru's gaze swept the first floor—searching, anxious.
She headed for the stairs, climbing to the second level. The historical archives section. Quieter. More private.
Riku followed like a shadow.
At the top of the staircase, she whirled on him.
"Why are you still following me?"
He pointed lazily at a nearby sign: Historical Research Materials.
"Research."
"Tch."
She turned away, muttering just loud enough for him to hear: "Whatever. Just stay away from me. You're disgusting."
Riku watched her weave between shelves, her head swiveling as she searched for someone specific. Finally, her eyes locked onto a corner near the windows.
Her entire demeanor transformed.
"Shirou-kun!"
She practically skipped toward a young man seated at a study table, sunlight pooling around him like a spotlight. Satou Shirou looked up from his textbook—soft features, wire-rimmed glasses, the kind of gentle handsomeness that belonged in a shoujo manga.
"Yoru." He smiled warmly. "There you are. What took so long?"
Yoru slid into the chair beside him, and memories of what Riku had just done flooded back. Heat crept up her neck.
"You're flushed," Shirou noticed, concern creasing his brow. "Are you feeling okay? Should I get you some water?"
"N-No, I'm fine. Just a little warm. Let's study."
She barely managed to settle in before Shirou's hand covered hers beneath the table.
His lips brushed her ear, breath warm and intimate: "Yoru... tomorrow's my birthday. Can we... you know... finally..."
Oh.
Her heart stuttered. This was the moment she'd imagined. The one she'd been saving herself for.
She nodded, cheeks burning.
My first time is definitely going to be with Shirou.
Whatever insanity had happened in that guest room—whatever force had compelled her to undress—she refused to let it happen again. Even if Riku threatened her, blackmailed her, she would not give him her virginity.
What she didn't know was that Riku possessed the 「Shameless Thief」 title. Her willpower was no defense at all.
---
Time crawled past. Half an hour of pretending to read the same paragraph while her mind raced.
When she finally lifted her head to stretch—
A familiar figure sat directly across from her.
Riku.
He smiled.
Slowly, deliberately, he slid a folded note across the table.
What does this scumbag want NOW?!
Yoru glanced at Shirou—still absorbed in his textbook, highlighter moving methodically across the page—and snatched the paper.
She unfolded it beneath the table.
「Come to the soundproof study booth in the back. I'll give you the item.」
The item?
Her heart lurched.
The video of Mother.
He's... actually going to give it to me?
Could this monster possibly have a shred of decency?
She looked up.
Riku was already walking toward the back of the archive section, where the individual study booths lined the wall like confessional boxes.
I have a feeling about this, Yoru thought, her stomach knotting. A very, very bad feeling.
But the video of her mother...
She couldn't let that exist.
Making an excuse to Shirou about finding a reference book, she rose from her seat—
—and followed the devil into the dark.
---
[ Author's Note ]
Ah, dear reader. You—the most magnificent, most cultured soul currently gracing this humble tale with your attention.
I can picture you now.
You're reclining in your penthouse suite, aren't you? The Tokyo skyline glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows. On your left, a cosplayer in a Rem maid outfit is massaging your feet. On your right, a gravure idol feeds you premium grapes with her delicate fingers.
But you? You don't even glance at them.
You're scrolling through this story on your latest-model phone—the one that costs more than my monthly rent—your expression cool, detached, faintly amused.
Your Rolex catches the light as you check the time. Not because you need to know the hour, but because checking your Rolex is simply what wealthy, impossibly handsome people do.
And then you see it: my desperate plea for subscriptions. For favorites. For comments.
You smirk.
You think of this poor, talentless author—dropped out of college, fled his rural hometown, delusionally convinced he could write for a living.
And with the casual benevolence of a god tossing crumbs to pigeons, you hit that subscribe button.
Somewhere, in a cramped apartment that smells like instant noodles and broken dreams, the author sees the notification. His eyes go wide. His hands tremble. Tears stream down his face as he falls to his knees in gratitude.
You imagine him cracking open a celebratory can of cheap beer, calling his parents to share the good news: "Someone subscribed! AN ACTUAL HUMAN SUBSCRIBED!"
And you smile, satisfied.
Ah, the simple pleasures of being rich and attractive.
Truly, your joy is pure and uncomplicated.
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