[Rooftop, Sakuragaoka High School – 12:47 PM]
"It's over, it's over, it's over! What should we do, Haru-kun? We've completely offended that crazy woman, Riko Nakamura!"
On the quiet, deserted rooftop, Amaori Renako wailed, clutching her head. The spring breeze carried the faint scent of cherry blossoms mixed with concrete dust, doing nothing to calm her nerves.
"By now, she's definitely contacted her cold-blooded Yakuza boyfriend and is planning to ambush us after school!"
"No, a beating would be getting off easy! She might use even more brutal methods—like stuffing us into oil drums, filling them with cement, and sinking our bodies in Tokyo Bay!"
Kazama Haru rubbed his ears, thoroughly annoyed by her piercing screams.
Although the current situation was indeed troublesome, it wasn't nearly as catastrophic as Renako was making it out to be.
"Perhaps even such a painful death would be a luxury."
To help Renako calm down and give himself a chance to speak, Kazama Haru quipped in a deliberately serious tone:
"Renako, with a body that lewd... you'd probably get dragged off to some sleazy establishment to do degrading work until you're completely used up. Only after you're old and worn out would they finally let you rest."
"Wha—?! H-Haru-kun!"
Renako's face drained of all color. She instantly snapped out of her spiraling catastrophe, whipping her head around with teary eyes, desperate to ask Kazama Haru what they should do.
However, what met her gaze was Kazama Haru's teasing smirk—completely devoid of the tension expected from someone equally involved in this mess.
This guy... he's not even trying to help think of a solution!
She realized he actually had the audacity to tease her at a time like this. Immediately, irritation bubbled up, and she glared at him with a resentful pout.
"Mou! I'm already terrified, Haru-kun, and you still have the nerve to joke about something like this. You're the worst!"
"Besides," she added, a mischievous spark igniting in her eyes, "if we're talking about being sold off, your situation should be way more dangerous than mine, right? As a host, you could definitely fetch a premium price."
As if completely forgetting her panic from moments ago, Renako flashed a retaliatory grin.
"I heard that plenty of important figures—like politicians—are totally into pretty boys like you. By then, your butt, Haru-kun, might..."
"Please, spare me..." Kazama Haru played along, showing a pained expression while clutching his backside as if already experiencing phantom agony.
"Ahaha! Haru-kun, what kind of face is that?! It's hilarious!"
Renako laughed so hard she nearly dropped the red bean bun she'd bought from the convenience store, the plastic wrapper crinkling in her trembling grip.
"Is it really that funny? Maybe I have a natural talent for comedy?"
Seeing that she was finally no longer in that terrified, distraught state, Kazama Haru breathed a quiet sigh of relief. In a half-joking tone, he continued:
"Alright, it's decided. In the future, I'll become a legendary comedian. Not only will I inherit Comedian Wakaba's throne, but I'll also marry the daughter he has with the beautiful actress Minami Mori."
"Hah? How can you be so sure their child will even be a girl?"
Renako pouted dismissively. Hearing Kazama Haru say he was going to marry someone else stirred an inexplicable irritation in her chest.
Why does that bother me so much...?
"Regardless, that is my dream."
Kazama Haru grabbed the bread that would serve as his lunch with his left hand and pointed dramatically at Renako with his right, his tone theatrical:
"So, no matter what happens, I absolutely cannot die today at the hands of Riko Nakamura's mad dog boyfriend. That's my point—got it?"
"That's easy for you to say, but what exactly do you propose we do?"
Renako blinked, feeling the red bean bun in her hand starting to cool, its warmth fading against her fingertips.
"Later." Kazama Haru settled onto the steps leading to the rooftop's inner doorway, patting the concrete beside him and gesturing for Renako to sit.
"You can't strategize on an empty stomach."
"Since things have come to this... let's eat first."
"...Ryujin-kai, huh? Sounds pretty intimidating."
Muttering the information he'd learned from Renako during lunch, Kazama Haru opened the system interface in his mind.
Exchange intelligence: Ryujin-kai!
As fifty wish points were deducted from his "account," detailed information about the small syndicate materialized in his consciousness, unfolding page by page like a presentation.
They worshipped the dragon god from Japanese mythology as their totem. Based in Yokohama Port, they controlled the surrounding seafood trade, smuggling operations, and underground dealings.
Total membership: sixty-three. Three direct-line kumichos leading small teams for specific tasks—collecting protection money, enforcement, debt collection. One kyodai-gashira handling internal discipline and rituals. One wakagashira managing daily operations. One kumicho serving as supreme decision-maker and external negotiator.
* Oyabun / Kumicho: Equivalent to a "godfather". The kumicho holds absolute authority over the family, and all members swear an oath of unquestioning loyalty and obedience to him.
Kyodai (The "Brothers"): These are the high-ranking members who hold senior status. Their faction leader is the Kyodai-gashira .
A wakagashira is the second-in-command in the traditional Japanese yakuza hierarchy
Though small, they're complete in every aspect.
Kazama Haru assessed the violent crime syndicate with cold calculation.
Speaking of which, no matter how much Riko Nakamura boasted about her boyfriend being some high-ranking boss, at most he'd only be a direct-line kumicho.
Perhaps his status was even lower—just a low-level thug working for scraps.
After all, teenagers tend to exaggerate when it comes to themselves or people they admire.
Thinking these thoughts, Kazama Haru's gaze drifted to the last red bean bun Renako had just pulled from the convenience store bag.
Plump with filling, still faintly steaming, the sweet aroma of azuki beans wafting through the air—it looked impossibly enticing.
Seizing the moment Renako's attention wandered, Kazama Haru pounced like a starving beast, biting directly into the red bean bun clutched in her hand.
His teeth and tongue inevitably brushed against the girl's soft fingers.
Soft. Fragrant. Carrying a faint sweetness. Endlessly delightful.
Of course, Kazama Haru was referring to the red bean bun.
"H-hey! That's mine! Haru-kun, you jerk—you always bully me!"
Whether because her food was stolen or for some other reason entirely, Renako's pretty face flushed crimson. Though her voice pitched high with protest, it carried an unmistakable note of bashfulness.
Why is my heart pounding like this over a stupid bun...?
She let out a soft huff, glared resentfully at Kazama Haru, then reluctantly swallowed the remaining morsel.
Perhaps because the contact area between the leftover bread and her finger was so small, her tongue involuntarily brushed over the exact spot where Kazama Haru's lips had touched.
Watching her ears burn an even deeper shade of red, the curve of Kazama Haru's smile deepened.
Such a lovely girl. Like a ripe peach—I can't bear for anyone to lay a finger on her.
Anyone who dares to harm my precious best friend... I will end them.
The bond between them had taken a long and winding road to finally be forged.
To protect this relationship, even when facing a ruthless Yakuza gang, he would never retreat a single step.
Ironically, the method for dealing with this crisis came from the inspiration of Riko Nakamura's furious taunt after he'd put her in her place.
A way to rapidly accumulate wish points—which Kazama Haru privately dubbed "Taken from Rin, Used for Rin."
Pulling out his phone and checking the time, Kazama Haru suddenly asked:
"May I pose a question, Miss Renako?"
"If ensuring your safe return home from the Yakuza required a sacrifice... how great a price would you be willing to pay?"
"Price...? And why are you suddenly being so formal?"
Looking at Kazama Haru's decidedly unwholesome smile, a chill slithered down Renako's spine.
This guy is definitely plotting something outrageous.
And it absolutely involves me.
"Ah, I understand. Your expression is clearly saying, 'I'm willing to do anything,' right?"
"My expression would never say something so obviously perverted!"
Ignoring Renako's shrill protest, Kazama Haru grabbed her slender wrist and somewhat forcefully pulled her into his arms. The scent of her shampoo—something floral, like jasmine—flooded his senses.
"Wha—?! Haru-kun, what exactly are you doing...?"
Renako's eyes flew wide. She knew this was dangerous territory, yet her body refused to move.
Why can't I push him away...?
"Speaking of which, the rooftop is always so peaceful, isn't it? Hardly anyone would disturb us no matter what we did up here."
Kazama Haru extended his index finger and gently hooked beneath Renako's chin.
Forced to tilt her head slightly, her eyes grew hazy, her lips parting just enough to reveal a glimpse of pink tongue.
From Kazama Haru's vantage point, she looked exactly like a drenched, wounded puppy.
Their distance closed even further.
Under his intense gaze, Renako felt her very soul begin to surrender reflexively, yet she still managed to stammer:
"W-wait! Haru-kun, why are you suddenly acting like this?! W-we're best friends—that kind of thing is..."
"But I'm preparing to fight Yakuza members for your sake. You can't seriously expect me to go into battle on an empty stomach, can you?"
"So, after careful consideration, I've decided to take Riko Nakamura's suggestion to heart."
Kazama Haru's face drew closer. And closer.
"The suggestion isn't... Okay, fine, I get it. Just calm down first... I'm not mentally prepared..."
Amaori Renako's breathing nearly stopped. She tried instinctively to push Kazama Haru away, but he wouldn't budge an inch.
"Mmph—!"
Kazama Haru didn't give her the chance to continue.
He pressed his lips firmly against Renako's.
The sensation in that instant was like a gentle spring breeze—yet also like cream swirled with honey, melting across his tongue.
So this is what she tastes like.
Renako's fingers curled weakly against his chest, no longer pushing, simply clutching the fabric of his uniform as the afternoon sun bathed them both in pale gold.
In short—it was incredibly sweet.