The studio lights hummed their dying warmth as Komatsuda called wrap, their orange glow painting long shadows across cables coiled like sleeping serpents. Dust motes drifted through slanting beams, carrying the mineral smell of hot tungsten mixed with foundation powder and nervous sweat.
Today's filming had covered roughly this much.
As for the remaining foreshadowing scenes involving Hozuki Nozomi, Komatsuda said he needed time to reconsider the blocking. The director scratched his stubbled jaw, eyes distant with creative calculation.
This kid's too good. He's making my nephew look like a cardboard cutout.
So he asked Hozuki Nozomi to continue filming tomorrow.
Being the male lead—and being able to strike a blow against Komatsu Takuya, Sakurajima Mai's persistent suitor—Hozuki Nozomi naturally agreed. Besides, acting held its own particular charm, the way a character's skin settled over his own.
He mentioned to Sakurajima Mai, as they stripped off their radio mics, that he preferred playing villains.
The girl's violet eyes rolled skyward immediately, her coral lips pursing.
"Are you finally unable to resist showing your perverted side?"
There it is. That smirk. The one that makes my stomach do that annoying flip thing.
"Uh… Mai, if you say that to me, aren't you afraid I'll exact my revenge later?" His voice dropped half an octave, intimate despite the surrounding crew.
"Hmph, come at me tonight!" Sakurajima Mai puffed out her chest proudly, the motion pressing her modest curves against her silk blouse. Not afraid of him at all. Never had been.
The two left the set, shoulders bumping, laughter floating behind them like ribbon.
Komatsu Takuya watched the girl's beautiful back disappear through the studio doors. Her raven hair caught the exit light, and he sighed—a sound dredged from somewhere hollow.
"Uncle, do I have no chance?"
Komatsuda nodded, not unkindly.
"Of course not. Although I hate to discourage you, Nozomi-kun surpasses you in acting, appearance, and charisma. The camera loves him. The audience will too."
And so does she. Anyone with eyes can see it.
After all, his nephew possessed only his face. Sharp jaw, clear skin, symmetrical features arranged pleasantly enough. Everything else proved harder to quantify—talent, depth, that magnetic quality that drew people into someone's orbit.
He'd even needed his uncle's considerable help to pursue a single girl. Despite manufacturing opportunity after opportunity, Komatsu Takuya couldn't charm Sakurajima Mai.
So what remained?
Komatsu Takuya could only surrender.
"Takuya, there are plenty of fish in the sea. Why cling to just one flower?"
"Sometimes, one must learn to release a thing to gain something greater."
"Uncle, you didn't say that before." Komatsu Takuya's voice came out flat, colorless.
You told me to fight. You said persistence wins. Now you're telling me to quit?
"Ahem, well, Takuya, if you won't strive yourself, there's nothing I can do."
Komatsu Takuya clenched his fists, knuckles whitening.
"I won't give up easily!"
But his uncle had already turned away, calling for the gaffer.
...
[Sakurasou Dormitory — Evening, April 17th]
Turning to Hozuki Nozomi—he escorted Sakurajima Mai back to Sakurasou and introduced Asada Shino to her.
The common room smelled of miso soup and fresh laundry, warmth radiating from the kitchen where someone had left the rice cooker on. Shino stood by the bookshelf, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses, their silver frames catching lamplight.
Sakurajima Mai assessed the gentle, somewhat dazed glasses-wearing girl. Shino stood perhaps five-three, with ink-black hair falling past her shoulders in soft waves, wide grey eyes perpetually half-focused, and a figure hidden beneath an oversized cream cardigan. She looked breakable. Sweet.
Mai immediately shot Nozomi a resentful glare.
Another one. Of course there's another one.
Hozuki Nozomi chuckled dryly and offered no explanation.
The girls would navigate their own dynamics. If he, a player by circumstance rather than design, showed favoritism to any party, chaos would erupt. Being a time management master proved genuinely exhausting.
Sakurajima Mai naturally wouldn't target Asada Shino directly. Since they all resided in Sakurasou, they were family by proximity if nothing else. And Mai refused to be outdone by Sayu and the others in grace. If they didn't mind sharing, and she sulked with a sour expression, wouldn't that make her seem unbearably petty?
So she smiled, introduced herself properly, and complimented Shino's cardigan.
...
[Sakurajima Mai's Room — Night, April 17th]
After dinner and showers—the hallway steaming with the scent of cherry blossom soap and green tea conditioner—Hozuki Nozomi slipped into Sakurajima Mai's room.
Her space smelled like her: jasmine perfume layered over clean cotton, a hint of the vanilla hand cream she kept on her nightstand. Moonlight sliced through the gap in her curtains, painting silver stripes across the hardwood floor.
Mai sat on her bed in nothing but an oversized sleep shirt, the hem riding high on her pale thighs. Her dark hair hung loose, still slightly damp, curling at the ends where it brushed her collarbones.
"You actually came." Her voice carried challenge and invitation in equal measure.
"You invited me." He locked the door behind him, the click loud in the quiet room. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"Mmm." She watched him approach, violet eyes tracking his movement like a cat observing prey. Or perhaps the opposite. "You've been making me jealous all day, introducing that cute glasses girl—"
"Shino's situation is complicated." He sat beside her on the mattress, close enough that their thighs touched through the fabric. "Her mother was involved with a cult. I helped them."
"So you're a hero now?"
"Just someone with the means to help."
Mai's hand found his chest, palm flat against the cotton of his shirt.
"Show me those means."
God, I can't believe I just said that. Why does he make me say such embarrassing things?
He pulled the shirt over her head in one fluid motion.
She wore nothing underneath.
Mai's body emerged into moonlight—moderate breasts tipped with shell-pink nipples already tightening in the cool air, waist tapering to hips that flared gently, a faint tan line ghosting across her stomach from summer swimsuits. Her skin held the luminous quality of rice paper, almost translucent, blue veins visible beneath the surface of her inner wrists.
"Nozomi..." Her breathing quickened as his mouth found her throat, teeth grazing the pulse hammering beneath her jaw.
His hands mapped territory they'd explored before but somehow always felt new—the ladder of her ribs, the dip of her waist, the slight swell of her belly before it gave way to the soft thatch of dark hair between her thighs.
"Nnnh—" The sound escaped her as his fingers slipped lower, parting slick folds that were already embarrassingly wet.
"Someone's eager," he murmured against her collarbone.
"Shut up."
She yanked at his clothes with impatient hands until he was as bare as she was—lean muscle and smooth skin, his cock already hard and jutting from dark hair, the shaft thick enough that her fingers didn't quite meet when she wrapped them around it.
"Haaah—" Mai's back arched as he pressed her into the mattress, his weight settling between her spread thighs. The tip of him brushed her entrance, and her hips canted upward instinctively.
"Mai."
"What?"
"Look at me."
Her violet eyes met his, and he pushed inside.
The stretch burned beautifully, that familiar ache of being filled completely. He hilted in one slow thrust, and Mai's nails raked down his shoulders, leaving pink tracks.
"Nnn—fuck—move—"
He obliged.
The bed creaked softly as he established a rhythm, deep and measured at first, then building as her whimpers escalated. The room filled with the wet sounds of their joining, the slap of skin against skin, Mai's increasingly desperate moans.
"Hah—ah—right there—nghh—"
Her thighs tightened around his hips as the pressure built low in her belly, coiling tighter with every thrust. Nozomi's thumb found her clit, circling the swollen nub in counterpoint to his movements.
"Come for me," he commanded, voice rough.
"Ahhhhn—!"
Mai shattered beneath him, walls clenching rhythmically around his cock as her whole body shook. He followed moments later, spilling inside her with a groan that vibrated against her throat.
They lay tangled afterward, breathing evening out slowly. Her room smelled like sex now—musk and sweat and the particular salt-sweet scent of satisfaction.
"Same time tomorrow?" she mumbled into his shoulder.
"Maybe I'll bring flowers."
"Don't you dare."
...
[Sakurasou Dormitory — Morning]
As soon as Hozuki Nozomi woke, the doorbell's chime cut through dawn quiet.
He extracted himself from Mai's warm limbs—she protested sleepily but didn't wake fully—and pulled on yesterday's clothes before padding to the front door. The hallway smelled of last night's miso lingering in the walls, mixing with the faint sweetness of Shino's baking from the kitchen.
He opened the door to find Asada Hina.
Shino's mother stood on the threshold, morning light gilding her features. She appeared younger than her mid-thirties—oval face with high cheekbones, full lips painted coral, and large grey eyes identical to her daughter's but carrying a weight Shino hadn't yet accumulated.
Her black hair was pinned up in an elegant twist, revealing the long column of her neck. She wore a fitted grey dress that emphasized a figure far more generous than her daughter's—heavy breasts straining the fabric's buttons, hips swelling in graceful curves, thick thighs visible through the material's cling.
The scent of her perfume hit him: gardenia and something darker underneath, amber or sandalwood.
Seeing him open the door, Asada Hina's cheeks flushed pink immediately. She lowered her gaze and bowed, the motion offering a devastating glimpse of cleavage.
"Nozomi-kun, I apologize for disturbing you."
"No disturbance at all, Madam. Are you here to see Shino?"
"No, I'm here to see you."
"Me? What about? Something concerning Shino?"
"No, it's about you… and me." Her eyes lifted to his, then dropped deliberately to his waist. "Are you certain you want to discuss it in the hallway?"
I know that shape. I couldn't forget it if I tried.
Hozuki Nozomi coughed.
Good thing he'd slept in Mai's room last night. Otherwise Mashiro would definitely be occupying his bed right now, and this conversation would become exponentially more complicated.
He stepped aside. "Please, come in."
...
[Hozuki Nozomi's Room —]
His room smelled of cedar from the closet and the faint chemical tang of manga ink from Mashiro's visits. Hozuki Nozomi gestured toward his desk chair, but Asada Hina settled on the edge of his unmade bed instead, smoothing her skirt over her thighs.
She looked at him with eyes that held too many things to name.
"That person that day... that was you, wasn't it?"
"Ahem, Madam, I'm not sure what you mean." Nozomi adopted his most innocent expression.
How could he possibly admit to something like that?
Asada Hina made a soft, exasperated sound.
"Don't play coy. I know it was you. After all…" Her voice dropped. "My husband was never as... capable."
The way he moved. The size of him. The way he made me—
She cut off her own thought, cheeks burning.
"I'm not here to cause trouble. I came to thank you."
The words tumbled out then—gratitude for letting her see her husband's spirit one final time, for granting her proper closure. She spoke of abandoning the past, of living fully for herself and for Shino now.
"Nozomi-kun, thank you for everything you've done for my family."
She bowed again, and Hozuki Nozomi found his gaze drawn irresistibly to the generous curves spilling from her neckline. The valley between her breasts looked soft enough to drown in.
He cleared his throat and forced his eyes upward.
"You're welcome. After all, Shino will be part of my family from now on—your concerns are my concerns. Madam, if you encounter difficulties, simply tell me. I'll help however I can."
"Anything is acceptable?"
Asada Hina's eyes burned with an intensity that made his stomach tighten. Her gaze fixed pointedly on his lower half.
I need something to hold onto. Someone. He saved us—saved me—and I haven't felt wanted in so long.
Hozuki Nozomi stepped back instinctively.
"Well, some things require mutual consent."
Asada Hina laughed, the sound bright and surprising.
"Don't worry—I won't tell Shino. I came here first to thank you, and second…" She paused. "Can I still accept that job offer you mentioned before?"
"Of course. No problem."
Previously, cultists had manipulated Asada Hina into lying about traveling abroad. But Hozuki Nozomi had eliminated that threat entirely, so she naturally wouldn't leave now. And she refused to return to her bank position—the manager there had been harassing her for months.
He retrieved the letter of appointment from his desk drawer and handed it over. The paper crinkled between her manicured fingers.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Let me walk you to Shino's room—"
Asada Hina stood abruptly, eyes shifting, and stumbled.
Her body crashed into his chest, soft breasts pressing against him, her thighs bracketing one of his legs. Her perfume flooded his senses—gardenia and amber and something sharper underneath, arousal making itself known.
"So you don't want me to keep thanking you properly?" Her voice came out husky. "Shino is innocent. She doesn't understand adult things. But I do."
Her hands moved over him with bold confidence—down his chest, across his stomach, fingers finding the waistband of his pants.
"For so many years, I only had Shino's father. I've been faithful. Patient." She looked up at him through dark lashes. "Now I need something to live for."
Someone strong enough to hold onto. Someone who won't disappear.
Hozuki Nozomi understood then.
Asada Hina needed an anchor, a reason to keep moving forward. Her husband's ghost had been her purpose, but now that final goodbye had been given. She wasn't a strong woman; she'd spent years devoted to a man who'd already left. Without someone to tether her, she would drift aimlessly.
If Hozuki Nozomi hadn't intervened, her beautiful body would have become the Cardinal's plaything—used and discarded.
He didn't want Shino crying over her mother's emptiness.
So he became that tether.
His hand rose to stroke Asada Hina's pinned hair, loosening it until black silk spilled over her shoulders.
"Hina," he said softly. "Then I'm counting on you."
Her eyes went liquid with gratitude and something rawer.
She sank to her knees before him.
The zipper's buzz seemed deafening in the quiet room. His cock sprang free—already half-hard from her proximity, the sight of her cleavage, the pressure of her body against his. Thick and veined, curving slightly upward, the head flushed dark.
Asada Hina's breath caught.
Bigger than my husband. So much bigger.
"Hina—"
"Let me."
Her hand wrapped around his shaft, fingers barely closing around the girth. She stroked experimentally, watching his face, then leaned forward to press her lips against the tip.
"Nnnh—" Nozomi's hand found her hair.
She took him into her mouth—warm, wet, impossibly soft. Her tongue traced the underside vein as she sank lower, accommodating inch after inch until he nudged the back of her throat and she gagged slightly, pulling back to breathe.
"Slowly," he said.
"Mmm." The vibration made his cock twitch.
She set a rhythm then, bobbing her head, one hand working what her mouth couldn't reach. Saliva slicked his shaft, dripping down to dampen his thighs. The wet sounds filled the room—slurping, gagging, her little moans muffled around his length.
"Fuck—" His grip tightened in her hair.
Asada Hina looked up at him, grey eyes watering, lips stretched obscenely around his cock. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, tongue swirling around the sensitive head.
"Hina—I'm—"
She didn't pull away.
He came with a groan, pulsing hot and thick across her tongue. She swallowed convulsively, throat working, taking everything he gave until he softened in her mouth.
She released him with a wet pop, licking her lips.
"Thank you, Nozomi-kun."
"That's my line."
Asada Hina composed herself quickly—smoothing her hair, adjusting her dress, touching up her coral lipstick with a compact mirror from her purse. She looked like a respectable mother again within minutes, no trace of what had just occurred except for the flush lingering on her cheeks.
She walked out of his room with steady steps.
She found Shino in the common room, reading a novel by the window, morning light turning her daughter into watercolor—soft edges and gentle colors. They talked about the new job, about visiting more often, about making up for years of absence and preoccupation.
Shino said it wasn't necessary, her voice quiet but not unkind.
Mother seems... lighter today. Less haunted.
Whether she did it or not was her own decision, but Asada Hina intended to try.
While speaking, she subconsciously wiped the corners of her mouth.
Her rosy lips glistened full and inviting in the morning sun, and she pressed them together, savoring the lingering taste of salt and warmth as she smiled at her daughter and began outlining her plans for dinner next week.