Yūto Shō could practically see the moe Spring Goddess herself drifting toward him, light on her feet, presenting her pink, untouched figure like the climactic CG of some forbidden eroge. Cherry-blossom petals and shoujo sparkles haloed the scene — sacred, almost, the kind of illustration you couldn't tear your eyes away from.
Egawa Mitsuki only registered a sudden chill below. When her eyes snapped open, she saw him crouched between her thighs, fingers hooked into her safety shorts, yanking them clean to the side. That was where the cold air was coming from.
She let out a horror-movie shriek. "What are you doing?! Get off!"
By pure reflex she kicked at him, but with him kneeling square between her legs, the motion only ended up cinching her thighs around his waist like a Mortal Kombat finisher. Yūto Shō sucked in a sharp breath, mentally noting that if she actually meant it, those track-star legs would snap him in half like a Pocky stick.
He decided to drop the gentleman act and laughed under his breath. "What am I doing? Payback, obviously. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have gotten dragged in by the teacher, and you wouldn't have made me lick your feet. Talk about losing face — I had to cash in my dignity at the front desk."
Egawa Mitsuki's face cycled through every shade between crimson and chalk, before she finally balled her delicate fists in shame-fueled rage. "You lied to me!"
The realization landed like a JoJo gut-punch: she'd been played. Yūto Shō had just sworn not to touch her, and here he was, hands all over the forbidden zone. Clearly this was his villain arc the whole time, every promise a flag he was waiting to flip.
The truth was, Yūto Shō hadn't planned the bait-and-switch from the start. But his sense of smell was straight-up Levi Ackerman-tier abnormal — he had to inhale every private corner, and fabric in the way was a deal-breaker. He was already at the final boss; folding now wasn't an option. Treating Egawa Mitsuki like this was simply the only route left on the dialogue wheel.
Naturally, he wasn't about to explain any of that. Instead he leaned into the scumbag-protagonist voice acting, twisting the knife with practiced cruelty:
"Yeah, so what if I lied? Who told you to be such easy XP? And don't forget — you swung first, princess. I'm just countering. Imagine, getting bullied by a lowlife extra like me, having your most private parts ogled by trash tier. Must really sting that pride of yours."
Egawa Mitsuki nearly ground her molars to dust. "Beast!"
She cursed her own gullibility, the way every tsundere heroine eventually does when the bad-end route locks in. Snarling, she tried to scramble upright — but the second her waist lifted off the floor, Yūto Shō's palm slammed flat across her stomach.
He pinned her like a butterfly to a corkboard, his other hand still tugging her safety shorts aside, gaze scanning her with the appraising squint of a collector cataloguing a rare figure.
Her most humiliating territory was right there, on display, inches from his nose, studied like a museum exhibit. Egawa Mitsuki's composure shattered, and a despairing wail tore out of her: "Don't look! Please!"
Earlier, when he'd sniffed her neck, her armpits, even lapped at her feet, she hadn't snapped like this. She'd even felt that traitorous, inexplicable flutter when he knelt to kiss her toes — a full Bridgerton swoon she'd refused to acknowledge. But now, with her most shameful place under direct surveillance by a boy she'd written off as side-character trash, her emotional HP dropped to zero. The proud heiress was actually begging.
Drowning in shame, she did the only thing instinct allowed — she clamped her legs shut, scissoring them tight around Yūto Shō's waist. To block his line of sight, she even hooked her ankles behind his lower back, dragging his hips flush against hers, sealing the embarrassing spot beneath the press of his body.
Once she'd done it, Egawa Mitsuki exhaled in shaky relief — but the relief lasted half a second. Her expression cracked, eyes blowing wide as she stared at Yūto Shō directly above her, who was now wearing a pained grimace of his own.
They were that close. As an inexperienced virgin, Yūto Shō's corpus cavernosum had already gone full red alert, hard as a console controller and twice as twitchy. Now his lower body was crushed against hers, and he felt the floor tilt under him, dangerously close to a game-over screen of his own making. Every micro-shudder he made transmitted straight into Egawa Mitsuki through the contact.
The girl panicked. She wanted to release him, but exposing her shame again was unthinkable — classic dating-sim deadlock, no save point in sight.
Her face flickered through indecision. Seeing Yūto Shō's pained, teeth-gritted expression, she suddenly steeled herself, blushing furiously, biting down hard, and locking her thighs around him even tighter.
Yūto Shō gasped, feeling her pressed even closer. Virgins are sensitive, and accidents come fast. Another few seconds of grinding contact and he'd be staging an unscheduled costume change in the middle of school — no spare pants in his inventory.
"Let go of your legs!" he snapped.
Egawa Mitsuki's face burned scarlet. She said nothing, just turned her head away and stared pointedly at the floorboards, while her legs silently squeezed him a notch tighter, full passive-aggressive tsundere mode.
Yūto Shō's face went dark. Both hands shot down to grab her ankles, trying to pry them off his waist.
She felt him muster the strength and gritted her teeth, bracing to meet him head-on.
Every time Yūto Shō wrenched her legs apart even a centimeter, the girl, refusing to let her humiliation be witnessed again, threw every joule of strength back into re-locking his waist. It was a full-on stamina meter battle, no items allowed.
Yūto Shō was furious, and at the same time genuinely about to crit. After a long, controlled breath, he abandoned the ankle strategy and slid his palm instead toward the gap between her thighs.
"Aah—!" Egawa Mitsuki's whole body jolted like she'd grabbed a live wire, an electrified "hyaaa~" of shock escaping her lips. Her eyes rolled back, and the long legs cinched around Yūto Shō's waist suddenly went limp, sliding loose like silk ribbons cut from a present.
Tears beaded at the corners of her eyes, her gaze gone glossy and unfocused. She lay there on the floor, cheeks flushed apple-red, looking radiant in a way that should have been illegal — the kind of post-event CG you'd unlock and then sit there staring at for ten minutes.
Finally free, Yūto Shō collapsed onto his butt on the floor. He'd barely caught his breath when he looked up and saw the expression on her face — and felt something stab deep in his chest, an urge surging up to pounce and unload every drop of frustration directly into her.
His gaze drifted, dangerous and unsteady. After a long beat, Yūto Shō exhaled hard and shoved the restless thoughts back down into his mental basement.
This was the principal's office, and Egawa Mitsuki wasn't some random mob NPC. Going Light Yagami all over her now would torch the entire route. A girl who'd just lost her virginity — and forcibly at that — would carry visible damage, both physical and psychological. Someone would notice. Game over.
Besides, taking a girl by force was something Yūto Shō's own conscience hadn't leveled up enough to brute-force. Not yet.
But staring down at the gorgeous, dazed girl in front of him, lying to himself and saying he didn't want her was straight delusion. It was only rationality holding the leash. Once he could win her over properly — once the affection meter ticked into the green — he absolutely intended to taste exactly what flavor route Egawa Mitsuki was.
For now, the final objective: finish memorizing her scent.
Yūto Shō stood up and walked over to her. Egawa Mitsuki was still dazed, drifting somewhere in post-shock fog, and didn't register his approach. He didn't bother with formalities — grabbed both her ankles, pushed them up and out, folding her into a textbook M-shape, the kind of pose that lived exclusively in adult doujins.
Then Yūto Shō leaned in close, eyes narrowing, inhaled deep through his nose, and committed her scent to memory.
Egawa Mitsuki slowly clawed her way back to awareness. The moment she registered what he was doing, what position she was in, her gaze went hollow — and then shame crashed back in like a tidal wave. At the same time, the sensation of her most shameful place being studied that closely sent a fresh current arcing through her, body twitching uncontrollably, a thick, swelling discomfort blooming below.
The pressure climbed, climbed, until it finally broke. A startled, openly sweet moan slipped out of her — "Nnnhaaah~!" — high and thin and traitorous. Her delicate body shuddered, out of her control entirely, and a flood of heat surged from somewhere deep inside her, rushing forward like a dam giving way.