I climbed the stairs leading to the rooftop.
The school was practically deserted after classes, and I hadn't encountered a single person on my way from the classroom.
Outside, shouts echoed from the grounds where club activities were likely in full swing. But the complete lack of other people made me feel like I was the only one left behind, a lonely sensation. I rarely stayed this late at school, so this was a new experience for me.
Truthfully, I wanted to go home early, like always. I had games to play, anime to watch, and a stack of manga and light novels waiting on my desk. Time, no matter how much you had, never seemed enough.
Yet, despite all this, I'd stayed until the school was empty. Of course, there was a reason.
"...At least write your name, you know?"
I pulled an envelope from my uniform's inner pocket.
On the front, my name, "To Gouji Takatsuki-Kun," was written. Inside, a single sheet of stationery bore the message, "Meet me on the rooftop after school at 6 PM," written in breathtakingly elegant calligraphy.
An after-school summons. Having never lived a life where I'd receive a formal challenge, the words "love letter" immediately came to mind. In this modern era of smartphones, social media, and messaging apps, I never expected to witness something everyone thought had gone extinct.
It had been slipped into my shoe locker first thing in the morning—though, to be honest, I was nearly late. By the time I stumbled into class, all my classmates were already there, leaving me clueless about who had sent it. I'd never regretted hitting the snooze button so much in my life.
Of course, this could just be a tasteless prank. Someone might still be laughing at me for waiting so faithfully. In fact, that's probably the more likely scenario. I have absolutely no idea who this could be. Sadly, not a single name comes to mind.
This isn't meant as a boast or self-deprecation, but as a simple fact: I've never had a bittersweet experience in my life, and I don't have any close female friends right now.
Moreover, I'm not handsome enough to inspire love at first sight, nor am I skilled enough in academics or sports to captivate anyone.
This prank is despicable. It's definitely a lie. Even though I know I'm being tricked, if there's even a remote chance it's real, failing to show up at the designated spot would make me the rudest person imaginable.
Girls' gossip spreads with the speed of a gold medal sprinter, and their solidarity is as unyielding as diamond.
As someone not from the upper echelons of the caste system, if I were to disrespect a girl, I'd undoubtedly face a barrage of attacks from the class starting tomorrow, and I'd be treated as an enemy until graduation.
With no other choice but to fall for it, this tactic is undeniably despicable and utterly unethical. It's cowardly, and anyone who resorts to such schemes must have a truly rotten personality.
...These are my preemptive measures. Of course, I suspect it's a lie, but it would be a lie to say I have absolutely no hope. I want to cling to a sliver of that dream, but without my guard up, the damage from realizing I'd been deceived could be fatal.
Even if it's just a prank, rumors only last seventy-five days. Being ostracized until graduation would be far worse.
...Lost in thought, I found myself at the door to the rooftop. An ordinary door, yet now it seemed strangely massive and ominous.
Wary of the male friends who might be waiting for me, I gripped the doorknob, took a deep breath, and shoved the door open.
"You're awfully late, Takatsuki-kun. I've been waiting forever."
"...Seriously?"
Her voice, cool yet resolute, echoed through the air.
The unexpected sight made me gasp involuntarily.
The first thing that caught my eye was her long, glossy black hair, reaching nearly to her waist—the kind they call "crow's-wet-feather black."
Despite her slender, tall frame, the chest of her uniform bulged impressively, showcasing a flawless figure.
Her perpetually aloof expression remained unchanged—her default look. She rarely showed any emotion; in fact, I'd never once seen her smile.
Tsurugi Shino.
The person waiting on the rooftop wasn't a man waiting to laugh at me. It was definitely a girl—and likely a classmate.
Yet she was someone who hadn't even crossed my mind as the sender of the letter.
Tsurugi Shino's striking beauty had been the talk of the school since the start of the year. Everyone—male or female, regardless of grade—was drawn to her.
But she seemed to find the attention irritating. Her attitude toward any approaching men was colder than absolute zero, like the depths of an ice age. No one would ever reveal exactly what she said to them, but I'd lost count of how many times I'd seen men who'd summoned her to a meeting return with teary eyes.
Rumor had it she turned down every invitation from girls as well. Cold and antisocial, Tsurugi had gradually become an outcast in our class.
During breaks, she would either plug in her earphones and gaze out the window or bury herself in a book, radiating an aura that screamed "Don't talk to me." Her solitary demeanor was undeniable, yet it exuded an air of uncompromising aloofness—almost noble in its detachment.
Behind her back, she was nicknamed "Queen," "Ice-Blooded Girl," and "Human Incarnation of an Iceberg." Rumors whispered that she was the daughter of a mafia boss or a princess from a small country who had fled a coup. Of course, these rumors were laced with sarcasm, contempt, and negative emotions directed at her seemingly haughty and guarded nature.
Yet even after her reputation spread beyond the classroom, Tsurugi Shino remained a captivating beauty, attracting a steady stream of challengers. Even the idols on television paled in comparison to her allure.
Tsurugi Shino was the most famous person on campus, yet also the most enigmatic.
"I thought I arrived exactly on time," I said.
"Yes, you did. Exactly on time. That's why I'm sorry—I was just venting. For some reason, so many people have been coming here today, and just now I had to witness a couple's "birth" moment. I hid, of course... I should have just moved our meeting time up an hour to avoid the crowds."
Tsurugi sighed, sounding far more talkative than I'd ever imagined. In class, I'd never heard her say more than a word or two. The contrast felt unsettling, amplifying my sense of unease. Still, I could understand how seeing a couple's budding romance while waiting idly might sting a little.
I'd been killing time in the classroom all this time, but I hadn't seen her, so it seemed Tsurugi had been patiently waiting here ever since homeroom ended.
I hadn't done anything wrong, but I still felt a pang of guilt.
"Were you surprised? That the letter was from me?"
Her expression remained cool and unreadable, showing no hint of emotion. So far, she seemed more friendly than hostile, but...
"Well, yeah... it's kind of unexpected. We've barely spoken before."
"True. I suppose the only connection we have is that we sit next to each other."
The sender of the letter was Tsurugi. The moment I realized that, I panicked slightly.
Tsurugi and I had never had any meaningful interaction before.
Sure, we were in the same class, and as she pointed out, we currently sat next to each other. I wouldn't say we'd never spoken at all, but those conversations were few and far between, and never anything substantial.
I knew absolutely nothing about Tsurugi—not her favorite food, nor the kind of music she listened to through her earphones. So, she never even crossed my mind as the sender of the love letter.
But—but...
Everything had changed.
There was... there was a possibility.
If that letter wasn't a love letter, I could guess why Tsurugi had summoned me.
Among all the girls in this school, only Tsurugi Shino had a reason to call me out.
"There's no need to be so nervous. I just want to ask you something."
Her sharp, piercing gaze—true to her name, like the point of a sword—felt like it was stabbing into my body. Cold sweat broke out, and I wanted nothing more than to turn and run away.
Tsurugi approached with crisp, sharp footsteps. She pulled her smartphone from her chest pocket, pressed a button to light up the screen, and showed me the familiar website displayed there. It was exactly what I had expected—and the last thing I wanted to see right now.
This is a novel posting site I frequent—the kind that's definitely not for anyone under eighteen.
Right now, the title displayed on the screen is something truly outrageous: How I Trained the Cool Transfer Student to Be My Female Slave. What a truly terrible title, I thought to myself.
"Let's cut to the chase. You wrote this, didn't you?"
"W-what are you talking about—"
"The author's name is Tachibana Takeki."
Snap. Tsurugi's sharp voice cut me off mid-sentence. Her words seemed crushed in her throat, leaving me only able to open and close my mouth like a gasping fish.
"It's a simple anagram—you just reversed the order of your given and family names. And the heroine—the one with lustrous black hair, who's so debased she seems to have forgotten she's human—is named Yazaki Utaha. If you're modeling her after a real person, you should have put a little more thought into the name, don't you think... Takeki-sensei?"
I had heard of icebergs being personified, but at this moment, Tsurugi seemed to surpass even that... She felt like the personification of absolute zero itself.
The smartphone was thrust in front of my face again. The layout of the familiar posting site and the title I recognized all too well.
Cold sweat wouldn't stop dripping.
...Tsurugi's accusations were all true.
Tachibana Takeki was my pen name. I was the one who wrote that crudely titled erotic novel. The heroine, who suffered humiliatingly sexual encounters in the story, was modeled after a real person. And it goes without saying who that model was: Tsurugi Shino.
When I first saw Tsurugi, I was stunned. Could such a beautiful woman truly exist? I thought she was far more beautiful and captivating than any woman I had ever seen before.
If I were a normal guy, I'd probably be thinking about getting closer to Tsurugi, becoming her boyfriend, and... well, you know... having sex with her.
But I chose to masturbate to her instead. I quickly gave up on trying to interact with her in real life, opting instead to fantasize about her in erotic scenarios and pleasure myself alone. To immortalize that day's fantasies, I wrote that erotic novel. I never considered myself a talented writer, but it was an outlet for my daily pleasure: the fantasies I indulged in while masturbating. I poured all my passion into it.
Now, having it shoved in my face—I let out a small sigh and finally understood. My student life was over. Maybe even my entire life.
"Ah! Ah! That's right, it's me! I wrote that! So please don't read it aloud!"
The moment I recognized the content, my head burned both inside and out as I desperately pleaded.
Tsurugi was reading a passage I remembered well. Before I could even think, my heart and body recoiled in visceral rejection.
"I've called your name so many times, but you just keep staring blankly and not responding. I guess you really hate having your own writing read aloud."
Of course I would. Even a simple essay would be embarrassing to hear read aloud if I'd written it myself.
And this was an erotic novel, specifically a steamy scene. Absolutely something I'd never want read aloud.
"Anyway, you've finally admitted it. To reiterate, I've been wanting to see you. Tachibana Takeki-sensei."
Her expression remained cool, showing no hint of embarrassment. The mental fortitude it took to calmly read aloud someone else's erotic novel, using himself as the model, was something I might need to learn from.
"...If possible, I'd really rather you stop calling me that."
Because it's embarrassing. Sure, I chose the pen name, wrote the erotic novel, and published it worldwide myself.
But that was strictly for the online world, where I didn't have to face anyone directly. I never considered the possibility of it being brought up in real life.
"...If you absolutely insist, I'll respect your wishes."
Tsurugi nodded, looking strangely disappointed and discontented.
Could she actually want to call me by my pen name? I'd really rather she didn't. If I, who barely stand out, were suddenly given some weird nickname by Tsurugi, I'd undoubtedly be dragged behind the school building and grilled with questions.
Well, at least she seems to have grudgingly accepted for now, which is a relief. With one problem resolved, my mind can now focus on more pressing matters.
"So, she found out, huh..."
Of course, the other problem was that my model had discovered the existence and authorship of my erotic novel.
I should have taken more care with the character names, just as I'd been warned. Why did I ever think it was safe? It must have been late at night, and my judgment was clouded. I was already out of my mind when I decided to write it down, and even more so when I thought about posting it. A double dose of insanity.
As a bare minimum of decency, I should have at least disguised the original enough that my model couldn't be identified. In fact, writing an erotic novel based on a real person—a classmate, no less—was undoubtedly a violation of basic human decency and respect.
Now that I'm thinking clearly, it's obvious. I was completely out of my mind.
"...I'm so sorry!"
There was no escaping the truth.
The moment that realization struck me, I bowed deeply from the waist, lowering my head.
I couldn't complain even if she punched or kicked me.
I deserved to become the school's laughingstock as a degenerate pervert.
The worst-case scenario? Being buried in concrete and sunk to the bottom of the sea. Even then, I probably wouldn't have the right to complain.
Tsurugi's hand landed lightly on my shoulder, making me flinch involuntarily.
"Raise your head. You seem to be misunderstanding. I'm not angry."
Her voice was as calm and detached as usual. I couldn't detect any burning anger or hatred in her tone.
I cautiously raised my head, but her expression hadn't changed from before. It was Tsurugi's default: an emotionless, composed face that was impossible to read. She didn't look angry... but still.
The fact that she wasn't angry was, if anything, even more terrifying. Was she enjoying plotting my downfall?
"Really? You won't sink me to the bottom of the sea?"
"What kind of woman do you think I am?"
I don't know what kind of woman you are! That's why I'm so scared—I have no idea what you'll do to me.
I couldn't possibly voice those words to Tsurugi, who looked genuinely exasperated.
*****
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