Hozuki Nozomi ran off after the kiss.
Kirisu Mafuyu had much more to consider.
She stood frozen in the empty corridor, one hand pressed to her cheek where the warmth of his lips still lingered—soft, fleeting, deliberately placed. The sensation refused to fade. Her fingertips traced the spot unconsciously, as if confirming the contact had been real.
That boy... he actually...
Her heartbeat hadn't settled. Each thump echoed too loudly in her ears, drowning out the distant clatter of club activities and after-school chatter drifting through open windows.
Kirisu Mafuyu's mood was incredibly complex.
She wasn't an idiot. Hozuki Nozomi, this troublesome student who somehow kept finding excuses to be near her, had looked at her with those hot, lecherous eyes. The way his gaze had traveled—lingering on her lips, dropping to the swell of her chest beneath her blouse, drinking in the shape of her hips like he was memorizing her. And then he'd seized the moment, pressing his mouth to her cheek with a boldness that made her stomach flip.
He clearly isn't satisfied with his other girlfriends and is making a move on me.
The realization should have sparked outrage. Instead, it sent a strange flutter through her abdomen—something warm and unwelcome pooling low.
No. I have to teach him a proper lesson.
This was wrong. Absolutely, categorically wrong.
However... how should she teach him a lesson?
Kirisu Mafuyu pressed her palm harder against her cheek, feeling the heat bloom beneath her fingers. The ghost of sandalwood cologne—his cologne—still clung to her senses from how close he'd stood.
I need to be stern. Establish boundaries. Make him understand that a teacher and student—
But her thoughts kept circling back to the phantom pressure of his lips. The quick, stolen intimacy of it.
A headache began pounding behind her temples.
---
Hozuki Nozomi returned to Sakurasou feeling refreshed.
The evening air carried the faint sweetness of cherry blossoms still clinging to their branches, mixing with the savory aroma of Nanami's cooking drifting from the kitchen. He inhaled deeply, satisfaction spreading through his chest.
After dinner—a lively affair of overlapping conversations and Misaki's theatrical complaints about her deadline—he retreated to his room.
He had just settled onto his bed, scrolling lazily through his phone, when the door whispered open.
Shiina Mashiro slipped inside without announcement. Her bare feet made no sound against the wooden floor.
"Nozomi. Panties."
Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact, as though discussing the weather.
"Uh..." He looked up at her. The light cotton dress she wore—pale blue with tiny white flowers—hung loose on her slender frame. The fabric was thin enough that when she shifted, he caught glimpses of creamy skin at her collarbones, the subtle shadow of her cleavage where the neckline dipped. The hem barely grazed mid-thigh, and as she moved closer, the material lifted just enough to flash the pale curve of her upper leg.
He swallowed.
"Do you want me to pick them for you?"
The distinction blurred when she looked at him with those luminous golden eyes, empty of guile yet somehow knowing.
Shiina Mashiro didn't answer. Instead, she crossed the remaining distance and twisted her slender waist, settling directly onto his lap. Her slight weight pressed against his thighs, her bottom nestling into the cradle of his hips with a naturalness that made his breath hitch. Through the thin fabric of her dress, he felt the warmth of her body—the soft give of her backside, the smooth skin of her bare thighs against his sweatpants.
"Rita's picks today aren't pretty," she complained, a rare hint of resentment coloring her monotone.
She smells like lavender and fresh linen. The scent surrounded him as her silver-blonde hair brushed his chin. She shifted slightly, adjusting herself on his lap, and the friction sent a spark straight to his groin.
Dangerous.
"Alright, alright."Nozomi slid his hands beneath her arms and lifted her, cradling the adorable girl against his chest as he stood. "Let's go pick something you like."
Her room smelled of oil paints and that same clean lavender. He set her on the edge of her bed and crouched before her dresser, rifling through delicate fabrics—cotton, lace, silk in whites and pastels. Mashiro watched him with unblinking intensity, her legs dangling, the dress riding up her thighs.
He selected a modest pair in soft cream—simple, comfortable, with a tiny bow at the front.
"These?"
She tilted her head, considering, then nodded.
When it came time to sleep, the clingy Shiina Mashiro naturally stuck to him.
They lay tangled in his sheets, her head on his chest, her leg thrown over his hip. Her breathing was slow and even within minutes, but sleep came slower for him. Her body was warm, impossibly soft, her small breasts pressed against his ribs through her nightshirt.
Shiina Mahiru—the sharper consciousness that surfaced at times—stirred behind those closed eyes, observing from within.
This girl shouldn't be called Mashiro. She should be called "Shameless."
Sometimes, Mashiro's naivety could really be a headache. The way she crawled into his bed without hesitation, pressed herself against him without understanding the effect, squirmed in her sleep until her thigh brushed places that made his jaw clench.
Fortunately, we've taught her well. At least she won't be taken advantage of by strangers.
It was fine to relax a bit at Sakurasou. Among people who loved her.
Hozuki Nozomi's bed was as warm as ever.
The atmosphere at Sakurasou was as good as ever.
---
The next day.
Morning light spilled through the windows of Classroom -F, catching motes of dust in golden beams. The air smelled of chalk dust and the lingering sweetness of someone's melon bread breakfast.
As soon as Hozuki Nozomi crossed the threshold, the chattering, lively classmates instantly quieted.
Especially the boys.
They all stared at him with murderous, extremely wary eyes—shoulders tense, jaws tight, like wolves guarding a fresh kill.
"Uh... Hachiman?" He approached Hikigaya Hachiman's desk, where the boy slouched in his characteristic dead-fish posture. "What happened? Why is everyone looking at me like that?"
Hachiman Hikigaya snorted, his tired eyes narrowing. "Unless you swear not to make a move on my Komachi, I won't tell you."
This guy and his sister complex...
Hearing this, Hozuki Nozomi pouted and decisively walked past him.
"Stingy."
If Hachiman wouldn't tell him, he could always ask Mahiru, Yumiko, or the others.
Returning to his seat—second row from the window, where morning light warmed his desk—he immediately turned to Shiina Mahiru beside him. Her golden eyes met his, a knowing smile already curving her pink lips.
"Mahiru, did something happen? Why are the boys looking at me with hostile eyes again?"
Shiina Mahiru smiled helplessly, tucking a strand of silver-blonde hair behind her ear. The motion was graceful, practiced, and it drew his attention to the elegant line of her neck.
"Isn't it because of your succubus title?" she said, her voice soft with amusement.
"It's said that another beautiful girl with a great figure and stunning looks transferred today. The boys are afraid you'll make a move again, so they're all wary of you."
"Oh?" Hozuki Nozomi's eyebrows rose. "A beautiful transfer student? Where is she?"
He showed an intrigued expression.
Generally speaking, beautiful transfer students were always heroines.
Shiina Mahiru gave him a resentful look, her lower lip pushing out in a subtle pout.
There are already enough sisters. Aren't you satisfied yet?
However, despite her resentment, Mahiru still doted on her man. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, signaling him to look toward the door.
"Look, she's already here. Coincidentally, she's in our class."
Hozuki Nozomi turned.
And felt energy surge through him like electricity.
Hiratsuka Shizuka strode in, her white lab coat swishing with each confident step. The click of her heels silenced the remaining whispers instantly. She planted herself at the podium, one hand on her hip, her sharp gaze sweeping the room.
Teacher Shizuka's deterrent power was still very strong.
The classmates became well-behaved, sitting straighter, conversations dying mid-sentence.
"Good. Very good." Hiratsuka Shizuka nodded with satisfaction, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.
"Class, today we have a new transfer student in our class. Please get along well with her." She glanced toward the door. "Alright, come in, Kujou."
Every head turned.
A stunningly beautiful girl stepped through the doorway, moving with the measured grace of someone accustomed to being watched.
Her hair drew the eye first—silver strands that caught the fluorescent light and transformed it into something luminous, like moonlight given form. It fell past her shoulders in soft waves, adorned only by a crimson bow tied at one side, the deep red stark against all that pale shimmer.
Her skin was porcelain-fair, almost translucent, with none of the sun-kissed warmth common to Japanese complexions. Delicate features composed her face—high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips the color of ripe cherries that curved neither up nor down, holding a perfect neutral line. Her eyes were the blue of glacial ice, pale and cutting, framed by silver lashes that swept against her cheeks when she blinked.
Cold. She looks cold.
But what commanded the most attention—what made every boy in the room widen their eyes and lean forward despite themselves—was the body beneath her school uniform.
Her chest strained against the white blouse, buttons pulling slightly where fabric struggled to contain curves that surpassed every other girl in the class. The swell of her breasts was prominent, undeniable, the kind of generous fullness that drew gazes like gravity. Below, her waist nipped in dramatically—slender enough that a man could span it with both hands—before flaring into hips that swayed with each step. White over-the-knee socks hugged legs that seemed to stretch forever, the bare strip of thigh between sock and skirt a tantalizing contrast of pale skin and shadow.
From every angle... youthful charm, cuteness, elegance.
Her azure eyes and icy aura made her look like a noble princess carved from frost.
Silver hair. Mixed-race beauty. Exquisite figure. The boys' hearts pounded in unison.
Hayama Hayato took several glances, then shook his head with a bitter smile. His noble fiancée simply couldn't compare to the girl before him. As he pondered, his gaze drifted to Hozuki Nozomi, envy flickering in his handsome features.
This beautiful girl, completely on par with Haruno-san... will Hozuki make his move again?
At the front of the room, Sagami Minami—the short-haired, attention-seeking girl—stared at the podium and felt defeat settle heavy in her chest.
Are they not letting people live anymore? Our class already has Miura's group, Shiina Mahiru, Ogiwara Sayu... and now this? How will I ever compete?
The silver-haired girl ignored the awed gazes.
She picked up the stylus from the electronic podium and wrote her name in elegant strokes:
Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou
After writing, she turned to face the class and bowed—a precise, practiced motion that made her chest shift beneath her blouse.
"Hello, everyone." Her voice was pleasant, melodic, with a coolness that matched her expression. "I'm Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou. I previously studied at Shuchi'in Academy. Due to a school merger and an unexpected illness, I was delayed in reporting."
She straightened, silver hair swaying.
"Please take care of me from now on."
Warm applause erupted from the classmates—genuine, enthusiastic, tinged with admiration.
Hozuki Nozomi was still staring at Alya Kujou when a sharp pain bloomed at the corner of his waist.
Shiina Mahiru had pinched him. She was pouting, golden eyes narrowed with accusation.
"Pervert. You've taken a liking to the transfer student again, haven't you?"
"I—" Hozuki Nozomi gave an awkward smile. He quickly captured Mahiru's small hand, her fingers cool and delicate, and tickled her palm twice with his fingertips.
"Mahiru, I only looked at her with appreciation. That's all."
Shiina Mahiru's cheeks flushed pink. She rolled her eyes at him, but didn't pull her hand away.
"I'd be crazy to believe you." Her voice dropped to a mutter. "I have a feeling it won't be long before Alisa-san ends up at Sakurasou too."
What else could Hozuki Nozomi say?
He could only chuckle and continue to comfort her, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of her hand.
Their intimate display—fingers intertwined, Mahiru's blush deepening, Nozomi leaning close to whisper something that made her bite her lip—did not go unnoticed.
Alisa's glacial gaze lingered on them for a moment. Something flickered behind those blue eyes—curiosity? Dismissal?—before her expression smoothed back to perfect neutrality.
She walked past their desks.
A hint of fragrance trailed behind her—something floral and expensive, roses layered with frost.
She settled into the empty seat directly behind Hozuki Nozomi.
The boys instantly clutched their chests, faces turning grim with despair.
How could they have forgotten?
The beautiful exchange student from before had sat behind Hozuki Nozomi too. And look how that had turned out.
History repeats itself.
That bastard's seat is cursed.
Another heroine falls into his orbit.
Hozuki Nozomi felt the weight of hostile stares boring into his back. But more than that, he felt the cool presence behind him—Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou, silver-haired ice princess, close enough that her floral scent reached him with every breath.
Hiratsuka Shizuka clapped her hands once, sharp and commanding.
"Alright, settle down. Open your textbooks to page forty-seven."
Papers rustled. Chairs scraped. The class returned to its routine.