Kagura had etched Ai Hayasaka's birthday into his memory with unwavering precision, yet the irony of overlooking the preceding April Fool's Day eluded him. Meanwhile, Hayasaka, in her haste to cloak a confession beneath a veil of jest, had let slip that the day following the prank was her own natal celebration.
Her eyes brimmed with astonishment, prompting Kagura to muse inwardly: *This twist of fate is akin to the Gift of the Magi—a serendipitous misalignment.*
Peeling away her mask and wiping her face, Hayasaka stifled tears as she unveiled the box Kagura bestowed upon her.
Nestled within lay an opulent necklace, a harmonious blend of white crystal and gold—slender yet resplendent, perfectly suited to her taste.
This was no haphazard trinket; it was the very piece she had once coveted in a LINE post, evidence that Kagura had not merely purchased a bauble but had attentively traced her desires.
—*This young master… he's unexpectedly adept!*
Yet her facade demanded upkeep. With a sharp *snap*, she closed the box, feigning displeasure as she intoned, "Lord Kagura, there's no need to lavish such costly adornments upon a maid. I earn my own wages and can procure what I need. Such gifts are reserved for a beloved lady, not me."
"Tch," Kagura teased, tugging gently at her upturned lips. "Your smile betrays you—those words lack conviction! Besides, don't you know who I cherish?"
"Hmph, how could I?" Hayasaka retorted, swatting his hand away with secret glee. Turning aside, she grinned, reopening the box. "Well… for a former novice, you've passed muster—barely."
With that, she thrust the box back to him. "Hold this."
"Oh… wait, you don't want it?"
Kagura faltered, a flicker of panic in his voice.
"Fool—" Hayasaka gathered her cascading locks, baring her ivory nape as she glanced back. "I praised you but a moment ago, and already you falter. So lacking in finesse! I meant for you to fasten it on me."
"Cough…"
Extracting the necklace, Kagura tossed the box onto her bed, unclasping it with care. Encircling her neck from behind, he secured it tenderly.
Hayasaka pivoted gracefully to face him, her right hand grazing her chest as she blinked. "Does it suit me?"
"A perfect harmony."
Kagura nodded, thumbs-up in hearty approval.
"…" A flush of joy warmed her cheeks. Cupping her face briefly, she regained composure, then pressed her hands to her abdomen and bowed deeply. "My deepest gratitude for recalling my birthday and preparing this gift. I, Ai Hayasaka, vow to follow you eternally, unto life's end."
In a maid's gown, she might have curtsied, skirt in hand—but a bow sufficed here. "Even beyond life's end," Kagura murmured, eyes moist as he tousled her hair, "you'll be mine in the next life, and every life thereafter."
"…"
She nodded subtly, wordless.
Then, flushed with bashfulness, she ushered him out, pushing his back. Pointing to the bed, she declared, "Lord Kagura, it's time for repose. Good night!"
With a *bang*, she shut the door.
"Hahahaha…"
Kagura lingered, then erupted in hearty laughter. Hayasaka, pressed against her door, clutched her chest, her face aflame as her heart thundered—*thump, thump, thump.*
—*Oh no, oh no… Ai Hayasaka, you've fallen utterly to Young Master Kagura! You lovesick fool!* Chastising herself, she dove onto her bed, rolling with her pillow. —*Mortifying, mortifying… I could die of shame!*
As for Kagura, his desires sated, he reclined in contented exhaustion—the natural bliss of lovers' communion—drifting swiftly into slumber.
He'd anticipated Hayasaka's usual morning rousing, but today she greeted him with a tender bite instead. Perplexed after his release, he asked, "What's this? Your cycle?"
"No…" Swallowing, she fidgeted with her skirt hem, muttering, "It's your fault, you insatiable hound. You filled me so thoroughly yesterday—I scrubbed meticulously, yet traces remain. You could taste me, if you like… though you might sample your own essence."
"…I'll pass."
Kagura harbored no aversion to Hayasaka, but relishing his own residue was beyond him. With a knowing smirk, she shrugged. "Since you've released, rise and dress."
Soon, he bathed, breakfasted, and joined Eriri and Qiong in the car to school.
In a fleeting glance, he mistook Eriri for Hayasaka in yesterday's cosplay guise, instinctively clasping her thigh where sock met skin.
Eriri froze, then swiveled, glaring. "Huh?"—her look screaming, *Idiot brother, why grope me?*
"Er… what am I doing?"
He squeezed absently, locking eyes in bewilderment.
*Slap!* Eriri's hand cracked across his cheek, blushing as she swatted him away, stammering, "Y-you, blatantly fondling your sister in the car?! Mad? Deranged? Die, fool!"
"…"
Rubbing his stinging cheek, Kagura rolled his eyes in silence.
Habit was a perilous thing—he must take care. Hayasaka's masquerade wasn't his true sister; a brother couldn't lust after kin… no, he mustn't.
Catching Qiong's sidelong glance, their eyes met. She huffed, turning to the window. "Don't look at me—it's not my concern. My legs aren't for you."
—*Indeed, not willingly… but you could command me, Lord Kagura.*
"…I didn't even say anything."
Shrugging, he nursed his face and settled in.
"Lord Kagura, a bounty awaits—"
"Begone, skip it."
Smarting from his sister's rebuke—a deserved blow—his temper flared. "Bounty skipped. You've received [A Girl's Little Secret]."
Recalling the item—revealing a maiden's self-indulgent tally since birth—he smirked. Yesterday, Eriri's count was 3,921. *Goodness, my sister's a veritable vixen.*
A repeat tool, the system spared further ado, returning his focus.
Chin in hand, he eyed Qiong, then Eriri, and the driver, Nao. Whom to probe next?
Having tested Eriri, perhaps Qiong? Yet he paused—today's mission was Yukino, his prime matrimonial prospect.
Later, he'd unveil Yukino's tally. Surely even that icy pinnacle indulged in secret delights—he eagerly awaited the number.
At school, he parted from Eriri and Qiong, striding to Class F. A year with Yukino had yielded fewer than ten words; his gaze then fixed solely on Hayasaka.
"Morning, Sawamura."
His front-seat neighbor—a girl with a charming bob—turned to greet him.
Her name… despite yesterday's introductions, eluded him. Something "Megumi"—Hayabara? Fujiwara? Kaga? Bah, a blur! Japanese surnames were a headache.
Clad in a uniform akin to Hayasaka's—black-gray plaid skirt, knee-high socks, standard shoes—her figure, though not voluptuous, surpassed Hayasaka's in gentle curves. Her porcelain skin, distinct from Hayasaka's Western pallor, exuded a soothing purity. Cute, yet forgettable after a glance.
"Oh… morning."
Unsure of her surname, he omitted it.
Unperturbed, she nodded, smiling as she turned away.
Mulling her name, he heard the rear desk's occupant drop his bag and sit. Turning amiably, Kagura chirped, "Morning!"
"Oh… huh?" The boy glanced around, confirming the greeting, then grinned awkwardly. "Good morning…?"
—*Blast, he's chummy like an American—tripped me into English! Wait, his father's British, isn't he?*
"Hahaha, Good Morning."
Kagura replied in crisp London tones.
Thankfully, his father's English lingered—odd for a Brit who spoke only Japanese at home. Eriri, half-British, mangled English worse than Kagura's intimate exploits with Hayasaka—a travesty that baffled her teachers.
This rear-seat lad amused him. English from fear of miscommunication? Who'd live in Japan a decade-plus and not grasp the tongue?
"I'm Sawamura Spencer Kagura," he offered, extending a hand. "Pleased to meet you." A handshake diverged from Japanese bows, but it was universal enough.
The boy clasped it, scratching his head. "Oh… I know you. I'm Hachiman Hikigaya. Likewise."
Kagura was a school luminary.
Beyond campus, his fame spanned Chiba, Japan, the world—bolstered by lineage and his Chopin triumph at fifteen, catapulting him to renown. Subsequent compositions—*Dreams of the Galaxy*, *Irish Lover*, *Summer*, *Maid's Skirt*—echoed globally, the latter a mandated exam piece, much to Hayasaka's chagrin. Inspired by her ecstatic forms, they were, to her, lascivious anthems of mortification.
"I was in Class J all first year—didn't know others. Shall we exchange contacts?"
Brandishing his latest phone, he waved it at Hikigaya.
"Oh…" Hikigaya handed over his own. "Input yours."
"Bold, just passing it off like that."
"Nothing shameful in it."
Hikigaya shrugged nonchalantly.
"Admirable candor."
Kagura entered his details, passing his unlocked phone in turn. As Hikigaya typed, he mused, "Class J's the international track, right? No reshuffling—why'd you land in F?"
Returning the device, he tilted his head.
"Er…"
Kagura glanced upward, recalling his shift.
"Too many girls—over ninety percent. Constant chatter—irksome." He shrugged.
"…"
Hikigaya's face screamed, *Die, you privileged pest*, lips twitching.
Indeed, that was his motive—Yukino among the rare few who never pestered him, alongside Eriri, Qiong, and Hayasaka.
Thus, Yukino was his first mark.
"Oh, don't call me 'Sawamura'—I prefer 'Kagura.' Use that."
Patting Hikigaya's shoulder, he beamed.
"Cough… alright, Kagura."
Hikigaya cleared his throat, formal.
"Why so stiff? Fine, I'll call you Hachiman~"
"Oh, oh!!"
Hikigaya nodded eagerly—Kagura puzzled at his zeal. Turning to tap the girl ahead for her contact, the teacher's arrival curtailed him.
Kirisu Mafuyu, hair a fetching peach-pink, donned a deep purple suit. Her silken-stockinged legs stood firm, calves slightly parted, burgundy heels subtly splayed. Surveying the room sternly, she announced, "Good. Roll call."
Kagura noted names—Ebina Hina, a bespectacled enigma by the window; Hayama Hayato, a golden-haired charmer further back (Kagura deemed himself his equal, enhanced by musical laurels); Miura Yumiko, a regal blonde beside him, legs striking; and others like Tobe and Ooka.
When "Kato Megumi" was called, the girl ahead softly replied, "Here!"
Ah, Kato Megumi—not Hayabara or Fujiwara. Embarrassing—he'd nearly blundered aloud.
Memorizing it, class commenced.
By noon, yesterday's exertions drowsed him. "System, check-in."
"Check-in successful."
Instantly invigorated, he felt primed for five hundred more rounds with Hayasaka.
Lessons stretched to 3:50—dismissal bell. Japan's late starts and early ends tied to its clime—in Chiba, winter darkened by four, summer dawned at four—a jarring rhythm for the unaccustomed.
Kato slipped away before he could swap contacts. Packing leisurely, he slung his bag, nodded "Good effort" to Hikigaya, and exited via the rear.
As yesterday, he ascended the creaking old schoolhouse stairs to the fifth floor's endmost room.
Pausing, he pondered—Mai-senpai or Yukino today?
He favored Yukino—her unique aura from their J-class year outshone Mai's quirky delusions. Yukino first.
*Knock, knock*—a firm rap.
One second, two—no reply.
Again—silence.
Irritated, he grumbled inwardly, *Two days of futility? Is she诸葛亮, demanding three visits?*
Resolute, he pushed inside.
The aged locks, broken or keyless, yielded easily.
A maiden read beneath the westering sun.
The scene, a painting—her poise suggesting she'd persist even at world's end.
Yet all was illusion!
Kagura recalled Hayasaka's adage: *Every girl succumbs to 'kuri's' delight.*
"Kuri"—chestnut—doubled as shorthand for a maiden's sensitive pearl.
Thus, her maxim: *No girl resists self-pleasure's allure.* And Kagura wielded [A Girl's Little Secret], poised to tally Yukino's indulgences—perhaps beyond her own reckoning.
"…?" Stirred by the door, Yukino glanced up, lingering briefly before frowning coldly. "Sawamura, do you relish barging in unbidden?"
A year's acquaintance ensured she knew him—yet he *had* knocked! Her focus had deafened her.
Gazing at her, he thought, *Yukino Yukino, a girl's little secret.*
He'd strip her saintly veneer, exposing the torrid essence beneath her icy grace.
Instantly, a pink heart—visible only to him—sprang above her brow, its tally: 0.
Zero.
Yukino Yukino, from birth to now, had never once indulged.
Kagura blinked, doubting his sight, staring fiercely.
No shift—zero remained zero, not one, not a thousand.
*Blast, such willpower?!* To halt a lad's urges might demand excision—though even then, other means persisted. Hayasaka's maxim faltered; Yukino bowed not to pleasure.
Soon, the heart vanished—disposable tool spent. "Don't stand gawking—sit, perhaps?"
Seeing his stupor, Yukino gestured to the sofa opposite.
Nodding, he surveyed the derelict room.
To his left, a knee-high carton brimmed with oddities—soccer balls, rattles, ropes. Right, two stacked desks, weathered but serviceable, bore useless relics, including an ancient gramophone of dubious function.
A narrow path led left to a plush purple sofa—its make unclear, its touch divine—where Yukino sat, a noble awaiting a troubadour. Opposite, a less comely twin flanked a wooden tea table. Right stood a venerable oak desk; beyond, a wall-bound bookshelf overflowed with literary tomes.
At the rear, amid clutter, loomed the bronze-edged mirror, inescapable from any angle.
Settling opposite, the sofa groaned beneath him.
"…" Yukino closed her black-cat-clad paperback, resting it on her knee-length skirt, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. Calmly, she inquired, "State your purpose."
Guilt pricked Kagura—he'd presumed her akin to Eriri, a clandestine reveler, only to find her unblemished. A wrongful slight.
"Purpose… cough—"
What *was* it?
To woo Yukino, secure her heart, wed her swiftly—freeing him from parental sway and an unwanted betrothal to the hapless Shiina Mashiro.
Her null tally confirmed her as a paragon—snow-buried, pristine as her name. Lovely, yet untouchable, a yearning confined to the soul.
Blurting, "Be my wife," would see him ejected forthwith. "Perhaps, Sawamura, you've no real aim—merely pining for J-class days, drawn to me in the Service Club?"
Yukino mused, chin in hand, as if it were obvious.
Her legs shifted uneasily, a whisper within: *Indeed, he's odd… I sensed it in class. Barely spoke then; now alone, it's magnified. Why does facing him unsettle me so?*
"???"
*Such conceit?* Raised amid a coastal manor's feminine throng—fifty maids, mostly youthful beauties—he'd frolicked beneath their skirts in youth, a noble's game outgrown.
Did she deem him a lecher, spellbound by beauty? Her words doused his nascent remorse.
"If you've naught to say, depart. I'm no wax figure for your leisurely scrutiny."
She gestured to the door, shrugging.
—*He must go, or… with him, I'll falter strangely.*
Frowning, Kagura leaned back. "I've just arrived—my seat's yet warm—and you'd oust me? Harsh."
"Then state your intent. I loathe repeating myself—thrice is too much. I abhor fruitless talk." Impatience edged her tone.
Recalling yesterday's mirror-gazing Mai and Hayasaka's tales, he snapped his fingers. "I'm probing Sobu High's Seven Mysteries—consulting your 'catch-all' expertise. Any insights?"
"This isn't a 'catch-all'—it's the Service Club. Know the distinction."
"What's the difference? Both take tasks, don't they?"
"A catch-all solves; we teach solutions—empowering the inept, enlightening the ignorant, humbling the rude. If that eludes you, this ends."
"Er… I grasp it."
He stifled a laugh—her pompous Service Club echoed a selfless exemplar like Lei Feng, aid sans reward.
"Then good. Explaining further would tax my patience—I've no first-grade primers to tutor you from scratch."
"What, my literacy's first-grade to you?"
"Perhaps… second?" She appraised him, chin in hand.
He rolled his eyes grandly.
"Regarding your query," she shifted uncomfortably, coughing lightly, "those 'mysteries' merit no study—just banal school lore. Anything else? If not, go."
"A sentence to dismiss me?" Recalling Mai, he pressed, "Have you met the third-year, Senpai Mai?"
"I know of her, but we've scarcely crossed paths. Why—does she tie to your mysteries?"
"You've *never* heard the school's tales?"
He stared, incredulous.
Even he, socially aloof, knew two—including Mai's spectral namesake from forty years past. Yukino seemed oblivious.
"No… so?" She shrugged dismissively. "Why mimic the vulgar, prattling of ghosts and curses—mere psychological shadows, not real."
"You…"
Words failed him—how to define her?
"Well, that's me. I'm Yukino Yukino—use my name. If that's all, leave."
"Do I repel you?"
Her oddity nagged him—indefinable, as if she yearned to shoo him for some clandestine act.
"No—your self-regard's inflated."
"I'd say yours is."
Her glare sharpened, a soft *slap* on her book. "Is that all, then?"
"No, one vital matter remains." Earnestly, he met her gaze. She exhaled, nodding. "Speak."
"First, what's your club's task duration?"
"Duration…?"
"If a task stumps you, do you abandon it after a week, a month?"
"Abandon?" Eyebrow arched, she snapped, "Never. If hope persists, I'll strive to the end—near-infinite, perhaps until graduation."
"Until graduation," he nodded gravely. "I've a lifelong commission—due September, second term's start."
"Details—?"
She straightened, hands on her book, legs primly aligned, tilting left.
"Confidentiality first."
"Assured—even under duress, I'd guard a client's secrets."
"Cough—no torture involved!" He continued, "In September, my fiancée arrives in Japan. I've no wish to wed her, yet defying my parents is hard. I seek a willing lady to marry me beforehand, filing with the government."
Yukino's nose twitched, eyes flickering. Pressing her book, she said, "I see no role for me."
"The commission: teach me to win a girl's true love and consent to marry."
"…"
Rubbing her temples, she bowed her head—a daunting charge.
Kagura, a romantic novice—overworked in a past life, bound to Hayasaka's lifelong devotion alone—found other admirers mere starstruck trifles. True love eluded him.
Rather than flail blindly, why not enlist this self-styled aide-de-camp, Yukino?
Lacking experience, her counsel would reflect her own tastes—revealing her heart, easing their bond. Then, a confession—*I wish to wed you*—might triumph.
A seventeen-year-old maiden, untouched by self-indulgence—a rare gem in Japan. "This commission…"
Standing, she glanced at the sunset, then him.
"No confidence to take it?"
"Hardly," she chuckled, hand to chest. "I, Yukino Yukino, accept."
"Good. What must I do?"
"Hmm," she pondered, then smiled, hand to heart. "Begin with yourself—transform until… until I feel a flicker of affection. If I waver, your chosen lady will surely fall."
"…"
Her narcissism knew no bounds!
Rephrased, a master to a disciple: *Surpass me, and no foe shall stand.*
Posing as a lofty sage, she faced the dusk, hands clasped, a caged canary awaiting her match.
"Even if you're unmoved, my admirers stretch from Kyushu to Hokkaido."
"Is that the 'love' you seek?"
Piercing his gaze, she countered, "Mere idol worship—enamored of the 'Piano Prince.' If that suffices, why seek me? To boast your charm? I disappoint—I've been adorable since childhood, still am, pursued by most men I meet."
A riposte of her own.
Yet Kagura rejoiced—she'd echoed his test. He'd probed, not truly valuing such fawning, and her disdain aligned them.
A nascent accord—splendid.