The next school day arrived with a dry, suffocating heat.
The loud lunchtime bell rang across the campus. Zenjiro packed his dark blue bento box and walked out of the crowded classroom. He walked through the noisy corridors and stepped out the back doors of the main building.
He walked down the cracked concrete path toward the abandoned rear of the school. The rusted metal doors of the old gymnasium loomed ahead in the shadows. He reached the short flight of concrete stairs.
Asuka was already waiting for him.
She stood near the bottom step while holding a light blue picnic blanket in her hands. She shook the folded fabric out and laid it perfectly flat over the cold, dusty concrete. She sat down first and claimed the right side of the blanket.
Zenjiro walked over and sat down heavily on her left side. They left a few inches of empty space between them.
They ate their lunch together in complete silence.
The wind rustled the tall, overgrown weeds growing along the rusted chain-link fence. The thick brick stood directly in front of their position. The tall wall served a very specific purpose. It provided absolute privacy and completely blocked anyone from seeing them from the main campus grounds.
Zenjiro finished his cold rice. He snapped his plastic lunch box shut and set it aside on the concrete. He unscrewed the cap of his water tumbler.
He brought the plastic rim to his lips and tipped his head back. He drank the cold water slowly to soothe his incredibly dry throat.
While the cool liquid washed down his throat, a heavy, dark anticipation started playing rapidly inside his mind. He expected to touch her warm, soft thigh again today. The vivid memory of the intense heat radiating against his palm completely dominated his thoughts. He took a final, deep gulp of water.
He lowered the tumbler and stared straight ahead at the blank brick wall.
The wall protected them from the outside world. More specifically, it protected Asuka.
Using his peripheral vision to the right, Zenjiro observed her posture. She was behaving completely unlike a proper, polite high school lady. She sat on the picnic blanket with her legs spread entirely apart.
He could clearly see her pale left thigh exposed to the warm air. She swung her legs back and forth over the edge of the concrete step. Every single time she moved her knees, the dark fabric of her pleated skirt swayed heavily.
A highly specific, dirty thought formed in his head.
If I go down on the concrete right in front of her, I will have the absolute best view.
His tired mind mapped the exact physics of her dark uniform skirt.
Judging by the form of the fabric, the back side of the skirt is being pulled straight downward by gravity. It hung flat against the blue picnic blanket. Because she is spreading her legs so widely, the front of the skirt lifts upward and outward.
Zenjiro was now in his deep perverted thought.
That specific geometry means only one thing. Right down below the dark pleats, her exposed undergarment is completely visible from a low, frontal angle. The brick wall is the only thing stopping a random passerby from seeing her entirely exposed state.
His breathing grew shallow as he gripped the empty water tumbler tightly.
Beside him, Asuka dug into her canvas bag. The sharp click of a plastic lighter broke the quiet air. A small orange flame flared. She lit a thin white cigarette and took a long drag.
"Aren't you going to do something, Zenjiro-kun?" Asuka asked flatly.
She blew a stream of gray smoke up toward the overhang.
"I don't mind if you don't," she added. Her voice was completely cold. "It will be your loss."
Zenjiro treated the cold words as green light.
He lifted his right hand from his lap. His fingers trembled violently in the empty air. He moved his shaking palm directly toward her exposed left thigh, closing the short distance and pressed his hand entirely flat against her bare skin.
It is really warm.
The intense heat soaked straight into his nerve endings. A massive jolt of raw electricity shot all the way up his arm. He stared intently at his own hand resting on top of her thigh without moving his fingers. He just kept his palm firmly planted there.
Asuka did not look at him. She just dragged heavily on the cigarette and blew the toxic smoke into the wind.
The next day, lunchtime arrived again. They walked to the back of the old gymnasium. They sat on the blue picnic blanket. Zenjiro sat on her left side and placed his hand on her warm thigh.
The exact same routine happened on the fourth day.
The quiet, secluded lunchtime behind the rusted metal doors simply became their normal daily routine.
Inside the busy classroom, there were absolutely no rumors about their disappearances. The social dynamics of the school completely hid their dark secret.
The entire class knew that Zenjiro and Asuka had been close friends since their first year of high school. It was common knowledge that they shared history notes, talked occasionally between periods, and ate lunch together during early years in high school.
The other students just assumed they were still eating lunch together as normal, boring friends. Nobody suspected they were doing anything weird behind the old gymnasium.
A massive, invisible social barrier protected them. The class believed that a popular, high-tier girl like Shinohara Asuka would never do something inappropriate with someone like Zenjiro.
He had a fat, ugly face. He was unsocial and quiet. The brutal reality of his physical appearance provided the perfect camouflage. Nobody would ever imagine the school's prettiest girl offering her bare thigh to him as a payment.
Then, Friday came.
The heavy, suffocating heat of the week peaked. They sat on the concrete stairs. The blue picnic blanket rested under them. Zenjiro sat on the left side of Asuka, exactly the same as always.
His right hand rested firmly on the bare, pale skin of Asuka's left thigh. Asuka had placed her own left hand directly over the back of his right hand. It was the normal setting. Nothing changed.
Zenjiro felt the intense warmth coming from two entirely different directions. His right hand was completely sandwiched. He absorbed the burning heat of Asuka's bare left thigh directly against his palm. At the exact same time, he felt the heavy, radiating warmth of Asuka's left palm pressing firmly against his knuckles.
The double layer of physical contact was overwhelming. This happened in five straight days. But today will be a little bit different.
They sat in total silence. Asuka smoked her cigarette.
A dark, dangerous thought suddenly crossed Zenjiro's mind.
He looked at the thick, dark pleats of her uniform skirt resting just an inch away from his thumb. He had previously spent four straight days touching the exact same patch of skin. The repetitive contact was no longer enough. The starvation returned. He wanted more.
He suddenly felt a massive, violent urge to glide his right hand upward. He wanted to push his fingers entirely underneath the pleated skirt. He wanted to cross the boundary. He desperately needed to move his hand toward her forbidden territory.
He twitched his fingers, trying to slide his palm upward along her smooth skin.
But his right hand could not move.
He pushed a little harder. The muscles in his forearm tensed. He tried to drag his hand towards forbidden territory through sheer physical force.
It was completely stuck.
Zenjiro realized something crucial. He stopped struggling and analyzed the heavy pressure bearing down on his knuckles.
He was touching Asuka's thigh. It was incredibly warm. But Asuka was pressing his right hand down toward her leg with unrelenting strength.
He had initially thought the sandwich position was just a side effect of their close proximity. He thought feeling the warmth of that sandwich was a hundred times better than just touching her leg normally. He assumed the extra body heat from her left palm was just an added bonus to the daily transaction.
He was completely wrong.
Zenjiro now realized that the sandwich had a very specific, tactical purpose.
The sandwich was not designed to make him feel more warmth. It was absolutely not meant to please him or give him a better physical experience. It was actually quite the opposite.
Zenjiro realized that Asuka pressing his right hand down was entirely a defensive maneuver. She was using her left hand to forcefully restrict his movement.
Sitting on the right side of the blanket, Asuka took a short drag of her cigarette. She kept her left arm locked entirely rigid. She pushed her palm heavily into Albert's knuckles.
She remembered the cold afternoon weeks ago. She remembered the exact moment she had rejected Zenjiro's love confession. She remembered demanding him to touch her thigh to seal their dirty contract.
More importantly, she remembered his violent reaction. She recalled how his right hand had suddenly glided upward, pushing dangerously close to the 'off-limits' area underneath her skirt before she managed to grab his wrist and stop him.
That terrifying memory dictated her current actions. That was exactly why Asuka locked Zenjiro's hand onto her left thigh using her own left hand. She clamped him down so that his fingers could not move any further. She gave him absolutely no chance of gliding toward her forbidden territory.
A few seconds ago, Asuka had felt the sudden, slight movement of Zenjiro's right hand under her palm. She felt his muscles tense. She knew exactly what Zenjiro was trying to do. He wanted to glide toward the off-limit area again.
But Zenjiro's hand could not move. Her left thigh and her left hand locked it down completely. Zenjiro was trapped.
That is absolutely off limits.
The thought ran cold and clear through Asuka's mind. She stared at the gray smoke drifting away into the wind.
I cannot let him slip there again. Boys are boys. They have their weakness. They always want more than what they are given. They cannot control their dirty urges. That is exactly why I have been pressing my left palm against his right hand since the first day of this lunch routine. I have to control him.
Asuka pressed his right hand with even more pressure. She restricted him with enough physical force to make any forward movement completely impossible without a violent struggle.
A few seconds later, the resistance died. The violent reaction of Zenjiro's right hand completely stopped. He surrendered to the heavy lock and let his hand rest limp and motionless against her thigh.
Asuka sighed quietly.
She brought the thin white cigarette to her lips. She took a massive, deep drag. The cherry burned bright red.
She turned her head to the left, facing Zenjiro directly.
She opened her mouth and blew the thick, gray smoke directly into his face.
The toxic cloud washed entirely over Zenjiro's features. The bitter, burning scent of ash and tobacco filled his nose. The smoke stung his eyes.
Zenjiro did not cough, wave his free hand to clear the air, or turn his head away in disgust.
He just sat perfectly still. Looking directly through the fading gray haze, he stared straight at her flawless, cold face as his right hand remained heavily sandwiched on her bare leg.
He opened his mouth.
"Give me one," Zenjiro said. His voice was completely flat and dry.
Asuka stopped moving. The cigarette hovered an inch away from her lips. She blinked in pure confusion.
"Give what?" Asuka asked.
Zenjiro kept his dark eyes locked firmly onto hers.
"Pass me a stick," Zenjiro demanded quietly.
Asuka's bright eyes widened completely.