---
[Shibuya National First High Library, Phone Booth ]
---
Hirose Yoru rose from her seat.
Beside her, Satou Shirou remained hunched over his textbook, highlighter moving in precise strokes across the page. The afternoon light caught dust motes drifting between the tall shelves, and somewhere deeper in the library, pages rustled like dry leaves.
Across the table, Riku stood as well.
He followed.
The library's phone booths occupied a quiet alcove near the emergency exit—sleek, modern capsules designed for students taking calls without disturbing others. One-way refraction glass lined all four walls: those inside could observe the reading floor clearly, but from outside, the surface reflected only ambient light and the vague suggestion of movement. Soundproofed panels absorbed everything.
Satou Shirou sat directly facing the booth Yoru chose.
She pulled Riku inside and sealed the door behind them.
Through the tinted glass, her boyfriend continued reading, utterly unaware.
The space barely accommodated two people. Riku's shoulders nearly brushed both walls as he stepped forward, and the air immediately thickened—stale with recycled ventilation, underlaid with the milky-sweet scent rising from Yoru's skin, something like vanilla extract mixed with warm fabric softener.
He's really going to do this here. With Shirou right there. This piece of garbage actually—
"Where is it?"
No warmth in her voice. Her hands pressed flat against his chest, keeping distance.
Riku leaned closer anyway, his body pinning hers incrementally backward.
"Don't rush. Before I hand it over, didn't you promise me something?"
Yoru's head snapped toward the glass. Shirou turned a page. His posture hadn't changed—relaxed, absorbed, completely oblivious to what was unfolding fifteen feet away.
He can't see. He can't see inside. Oh god—this freak is actually—
Panic flooded her chest.
"You're joking." Her voice cracked. "You can't seriously expect to—here—"
Riku's hand caught her wrist before she could shove him. He spun her with startling efficiency, her back colliding against his chest, and then pressed her forward until her breasts flattened against the cold glass.
The surface was freezing through her blouse.
"Don't! Not here—please—"
"Please!"
Her nails scraped uselessly against the smooth panel.
"I'm begging you—anywhere else—please—"
Riku's mouth found her ear, his breath humid against the shell.
"The soundproofing isn't perfect," he murmured. "If you're too loud, someone might notice. If you don't want your boyfriend seeing this... cooperate."
I hate you. I hate you so much. I hope you choke and die.
The thought crystallized behind her eyes even as her body sagged, resistance draining out through her fingertips.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Tears blurred Shirou's distant silhouette. "Please... not here... anywhere else..."
"Of course."
Two words. Her shoulders loosened by a fraction.
"...No."
Ice.
Pure, absolute ice flooding her veins.
Riku stepped back, giving her exactly enough space to turn around—and to see the flat, expectant look on his face.
「A maiden's despair deepens. To claim her first time before her lover's unseeing eyes... shatter what remains of her will. Continue your coercion, Riku.」
The Narrator's honeyed voice slithered through his skull, dripping with theatrical satisfaction.
"Fine." Riku crossed his arms. "You can leave right now. Our deal's off. But then your mother's video—"
"Stop."
The word tore out of her throat like broken glass.
Yoru's fists trembled at her sides. Blood vessels burst in her eyes, turning the whites pink. Rage—impotent, suffocating rage—twisted her features into something almost feral.
But after a long, shuddering breath...
Her hands unclenched.
For Mom. Only for Mom. I'll kill him someday. I swear I'll kill him.
"...Fine."
---
"Should I help you undress?"
Riku's tone was conversational. Bored, almost.
"No." Yoru's lip curled. "And remember what you promised."
"Naturally. I always keep my word."
Inside the cramped booth, Hirose Yoru began removing her clothes.
First the blazer—Shibuya National's crest glinting under the recessed lights. Then her white blouse, each button slipping free with a soft click. Her bra followed, a simple cotton thing with lace edging, dropped carelessly beside her feet.
She stood before him completely bare from the waist up, arms rigid at her sides.
Riku didn't lunge.
That would be crude. Desperate. No—he needed to dismantle her slowly, methodically, until that venomous glare rotted into something far more satisfying.
She looks at me like I'm garbage. Fine. I'll make her worship this "garbage" on her knees.
He leaned against the glass and pointed downward.
"You do it. Unzip me."
"You're disgusting."
But she knelt anyway.
Her fingers—trembling, furious—found his zipper. The fabric tented obscenely; she had to work the metal teeth around the bulge, tugging twice before it gave way. His cock sprang free the moment she pulled his waistband down, already flushed dark and leaking from the tip.
The length of it made her flinch.
Thick enough that her fingers barely closed around the shaft when she instinctively gripped it—curved slightly upward, veined, the head swollen and slick.
"Interest first. Use your mouth."
"What?"
Disbelief cracked her composure wide open.
"You're out of your mind! I'm not—I would never—"
Riku reached past her and gripped the door handle.
"Should I open this? Let everyone—including your boyfriend—see you kneeling half-naked in here?"
The fight bled out of her like water from a cracked vessel.
Her head dropped.
Her fists clenched so hard the knuckles whitened.
"...I'll do it."
Riku released the handle and flipped the lock. Click.
"Then continue. My patience is limited. If Satou-kun starts wondering where you've gone and comes looking..."
I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. I will make you suffer for every second of this.
But her body obeyed.
Yoru's hands wrapped around his shaft again, steadying it. She leaned forward, lips parting reluctantly, and took the head into her mouth.
Her technique was clumsy—of course it was. She'd never done this before. Not for Shirou, not for anyone.
And now this bastard is the first.
Riku grabbed the back of her skull with both hands and thrust.
"Mmph—!"
Her throat convulsed around him. Spit bubbled at the corners of her mouth and dripped down her chin, splattering against the floor in long, glistening strands.
"Hrrk—gkk—"
She gagged violently, nails raking his thighs in panic.
Too deep too deep too deep—
He pulled back just enough to let her breathe, then shoved forward again.
"Nngh—hgk—"
Yoru's eyes watered. Mascara bled down her cheeks in thin black rivers. Her hair, once neatly pinned, tumbled loose around her shoulders as Riku's grip shifted, tangling in the strands and using them like reins.
Back.
Forward.
Faster.
Wet, obscene schlck-schlck-schlck sounds filled the booth, punctuated by her desperate retching. Drool swung from her lower lip in ropy threads, pooling beneath her knees.
Her expression twisted—disgust, humiliation, helpless fury all colliding behind her streaming eyes.
And through the glass, Satou Shirou turned another page, completely oblivious to his girlfriend choking on another man's cock barely fifteen feet away.
Riku's hips pistoned harder, chasing the pressure building at the base of his spine, and Yoru's gagging grew louder, more frantic, her throat spasming with every brutal stroke.
---