Chapter Text
The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the Academy High courtyard.
"You are acting like such a child!" Osana Najimi snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her bright orange twin-tails twitched with every word. "You promised to bring me your old English notes today, and you left them on the table? *Again?!*"
Taro Yamada shrank into himself, listlessly stirring the rice in his bento box. "I know, Osana. I’m sorry. I overslept and just rushed out..."
"You’re always rushing! If I wasn’t around to babysit you, you’d probably forget to breathe," she retorted. Despite her harsh tone, her eyes didn't hold anger, only a weary disappointment.
Before Taro could stammer out another apology, the sunlight vanished.
Ayato Aishi stepped between them, his shadow swallowing the bench. At 188 centimeters, he towered over the pair. He had ditched the standard black blazer, his tight white shirt rolled at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the collar. He was undeniably handsome, but there was a dead, predatory stillness to him that made people instinctively step out of his way.
"Well, look at this," Ayato murmured, his voice smooth and hollow.
With a sudden, heavy motion, he clamped his arm around Taro’s neck, jerking the smaller boy against his side. From a distance, it looked like effortless camaraderie. Up close, his forearm pressed uncomfortably against Taro’s windpipe.
"Enjoying a romantic lunch?" Ayato asked, shaking Taro just hard enough to rattle his teeth. "I’m a little short on cash today, Yamada. Be a pal. Loan me a thousand yen."
Taro froze. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his knees, staring straight ahead. "I... I think I’m out of money today, Ayato-kun. I’m sorry."
Ayato’s smile didn't waver, but his eyes went completely black. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Taro’s ear so Osana couldn't hear.
"Don't lie to me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. "If you make me drag you behind the gym again, I won't just bruise you. I'll break something you need. Hand it over."
All color drained from Taro’s face. His hands trembled violently as he fumbled for his back pocket, pulling out his wallet.
"Hey! Cut it out!"
The sound of a bento box slamming shut echoed through the courtyard. Osana was on her feet, fists clenched at her sides, glaring daggers at the taller boy. "He said he doesn't have it! Get your hands off him, you creep!"
Ayato paused. Slowly, deliberately, he unwrapped his arm from Taro’s neck and straightened to his full height. He didn't yell. He didn't even look angry. He simply tilted his head, his dark eyes raking over Osana with an utterly vacant, calculating stare that made the hair on her arms stand up.
A slow, mocking grin finally broke the stillness of his face. He raised his hands in lazy surrender.
"Relax, Polka Dots," Ayato chuckled, the warmth in his voice entirely artificial. "Just messing around with my buddy. No need to get your ribbons in a twist."
He reached down and patted Taro on the head, letting his fingers dig painfully into the boy's scalp for a fraction of a second before letting go. "Catch you later, Yamada."
Ayato didn't look back as he walked away. He could practically feel the fear radiating off Taro like heat waves.
Back on the bench, Osana held her breath until Ayato turned the corner. She slumped, all the fiery energy draining out of her instantly. She looked at Taro, her anger melting into frustrated concern.
"Is he bothering you again?" she asked, her voice dropping to a softer, worried tone. "Why do you let him do that, you idiot? You have to stand up to him eventually."
Taro rubbed the side of his neck where Ayato’s arm had been, his gaze fixed blankly on the concrete. "It’s... it’s not that simple, Osana. Let's just finish lunch."
Osana opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat when she saw the sheer, hollow defeat in his eyes. Sighing, she scooted her bento box closer to his. Without a word, she picked up one of her octopus shaped sausages and placed it gently on top of his rice a silent peace offering.
Meanwhile, Ayato moved through the crowded halls with the silent confidence of a predator. Students instinctively parted to let him through, but he barely registered them. He needed a quiet place to think.
He climbed the stairs to the third floor and slipped into a storage room near the attic. It was a dusty, cluttered space filled with old desks and broken chairs, heavily avoided by the rest of the student body. It was his personal sanctuary.
Ayato leaned against a stack of crates, his dark eyes narrowing in the dim light. The image of the girl Osana kept flashing through his mind.
*Interesting,* he thought, a cold smirk curling his lip. It defied logic that a spineless insect like Yamada had a girl with that much fire orbiting him.
She was loud, abrasive, and fiercely protective. Beating Taro to a pulp was satisfying, certainly. The feeling of knuckles connecting with bone, the way Taro whimpered it was a temporary rush. But bruises faded. Bones healed. If Ayato really wanted to destroy Yamada, he needed something permanent.
He needed to take the only good thing the boy had.
It was laughably obvious. Anyone with eyes could see Osana was hopelessly devoted to Taro, and the idiot boy liked her back. He was just too terrified to act on it.
Ayato’s smirk deepened into something genuinely cruel. Stealing her wouldn't just be painful; it would be a total, foundational collapse of Taro's world. To watch the girl he loved willingly walk into the arms of his tormentor? That would break Yamada's spirit beyond repair.
The thought blossomed into a vivid, clinical strategy. He didn't just want to date her. He wanted to rewrite her loyalties. He pictured the defiance wiped from her face, replaced by total submission to him, looking at Taro with nothing but cold indifference.
"Yes," Ayato whispered to the empty room, a dark thrill quickening his pulse. "That will be perfect."
*Days Later*
Ayato hadn't touched Taro since the courtyard. To the outside observer, it seemed the bullying had simply burned itself out. But Ayato wasn't finished. Like a spider feeling vibrations in a web, he was just waiting for the perfect angle to strike.
**The Classroom**
Osana groaned, burying her face in her hands. A heavy calculus textbook lay open before her, mocking her.
"Raibaru, I don't understand this," she whined, her voice muffled by her palms. "Function derivatives are impossible. Did you understand a single word Sensei said today?"
Next to her, Raibaru sat with her own book propped open, but her head was bobbing rhythmically. "Well... not exactly, Osana," Raibaru mumbled, blinking sleepily. "I was just... resting my eyes during that part."
Osana slammed her pen down, the sharp clack echoing in the nearly empty room.
"You were sleeping! Ugh, who am I kidding? I was dozing off too. If I fail this midterm, my parents will end me. And it’s all Taro's fault! If he hadn't kept me up all night texting about his stupid books, I would have paid attention!"
A few desks away, Ayato sat alone. He appeared to be looking at his phone, but his eyes weren't moving across the screen. He was listening.
*Perfect.*
He stood up, sliding his phone into his pocket, and walked toward them. He didn't stomp or stride aggressively; he moved with a calm, flowing grace that made him seem even larger than he was.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Osana flinched. Seeing Ayato, her defenses instantly slammed into place. Next to her, Raibaru was suddenly wide awake, her spine snapping straight as her posture shifted into something dangerously close to a fighting stance.
"Get lost, you jerk," Osana snapped, sliding her chair closer to Raibaru. But she sounded exhausted. "We don't have any money for you, and I have way more important things to worry about than your ego."
"Did I ask for money?" Ayato asked softly.
His tone wasn't mocking. It was low, composed, and startlingly mature. He deliberately ignored Raibaru's tense posture. By refusing to acknowledge the martial artist as a threat, he effectively neutralized her, creating an intense, suffocating atmosphere where only he and Osana existed.
He circled the table and stopped directly behind Osana's chair. At 188 centimeters, he loomed over her, his shadow swallowing her textbook. He leaned down, placing one hand on the back of her chair and the other flat on the table next to her notebook, caging her in.
Raibaru shifted, her knuckles whitening, but Ayato didn't throw a punch. Instead, he simply leaned in.
"Let me see," he murmured, his face inches from Osana's.
"I... you..." Osana stammered. The sudden proximity short-circuited her brain.
He was disturbingly close. She could feel the heat radiating from his chest against her shoulder. She expected him to smell like sweat, but instead, she was hit with the clean, intoxicating scent of expensive soap and sandalwood.
"You're forcing it," Ayato whispered. His breath ghosted over the shell of her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "You're trying to solve the external function before the internal one. You forgot the chain rule."
He reached for her pen. His hand was massive, engulfing hers as he gently but firmly pried the plastic from her fingers. His skin was surprisingly warm, and the contact lingered just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
"Look here."
In three seconds, he scribbled the correct formula next to her messy calculations. His handwriting was elegant and perfectly legible. Osana stared at the paper, then up at him, her eyes wide with total shock.
"I... you know math?"
Ayato straightened up, slowly withdrawing from her personal space. A lazy, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I'm not stupid, Osana," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Just because I like to have my fun doesn't mean I don't have a brain."
He glanced down at her notebook, his expression softening into something that looked dangerously like genuine sympathy. "Must be exhausting. Always having to be the responsible one. Always having to carry the dead weight for people who can't even stay awake."
Raibaru blinked, thoroughly confused by the entire interaction, wondering who he meant. But Osana froze. She knew exactly who he was talking about.
*Taro.*
Ayato tapped the notebook with his index finger. "Study hard. I wrote down a few shortcuts in the margins. They should make it easier for you."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the classroom, leaving a stunned, breathless silence in his wake.
Osana sat frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her face felt hot a confusing mixture of anger, embarrassment.
"What... what just happened?" Raibaru whispered, her combat readiness entirely deflated by confusion. "Did Ayato Aishi... did the school bully just tutor you?"
Osana wasn't looking at her. She was staring at the empty doorway where Ayato had disappeared.
"I don't know," Osana whispered, tucking a strand of orange hair behind her ear to hide her flushed cheeks. "Just... forget it. I need to study."
*One Week Later Behind the Gymnasium*
The sky was a bruised purple, heavy with clouds that refused to break. The rain wasn't just falling; it was punishing the earth, drumming a relentless, deafening rhythm against the corrugated metal roof of the storage shed.
Osana stood shivering under the pathetic shelter of the small awning. Her uniform was soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to her skin, and her normally pristine twin-tails were frizzy and limp. At her feet sat three massive wooden crates, looking more like coffins than drama props.
"Pick up the phone, you idiot!" she hissed, jamming her cell against her ear for the fifth time. "Taro, where are you?!"
Beep. Beep. Please leave a message after the tone.
"Unbelievable!" Osana screamed, stomping her wet shoe into a puddle. "He promised! He swore he’d help me carry these!"
She glared at the crates, the memory of how she got into this mess playing on a loop in her mind. It had started four days ago when the faculty needed a volunteer for the Drama Club’s upcoming production. Since no sane student wanted to stay late even for extra credit the teacher had drawn lots. Osana Najimi. Just her luck.
She hated drama, and she despised Kizana Sunobu, the club's imperious leader, even more. For the past few days, the tasks had been bearable sorting costumes, organizing scripts mostly because Raibaru had been there to help.
Today, Kizana Sunobu had demanded these heavy supplies be moved from gym storage to the club room. Naturally, the "talented" drama students had scurried home the moment the first raindrop fell. Raibaru had offered to stay, but Osana knew she had a date with Budo. Playing the supportive friend, Osana had insisted she go, absolutely confident that Taro would step up and help her instead.
Big mistake.
The campus was a ghost town. She could leave the crates here and go home to a warm bath, but the thought of Kizana’s smug face tomorrow, accusing her of being "unreliable," made her stomach churn.
"Fine," she muttered, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Taro is dead to me. I’ll do it myself."
She bent down, gripping the handles of the top crate. It was filled with lumber and paint cans heavy, awkward, and terribly unbalanced. She grunted, heaving it a few inches off the ground, but her slick loafer slid on the wet pavement.
The crate lurched. Osana yelped as the heavy wood crashed back down, missing her toes by a fraction of an inch. She stumbled back, panting, angry tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
A shadow fell over her, darker than the storm clouds.
Osana gasped and whipped her head up. Ayato Aishi stood at the edge of the awning, completely unbothered by the downpour. Water dripped from his dark hair and ran down the sharp, impassive angles of his face. His white uniform shirt was plastered to his skin, but he didn't even shiver.
"Need a hand?" he asked. His voice was a low, steady rumble that cut effortlessly through the roar of the rain.
"Ayato?" Osana blinked, swiping wet strands of hair from her eyes. "What... what are you doing here?"
"Kyoshi sensei asked me to do a final sweep. Make sure no stragglers were left behind in the storm," he said. A faint, dark amusement flickered in his eyes. "Turns out, she was right."
He stepped under the awning, his presence instantly crowding the small space. He looked around the empty courtyard. "Where is he?"
Osana felt the blood rush to her cold cheeks. She looked away, her jaw clenching. "He... he's running late."
"Running late." Ayato let out a dry, harsh sound that was more of an exhale than a laugh. "School finished two hours ago, Osana. It’s pouring rain. He’s not late."
He took a step closer, forcing her to look at him. "He’s not coming."
"You don't know that!" she shot back, though her voice wavered dangerously.
"I know exactly what kind of guy he is," Ayato replied softly. He leaned in, peering down at her with a chilling, absolute certainty. "He saw a few grey clouds and decided his comfort was more important than yours. He left you here to rot because he didn't want to ruin his shoes."
He didn't wait for her to process the sting of those words. With a low grunt of effort, Ayato bent his knees and hoisted the top crate. His wet shirt pulled tight across his back, defining the hard muscle beneath as he effortlessly shifted the weight. Without missing a beat, he scooped up the second crate and stacked it squarely on top of the first.
"Move it, Osana," he ordered, adjusting his grip. "Unless you want to stand here waiting for a ghost."
Osana stared, the rain plastering her bangs to her forehead. "You... you're going to help me? Why? I didn't ask for your help! Put it down!"
It was pure, desperate pride talking. She hated that she needed him.
Ayato ignored her outburst entirely. "Save the attitude for someone who cares. If I go back to Kyoshi sensei and tell her I left a student shivering in a storm, she’ll just drag me back out here anyway. I’m doing this so I can go home."
He glanced pointedly down at her trembling legs. "Besides, you look like you're about to snap an ankle. Grab the light one and lead the way. I'm not standing out here to listen to you lecture me."
Osana hesitated. Her pride screamed at her to refuse, but the cold was biting through to her bones, and Ayato was already holding two thirds of her burden without breaking a sweat. Something in her resolve finally cracked.
"Fine," she muttered bitterly, bending down to grab the third crate. She puffed out her cheeks, refusing to look at him. "We need to take these to the Drama Club. Follow me."
She bolted toward the school entrance, clutching the crate to her chest. Ayato adjusted the massive weight in his arms and followed her, his long, powerful strides easily keeping pace, a faint, victorious smirk finally touching his lips.
They sprinted through the courtyard, splashing through puddles in a desperate race against the downpour.
They burst through the school's side entrance, gasping for air. The sudden, still warmth of the hallway was an immediate relief. Osana wiped the water from her face, her teeth chattering.
"Finally," she sighed, her breath fogging faintly in the air. "Okay, let's just drop these off so I can go home and get warm."
She started walking down the hall, but Ayato’s voice stopped her cold.
"Hold on."
He set his stack of crates down with a heavy thud and walked over to his shoe locker. Osana turned, clutching her box, her patience completely frayed.
"What?! Ayato-kun, I just want to finish this! I don't have time for your games!"
Ayato ignored her complaining. He spun the dial on his locker, popped it open, and pulled out his black uniform jacket. It was perfectly dry. But instead of putting it on, he turned and tossed it at her. It landed heavily over her head, instantly enveloping her in the dark, warm scent of cedar and expensive cologne.
"Put that on," he commanded.
Osana clawed the jacket off her face, dropping her crate to the floor as her cheeks flushed a furious, indignant red.
"Hah?!" She planted her hands on her hips, her voice pitching up into a defensive shriek. "What do you think you're doing? Just because you carried a few boxes, you think you can start acting like my boyfriend? You think you can flirt with me?!"
She was spiraling, her embarrassment manifesting as loud, aggressive rambling.
"I don't need your charity! And I definitely don't need your jacket! You think you're so smooth, but."
"I can see your bra."
Osana froze mid sentence.
Ayato looked entirely bored. He gestured vaguely at her chest. "Your shirt is white. You're soaked to the bone. It’s completely transparent." He smirked, that familiar, mocking glint returning to his dark eyes. "Nice polka dots, by the way."
Osana gasped, the air catching sharply in her throat. She looked down and felt all the blood drain from her face. The rain had turned her uniform shirt translucent, and against her pale skin, the bright orange fabric of her bra was impossibly vivid.
Her hands flew up, crossing over her chest in a desperate X. Her first instinct was to scream to call him a pervert, a voyeur, a creep but the words died on her tongue. He hadn't been ogling her; he had simply stated a fact. And he had given her a dry jacket to cover up while she shivered in the cold.
Swallowing her pride along with her mortification, she snatched the jacket, keeping one arm firmly pinned across her chest.
"Turn around!" she squeaked.
She shrugged the heavy black fabric onto her shoulders. It was warm and dry, but it was massive. The sleeves hung past her fingertips, and the broad shoulders drooped halfway down her arms. She looked like a child playing dress-up in her father’s clothes.
"Thank you," she mumbled, staring intensely at her shoes. "I'll... I'll wash it and bring it back tomorrow."
Ayato just nodded, his expression unreadable. Wordlessly, he bent down and hoisted his two crates. Then, with a grunt of effort, he kicked Osana's crate up and balanced it precariously on top of his stack, taking all three.
He didn't wait for her to thank him again. He just started walking.
They dropped the supplies inside the dry, quiet Drama Club room. Osana fumbled with the keys Kizana had given her, locking the door with trembling fingers.
"Bye, Ayato-kun," she said, her voice tight. She didn't make eye contact. She couldn't.
She turned and power walked away, clutching the lapels of his oversized jacket tight against her neck. She needed to get away from him—mostly because she was terrified of him, but partly because her face was still burning from his comment.
Ayato watched her retreat, standing alone in the dim hallway. Once her orange twin tails disappeared around the corner, a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a smartphone.
Taro's phone.
*Three Hours Earlier The Third Floor Hallway*
The final bell had just rung when Ayato slammed his hand against the wall, trapping Taro in the corner.
"Going somewhere, little man?"
Taro flinched, shrinking against the plaster. "Ayato-kun... please. I haven't done anything."
Ayato loomed over him, a dark shadow blocking the hallway light. "But I'm bored again. And I have a proposition. If you want to keep your teeth, you're going to go home. Right now. Don't stop at your locker, don't talk to your friends."
He snatched Taro’s phone out of his hand before the smaller boy could even blink.
"But... but Osana needs my help!" Taro stammered, his voice trembling violently. "I promised her I'd move crates for the Drama Club..."
Ayato chuckled darkly, leaning in until his nose was inches from Taro’s. "Oh, really? That sounds like heavy work."
He grabbed Taro by the collar, lifting him slightly onto his tiptoes.
"Tell me, Yamada... how exactly are you going to lift heavy boxes with shattered wrists? Do you want me to satisfy my curiosity and see how much pressure it takes to snap bone?"
Taro went completely limp with fear, shaking like a leaf. "No... no, please..."
"That's what I thought." Ayato slid the phone into his pocket. "And don't even think about borrowing your mother's phone to call her. If I find out you tried to warn Osana, I'll break the phone first. Then I'll break you. Understood?"
''I'm still angry at that stupid friend of yours for defying me; maybe doing some hard work alone will bring her to her senses.''
Taro nodded frantically. He scrambled sideways, slipping out from under Ayato's arm, and speed-walked toward the exit, too terrified to look back.
"Good choice!" Ayato called out after him, his voice echoing cruelly in the empty hall. "If you're a good boy, you'll find your phone in your locker tomorrow morning!"
**Present Time**
Ayato turned the stolen phone over in his hand. The screen illuminated the dim, empty hallway, flashing with a persistent notification: [ 5 Missed Calls from Osana-chan ]
"Coward," Ayato whispered to the empty air.
Yamada had practically handed her to him on a silver platter. He had chosen his own pathetic safety over her, and in doing so, had left her shivering in the cold, waiting for a savior who was never going to come.
And Ayato had been there to step into the void.
Osana was still wary, still fiercely defensive... but she was wearing his clothes. She was wrapped in his scent. And right now, she was walking home thinking about how completely unreliable Yamada was, and how surprisingly reliable the school bully had been.
The seeds of resentment were planted, and they were already taking root.
"Not much longer now," Ayato murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the screen before sliding the phone back into his pocket.