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[Sasaki's Bedroom ]
"That's… Sayuri-nee, I really can't do something like that. You'd be better off asking someone else."
The words left his mouth with just the right amount of wide-eyed panic. Sasaki let his shoulders stiffen, let his jaw go slightly slack—textbook shock from a boy who'd never been propositioned by a woman seven years his senior. He blinked twice, rapidly, then dropped his gaze to the carpet like the request itself had physically struck him.
Perfect. Route One it is.
The translucent selection panel hovering at the edge of his vision pulsed once—[Route 1: The Reluctant Good Boy] highlighted in soft blue—then dissolved. He'd already committed to the persona before she finished speaking: the earnest, slightly overwhelmed student who needed convincing. The kind of boy a woman like Sayuri would feel safe manipulating, and—more critically—safe around.
Sayuri studied his reaction from across the small gap between the bed and the desk chair he'd pulled up. Wide-set eyes the color of roasted chestnuts, a small beauty mark beneath the left one, full lips currently pressed together in a determined line that softened the moment she saw his refusal.
He turned me down. Something loosened behind her ribs. Good. That's… actually reassuring.
"Sasaki-kun," she said, and her voice dipped into that gentle register women use when coaxing frightened animals or embarrassed teenagers—honey poured slow. "We'd only be acting. It wouldn't be real. If you don't help me, Tanaka will just force me to go after his boss instead. Or his friends." She uncrossed her ankles and crossed them again the other way, a restless tic. "He's already hinted at it. The only reason he changed targets was because you showed up."
Her eyes glistened. Not full tears—just the reddening at the waterline, the slight swelling of the lower lid that happens right before someone breaks. She smelled faintly of jasmine body lotion layered over something softer, and the vulnerability radiating off her was so convincing that Sasaki felt a genuine twinge of sympathy press against the inside of his chest, unbidden and warm. He swallowed it down. Not yet.
"But… I already have someone I like."
He said it with the halting, bashful cadence of a confession—chin tucked, ears going pink, fingers curling around the fabric of his shorts. Every inch the harmless seventeen-year-old. And that was the point, wasn't it? A student admitting he had a crush was about as threatening as a puppy rolling onto its back.
Sayuri blinked. Then the tension in her jaw softened into a genuine smile—small, almost maternal. "Oh, so that's what you're worried about. You must really like her, hm?"
He's thinking about another girl even while I'm sitting right here asking him this. Her estimation of him climbed another notch. He's a good kid. A genuinely good kid. If we're going to work together, at least I know he won't try anything.
Sasaki nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I really like her. If she ever found out that you and I were…" He trailed off, letting the implication hang between them like a thread pulled taut. "She'd be furious. She'd probably never speak to me again."
Sayuri's smile lingered, but something behind it shifted—a flicker of melancholy that bled into her expression before she could catch it. She exhaled through her nose, long and slow.
"You know… I'm a little jealous of that girl."
Her gaze dropped to her own hands, folded in her lap. The overhead light caught the thin gold band on her left ring finger.
"Having someone care about her that much." A dry, humorless laugh. "Meanwhile my husband's idea of devotion is trying to lend me out to his drinking buddies like a library book."
The bitterness sat heavy in the quiet room. Sasaki watched her shoulders curve inward, watched the way her thumb traced the edge of that wedding ring—an unconscious, repetitive motion, like worrying a wound.
"I want to help you, Sayuri-nee. I really do." He let his voice crack, just slightly. "But if the girl I like finds out—"
"What if she doesn't?"
Sayuri looked up. The redness around her eyes had deepened, but her voice was steady now, negotiating. Practical.
"Sasaki-kun. If I can guarantee that our arrangement stays between us—that it never reaches the girl you like, never interferes with your life—would you be willing to help me then?"
He paused. Counted to three in his head. Then gave a slow, uncertain nod.
Sayuri straightened, pressing her palms flat against her thighs. "Then I'll promise you this: I won't tell a single person. It won't affect your love life. All I'd need is for you to put on an act with me in front of Tanaka occasionally." She held his gaze, earnest and unwavering. "Can you agree to that?"
Sasaki chewed his lower lip. Hesitated.
The silence stretched. Sayuri's composure began to fracture at the edges—her lower lip trembled, her lashes grew damp, and when she spoke again her voice had gone thin and breakable, like wet paper.
"If you won't help me… then I have no choice. Tanaka will hand me over to whoever he wants." A tear slipped free, tracing a clean line down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away. "Sasaki-kun, could you really stand by and watch that happen to me?"
Please. I've already debased myself enough begging a teenager for help. Just say yes.
The tear caught the light—a single bright streak. The faint jasmine scent of her lotion intensified as she leaned forward, and Sasaki registered the warmth of it, the desperation underneath, the way her collarbones stood out sharp against pale skin as her breathing went shallow.
He clenched his fists against his knees.
"Sayuri-nee, stop—please don't cry." He pushed the words out rough, raw, like they'd been dragged from him against his will. "I'll help you. I'll do it. What Tanaka-san is doing to you is sick—he doesn't deserve to call himself your husband."
Relief broke across Sayuri's face like sunrise—sudden, total, radiant. She pressed the heel of her palm against her eye and nodded rapidly, blinking the remaining moisture away.
Finally. A thread of guilt wound through the relief, cold and thin. I just emotionally manipulated a high schooler into agreeing to a fake affair. What kind of woman does that make me? She swallowed. The kind who doesn't have any other options. That's what kind.
"Thank you, Sasaki-kun. Truly." She sniffed once, composing herself with visible effort—shoulders back, chin up, the posture of a woman accustomed to reassembling her dignity in real time. "And I meant what I said—if you ever need advice about your crush, come to me. I'm a woman too, after all. I might understand what she's thinking better than you'd expect."
"Really? Thanks, Sayuri-nee." Sasaki let his expression brighten, boyish and grateful, before it clouded over again. "But wait—what about today? You came here because Tanaka-san gave you a task, right? He told you to…"
He stopped himself, watching her reaction.
Sayuri's cheeks flushed a shade of pink that spread from her ears down to her throat. She smoothed her pants over her thighs—a nervous, stalling gesture—and nodded tightly.
"He told me to seduce you. Yes." The words came out flat, recited, like reading a diagnosis. "So when I go back, he's going to check whether I succeeded. If I tell him I failed…"
"He probably won't believe it," Sasaki said quietly.
Sayuri frowned. "Why not?"
Sasaki rubbed the back of his neck again, the blush creeping up past his collar with what looked like genuine embarrassment. "Because… Sayuri-nee, you're beautiful. Like, really beautiful. And you've got—" He gestured vaguely, a helpless motion that encompassed all of her without settling anywhere specific. "—I mean. I'm a teenage boy. Tanaka-san knows that. He's not going to believe I had enough self-control to turn you down. He'll just assume you didn't actually try."
Sayuri stared at him.
Then the blush detonated—a deep, consuming crimson that overtook her entire face, flooding down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her tracksuit. She turned her head sharply toward the window, one hand rising to press against her cheek as if she could physically contain the heat.
He just—did he really just—
She cleared her throat. Twice. "You… make a fair point."
Oh god, he's right though.Tanaka knows exactly what a teenage boy would do if a woman threw herself at him. If I come back untouched, he'll punish me for not trying hard enough.
"So what do we do, Sayuri-nee?"
She was quiet for a long moment. Her fingers curled and uncurled in her lap, and Sasaki watched the internal war play out across her features—pride clashing with necessity, modesty buckling under the weight of survival. The room felt smaller than it had five minutes ago. Warmer. The air conditioning's whisper suddenly inadequate against whatever temperature was building between the bed and the desk chair.
When Sayuri finally spoke, her voice had dropped to barely above a murmur. She kept her eyes fixed on a point somewhere near his left shoulder.
"Sasaki-kun… I need you to leave marks on me."
He blinked. Tilted his head. "Marks?"
Sayuri squeezed her eyes shut. The blush still hadn't faded; if anything it had deepened, staining even the tips of her ears. She pressed her knees together, fabric bunching under her grip.
"On my neck," she managed. "Bruises. Hickeys. You know—like…" She swallowed audibly. "…Love-bites."
The words landed in the space between them and sat there, vivid and undeniable. Sasaki let his mouth fall open—held the expression for two full seconds—then scrambled backward in his chair so hard that the legs screeched against the floor.
"W-wait—that—no, I can't—Sayuri-nee, I've never even kissed a girl before!" He held both palms up, warding her off despite the three feet still separating them. "You said this was just acting! How did we go from acting to—to that?"
Sayuri wanted to dissolve into the upholstery. Every cell in her body screamed with embarrassment, hot and prickling, but the rational part of her brain—the part that had gotten her through four years of marriage to a man who treated her like a collectible—held firm.
He's a good kid. He's not going to make the first move. If I don't push this, I'll walk out of here with nothing to show Tanaka, and then—
She straightened her spine. Fixed him with a look that she hoped conveyed authority rather than the mortification currently eating her alive.
"Sasaki-kun. Kissing is acting. Haven't you watched any anime? Every romance has a kiss scene eventually—the actors aren't actually in love, they're performing." She held his gaze, steady despite the warmth still blazing across her face. "And if I go back to Tanaka without proof that something happened between us, then everything we just agreed to falls apart. He won't believe our act, and I'll be—"
Her voice hitched. The lower lashes glistened again.
"—I'll be finished."
Please don't make me spell it out any further. I'm a grown woman asking a student to put his mouth on my neck. I've already lost enough dignity for one evening.
Sasaki stared at her. His hands slowly lowered to his sides. The wide-eyed panic drained from his face, replaced by something quieter—resignation, maybe, or determination, or the careful performance of both.
He exhaled.
"Okay. Okay, Sayuri-nee." His voice came out softer now, stripped of the earlier alarm. "If it'll keep you safe… I'll do it. Just—don't cry anymore. Please."
Sayuri's heart kicked against her sternum—relief, gratitude, and a strange fluttering undercurrent she refused to examine too closely. She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist and gave him a watery, triumphant smile.
Students really are easy to persuade, aren't they?
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