The strong gust of wind swept aggressively around the rusted metal doors of the old gymnasium.
The sudden draft caught the heavy, dark pleats of Asuka's uniform skirt entirely off guard. The thick fabric lifted instantly from her lap. It flew straight upward into the damp air.
Zenjiro widened his eyes. He stopped breathing entirely.
He saw it. It was the absolute best view in the world.
For many days, Liora had unknowingly tortured him with the constant, swinging hem of her dark blue skirt. Her clothes offered a maddening, endless tease that drove his tired mind to the very brink of total insanity.
He was starved for exactly this kind of visual confirmation. Now, the heavy barrier on a completely different girl simply vanished into the afternoon breeze.
He stared directly at the exposed layer. The pristine white fabric rested snugly against her lower body. Stretching outward from the bright cotton, the upper ends of her bare thighs met the open air.
The skin was completely pale. There were absolutely no dark marks, no scratches, and no blemishes. It was just pure, flawless flesh exposed fully to the cold wind.
The sudden reveal lasted for far more than a single second. Time stretched into a long, quiet vacuum purely because his brain refused to process anything else and he absolutely refused to blink.
Asuka reacted in blind, frantic panic. She threw her right hand violently downward. The thin white cigarette remained wedged tightly between her trembling fingers. She slammed her palm hard against her lap and used the hand holding the burning ash to forcefully pin the rogue fabric back against her bare legs.
She whipped her head to the left and glared directly at Zenjiro.
"Don't look at my skirt, you perv," Asuka snapped angrily. Her pale cheeks burned a bright, furious red. "Look the other way."
Zenjiro blinked slowly. The trance finally broke. He looked up from her lap and stared directly into her highly flushed, angry face. He found the fierce expression incredibly cute.
The cold, calculating smoker was entirely gone, replaced by a completely embarrassed girl desperately holding her skirt down against the harsh weather.
Zenjiro turned his head away and looked straight ahead. He stared blankly at the thick brick wall separating the school grounds from the outside city. The tall, solid structure was the absolute only thing preventing a random passerby from seeing Asuka's entirely exposed underwear.
The freezing wind finally died down. The tall green weeds growing near the chain-link fence stopped rustling.
Asuka let out a long, shaky sigh. She brought the cigarette back up to her lips and took a deep, nervous drag to calm her racing heart.
"Zenjiro-kun," Asuka said flatly. "Forget what you saw. Do not imagine it."
Zenjiro kept his eyes locked on the rough bricks. "What?"
"I said forget what you saw," Asuka repeated. Her voice grew tight and demanding. "Do not imagine it."
A quiet scoff caught in the back of his dry throat. He simply wondered how he was supposed to just erase the image on command. The exact shape of the white cotton and the pale skin already looped constantly in his mind.
He watched the scene replay perfectly over and over again behind his eyes. He stared at the empty wall, but his entire focus remained firmly trapped in that prolonged, revealing second.
"Zenjiro-kun," Asuka demanded loudly. "Did you hear what I said?"
"I hear you," Zenjiro replied casually. "I will try. But I can't promise that I will forget."
"Zenjiro-kun!" Asuka yelled. The sharp volume echoed off the brick walls.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll try, okay."
"That is not very reassuring." She looked away from his face and stared out at the gray sky. She let out another heavy, defeated sigh. "Boys will always be boys."
---
A few hours passed. The final bell signaled the end of the classes.
Zenjiro walked slowly down the paved sidewalk. Liora marched directly beside him. They maintained their usual, extremely close distance. Her shoulder brushed constantly against his arm with every single step they took on the cracked asphalt.
"Onii-chan," Liora said brightly. "I'm going to watch her concert later tonight. It has been forever since I watched Amachi Seira perform live. Remember the time you helped me escape the house just to watch the concert, Onii-chan? You stuffed those blankets perfectly to trick Mom."
"Yeah," Zenjiro muttered.
He answered her completely on autopilot. His physical body walked on the busy street, but his mind hovered miles away. He still thought about the white fabric.
He told Asuka he would try to forget, but his biological system actively rejected the simple command. The intense visual memory burned hot in his nerves, refusing to fade away.
He kept his head tilted down and just watched the tips of his leather shoes dragging across the concrete.
Liora abruptly stopped walking. She stepped sideways and planted her feet directly in front of him.
She completely blocked his path on the narrow sidewalk.
Zenjiro stopped moving. Because his head was already tilted downward, his direct line of sight slammed straight into Liora's midsection. His vision instantly filled with the pale expanse of her bare thighs and the dark, swaying pleats of her school skirt. The fabric waved gently in the afternoon breeze.
"Onii-chan," Liora asked sharply. "Are you listening?"
"Of course," Zenjiro lied smoothly. "Why would I not?"
He did not raise his head. His eyes remained permanently locked on her thighs and the heavy hemline hovering just above her pale knees.
"Okay," Liora sighed. She shifted her weight on the pavement. "It is too bad you are not a fan of her. We could go together and buy the premium glow sticks."
Zenjiro stared intently at the dark fabric. For days, this exact skirt had tortured his mind. It swung endlessly, offering a maddening tease that pushed his self-control to the absolute breaking point.
But things were entirely different now. He had already seen exactly what rested underneath that kind of thick barrier on another girl. The desperate mystery was finally solved, leaving him with a strange sense of dark victory.
Liora stepped back to his side. She reached out and grabbed his right arm. She wrapped both of her hands tightly around his bicep and clung heavily to his side and pressed her warmth against his uniform shirt.
"But I don't want to bore you watching a concert you don't like, Onii-chan," Liora added cheerfully.
They started walking again down the noisy street.
Upon arriving home, Liora immediately went to her shared bedroom. She rushed through her preparations for the evening event. She stripped off the dark high school uniform and changed into her casual clothes. She picked a bright, fitted top paired with a very short skirt that ended several inches above her knees, leaving her legs entirely bare.
Then, she walked out into the dining area. Clara stood by the counter wiping a wet ceramic plate with a dry towel.
"Mom, I'll be late tonight," Liora announced casually. She adjusted the strap of her small shoulder bag.
Clara set the dry plate down on the wooden rack. She turned and looked closely at her daughter. "Liora, just go home right after the concert ends. Do not go with others even if they are your friends. And do not drink liquor. Understand?"
Liora easily secured permission because she was completely of legal age now. Years ago, when she was just a young girl, she would never get approval to stay out past sunset. The strict rules of the house naturally adapted to her maturity and her age.
"Yes, Mom," Liora agreed quickly.
She turned toward the living room. "See you later, Onii-chan."
She walked fast toward the entryway. The heavy front door opened and clicked shut behind her. The house suddenly felt incredibly quiet.
Clara wiped her wet hands on a dry towel and let out a tired sigh. She walked slowly down the narrow hallway and retreated into the master bedroom to rest for the long evening.
Zenjiro sat alone on the soft brown sofa and stared at the blank, turned-off television screen resting on the low wooden cabinet. The house fell completely silent around him.
He leaned his head back against the cushions and looked straight up at the flat white ceiling. The quiet environment gave him the absolute perfect opportunity to indulge. He let his mind wander completely unsupervised and vividly imagined the specific event from lunchtime in high definition.
The damp wind blew hard across the concrete stairs. The dark pleated skirt went violently upward. The pristine white fabric revealed itself perfectly to the cold air. The upper ends of the pale thighs emerged into his direct line of sight. There were absolutely no dark marks. It was just pure, pale skin extending seamlessly into the hidden cotton.
He pictured Asuka's right hand. The fingers tightly gripping the thin white cigarette slammed downward in pure panic to cover her exposed undergarment.
He remembered the fierce, angry glare she shot at his face while she desperately held the fabric against her legs. He found the rigid anger incredibly cute. The sharp contrast between her usual cold demeanor and her sudden, frantic vulnerability was utterly intoxicating.
He replayed that exact, brief scene over and over again in his head for an entire hour.
A deep, heavy satisfaction settled firmly in his empty stomach. He felt genuinely good about stealing the forbidden view. It completely erased the lingering pain of the brutal rejection he suffered behind that very same building months ago.
He finally decided to stop thinking and just watch television for a while. The silence was starting to ring in his ears. He sat up straight and reached his hand toward the low wooden table.
The black plastic remote control was nowhere to be found. He checked the spaces between the brown cushions and looked under the table. It was completely missing.
He suspected Clara probably carried it into the master bedroom again. It was a common habit of hers of being absent-minded.
He pushed himself up from the sofa. The wooden floor creaked slightly under his bare feet. He walked slowly down the dark, narrow hallway.
He stopped directly in front of the heavy wooden door of the master bedroom where Clara was resting.
He raised his knuckles. He knocked.