The breakfast table at Sakurasou smelled of miso soup and fresh rice, steam curling lazily from ceramic bowls while morning light slanted gold through the kitchen windows. Hozuki Nozomi introduced Hinaichigo to the assembled residents—Mashiro pausing mid-bite with her chopsticks suspended, Nanami leaning forward with immediate warmth, Rita already reaching across the table to brush the doll's golden curls.
No one batted an eye at another addition to their strange household.
They'd grown accustomed to it.
Hinaichigo experienced, perhaps for the first time in her porcelain existence, the uncomplicated joy of being welcomed without hesitation or suspicion. Her strawberry-printed dress rustled as she bounced on her cushion, round cheeks flushing pink, tiny hands clapping together.
"Hina is so happy nano~!"
Nozomi didn't restrict his contracted dolls' movements—they could access the N-Field freely, playing in those crystalline mirror-worlds whenever boredom struck. With Kanaria to keep her company, Hinaichigo wouldn't lack for playmates. The other girls at Sakurasou would have made ideal companions too, but unfortunately, school demanded their attendance.
---
After breakfast, Hozuki Nozomi arrived at Soubu High School.
The shoe locker corridor carried its usual smell of rubber soles and floor polish, students shuffling past in murmuring clusters. When he approached his section, Alya Kujou's cabinet demanded attention first—pink envelopes spilling from the narrow slot, several crumpled where they'd been shoved too forcefully, others threatening to cascade onto the tile.
Love letters. Dozens of them.
The half-Russian transfer student had arrived barely a week ago, yet her white-silver hair, ice-blue eyes, and a figure that put most gravure models to shame had already driven the male population into collective frenzy.
Alya stood before the overflow, expression carved from marble. She gathered the pile in one elegant sweep of slender fingers, walked to the nearest trash receptacle, and deposited every last envelope without ceremony.
Not one opened. Not one read.
"Popular, aren't you, Alisa?" Nozomi approached, hands tucked in his pockets, a teasing lilt curling through his voice. "You're not even going to peek at the contents?"
Alya's cheeks puffed slightly—a hairline crack in her composure. Her rose-pink lips moved, murmuring something soft.
«Скучно.»
Too boring.
Nozomi caught the meaning through telepathy, filing the information away. Her habit of muttering Russian when flustered remained... endearing.
Her expression reset to glacial calm almost instantly.
"There are too many," she said, voice cool as morning frost. "Reading them would give hope to cowards lurking in the shadows. That only invites unnecessary trouble."
Silence settled between them, comfortable enough. Then Nozomi shrugged and headed toward his classroom, leaving the silver-haired beauty standing amid the faint scent of perfumed stationery.
Inside 2-C, hostile stares greeted him immediately—dozens of pairs of eyes tracking his movements like territorial dogs watching a wolf enter their den.
He ignored every single one.
To these boys, Alya Kujou represented something sacred—a beautiful transfer student not yet "corrupted" by Hozuki Nozomi's notorious influence. They'd apparently formed some kind of protection society, swearing dramatic oaths to prevent him from making a move.
Laughable.
Alya maintained her ice-queen persona well enough that she hadn't cultivated close friendships yet, but unlike Yukino Yukinoshita, she navigated superficial social waters with practiced elegance. No isolation. Just deliberate distance.
There was time. Nozomi felt no urgency.
Besides, he suspected the Kujou sisters possessed a peculiar talent for attracting dangerous attention. That Cardinal Archbishop's interest in them suggested that keeping watch might lead to uncovering more hidden cults infesting this city.
Two birds. One stone.
---
Class began.
Kirisu Mafuyu's voice filled the room—clear, measured, the kind of voice that transformed dry equations into something almost melodic. Chalk tapped rhythmically against the blackboard as she wrote, each stroke precise, her dark ponytail swaying gently with the movement.
She glanced toward Nozomi's seat.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each time their eyes nearly met, he looked away. Maintained distance. Kept his expression neutral, bordering on frigid disinterest.
Entirely intentional.
He'd declared he was giving up on pursuing her—so he had to perform the part. Aloof. Unreachable.
Heh.
As if he'd actually surrender.
Once Kirisu Miharu enrolled at university and inevitably needed his assistance, wouldn't her precious older sister come seeking favors? Patience was a virtue he'd cultivated over lifetimes.
At the front of the classroom, Mafuyu felt the shift like a phantom limb suddenly gone numb.
This boy—he wasn't looking at her anymore. That fervent gaze she'd grown reluctantly accustomed to, the one that made her skin prickle with uncomfortable awareness during every lecture, had simply... vanished.
Did he really give up?
Good. That's... good.
...So why does my chest feel tight?
He was special. The first person to glimpse the hidden side of her carefully compartmentalized life. The first man bold enough to kiss her cheek without permission or apology. That meant something, didn't it?
The bell rang, sharp and final.
Before Mafuyu could restrain herself, words tumbled free:
"Hozuki Nozomi. My office. Now."
---
The faculty office smelled of old paper and forgotten coffee, fluorescent tubes humming their endless insect drone overhead. Mafuyu stood behind her desk, arms crossed beneath her chest, watching the infuriatingly composed boy before her.
"What's with that expression?" she demanded, voice pitched low so nearby teachers wouldn't overhear. "Where's your usual... enthusiasm?"
Nozomi shrugged, shoulders loose and unbothered. "I told you I'd stop harboring inappropriate thoughts about you, Ms. Mafuyu. Restraint is part of the package."
"Pfft—" A laugh escaped before she could contain it, bright and startled. "Idiot. Even if that's true, you don't need to act like we're strangers. Go back to being yourself."
She smiled then—genuinely smiled—and made her demand plain.
Nozomi's eyebrow arched. "You're certain?"
"Completely. If you continue this cold-shoulder routine, I'll summon you to this office every single day for a thorough lecture. Is that what you want?"
A theatrical sigh. "You're impossible, you know that?"
But when his gaze returned to her face, the heat had rekindled—that familiar intensity that made her pulse stutter despite every rational objection.
"So, Ms. Mafuyu," he said, voice dropping to something warmer, more intimate, "when exactly are you inviting me over for dinner again?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Tutoring, remember? If I don't appear at your apartment regularly, Miharu will grow suspicious."
Mafuyu tilted her head, feigning confusion. "Have your grades slipped? Last I checked, you ranked second in the entire grade. You hardly need tutoring."
Nozomi's expression flattened. "Fine. I'll withdraw the question."
He turned toward the door, footsteps deliberately heavy.
"Come back here."
Mafuyu caught herself, warmth spreading across her cheeks. She twirled a strand of pink hair around one finger, fighting to maintain composure.
"Tonight, then. That girl Miharu keeps pestering me about when you're visiting again. Might as well... satisfy her expectations."
Her expectations, Nozomi thought, suppressing a smirk. Certainly.
But his carefully constructed aloofness had already shattered. He could only nod in agreement.
---
[Soubu High School — Afternoon, 3:47 PM]
Nozomi bid Mahiru farewell at the gates and slid into the passenger seat of Mafuyu's sedan—the interior carrying traces of her perfume, something floral and subtly warm beneath the leather upholstery smell.
Alya Kujou watched his departure from the school entrance, delicate brow furrowing.
"Shiina," she said quietly, "don't you find Hozuki and Kirisu-sensei... unusually close?"
Mahiru smiled, serene as a spring afternoon. "It's nothing concerning. She's simply tutoring him."
Alya's frown deepened, ice-blue eyes narrowing at the retreating vehicle.
Second in his grade. What possible tutoring could he require?
---
[Kirisu Residence — Evening, 5:23 PM]
Mafuyu's apartment building rose against the bleeding orange-pink sky, windows catching the dying light like scattered amber. She walked slightly ahead, keys jingling softly against her palm, acutely conscious of the gaze warming the back of her neck.
Was inviting him here a mistake?
She couldn't decide.
But she knew with absolute certainty that she couldn't endure his coldness. That manufactured distance felt worse than his shameless flirtation ever had.
"I'm home."
The door swung inward.
"Welcome back, Oneesan!"
Miharu bounded into the genkan immediately, all radiant smiles and bouncing copper-brown hair—until her amber eyes landed on the tall figure shadowing her sister's entrance.
Her expression curdled like milk in summer heat.
"Miharu." Nozomi greeted her with an easy grin, stepping into the foyer. "I'm freeloading on dinner again. Hope you don't mind too terribly."
"...Welcome," the younger Kirisu muttered through reluctantly parted lips, cheeks puffed in begrudging hospitality.
---
Miharu's carefully laid plans crumbled the moment Nozomi crossed the threshold.
Punishment for classroom inattention, Mafuyu had declared—conscripting him for kitchen duty.
But that arrangement relegated Miharu to the living room, marooned on the sofa like some useless guest awaiting service.
Absolutely unacceptable.
The savory aroma of sautéing vegetables drifted from behind the kitchen door, mingling with her sister's occasional soft laughter—laughter—and Nozomi's lower murmured responses.
Miharu crept across the hardwood floor. Pressed her fingertips to the door. Eased it open a bare centimeter.
And froze.
Her older sister—her pure, composed, untouchable older sister—stood pinned against the kitchen wall, Nozomi's palm braced beside her head, his other hand cradling her jaw. Their lips pressed together, unhurried and thorough, Mafuyu's slender fingers curled into the fabric of his uniform shirt.
The door slipped from Miharu's nerveless grip.
Click.
She stumbled backward on unsteady legs, face burning scarlet from hairline to collar, heart throwing itself against her ribs like a caged bird.
What—
How—
Since when—
In the warm kitchen, neither noticed the sound. Mafuyu's shoulder blades remained pressed to cool tile, her eyes fluttered closed, one hand sliding upward to rest against Nozomi's chest as the kiss deepened.
Miharu retreated to the living room sofa and buried her burning face into a throw pillow, muffling a strangled sound halfway between dismay and disbelief.