Horikita Suzune had always lived in the shadow of one person.
Her brother's silhouette.
Some had joked she was a "bro-con," but she knew better—it wasn't twisted obsession. Just pure admiration.
And now, fate had dealt her the cruelest joke.
When she finally stepped into the school her brother presided over as student council president, she was greeted with a Class D label.
Between her and her brother, who stood atop Class A, lay a chasm of three letters.
Her nails dug into her palms.
She thought of her perfect attendance record in middle school, her top-tier grades, the rigid self-discipline that governed every minute of her life.
All that proof of excellence—now crushed under the weight of a single D.
"The class system is absurd...!"
The words seeped through gritted teeth.
Rage boiled in her chest—not self-doubt, but vehement denial of the entire evaluation framework.
"Shimizu-kun! Let's exchange contacts!"
Horikita stood abruptly.
"Oh? Sudden initiative?"Shimizu raised an eyebrow.
The moment their phones connected, a transfer notification chimed.
"80,000 points. We're even."
Her movements were lightning-fast. By the time she pocketed her phone, her face had iced over again—a silent warning: "Talk to me and die."
Watching her storm off, Shimizu sighed. "She's totally going to confront Chabashira-sensei, isn't she...?"
His gaze followed her stubborn figure until she vanished past the cafeteria doors.
Horikita carried a near-arrogant self-assurance.
When reality clashed with her expectations, she never wasted time questioning herself—a trait that spared her pointless mental turmoil.
But that confidence was about to shatter against cold, hard facts.
Kōenji Rokusuke was proof enough.
Even after Shimizu reported the interviewer's biased scoring on Monday, it hadn't changed their class assignments.
(80,000 points right off the bat... Horikita's surprisingly loaded.)
His thumb brushed his phone screen, the transfer notification glowing against his thoughtful expression.
He'd only planned to charge a nominal fee—it was just a scrap of intel, after all.
(Did the student council president slip her some allowance?)
He dismissed the idea immediately. Her brother wasn't the type to spoil her.
(Wait... if this is most of her savings...)
(She's gonna be broke next month...)
His attention shifted to his account balance—now over 300,000 points.
With Horikita's 80,000, it might seem like a fortune to most students.
But his mind automatically converted it: roughly a month's salary for an average worker.
300,000 yen? In Tokyo, that wouldn't even cover rent for a decent place.
(Not enough... I'll need to break a million.)
As he pocketed his phone, his fingers brushed against the folded note.
Smoothing it open, unfamiliar handwriting greeted him:
[Come to Room 1203 after dinner tonight.]
The script was elegant—clearly a girl's.
If he recalled correctly, that floor was girls-only.
(An invitation to the girls' dorm...?)
If this were Yamauchi or Ike, they'd probably be frothing at the mouth by now.
Shimizu stopped by the dorm lobby's front desk.
"Who lives in Room 1203?"
"Student information is confidential~" The receptionist adjusted her round glasses, a teasing glint in her eyes. "But do be safe, okay?"
Her smirk all but confirmed it: definitely the girls' dorm.
The elevator dinged.
Standing before Room 1203, he knocked.
"Coming!" A bright voice chimed from inside.
The door swung open—and Shimizu instantly recognized her.
Karuizawa Kei leaned against the doorframe, dressed in a loose T-shirt and shorts, her long legs gleaming under the hallway lights.
Damp strands of hair clung to her neck—she'd just showered.
"Shimizu-kun~" She tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips.
His gaze lingered for half a second before he forced it away.
"Come in!"
Suddenly, she rose onto her tiptoes, looping her arms around his with startling familiarity.
The soft pressure of her body against his sleeve, the faint scent of floral shampoo—it all hit him at once.
She tugged him forward like he was a stubborn pet, though in truth, he could've resisted easily.
His arm registered every contour of her warmth.
Instinctively, he had to admit—the sensation was distracting.
But logic screamed that this sudden intimacy was too calculated.
They were just classmates.
Karuizawa looked up, cheeks pink, voice trembling but determined:
"Shimizu-kun... I noticed you back at the entrance ceremony. When you stood up to Yamauchi-kun."
A pause. Her fingers twisted her shirt hem.
"And... well, you're also... really good-looking..."
She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself:
"So—!"
"Please...date me—on the condition youprotect me."
Shimizu froze.
What kind of confession was this?
Most people would say "with marriage in mind."
But her?
"Withprotectionin mind"—like some kind of bodyguard contract.