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[Yamashita Residence Exterior — April 2nd, 2026 — 2:47 PM]
Yamashita Tachibana stood with her head bowed, the afternoon sun warm against the back of her neck.
The rumble of a car engine faded down the street—those men from the production company, finally gone. The air still carried the faint petroleum tang of exhaust mixed with cherry blossom petals drifting from a nearby tree.
She lifted her gaze to Riku, fingers twisting the hem of her fitted blazer.
"Riku-kun... everything you just said—was it true?"
Riku nodded once.
"Leave me your number. Someone will contact you later today with a contract. Are you busy? If not, stay home and rest. I'll have someone come by this evening to finalize the paperwork."
This evening.
Yamashita Tachibana's mind immediately wandered somewhere inappropriate.
Too conspicuous during the day, is that it? Of course—rich men always want to play these games at night. But if it's somewhere outside... that's so...
Am I really going to do something like this...?
Her pulse quickened. Under normal circumstances, she would never consider something like this.
But this neighbor of hers could genuinely offer one hundred million yen.
What right did she have to be picky?
"As long as I can get that hundred million..." she murmured, more to herself than to him. "I'll do anything."
Her slender fingers traced a slow path from her collarbone, down across the swell of her chest, settling at the curve of her hip. The gesture was deliberate—an offering wrapped in desperation.
"Riku-kun... this outfit I'm wearing... is it acceptable?"
Riku tilted his head slightly. He didn't entirely understand what she meant, but he nodded anyway.
"It's fine. You look quite beautiful, actually."
Yamashita Tachibana's cheeks flushed crimson.
I'm acting like such a... a loose woman.
The self-reproach burned behind her ribs. Before today, even drowning in debt, she'd only ever taken respectable part-time jobs. Tutoring. Convenience store shifts. Nothing like this.
But desperation had a way of rewriting principles.
"Alright," she breathed, smoothing down her skirt—the "sexy teacher" ensemble she'd prepared for those other men. "I'll wear this, then. But if you prefer something else, I have other costumes. Nurse uniforms. Cosplay from various anime—Evangelion, Fate, things like that. It used to be a hobby of mine..."
Speaking these words aloud made her face burn hotter.
Riku blinked. Since when did contract signings require special attire?
"That won't be necessary. What you're wearing is perfectly suitable."
Yamashita Tachibana whispered under her breath, barely audible: "So Riku-kun does prefer the mature look after all..."
Her cheeks remained flushed as she managed a small smile.
"Then... I'll be waiting for you at home."
Waiting for me?
Riku had somewhere else to be—Hirose Yoru's birthday party.
After exchanging contact information with Yamashita Tachibana and sending Yukigami Nahiro a message about drafting the talent contract, Riku departed from the apartment complex.
---
[Yukigami Nahiro's Temporary Office ]
Nahiro paused mid-scroll through financial documents when her phone buzzed.
A message from Riku.
「New talent contract needed. Base signing fee: ¥100,000,000. Handle it.」
She stared at the screen for a long moment, the glow reflecting off her glasses.
No questions asked. She began drafting immediately, fingers flying across her laptop keyboard with practiced efficiency.
One hundred million yen signing bonus...
Who exactly commands that kind of premium?
The cursor blinked patiently as she worked.
---
[Hirose Residence — Living Room — 3:34 PM]
The Hirose household buzzed with pre-party energy.
Streamers in pastel pink and lavender hung from the ceiling. A modest spread of finger foods covered the coffee table—tamagoyaki rolls, cucumber sandwiches, and an assortment of convenience store onigiri still in their wrappers. The scent of something savory—likely miso-glazed salmon—drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the artificial sweetness of air freshener.
Hirose Yoru stood in the center of the living room, two problems weighing heavily on her mind.
First: her birthday party guest list was small, but it included him.
She'd invited Satou Shirou—her boyfriend. His older sister, Satou Kiyo. And her best friend, Hazuki Uta
What Yoru didn't know was that Uta and Shirou shared a history. Childhood friends. Neighbors since elementary school. A connection Uta had never once mentioned at school.
Second: the debt.
Yesterday, Riku had paid off her family's entire burden. Just like that—millions of yen, erased with a briefcase.
The realization stirred something complicated in Yoru's chest. A chemical reaction she couldn't quite name.
After all, Satou Shirou—who constantly professed his love for her—had never spent more than the cost of a single rose.
Her gaze drifted toward the antique gramophone sitting in the corner of the living room.
Riku's gift. Three hundred thousand yen. A vintage model with brass fittings and a hand-carved mahogany base, exactly the kind she'd admired in that shop window months ago.
Maybe... back then... he really did just want to buy me something I loved.
The thought crept in uninvited.
"Yoru? What's wrong?"
A gentle touch on her shoulder snapped her back to reality. Her mother—Hirose Kaguya—stood beside her, apron dusted with flour, dark hair pinned loosely away from her elegant face.
"Yoru, what's on your mind?"
"Ah—!?"
Yoru blinked rapidly.
"What are you spacing out about, silly girl?" Kaguya smiled warmly. "Hurry and finish setting up. Your friends will be here soon."
Yoru nodded, pushing down the conflicting emotions.
It doesn't matter how my opinion of him changes. What happened in the library—that sealed it. He's scum. Absolute scum.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell chimed.
Yoru's heart leapt. She abandoned the half-tied ribbon bow and hurried toward the entrance, hoping—praying—it would be Shirou.
She pulled the door open.
Riku stood in the doorway.
His left hand held an elaborately decorated birthday cake—custom-ordered, three tiers, adorned with edible flowers and her name written in elegant script. His right arm cradled a stack of beautifully wrapped gift boxes.
"Yoru."
The smile drained from her face.
"...Scum."
She turned on her heel and retreated to the living room without another word.
"Good afternoon, Madam."
Riku greeted Kaguya with practiced ease as he stepped inside, removing his shoes at the genkan.
The moment Kaguya's eyes met his, memories of yesterday flooded back—the kitchen counter, his hands, the way he'd—
Her gaze darted away. A breathless "Mm" was all she managed before fleeing toward the kitchen, suddenly very invested in checking on the salmon.
Riku set the cake and gifts on the side table.
"The cake was ordered yesterday. And these—" he gestured to the wrapped boxes, "—are classical vinyl records. Vintage pressings. I thought you might appreciate them for the gramophone."
"Hmph."
Yoru's only response was a sharp exhale through her nose.
Privately, though? She did appreciate them.
He actually put thought into this. Damn him.
The gifts alone had cost Riku nearly five million yen—which meant the system had already calculated his rebate at close to thirty million.
With the presents delivered, Riku turned his attention toward the kitchen.
"Madam, cooking by yourself? Let me help."
Kaguya's body went rigid.
Help. In the kitchen. Like yesterday.
"R-Riku-kun, you're a guest today!" Her voice pitched slightly higher than normal. "There's no need—I can handle everything myself!"
Yoru, still adjusting decorations, didn't notice the pink creeping up her mother's neck.
Riku ignored the protest entirely and walked into the kitchen.
"You're working too hard alone, Madam. Allow me to assist."
Kaguya's mind raced. She needed her daughter gone.
"Yoru!" she called out, perhaps too quickly. "We're out of oyster sauce and vinegar. Could you run down to the convenience store?"
"Mm, okay."
Yoru dropped the streamer she'd been untangling and headed for the door, slipping into her outdoor shoes without a second thought.
The front door clicked shut.
Kaguya exhaled slowly, relief flooding her chest.
And then—
Two large hands cupped her breasts from behind.
"Nnh—!"
She gasped, spine going rigid against the sudden warmth of his chest pressing into her back. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, muskier—enveloped her.
"R-Riku-kun..." she whispered urgently, "not today—there are guests coming—"
His lips brushed the shell of her ear.
"I know." His voice was low, unhurried. "So I suppose you'll need to be quick, won't you, Madam?"
His hips pressed forward. The unmistakable heat and hardness of his arousal ground against the curve of her ass through the thin fabric of her dress.
Kaguya's breath hitched.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter—knuckles whitening.
Every rational thought screamed at her to stop this. Her daughter's friends would arrive any minute. This was insane.
But her body remembered yesterday too well. The way he'd stretched her open. The way he'd made her forget her own name.
Just once. Quickly. Before anyone arrives.
The word escaped her lips like a sigh of surrender.
"...Okay…"