Chapter Text
I am Natsusawa Saku. Eighteen years old. Third-year at Chidori High.
In all my eighteen years of existence, I thought the absolute lowest point of my life was being forced to wear a dog-eared headband and a frilly apron at last year’s Cultural Festival, smiling at customers while my classmates laughed behind my back.
I was wrong.
Because somehow, sitting at a long, polished dining table, directly across from a silver-haired girl, manages to top that.
By a landslide.
The chandelier above us spills warm light across the room, catching on the gold-trimmed plates and crystal glasses arranged with suffocating precision. Everything about this place screams wealth, order, and control.
And none of it feels real.
Her eyes haven’t left me since I sat down. It’s sharp, cold, and unforgiving. It feels like she’s trying to cut through me just by looking. And if she stares hard enough, I’ll disappear and save her the trouble of sharing the same space as me.
Maybe she’s already imagining it. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.
After all, I’m from Chidori Public High School and she’s from Kikyo Girls Academy. Anyone within a ten-kilometer radius knows what that means.
The rivalry between the two schools isn’t just some passing grudge. It’s ingrained and passed down like tradition. No one really remembers how it started, and no one seems to care enough to question it. It just exists, as natural as breathing.
You hate them. They hate you.
That’s how it’s always been.
As for me, I don't really care.
And yet, here I am. Sitting in what looks like a mansion straight out of a magazine. Face-to-face with someone who was practically taught to despise people like me.
Yeah.
Nothing about this is normal.
Not the setting.
Not the silence.
Not the way the air feels too heavy to breathe.
She exhales sharply, like even existing in the same room as me is exhausting.
“Since we don’t really have a choice in the matter,” she says, her voice controlled but strained, “let’s at least try to make this… bearable.”
I let out a dry laugh before I could stop myself.
“Nothing about this is bearable.” I meet her stare head-on, refusing to back down. “And let’s be honest. Between the two of us, you hate this more than I do.”
Her lips press into a thin line.
“No need to state the obvious,” she replies. “But yes. I do hate this.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page, princess.”
The moment the word leaves my mouth, I know I’ve hit a nerve.
Her expression hardens instantly, eyes narrowing just enough to make the air feel even colder.
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps. “You Chidori students really have no sense of decency or manners. It’s honestly appalling that I have to be associated with you.”
I lean back slightly in my chair.
“And you Kikyo students act like you’ve already figured out the entire world before even stepping into it,” I shoot back, the words leaving my mouth sharper than I intended. “Must be nice, living that high up on your pedestal.”
I let my gaze drag over her, too deliberate, until it catches on the unnatural sheen of her hair.
“And what’s with that hair? Kikyo just lets you dye it like that?” I scoff, folding my arms as if that somehow justifies the jab. “Figures. Must be nice, being a rich little princess.”
For a split second, something shifted.
It’s subtle… so subtle most people would miss it, but I don’t. Her fingers twitch faintly at the top of the table, her shoulders stiffen just a fraction, and in her eyes there’s something that isn’t anger or annoyance but something sharper like glass catching light at the wrong angle.
It was something I probably shouldn’t have provoked.
The silence that follows settles heavily between us, thick and suffocating, pressing down on the space like even the air is holding its breath. It should feel like a win because I managed to crack that perfect, polished exterior of hers, but instead there’s this uncomfortable weight curling in my chest, tightening the longer she says nothing.
I went too far, I can tell and I know it.
Yet, the realization comes too late, dulling the heat of my irritation into something far less certain. My jaw loosens, my thoughts stumble over themselves. When I open my mouth, an apology is already forming somewhere in the back of my throat, awkward and not quite ready to be said.
But before I can get a single word out, she moves.
She straightens her back and just like that, everything slips back into place. Her posture aligns perfectly, her chin lifts ever so slightly, and whatever crack I thought I saw vanishes without a trace.
When her gaze meets mine again, it’s different. It was now calm, controlled and somewhat untouchable.
As if I never reached nor provoked her at all.
“Let’s not waste any more time on pointless exchanges,” she says, her voice even, stripped of anything that could be read as emotion.
And just like that, the moment is gone. Snapped cleanly in half, discarded like it never mattered.
“…Fine.” The word leaves me quieter than I expect.
“Good,” she said, her tone crisp. “Good to know that you’re still reasonable despite having so many unnecessary opinions.”
The insult lands cleanly, almost elegantly. I felt the urge to snark but I swallowed it down before it could take shape. There’s no point. Not when it would just spark another circular argument, especially while I'm already toeing a line that can't be mended once it snaps. Still, the restraint doesn’t sit well with me. It’s like I’ve bitten back with more than just words.
I want to knock that composure off her face just once more but I don’t.
Not this time.
“Just get this over with,” I say instead, the weariness in my voice slipping through despite me trying to keep it even.
She doesn’t react to the tone. Instead, she raises her hand.
The movement is small, but immediate.
From the corner of the room, the maids step forward as if pulled by invisible strings, gliding toward the table in perfect coordination. Plates are lifted, utensils replaced, the table reset with efficiency. The entire scene unfolds so seamlessly it’s almost unsettling, like watching a rehearsed performance I was never meant to be part of.
“I want to establish a set of rules,” she says.
As if on cue, another maid steps forward and places a neatly printed document in front of her. She doesn’t even look at it before continuing.
“I’ve already outlined the conditions. You’re free to suggest revisions if anything proves… incompatible.”
I stare at her, then at the paper, then back at her again.
“And when exactly did you prepare that?”
“The moment I was informed,” she replies without hesitation.
I lean back slightly, narrowing my eyes. “You didn’t think to argue? Object? Anything at all, especially after finding out who you’d be dealing with?”
“I don’t question their decisions.”
Her answer is immediate as if it was practiced multiple times. But for a fraction of a second her gaze dips.
It’s faint. Almost nonexistent. And then it’s gone and replaced by that same unreadable, polished expression. I don’t know what to make of that.
Even after several minutes of sitting together, I’ve barely scratched the surface of who she is. When I first agreed to this arrangement, or when I first learned her name, I didn’t think much of it. It didn’t matter who she was. The task was the task. That was all there was to it.
And yet, when I first saw her photo, I remember pausing just for a second. There was something about her, something striking, and almost unreal, like she had stepped out of a painting rather than a photograph. Even her silver hair only added to that impression. She felt… different. Unique.
There was attraction, I won’t deny that.
But now?
Now, sitting across from her, that faint admiration I had has soured into something else entirely. If anything, this is probably just a reflection of her own feelings. She looks at me like I’m something unpleasant she’s been forced to tolerate.
Disgust.
Yeah. That sounds about right.
And judging from the existence of that paper alone, I already have a feeling we’re not going to see eye to eye on any of this.
“So…” She slides the document toward me.
I take it, eyes scanning the page.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to review and absorb everything. If you have no objections, sign above your printed name.”
I roll my eyes, exhaling through my nose as I shake my head. This is excessive and completely unnecessary. But fine—if this is how she wants to play it, I’ll humor her.
The paper itself catches my attention first.
It was thick and textured, but more surprisingly, it was scented
I pause, glancing up at her. “Lavender?”
“Why?” she replies flatly. “It smells pleasant.”
I shrug, unconvinced but uninterested in arguing over something that trivial, and return to reading.
The document is meticulously structured. Seven bolded clauses, each followed by short excerpts that are very much in line with everything else about her.
1. Absolute Discretion
This arrangement is to remain strictly confidential. Under no circumstances should its nature be disclosed to peers, faculty, or any unrelated third party.
2. Separation of Public Conduct
No public association between parties during academic hours and related school functions.
3. Controlled Communication
All matters concerning this arrangement are to be discussed only in private or through agreed-upon channels. Unscheduled confrontations are to be avoided.
4. Mutual Non-Interference
Personal lives, social circles, and individual affairs remain separate. Neither party is to intrude or involve themselves unless explicitly requested.
5. Scheduled Obligations
Any required appearances, meetings, or responsibilities tied to this arrangement will follow a predetermined schedule. Punctuality and compliance are expected.
6. Presentation and Conduct
Both parties are to maintain an acceptable standard of behavior and appearance during any shared obligations, ensuring no unnecessary attention is drawn.
7. Termination Clause
Should either party find the contract untenable, termination may be requested. Pending approval from the parties responsible for its initiation.
I stop at the second rule, my brows knitting together as I reread the line.
I glance up at her. “You do realize we don’t even attend the same school, right?”
“Kikyo and Chidori are constantly involved in joint district events,” she replies smoothly. “It’s safer to establish boundaries now rather than later.”
I stare at her for a moment, incredulous.
“So your solution is to pretend we don’t know each other at all?”
“I believe that would be the most efficient approach.”
The way she says it makes it sound less like a suggestion and more like an official policy already approved by a board of directors.
I lean back in my chair with a quiet scoff. “You really think that far ahead, huh?”
“When one mistake can become gossip,” she says evenly, “thinking ahead becomes necessary.”
That shuts me up for a second. Not because I agree with her because annoyingly, I understand what she means. Kikyo Academy and Chidori High hated each other enough already. Their rivalry had been going on for years, and students from both schools treated every interaction like a battlefield. If people found anything about us…
Yeah. That would become a disaster fast.
Still, something about the rule irritates me. Maybe because of how naturally she says it as if avoiding me entirely would be effortless.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Don’t call me if something happens.”
That finally earns a reaction. The corner of her lips lifts ever so slightly, almost amused.
“Trust me,” she says softly, “that won’t be an issue.”
I clicked my tongue and snatched the paper from the table again, grabbing the pen resting beside it.
“Then I’m adding a rule too.” I announced and for the first time since this entire conversation started, she actually looks mildly curious.
It’s subtle. Just the slightest shift in her eyes as she watches me lower the pen to the paper. Compared to her neat and elegant handwriting, mine looks rougher, impatient, the strokes pressing harder into the page than needed.
I tap the end of the pen against the document once before writing beneath the final clause.
8. No Outside Relationships
As long as this arrangement remains in effect, neither party is allowed to pursue romantic relationships, engagements, or public intimate associations with anyone else. Regardless of personal feelings toward this arrangement, both parties are expected to uphold the appearance and responsibility to avoid unnecessary complications.
The room goes quiet after I finish. I slide the paper back toward her and her eyes move across the clause slowly, carefully reading every line. I try to gauge her reaction, but like always, her expression barely changes.
Then she looks up.
“…You’re surprisingly serious about this,” she says.
I let out a dry laugh. “Unlike you, I actually understand what this arrangement means.”
The faint amusement on her face disappears immediately. I shouldn’t feel satisfied seeing that reaction, but I do.
“Fine,” she says after a moment, her voice noticeably colder now. “But trust me, this rule only applies to you.”
I raise a brow.
“I never planned on being involved with anyone in the first place.”
There’s no hesitation when she says it. And for some reason, that bothers me more than it should.
“Good.” I said but the word leaves my mouth sharper than intended. She passed it back for me to sign and as I looked back down at the paper, hovering the pen above the signature line. My eyes skim across the document one last time. Then something catches my attention.
I paused while my brows slowly pulled together.
“…Redo this.” I told her as I slid the paper back.
She looks up, confused for the first time all evening. I stand from my seat, adjusting the sleeves of my tuxedo before fixing the collar properly. The chair drags softly against the floor behind me as I straighten to my full height.
“What exactly needs to be redone?” she asks.
I glance down at the document again and point at the signature line.
“You spelled my name wrong.” I said. “It’s Natsusawa. Not Natzusawa.”
I finally look at her properly, and for the first time since meeting her, I can actually see irritation threatening to crack through that perfect composure of hers. Honestly? It almost makes this entire night worth it.
I turn around before she can respond.
“I’ll sign it once you learn how to spell your husband’s name correctly,” I say over my shoulder, adjusting my cufflinks without looking back. “And try not to take too long fixing it. We still have guests to greet.”
Then I walk off, leaving her behind in the dining room with the paper still sitting in front of her and what I can only assume is the most irritated expression she’s had all night.
