"Well then, Mafuyu-sensei, I'll be leaving now." Hozuki Nozomi paused at the threshold, one hand braced against the doorframe. The hallway light caught the angle of his jaw, softening the playful edge in his voice. "Remember to send me your feedback after you eat. I'll adjust things to satisfy your taste."
"Hmph." Kirisu Mafuyu's fingers curled around the door's edge, knuckles whitening. "Hurry up and go pick up your girlfriend!"
She slammed the door.
The sound echoed through her small apartment like a judge's gavel, final and damning. Mafuyu pressed her back against the wood, chest rising and falling beneath her cream-colored blouse. The faint trace of his cologne—something clean, cedar-touched—still clung to the air.
Why did I do that?
Her palm rose to her cheek. The skin burned beneath her fingertips, flushed and traitorous.
It was almost as if she were jealous of his girlfriend.
The thought made her stomach clench. Ridiculous. She was his teacher. Twenty-six years old. A professional. She had lesson plans to review, student assessments to complete, a stack of ungraded papers that reproached her from the coffee table every single night.
She did not get jealous over students.
A shaky breath escaped her lips. She turned, fingers finding the doorknob again, and pulled it open.
The hallway stood empty.
No Hozuki Nozomi. No infuriating smile. Just the fluorescent hum of the corridor lights and the distant sound of the elevator descending.
Mafuyu bit her lower lip until she tasted the faint copper of broken skin. Her fists clenched at her sides.
"Is he that eager to pick up his girlfriend?" The words came out sharper than intended, edged with something she refused to name. "Men are all useless!"
"I haven't left yet."
She startled.
Hozuki Nozomi's head appeared from around the corner, dark hair slightly disheveled, that familiar smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The overhead light pooled shadows beneath his cheekbones, accentuating the quiet intensity in his gaze.
"If I don't say a proper goodbye to Mafuyu," he said softly, "I'll feel empty inside."
Her heart lurched—a single, violent thump against her ribs.
"Why..." She dropped her gaze to the floor tiles, unable to meet his eyes. Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. "Why aren't you leaving yet?"
"Like I said." His footsteps approached, unhurried, deliberate. "I need to say a proper goodbye to you."
The distance between them dissolved.
Mafuyu found herself looking up at him—at the strong line of his throat, the gentle curve of his lips, the way his presence seemed to fill the narrow hallway until the walls felt irrelevant. His scent wrapped around her: that clean cedar note layered over something warmer, something distinctly him. Her pulse stuttered.
She opened her mouth, some deflection already forming on her tongue—
His hand rose. Fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face upward.
And then his lips met hers.
The kiss was brief—barely a heartbeat—but the warmth of him seared through her like a brand. Soft. Firm. Her eyes flew wide, mind blanking completely, body frozen in place.
He pulled back before she could react.
"Thanks for the treat." That smile again, bright and unapologetic. "Also—I'll never forget what happened today!"
He was already running.
"Ah—ah ah ah!"
Mafuyu's shriek echoed down the corridor, but Hozuki Nozomi had already vanished around the stairwell corner, the sound of his retreating footsteps fading like laughter.
She stood there, hand pressed to her mouth. Her lips tingled—still warm, still remembering. The sensation radiated down through her chest, pooling somewhere low in her belly where she absolutely refused to acknowledge it.
"This... this hateful guy!"
If the previous kiss had been an accident—a collision of circumstances she could rationalize away—this was deliberate. Calculated. He had waited for her. Waited for her to open that door, to step into the hallway, to stand there vulnerable and flustered like some heroine in a cheap romance drama.
And on the lips!
This kid was far too bold.
Mafuyu paced the hallway for a full thirty seconds, cheeks aflame, before the mortification finally subsided enough for rational thought to return. She smoothed down her blouse. Tucked a strand of pink hair behind her ear. Drew a measured breath through her nose.
She absolutely could not let Miharu see her like this.
---
The dining table sat laden with dishes—all of them Nozomi's handiwork, though Mafuyu would sooner swallow glass than admit it. Steam curled from the braised fish. The tamagoyaki gleamed golden beneath the kitchen light. Even the rice looked fluffier than anything she'd ever managed on her own.
Mafuyu lowered herself into a chair, spine rigid with forced composure.
"Huh, Nee-san?" Miharu's voice drifted from the living room. "Where's Nozomi?"
"He went to pick up his girlfriend." The words came out clipped. Bitter. "Never mind him. Let's just eat by ourselves."
She reached for her chopsticks with more force than necessary.
From across the table, Kirisu Miharu's expression flickered—a subtle tightening around her eyes that Mafuyu, lost in her own turmoil, failed to notice.
Nee-san is hiding it from me.
Miharu had seen it. The kiss at the kitchen, brief as it was. The way her sister's entire body had gone still, then trembled.
She's drifting away.
The thought lodged in Miharu's chest like a splinter, sharp and insistent. For as long as she could remember, her sister had been everything—role model, mentor, the steady presence around which Miharu's entire world orbited. Mafuyu didn't need anyone else. She was brilliant, composed, untouchable.
And now this boy—this kid—was pulling her away inch by inch.
Miharu's jaw set.
I won't let it happen.
As long as Nee-san remained pure, she wouldn't marry. Wouldn't leave. That was the logic Miharu clung to, fragile as spun glass.
"I'm going to eat," she announced, voice bright enough to mask the turmoil beneath.
The first bite of fish melted on her tongue—rich, savory, impossibly tender. The second bite brought tears to her eyes.
"Uh... Miharu?" Mafuyu leaned forward, chopsticks frozen midair. "Why are you crying?"
"Waaah..." Miharu sniffled, shoulders shaking. "It's just—it's so delicious! Just thinking that I won't get to eat Nee-san's cooking anymore makes me sad, and upset, and—"
"I-I'm usually very busy." The flush returned to Mafuyu's cheeks, deeper than before. "Lesson plans. Class preparation. Tutoring schedules. I simply don't have time to cook often."
The lie tasted sour in her mouth. She'd washed vegetables. That was the extent of her contribution.
But Miharu didn't question it. She simply finished her meal in record time, shoved back from the table, and flung herself at her sister with the desperation of a drowning swimmer.
"Nee-san!" Her arms locked around Mafuyu's waist, face buried against her shoulder. "Let's sleep together tonight!"
"M-Miharu?"
"Please? Please?"
Mafuyu sighed, one hand rising to pat her sister's trembling back. "Fine. If it means that much to you."
Miharu's grip tightened.
This way, if that kid tries anything—if he shows up in the middle of the night with that stupid smile and his stupid cologne—
She would be ready.
---
Hozuki Nozomi, having successfully executed his hit-and-run, stood before the familiar façade of a modest two-story house.
The nameplate beside the door read: MAYAMA.
A plastic bag dangled from his fingers, the wine bottle inside clinking softly as he shifted his weight. Evening cicadas droned from the hedges. The air smelled of cut grass and the distant sweetness of jasmine.
He pressed the doorbell.
"Just a moment! I'll be right there!"
The voice was male, middle-aged, tinged with the particular wariness of fathers everywhere. Footsteps approached. The lock clicked.
The door swung open to reveal Hozuki Nozomi's handsome face, illuminated by the porch light.
Mr. Mayama's expression underwent a transformation—surprise to recognition to undisguised hostility—in the span of a single heartbeat.
The door slammed shut.
"You've come to the wrong place! Go home, kid!"
Nozomi stared at the wood grain for a long moment. Then he shrugged, pulled out his phone, and tapped out a message.
Sasanqua, I'm at your doorstep. Your dad won't let me in.
Three seconds passed.
From somewhere deep within the house, a girl's voice rang out—clear, incredulous, carrying the particular edge of a daughter about to make her father's life extremely difficult.
"Dad! What did you do?!"
"Uh—Asacha, it's nothing! What else could I do?"
"Shut up! Hurry up and open the door! It's rare for Nozomi to visit me—how could you shut him out? If you keep this up, I won't talk to you anymore!"
A theatrical wail followed. "Don't—don't do that! Waaaah, Asacha, Dad was wrong! Dad will let that kid in right away—"
"What kid?" The girl's voice sharpened. "That's rude! His name is Hozuki Nozomi! You should call him Hozuki Nozomi!"
The door reopened.
Mr. Mayama's face had acquired the particular pallor of a man who has just been thoroughly defeated by his own offspring. His gaze landed on Nozomi with all the warmth of an arctic winter.
Nozomi smiled, unperturbed, and stepped past him into the entryway.
"Mr. Mayama." He offered the plastic bag with a polite bow. "First time visiting—this is just a small token. Please accept it."
The older man's expression flickered when he glimpsed the wine bottle inside. For a moment—just a moment—something like approval crossed his features.
Then calculation replaced it.
He scurried to his daughter's bedroom door and knocked urgently. "Asacha! Look what this kid brought—wine! How about we kick him out today? You hate when I drink, right? This is clearly a trap! An insidious ploy to—"
The door swung open.
Asaka Mayama stood in the doorway, white summer dress flowing around her legs, dark hair brushed until it gleamed. She'd clearly spent considerable effort preparing for this visit—the faint shimmer of lip gloss, the delicate pearl studs in her ears, the way her collar dipped just low enough to be interesting without crossing into impropriety.
Her glare could have frozen magma.
"Dad." Her voice was dangerously level. "What nonsense are you talking about? You can't kick a guest out of the house—especiallyNozomi. That's rude." She snatched the wine bottle from his slack fingers. "Since he gave this to you, fine—take it and drink it. Just don't disturb us."
Mr. Mayama's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
No sound emerged.
Before he could recover, Asaka had already seized Nozomi's arm with both hands, tugging him toward her room with undisguised enthusiasm. Her fingers pressed warm against his bicep, grip possessive, smile radiant.
"Nozomi!" She pulled him across the threshold. "Come in—I have something to show you."
Click.
The door locked behind them.
Mr. Mayama stood frozen in the hallway, wine bottle forgotten, horror dawning in his eyes.
Something to show him?
His mind raced through possibilities, each more catastrophic than the last.
It wouldn't be... her body... would it?
No. No!
He lunged for the door handle, twisted it, found it immovable.
"Asacha! ASACHA!"