Suzuki Haruka.
Her life had been profoundly bleak.
From childhood, she sensed her difference from others.
It was inevitable; she struggled to grasp emotions when her parents cried or laughed.
Not from obliviousness.
A mental condition set her apart.
Yet she neither hated nor resented it.
"Haruka, let's sleep together, Mom!"
"You're grown now. You should sleep alone."
"But still…"
"Wanna sleep together…"
"Really?!"
At least, even if other feelings eluded her, she felt her parents' love unmistakably.
And she had her cherished computer.
So she believed herself not so different.
That belief…
"You're weird."
Shattered upon entering the micro-society of school.
"Why?"
"Everyone's sad, but you're the only one not looking it!"
The spark was trivial.
A minor incident from failing to mirror a classmate's grief.
So insignificant that early years passed without issue.
The true crisis emerged as she—and the students—matured.
Haruka never meshed with peers, growing into an eccentric child lost in her own realm.
'Maybe get her evaluated.'
Her third-grade teacher recognized this.
With kind intent, the teacher suggested counseling.
"Everyone! Haruka's disabled, so be nice!"
That session altered her life forever.
Rumors of her mental disability spread from who-knows-where.
She neither confirmed nor denied.
Her elementary school's strict anti-bullying policy shielded her.
Middle school was different.
At her mother's insistence, an all-girls institution.
There…
Tap… tap… tap…
She faced unprecedented malice.
People often err.
Assuming girls-only means harmony, no bullying.
Reality was the inverse.
The torment was relentless, insidious.
No grand reason.
She simply acted differently.
Was that truly cause?
Children's cruelty surpassed adult imagination.
Her father should have intervened—protested the school, punished the culprits.
But the patriarchal stubborn man berated her weakness, struck her for touching "unfeminine" computers.
The bullies were cunning, leaving no marks.
Haruka was abandoned.
Her mother pushed for transfer or action, thwarted by her husband.
The abuse persisted through middle school, unchanged in high school.
No—worse.
Her father, unhinged by business flops, escalated the beatings.
High school girls, sensing vulnerability, intensified their cruelty.
She survived only thanks to her mother.
"Haruka… I'm sorry… It's all my fault… I'm sorry…"
"…"
"I'm sorry… I'm a worthless mother…"
Her mother swiftly divorced, withdrew Haruka from school, and relocated to a rural-urban spot in Miyagi Prefecture.
An old family villa, she'd heard.
There, Haruka gained freedom.
From minor pastimes—watching insects, leaves, nature.
To pursuing computers, assembling parts—her childhood passion.
This liberty nurtured her talent… no, let it explode.
In under a year of serious study, she built market-grade PCs effortlessly.
Year two: mastered myriad functions.
By year four: ordinary machines bored her.
Then she discovered supercomputers.
Unsated, she devoured knowledge, craving hands-on access.
Lacking funds, she built one herself.
From scavenged junk in affluent areas or dumps—performance was dismal.
Yet creating it at all proved her genius.
As usual, upgrading her supercomputer, she stepped out for a brief "photosynthesis" walk.
"Hehe. You guys are working hard, huh? Fighting! Fighting!"
Cheering ants, distracted—she missed the speeding car.
Near disaster.
-Thump, thump, thump.
A man dove into the field with her.
No harm done.
Dazed from tumbling, Haruka regained clarity and eyed her rescuer.
He cursed the vanished car in a foreign tongue, furious.
Then turned, smiling kindly as he approached.
The image evoked a fairy tale her mother once read.
A prince raging at injustice, gentle to the weak, saving the imperiled.
For some reason, it quickened her pulse.
That racing heart sparked uncharacteristic boldness.
-Thump. Thump.
"Are you a prince?"
Words she'd never utter normally.
"You saved me, so you're a prince."
-Tap.
Actions too.
She seized her savior—no, Takuya—and headed home.
There, meeting Mom, their talk…
And…
"Haruka's talent is definitely not something to be ignored."
He validated her hobby… no, her gift.
Unrecognized even by family.
-Thump! Thump! Thump!
Her heart pounded harder; clever Haruka understood why.
'Am I… in love with Takuya?'
She had fallen.
Some might scoff—"Love from that?"—but life-saving plus affirming unseen talent?
Even stone would melt.
Smart Haruka accepted it swiftly—and knew how to act.
'They say bathe together, right?'
Her sole misstep: sourcing that from the internet.
Takuya, oblivious to her inner world, was simply baffled.
He stole glances at Haruka in the tub.
She soaked calmly, sharing the bath with a man.
'Why barge in? Just for company? Or…'
Speculations swirled, but answers eluded him.
Haruka watched him with concern.
"….."
After a thoughtful pause, she spoke.
"Takuya."
"Yeah?"
She let the towel slip, baring her chest.
"Wanna touch my boobs?"
"Hell yes."
Haruka nodded inwardly.
As expected, men are as straightforward as the web and books claim.