---
After Riku departed, Sato Shiro finally couldn't contain the questions burning in his chest any longer.
"Yoru, what were you two talking about just now?"
He gestured vaguely toward the direction Riku had walked. "I could see you guys chatting from way over there."
Hirose Yoru shook her head slowly, her expression carefully neutral.
"Nothing important."
"Shiro, can I ask you something?"
Sato straightened up, eager to be helpful. "Sure, Yoru. If I know the answer, I'll tell you anything."
"Where were you last night?"
The question hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Sato Shiro froze mid-sip, his mineral water bottle suspended halfway to his lips. His heart lurched sideways in his chest like a startled cat.
Why is she asking this? There's no way she could know... right?
He lowered the bottle carefully, buying himself precious seconds.
"Why are you suddenly asking me that?" His voice came out higher than intended.
"Last night I... I went back to the dorms. You know I stay at the school dormitory, remember?"
"Is that so?"
Yoru didn't press further.
She didn't need to. His clumsy deflection had already told her everything. The way his eyes darted left, the subtle crack in his voice, the way his free hand clenched around nothing—it was textbook guilty behavior, like something straight out of a Death Note interrogation scene.
"It's getting kind of warm out here," she said, her tone light and casual. "Why don't you take off your jacket? I'll hold it for you."
Relief washed visibly across Sato's features. He practically tore the jacket off and thrust it into her hands, grateful for the change in subject.
That was close. Way too close.
Cold sweat had already soaked through the back of his undershirt. Yoru's question had nearly given him a heart attack.
Yoru accepted the jacket with a small smile, then casually slipped her fingers into the inner pocket.
Her fingertips brushed against glossy cardstock.
She palmed the business card smoothly, transferring it to her own pocket in one fluid motion. Pink lettering. A phone number. The silhouette of a woman in a suggestive pose. The kind of card that gets handed out in certain entertainment districts after dark.
An escort service.
Her heart, which had been holding onto fragile hope, now cracked clean down the middle.
She could forgive Shiro. Probably. Maybe. The human capacity for self-deception was remarkable, after all.
But this wasn't just between them anymore.
Hayanui Riku knew.
That realization hit her like ice water. She replayed their earlier conversation, the way he'd mentioned her birthday party with that knowing smirk, the casual threat wrapped in friendly words.
Tomorrow...
That demon is definitely coming.
She didn't know exactly what Riku would do. But just imagining the possibilities made her stomach twist into knots. He was unpredictable in the worst way—like Makima from Chainsaw Man, always three steps ahead, always holding cards you didn't know existed.
Yoru took a deep breath, forcing herself to think clearly.
If I just don't invite him to the party, it should be fine. He can't crash an event he doesn't have access to.
But what about Shiro?
What do I even do about this?
Her expression must have shifted, because Shiro leaned forward with concern etched across his features.
"Yoru? What's wrong?"
He reached out to touch her shoulder—
She stepped back instinctively, putting distance between them before his fingers could make contact.
Sato's hand hung suspended in empty air, frozen mid-reach.
"Yoru, you've been acting really strange lately. What's going on? Please, tell me."
I thought everything was fine between us. Yesterday I just invited her to study at the library. I didn't do anything wrong... did I?
Confusion and frustration warred across his face. Before yesterday, Yoru had been warm and affectionate. Now there was this invisible wall between them, cold and insurmountable.
But Yoru only shook her head, unable to meet his eyes.
Her expression was hollow. Defeated.
She couldn't tell him about Riku. Even though their relationship was crumbling like wet sand, she wanted to hold onto what remained.
"I'm sorry, Shiro. You didn't do anything wrong. This is... this is my problem."
Those words—that specific phrase—struck Sato like a slap.
Every girl says this. "It's not you, it's me." What bullshit.
He'd thought Yoru was different from other girls. More reasonable. More communicative.
Apparently not.
The frustration bubbled up hot in his chest, but he swallowed it back down with visible effort. His jaw tightened, then relaxed.
"Yoru." His voice came out carefully controlled, soft and measured. "If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. I want to help you."
She kept her head bowed, eyes closed, and said nothing.
Inside her mind, a single thought echoed on repeat:
「You can't help me.」
「No one can.」
---
[Hirose Apartment Complex — Noon]
After parting ways with Yoru and Sato, Riku made his way to the bank.
Ten million yen.
The bills sat heavy in the aluminum briefcase, neatly bundled and waiting. The weight of it was satisfying—tangible proof of his growing power.
He arrived at the apartment complex where the Hirose family lived, the same modest building he'd visited before. Cherry blossom petals drifted lazily through the warm spring air, catching the noon sunlight as they fell.
And there she was.
Hirose Kaguya was just returning from what looked like a long morning of work. She pushed a small utility cart loaded with cleaning supplies, her movements tired but practiced.
She wore a simple gray button-down shirt, the fabric darkened in patches where sweat had soaked through. The moisture made the material cling to her skin, turning it almost translucent across her chest, revealing the white outline of her bra beneath.
The thin cotton stretched across her generous curves with every breath, the buttons straining slightly at the most prominent point. Droplets of perspiration traced glistening paths down her exposed collar, pooling in the hollow of her throat before disappearing into her cleavage.
She smelled of clean sweat and detergent and something floral—fabric softener, maybe, mixed with the natural warmth of exertion.
Kaguya looked up and spotted Riku waiting by the entrance.
"Riku-kun!"
"Kaguya-san."
The moment their eyes met, a visible flush crept up Kaguya's neck and spread across her cheeks.
Oh god, it's him.
After what I did last time... after I practically threw myself at him...
The memory hit her like a freight train—the taste of him still faintly present somewhere in the back of her mind, the shameful desperation that had driven her to such actions.
How am I supposed to look him in the eye?
She tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear, suddenly hyper-aware of how disheveled she must look.
"Are you here to see Yoru? She went out earlier this morning, so you might need to wait a bit..."
"Actually, Kaguya-san." Riku's voice was smooth, unhurried. "I came to see you."
Me?
He came to see... me?
Something fluttered in Kaguya's chest—a sensation she hadn't felt in years. Excitement. Anticipation. Hope.
"R-Riku-kun, just give me one moment! Let me put these things away!"
She didn't even notice that she'd dropped the formal "Hayanui" and started using his given name.
"I can help you carry—"
"No, no! It's fine, I've got it!"
Kaguya practically flew through her remaining tasks, parking the cart in the garage and hastily organizing the supplies with none of her usual meticulousness. Within minutes, she was leading Riku up the stairs and into the apartment.
"Riku-kun, please make yourself comfortable. I just need to... freshen up a bit."
She gestured apologetically at her sweat-stained clothes, the fabric still clinging to her curves in ways that left little to imagination.
"I won't be long."
Riku nodded and settled into the living room couch.
The apartment smelled like home—green tea and tatami and a hint of incense. Afternoon sunlight streamed through gauze curtains, painting warm rectangles on the wooden floor.
From the bathroom came the sound of rushing water.
Riku waited patiently, briefcase resting on his knees.
---
The shower lasted only a few minutes—clearly a quick rinse rather than a proper bath.
The bathroom door clicked open.
Steam billowed out in soft clouds, carrying the scent of jasmine body wash.
Kaguya emerged wrapped only in a white bath towel, still rubbing her damp hair with a smaller hand towel. The larger towel was wrapped around her torso, tucked just above her chest—but the coverage was precarious at best, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh.
Water droplets still clung to her shoulders and collarbones, catching the light like scattered diamonds.
"Riku-kun, what did you need to see me about?"
She settled onto the couch across from him, crossing her legs as she continued toweling her hair. The motion caused the towel to shift, riding dangerously higher on her thighs.
Riku's gaze traveled slowly over her figure.
The towel did nothing to hide her proportions—if anything, the way it stretched across her chest only emphasized the fullness there. Her waist curved inward dramatically before flaring out again at her hips, creating that perfect hourglass silhouette.
Even Yukigami Nahiro can't compare to this.
Kaguya's body was something else entirely. The kind of mature, ripened beauty that only came with age—softer, fuller, more voluptuous than any girl his own age could hope to achieve.
"Riku-kun?"
Her voice pulled him back to reality.
"Ah—sorry, Kaguya-san. What did you say?"
A knowing smile tugged at her lips. She'd caught him staring, obviously—but rather than anger or embarrassment, she felt a warm glow of satisfaction.
He was looking at me.
Me, not Yoru.
I can still turn heads.
"I asked what you needed to see me about," she repeated gently.
"Kaguya-san..." Riku's expression grew serious. "I understand you've been having some difficulties lately. Financial ones."
The light in Kaguya's eyes dimmed slightly.
"Riku-kun... I appreciate your concern, really. But our family's situation isn't something a high school student can help with."
Her voice was heavy with resignation. The debt, the loan sharks, the impossible interest rates—it was all spiraling beyond any hope of recovery.
"Kaguya-san, I know you need money."
Riku lifted the briefcase from his lap and set it on the coffee table between them.
"I want to help."
He flipped the latches and opened the lid.
Ten million yen.
Stacks upon stacks of crisp ten-thousand yen bills, arranged in perfect rows, their paper bands still factory-fresh.
The amount sat there like something from a dream—or a yakuza movie.
Kaguya's eyes went wide.
"Haaahh?!"
Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling her shocked gasp.
"Riku-kun, did you rob a bank?!"
The exclamation came out high-pitched, almost comical—
And in her sudden movement, she forgot about the precarious state of her towel.
The white fabric slipped.
It fell away from her chest completely, pooling uselessly at her waist.
Her breasts—heavy, full, gloriously unrestrained—bounced free with the motion. They were even more impressive without clothing to contain them: round and soft, with a natural teardrop shape that defied gravity. Her nipples were a dusky rose color, already slightly stiffened from the cool air against still-damp skin.
Riku's eyes locked onto the display involuntarily.
"Kaguya-san..."
He raised one finger, pointing helpfully at her exposed chest.
"Ah—!"
Reality crashed back into Kaguya like a bucket of cold water.
She looked down, saw herself completely bare from the waist up, and felt heat explode across her entire face.
"KYAAAA!"
Her hands scrambled frantically for the fallen towel, yanking it back up to cover herself. But in her panic, she pulled too hard—the fabric bunched awkwardly, barely managing to cover her nipples while leaving the inner curves of both breasts still visible.
"R-R-Riku-kun!"
Her voice came out as a strangled squeak, somewhere between mortification and something else entirely.
"D-Don't look...!"
---