As soon as the dismissal bell rang, a swarm of curious classmates converged on the new transfer student like moths drawn to silver flame.
"Kujou-san, your hair is actually natural silver? It's stunning!"
"Are you mixed-race?"
Alya Kujou sat with her spine perfectly straight, unbothered by the attention pressing in from all sides. She was accustomed to stares—had been since childhood—and the particular way gazes lingered on the heavy swell of her chest beneath her pristine uniform, or traced the pale cascade of hair spilling past her shoulders like moonlight made tangible, no longer registered as anything remarkable.
Her features held that exquisite asymmetry of Russian-Japanese heritage: high cheekbones inherited from Moscow winters, a delicate jaw shaped by Tokyo springs, eyes the color of frozen sapphire framed by lashes so long they cast shadows on her porcelain skin.
Another school. Same tedious fawning. S he maintained her polite expression regardless.
"My father is Russian," Alya replied, her voice cool silk. "So yes, I am mixed-race."
"Can you speak Russian?"
" Da , I can."
"Wow! That's incredible!"
Alya allowed herself the faintest smile, already cataloguing which of these classmates might prove tolerable company and which would exhaust her patience within the week.
A sharp elbow nudged her arm. Sagami Minami—the brunette with the carefully cultivated normality and the hungry eyes—leaned close enough that Alya could smell cheap strawberry lip gloss and desperation.
"Hey, hey, Kujou-san," Sagami whispered, conspiratorial. "Let me warn you: a pretty girl like you should definitely stay away from the guy in front of you."
Hozuki Nozomi, seated one row ahead, didn't turn around. He didn't need to. His enhanced hearing caught every syllable.
This again.
He exchanged a glance with the angelic blonde beside him—Shiina Mahiru, whose gentle fingers had been intertwined with his own just moments ago, her touch soft as summer clouds. Mahiru offered him a sympathetic smile, understanding passing between them without words.
Alya's sapphire eyes tracked toward the boy in question. She observed the elegant slope of his shoulders beneath his uniform jacket, the way dark hair fell carelessly perfect across his brow, the aristocratic line of his profile when he half-turned to whisper something to the angel-faced girl. Handsome didn't begin to cover it. He possessed the kind of effortless beauty that made her think of her older sister Maria's particular tastes—her onee-sama would absolutely find this specimen interesting.
Moreover, he'd been holding hands with that radiantly gentle creature at the front desk. The intimacy between them had seemed natural, comfortable. Not the behavior of someone malicious.
So why the warning?
"Why should I avoid him?" Alya asked, genuinely curious.
Sagami's expression twisted into something between scandalized and thrilled—the face of someone about to share delicious poison.
"I'm not talking nonsense!" She lowered her voice further, forcing Alya to lean in. "Do you know who Hozuki Nozomi-san is? He's captured the hearts of more than half the beautiful girls in this school. They call him the Succubus . And he loves targeting gorgeous transfer students!"
Her two friends—interchangeable girls with forgettable features—nodded eagerly, launching into a breathless catalogue of Nozomi's alleged conquests. Eriri Spencer Sawamura, the talented artist from England. Kato Megumi, the deceptively ordinary beauty. Name after name tumbled out, each delivered with the reverent horror reserved for natural disasters.
Alya covered her mouth with practiced surprise, sneaking another glance at the infamous succubus.
Ah. I understand now.
This Sagami Minami and her plain-faced companions were clearly speaking ill of him because they themselves had never caught his attention. He hadn't looked their way once. Hadn't blessed them with even a fragment of that devastating charm.
What was the expression? Sour grapes. Or perhaps: ugly people causing ugly trouble.
I'll avoid this gossip circle in the future.
Her demeanor toward Sagami cooled several degrees—not rudely, but with that particular frost that communicated precise disinterest. Sagami's smile curdled.
Arrogant bitch, Sagami thought, jaw tight. Just wait until that playboy ruins you too. Then we'll see how superior you act.
"Well," Sagami said aloud, saccharine, "just remember I warned you." She gathered her friends with a pointed look and retreated.
The air lightened immediately.
Before Alya could process the social dynamics further, three girls materialized at her desk—Shiina Mahiru with her halo of golden hair and smile like morning sunshine, Yui Yuigahama bouncing on her heels with infectious energy, and Ogiwara Sayu hanging back slightly, dark eyes watchful but kind.
"Kujou-san! Want to eat lunch with us later?" Mahiru's voice chimed like wind bells. "We'd love to hear about Russia!"
She really does feel like an angel, Alya thought, surprised by how quickly her guard lowered.
Within minutes, she was chatting comfortably with all three—Mahiru's genuine warmth dissolving the usual social barriers, Yuigahama's enthusiastic questions keeping conversation flowing, Sayu offering quiet observations that proved unexpectedly insightful. Alya found herself smiling without calculating the expression first.
No wonder Shiina Mahiru seemed to glow with some ineffable blessing. The girl had the genuine potential of a celestial being.
Nozomi observed the gathering from his peripheral vision, choosing not to intrude.
Better to let them bond naturally, he reasoned. His reputation as the academy's succubus would only complicate introductions. Besides, making a girl fall at first sight wasn't realistic—seduction required patience, strategy, the careful cultivation of connection.
He would find his opportunity later.
---
Across campus, in the Student Council office's elegant mahogany interior, Kaguya Shinomiya bent over club documentation with fierce concentration.
Afternoon light slanted through tall windows, catching dust motes suspended in golden suspension. The air smelled of fresh paper, aged wood polish, and the faint ghost of premium green tea from her earlier cup. Her raven-black hair—lustrous as liquid obsidian—fell in a curtain across one cheek as she annotated margin notes with precise penmanship.
Without warning, delicate hands slipped over her eyes from behind, plunging her into warm darkness.
"Hehe~ Guess who, Kaguya-chan~"
The voice pitched higher than natural, deliberately disguised—but the softness of those palms, the distinctive weight of generous curves pressing against the back of her chair, the familiar scent of expensive floral perfume...
"Maria-senpai," Kaguya stated flatly.
"Ehhhh? How did you know?" Maria released her, circling around to pout prettily. The older girl's long chestnut hair swayed with the movement, perfectly styled waves catching the light. Her uniform struggled valiantly to contain her figure—buttons straining across what had to be an F-cup minimum, waist impossibly narrow by comparison, the fabric of her skirt clinging to hips that defied reasonable proportions.
She was, quite objectively, unfairly beautiful.
Even disguising your voice, your body announces you, Kaguya thought, distinctly not looking at her senior's chest.
"Besides Fujiwara Chika, only you would be bold enough to play games with me in the Council room." Kaguya set down her pen, allowing a fraction of genuine warmth into her expression. "I heard you and Alya both fell ill. Are you fully recovered?"
"Completely~" Maria chirped, settling onto the edge of Kaguya's desk with casual grace. "That's exactly why I came to report in, Kaguya-chan."
'Kaguya-chan' again. She never drops that nickname.
"Good. The Student Council needs its secretary operational."
Maria Mikhailovna Kujou—second-year student, owner of that uniquely honeyed voice and gentle personality wrapped around a bombshell body—had earned the title "Madonna of Shuchi'in Academy" within her first semester. She was Kaguya's most reliable aide after Hayasaka Ai, capable of charming hostile parties into compliance with nothing but a smile and well-deployed cleavage.
"However, Maria-senpai... where is Fujiwara?"
"Chika-chan?" Maria's perfect brow furrowed with concern. "She caught the same illness we did, but she hasn't recovered yet. I'm a little worried, honestly. My sister and I took ages to shake it off."
Something cold stirred in Kaguya's chest—not quite alarm, but certainly unease. Three ordinarily healthy, vibrant young women all struck down simultaneously?
"Then let's visit her together this afternoon." Kaguya began organizing her papers. "I need to see her condition myself."
Maria nodded, then launched into a report on various second-year matters—club conflicts, resource allocation issues, a complaint about the music room scheduling. Standard Student Council business.
When she finished, she turned to leave—and Kaguya's breath caught.
There, on the pale nape of Maria's neck where her hair parted...
A heart-shaped mark. Pink. Almost iridescent.
A tattoo?
Kaguya blinked hard, convinced she'd imagined it. Would someone like Maria—proper, gentle, the Madonna —actually get something so garish?
The mark vanished beneath chestnut waves as Maria stepped away, leaving only a strange unease coiling in Kaguya's stomach.
---
Noon arrived swiftly.
Alya politely declined Sagami Minami's repeated lunch invitation—three times, with decreasing warmth—and joined Shiina Mahiru's group instead. The blonde angel guided her toward a sun-drenched courtyard where cherry blossoms scattered petals across weathered benches.
Sagami watched them go, irritation curdling into something uglier beneath her practiced smile.
Can't touch Mahiru. The whole school protects her like she's made of spun glass. She clicked her tongue, stabbing her bento with unnecessary force. But Kujou... she'll learn. They all learn.
Meanwhile, Nozomi slipped away to handle Student Council duties.
The office greeted him with familiar scents—wood polish, tea leaves, Kaguya Shinomiya's particular perfume (jasmine and steel, if such a combination existed). He placed his compiled club activity reports on her desk, explaining the contents with professional brevity.
He was turning to leave when his vision shifted .
Warmth bloomed behind his eyes, and suddenly he could perceive it: a rose-pink aura emanating from Kaguya's elegant form, curling around her like possessive mist. The energy pulsed with something alive, something wrong.
"Huh?"
He moved closer before conscious thought engaged.
Kaguya's reaction was immediate—arms crossing protectively over her chest, crimson eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What are you doing?"
"Getting this close," she continued, voice sharp enough to cut, "are you trying to take advantage of me?"
But her heart was hammering. He could hear it—the rapid flutter beneath her ribs, her breath coming slightly shallow. Whether from his proximity or genuine alarm remained unclear.
"No." He studied the aura's concentration point: her neck. Her pale, elegant, exposed neck. "I think there's something strange about you. Like you've touched something... unclean."
All color drained from her face.
"Unclean?" Her voice cracked on the word. "D-Don't say such terrifying things!"
Ghosts. She's afraid of ghosts. The information filed itself away for future reference—even the formidable Kaguya Shinomiya had weaknesses.
"I'm not trying to scare you." He kept his tone deliberately light, reassuring. "Do you want me to check? Whether you believe me or not is your choice."
Kaguya bit her lower lip—plush, pink, trembling almost imperceptibly.
I shouldn't trust him. He's a playboy. A scoundrel. Probably fabricating an excuse to—
But something in his expression seemed genuine. And she had felt strange since that afternoon...
"Fine." She lifted her chin, defiant even in vulnerability. "Check it."
"Then... excuse me."
Nozomi stepped into her personal space—close enough to smell jasmine and warm skin, to see the delicate flutter of her pulse at her throat. He raised one hand slowly, telegraphing the motion, and brushed his fingertips against the nape of her neck.
Kaguya shuddered .
The touch was feather-light, almost reverent, trailing along the curve where her hair parted to expose vulnerable skin. His fingers were warm, slightly calloused—unexpectedly so for an aristocratic student—and they left trails of tingling awareness in their wake.
Her cheeks burned crimson. Her hands tightened on her crossed arms until her knuckles whitened.
This isn't— He's just checking for— Why does this feel—
"Oh?" His voice dropped lower, intimate. "This heart-shaped pattern... does Kaguya-chan have a secret interest in tattoos?"
"What pattern?!" She barely kept her voice from squeaking. "Take a picture immediately!"
He obliged, phone camera capturing the image before presenting it to her.
Kaguya's pupils contracted to pinpoints.
There, on the screen—her own pale neck, marred by a heart-shaped mark identical to the one she'd glimpsed on Maria.
Impossible. I haven't— When did— How—
"I've seen this before," she whispered, horror dawning cold in her veins. "On Maria-senpai's neck. Just this morning."
Before Nozomi could respond, golden text blazed across his vision:
[Ding! Player triggered special quest: Demonic Invasion!