"Good, I'm relieved you'd say that—it feels reliable." Kagura rose with a smile, extending his hand to Yukino. "To a pleasant collaboration."
"Not 'pleasant collaboration.'" Yukino, mildly irked, reluctantly offered her right hand. "It's 'please take care of me,' isn't it?"
"Ah, right," Kagura said, gently clasping her fingertips with a slight bow. "Please take care of me. I'm entrusting this to you."
"Hm, good," Yukino replied, withdrawing her hand with a satisfied nod. "Then, starting tomorrow afternoon, come to the Service Club daily if you can. I need to mold you from scratch. Also—"
"Also…?"
"Girls don't dislike helpful boys. Since you'll be spending time here improving yourself, why not join the club outright?"
"Oh, that makes sense!" Kagura exclaimed, slamming his right fist into his open left palm. "Hand me an application."
Yukino swiftly retrieved an *Entry Application Form* from her bag, but as she moved to pass it, she froze—like a robot abruptly unplugged.
—No, no, I must keep my distance, or… oh no, my body's getting stranger. Down there, it's warm, wet… something's seeping out.
"Thanks."
Unnoticing, Kagura plucked the form from her grasp, sat, smoothed it on the table, and pulled a carbon pen from his bag. With swift strokes, he scrawled his full name, then handed it back with both hands.
"So, President, I'll leave it to you."
He grinned brightly.
"Uh… eh, alright, wel… welcome aboard."
Yukino accepted it stiffly, her face paling as if she'd just committed a colossal blunder, rubbing her temples in dismay.
"Thanks."
Kagura wondered: *Is she regretting my commission?*
But that wasn't it.
Yukino Yukino harbored a secret she buried deep.
Since their first meeting, she'd felt an oddity whenever gazing at or speaking with Kagura—her body reacted strangely.
How strangely? Profoundly so.
So strange that her private sanctum would moisten, secreting sticky, glistening fluids that soaked her underwear. Previously, she'd had to retreat to the restroom to wipe and replace them.
She'd initially feared some bizarre ailment.
Textbooks taught her such fluids lubricated intercourse—termed "love juices"—or emerged from self-arousal. Self-arousal meant masturbation, a concept she grasped but never practiced.
It mortified her, birthing a suspicion: *Kagura's done something nefarious to me.*
She harbored no desire for intimacy with him, yet the fluids defied her, seeping out unbidden.
What else but his meddling could explain it? Lacking proof, she endured in silence.
Once sown, suspicion rooted and sprouted. A year apart in Class F had been a reprieve—until he stumbled into the Service Club with a long-term request.
*What now…?*
She fretted inwardly, head throbbing.
Even now, her underwear clung with that sticky discomfort—more copious, rapid, and thick than ever, heightening her shame.
Thankfully, she'd brought a spare. She'd clean up in the restroom soon.
"Huff… huff…"
Yukino panted, cheeks tinged red.
"You alright?"
Kagura asked, concerned.
"N-no, I'm fine," she waved off, covering her mouth and pointing to the door. "Just a slight discomfort—happens often. That's all for today; please go."
—*Leave, or I'll unravel completely.*
"Oh, alright. See you tomorrow."
Unwilling to pry into a girl's private woes, Kagura slung his bag over his shoulder and departed.
"Take care. Tomorrow, then."
Yukino nodded faintly, not sitting.
Once he'd gone, she scanned for forgotten items—none—then hurried to the door, lips covered. She dragged stacked desks to block it, squatting to wedge the cardboard box beneath, sealing the rickety wood tight.
No one could push in now; even kicking would take effort. At Sobu High, such aggression was unthinkable. The back door, locked and obstructed, ensured safety.
*Swish—swish—*
She drew the curtains, cloaking the room in darkness.
Unfazed by ghost tales, solitude in gloom troubled her little—merely inconvenient.
*Click!* Her phone's flashlight pierced the dark, illuminating the massive bronze-edged mirror amid the clutter.
She kept this room pristine, mirror included.
Its spotless surface reflected a flushed, breathless girl.
"What's happening…?"
Yukino muttered, resentful and ashamed.
She couldn't reach the restroom—since Kagura's handshake, those humiliating fluids had gushed like a spring, trickling past her underwear to her inner thighs.
She dared not sit, lest her soaked panties stain her skirt. Spare underwear she had; a spare uniform, she didn't.
Phone in hand, she rummaged for tissues and her spare—white cotton like her current pair, edged with lace and a red bow.
Gritting her teeth, she glanced back, scanning with her light. Empty. Relieved, she wedged the phone behind the purple sofa, crouching to unwrap tissues. She wiped the frost-like trails from her thighs—left, right—trembling with each touch, nearly fainting from shame, yet pressing on.
One tissue, sodden with her secretions, piqued her curiosity. She sniffed—
"Ugh…"
Recoiling as if it were filth, she dropped it, then retrieved it, stuffing it into a white plastic bag.
—*Why such a vulgar scent…? I'm not that sort of girl!*
Helpless, she lifted her skirt by the sides, bending to hook her thumbs into her panties, easing them down slowly.
She felt the fluids stringing between her skin and fabric, snapping as she tugged.
"Ergh…"
Suppressing unease, she slid them past her knees, grabbing tissues to dab the drenched interior while in that humiliating pose. Freeing her feet, she bagged the soiled pair, knotting it tight and burying it in her bag's depths like a shameful relic.
Biting her lip, she held her skirt aloft with her left hand, right hand delicately wiping beneath with fresh tissue—eyes shut, relying on instinct.
"Woo!"
Today differed—Kagura's touch had hypersensitized her. Each graze near her thighs quivered her; her intimate core was worse.
A mere rub threatened to voice her shame.
Her tissue slipped, falling.
Bending to retrieve it, her exposed, slick sanctum cooled in the air, prompting her to clamp her legs.
Discarding the dropped tissue, she took another—but it, too, soon forced her to clutch the sofa, stifling gasps.
—*What… what is this? So strange… yet so pleasant. What's wrong with me?*
Doubting herself, she tossed the half-used tissue, grabbed a cushion, and flung it behind the sofa. Skirt hiked, she straddled it unladylike, legs splayed.
Biting down, she lifted her skirt again.
Unlike boys, inspecting herself required effort—typically a mirror. Here, the grand mirror sufficed.
Yet—
Seeing herself in it—legs spread, skirt up, face flushed—dizzied her with shame.
Not for depravity—she only sought to understand this anomaly.
A second's glance, and she dropped the skirt, covering her eyes.
—*Why must I endure this?*
Escape was futile; she needed clarity. After a mental struggle, she lifted it again.
Her lasered-smooth sanctum glistened, its oyster-like folds pulsing faintly, parting to spill clear droplets, closing slickly only to part again.
"Why… why this…?"
She whispered.
The tiny bead atop, usually veiled, now swelled brightly, asserting itself brazenly.
She knew it as her "clitoris"—a part for intimacy, not idle touch. A good girl, she'd never intended such use.
Normally pale with pink hints, her folds now flushed shallow pink, deeper within where they gaped, tinged red—humiliating yet unavoidable.
Thankfully, the flow had ebbed post-Kagura. Relieved, she wiped gingerly via the mirror.
One swipe… two… brushing that bead, she curled forward, a pitiful shrimp.
—*What's this? Why so… blissful? Am I ill? Will I die tomorrow?* Baffled, she skirted it, drying elsewhere, panting and dazed.
"Should be fine now…"
Pressing her fingertips to the folds' edges, she parted them gently—clean inside and out. Good.
But as she wiped her fingers and reached for the spare, she hesitated.
Biting her fingertip, eyes shut, she recalled that sensation.
…Captivating.
One more try wouldn't hurt, right? Her body, her secret—no trouble, no witnesses.
Her own little secret.
Not daring the mirror, she slipped her hand beneath her skirt, extinguished the flashlight, and caressed in darkness.
The folds' shape, wrinkles, the urinary nook, the intimate hollow, that crowning bead—each touch soothed, a magical ease, the bead most potent.
Her dry fingertip chafed, so she moistened it with her tongue, then returned, pressing softly, circling, tracing eights from her virgin depths to that joyous pearl—
"Something's… coming…"
Her body shrank forward, legs splaying, hips sinking.
The final wave crashed, forcing her to clamp her lips. Still, lewd whimpers escaped her nose, echoing in the dark, thrilling her blank mind.
She nearly sprawled, hips raised enticingly, fingers beneath, swaying with each surge, trembling with tears.
When it settled, guilt surged. Wiping her hand, she covered her face, kneeling before the mirror, then prostrated, forehead to cushion. "I'm sorry…"
She'd done it.
Masturbation *was* blissful.
But never again! This was the limit—an exception, a bodily inquiry. Unclean, sinful—good girls didn't.
Wiping tears, she hypnotized herself.
—*Crying from pleasure… too shameful!*
It took thirty minutes to compose herself, don the spare, and leave. Her first climax left her reeling, dazed on the walk home, bumping into an OL who chided her.
---
Back to Kagura.
He didn't return with Eriri and Qiong—only mornings shared a car.
Eriri, art club ace, lingered in her studio post-class, Qiong her ever-present maid and oft-model—perfectly natural.
Clubless, Kagura went straight home, no need to wait.
Messaging Nao, the driver, he detoured to the main building's restroom—old schoolhouse facilities were decrepit relics.
Relieved and washed, he emerged, only to hear Aki Tomoya's clamor. "Please, please! My life's plea—lend me a moment, I beg you!"
Aki groveled to someone, his desperation laughable.
*That fool still wants my music? Who does he think he is?*
Kagura's gaze soured, but he had no time for Aki—striding off.
Then—
"No interest. You're in my way."
Hayasaka's voice.
*What?* Kagura paused. *Aki knows Hayasaka?* Childhood ties via Eriri linked them—Aki had visited years ago—but Hayasaka donned a male guise then, "Smith A. Hashaka," black-haired and bespectacled.
Had her ruse failed? Unlikely—Aki hadn't returned since age ten.
Curious, Kagura backtracked, peeking from the stairwell.
Aki, a meter from Hayasaka, pleaded, hands clasped, hunched. Her golden locks gleamed, azure nails clutching her bag strap, face impassive, blue eyes cold, itching to bypass him.
"What's this…?"
Unclear, but Aki likely sought a chat over tea.
Unacceptable—his maid, courted by another?
Kagura rounded the corner, advancing.
Oblivious, Aki pressed, "Ten minutes!! Just ten—I'll regret it forever otherwise!"
"Your life's regrets mean nothing to me."
Spotting Kagura, Hayasaka's impatience spiked.
Though barred from casual school chats, she'd rather brush past him than tangle with this "one-time acquaintance."
It began in spring break.
A week before term, Kagura dispatched her to a trivial event. Minor to him, she upheld his honor—dressed exquisitely, chauffeured in her mother's Rolls-Royce. Done, she returned.
Near home, at Detective Slope, she halted the car.
Cherry blossoms bloomed too vibrantly to ignore. Stepping out, she admired the floral corridor.
A breeze stole her scarf, fluttering downslope.
Aki, cycling below, retrieved it, awestruck by the poised maiden descending from the car. He scrambled up, returning it.
Recognizing Eriri's old friend, she knew he couldn't place her—not as "Hashaka."
Back turned, she discarded the scarf and gloves into a bin—better lost than tainted by his touch.
Too petty to report, she told Kagura, "Lost gloves and a scarf—note the cost." He waved it off.
Yet Aki, smitten from that chance school sighting, pursued her, begging for Galgame talks—she cared not a whit!
*Slap!* Kagura's hand landed on Aki's shoulder.
"Who—can't you see I'm busy?"
Aki snapped back.
As he turned, Kagura's backhand struck, slamming him into the wall with a *thud*, dazed and gaping.
"Kag… Kagura?! Oh!! You'll compose for me?!"
Bloodied but undeterred, Aki pitched anew.
"I'm saying, can't you see she's fed up? That's not how you ask a girl out, idiot."
Avoiding Hayasaka's gaze—maintaining their "stranger" act—he loomed over Aki, tempted to kick.
"No, no, I surrender!!!"
Aki cowered, arms shielding.
"Ah…" Hayasaka half-covered her mouth, dipping to Kagura. "Sawamura, thanks for the assist."
Classmates for a year, names and faces aligned—publicly, at least.
"Small matter," Kagura waved, thumb jabbing at Aki. "You alright, Hayasaka? What's he after?"
"Oh, I'm fine… as for his aim…"
Her concise rundown mirrored a home report.
Understanding dawned—Kagura's disdain deepened.
*Him, a Galgame producer?* Strip the "game," ship him to Thailand—*Gal* suited him.
"In short, I've no interest now."
Hayasaka concluded to Aki.
Unspoken: *Even if I did, you'd not star me.*
Shrugging at Aki, Kagura quipped, "Jerk off and ditch the daydreams, kid."
"J-jerk—don't say that near my heroine!!" Aki wailed, hands to face.
Silently, Hayasaka lipped to Kagura: *[Lord Kagura, I want sweets—I want parfait.]*
Years honed his lip-reading to 99%. Her tea-talk rejection sparked a craving—sweets trumped all.
"Your heroine? Tch, you can't even snag her—some 'star.'" Kagura sneered, Hayasaka chuckling behind her hand.
"Show me up then!"
Aki pointed at her, a petulant *you-try*.
"Fine." Kagura turned, hand out. "Hayasaka, free now? Join me somewhere—there's a spot with great parfaits~"
"Oh… how kind, but I couldn't impose."
Her smile teased—feigned modesty.
—*Tch, you begged for it!*
Kagura grumbled inwardly.
"Ha! Even the 'Piano Prince' flops!" Aki crowed, but Hayasaka pivoted, "Still, after a year as classmates—now apart—and a rare invite, I'd hate to snub you. I'm free~"
"Tsk." Kagura smirked at Aki—"See?"
Aki petrified, muttering, "My heroine… don't cheapen yourself…"
"But about that Galgame—got a proposal?"
Mother and Eriri loved the genre—otaku through and through. Aki's spiel sparked an idea: a game for their next birthdays.
"Yeah, I wrote it!"
Aki nodded eagerly.
"Great," Kagura said to Hayasaka. "Shall we all sit?"
"Well… since Sawamura insists, sure~"
She agreed—where Kagura went, she followed; without him, no force could sway her.
Spring sun warmed Kagura's back as he strode beside Hayasaka out the gate, Aki trailing with his blue notebook, gazing at her graceful silhouette.
Her profile glowed in the window glass—a painter's serene masterpiece.
Seated alone, she faced Kagura across the table, flipping the menu like a fashion mag, eyes darting up and down.
Aki, left of Kagura, pressed his notebook down—never joining Hayasaka, upholding their "stranger" ruse.
"This is just Umeda Coffee off the school route—everyone knows it!"
Aki scanned the familiar decor, muttering behind his glasses.
*[Note: Original says "Kameda" Coffee—'Turtle Field'? Breaks immersion instantly.]*
"So? Their parfaits are solid." Kagura shrugged, gazing out.
"Not about taste—it's fraud!"
Aki clenched a fist, then relented.
"How's that?"
"You said 'a nice spot'—why this obvious place? Fraud!"
"It's *the* spot. No issue."
"No, huge issue! For my heroine, not some roadside joint!"
"No clue what you're on about." Spotting the waitress with the order pad, Kagura asked, "Hayasaka, decided?"
"Hm… mango parfait and Fusang beauty tea. You, Sawamura?"
She set the menu down, calm.
"Hokkaido milk ice cream and jasmine tea."
"Oh, I'll—" Aki began, but Kagura cut in, "Separate checks—he's on his own."
"Uh… okay."
The waitress wiped sweat, stifling a grin—two sweethearts and a tagalong, clear as day.
"Hey, you're not treating me?"
Aki griped.
"Did I say I would? Just Hayasaka."
"Argh, damn it!" Aki clutched his head, then ordered, "Cappuccino, thanks."
"Noted. Please wait."
The waitress bowed and left.
"Didn't peg you," Aki mused, sizing Kagura up, "for a guy who ditches bros for girls."
"Never said you're my bro."
"Male tsundere's got no appeal."
"Not tsundere—truth."
"Liar!"
Aki jolted.
"Let's see that proposal." Kagura snatched the notebook, flipped through, then asked, "Where's it at?"
"Here!" Aki opened to the "plan," pointing.
*[Heroine A (Name TBD), Main Heroine—Girl met on a cherry-blossom slope.
One day, the protagonist finds her lost ribbon.
Atop the slope, a lone ancient cherry tree blooms.
Cursed to live as its spirit, she's bound eternally.
As a child, he made her a promise…
Fulfilling it lifts the curse.
Then, she'll fade from all memory.]*
Reading the slapdash text, Kagura tore it out, crumpling it as Aki wailed, tossing it aside. "You call *this* a proposal?"
Hayasaka propped her cheek, staring out—unfazed.
Not just unfazed—utterly indifferent.
If Kagura pursued a Galgame, she'd join; if not, she'd abstain. His trashing Aki's treasure? Full support.
"My day's work!!"
"Cheap work, then."
Kagura ignored Aki's near-tears, ruthless.
"You didn't even show my heroine!"
"Show Hayasaka that drivel? I'd blush for you."
"Waaah—stop it!"
Amid Aki's meltdown, their orders arrived. "The parfait's great—thanks for the invite, Sawamura." Hayasaka spooned it, smiling faintly, hand to cheek. "No biggie—glad you like it."
He winked.
She nodded, ignoring it. Aki, deflated, sipped his now-bitter coffee. "Hayasaka, first time here?"
"With Sawamura, yes."
"With me too, right?"
"Well…"
She tilted her head, vague.
Kagura nearly laughed—*snap!*—Hayasaka's foot tapped his under the table. Her eyes flicked to the window.
Outside, Eriri glared, hand on hip—*Jerk brother, ditching home for this doll-faced ghoul?*
Invited in, she joined Hayasaka, briefed swiftly on Aki's Galgame dream.