The art studio smelled faintly of oil paints and chalk dust. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, catching the suspended dust motes and painting them gold. Wooden easels lined the walls, half-covered canvases leaning against them, silent witnesses of passion translated into color.
Haruna Minami sat perched on a stool near the window, smock draped loosely over her uniform. The smock bore streaks of dried color, a badge of her refusal to stay neat, and her blouse beneath was creased from careless movement. Her skirt ruffled high on her thighs, the hem uneven from where she had shifted too quickly.
She tilted her head, a paintbrush still dangling between her fingers, though she had stopped painting long ago.
Because she was watching him.
From this vantage, the boulevard outside the studio stretched clear. And there he was—walking past the Academy gates, black hair tousled by the wind. His stride was calm, assured, as if the entire world bent naturally to his rhythm. The glint of clear glasses on his face caught the sun, making his silver-grey eyes appear brighter than they should.
Haruna's lips curled.
Well, well… who's this, then?
She leaned against the window frame, chin resting on her palm. Her friends would laugh at her for staring, but Haruna had always followed her impulses. And right now, her impulse was fascination.
"Too young for a lecturer," she murmured softly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "But perfect for trouble."
Her gaze roamed shamelessly. The cut of his suit hinted at muscle beneath—lean, not bulky. His tie loose, his jacket catching in the breeze just enough to flash the line of his waist. There was confidence in every unhurried step, the kind that couldn't be faked.
Outside, a group of female students had already noticed. Their laughter carried faintly through the open window, mingled with squeals and whispered praise. Haruna smirked, watching the scene unfold.
"Already a fan club, and he hasn't even stepped into class yet."
She tapped her brush against her thigh, leaving a faint streak of paint on the smock. Mischief tugged at her chest. Where Arisa radiated icy perfection, Haruna thrived in fire. Where others saw order, she saw play.
And this man—whoever he was—looked like someone she wanted to play with.
She stretched lazily, the smock falling open slightly at the front. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, catching the light before sliding to her jawline. She laughed softly at herself.
"One day, mister, you'll look back and regret walking past my window without waving."
The bell rang in the distance, sharp and commanding, but Haruna didn't move yet. She leaned back in her stool, still watching until the last glint of silver eyes vanished into the building.
Her fingers tightened around the brush. Inspiration flared like heat in her chest.
Not for the canvas this time.
But for him.
The portable speaker pulsed with faint rhythm, filling the art studio with a playful beat. Sunlight spilled through the high windows, painting golden squares across the polished floor. The smell of paint lingered, faint but persistent, mixing oddly with the freshness of morning air.
Haruna Minami twirled lightly in the center, her skirt flaring just enough to catch the light. Beads of sweat glimmered on her temple, sliding down the curve of her cheek. Her movements were fluid, unrestrained—half dance, half rebellion against the stillness of the Academy.
Seated near the wall, Arisa Sato watched in silence. Her arms crossed, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. The stark contrast between them was almost comical: Haruna blazing with energy, Arisa carved from winter ice.
Haruna finished her spin, letting the music guide her back to the floor. She laughed softly, hair bouncing as she turned toward her friend. "Did you see him this morning?"
Arisa's brows lifted a fraction. "Who?"
"The new lecturer," Haruna said, breathless with excitement. She wiped her damp forehead with the back of her hand, lips curving mischievously. "Black hair, glasses, walked in like the Academy belonged to him. Tell me you noticed."
Arisa didn't flinch. "Renji Ather. He teaches my moot class."
Haruna gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Of course he does. And you didn't even mention it? Cold, Arisa. Truly cold."
Arisa smirked faintly, but her tone was flat. "Not everything needs to be said."
"That man," Haruna declared, pointing a finger for emphasis, "is exactly my type. Handsome, untamed, a little dangerous around the edges. I'd paint him in every color I know if he'd let me."
Her laugh echoed in the studio, warm and unashamed. She moved closer, swaying with the music still humming from the speaker, her skirt brushing against her thighs as she leaned down toward Arisa.
"You're lucky, you know," she teased, her voice dipping playfully. "Sitting in the front row, staring at him as long as you want, while the rest of us just dream from afar."
Arisa's eyes flicked up, cool as ever. "I don't stare."
Haruna grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Then lend me your eyes, Ice Queen, because I intend to enjoy him properly."
Arisa exhaled softly, the faintest sign of amusement at her friend's antics. But she didn't rise to the bait, only uncrossing and crossing her legs again with precise grace.
The music slowed, the light shifted, and for a moment the studio felt like a world suspended between fire and ice.
The corridor was quiet save for the echo of Renji's footsteps and the distant hum of air-conditioning. His stride was unhurried, one hand slipping into his pocket as he made his way toward the faculty office.
Then he heard it—music.
A faint rhythm drifted through the air, playful and bright, so out of place among the hushed halls of Veloria Academy that he slowed. The sound grew stronger as he approached an open door, the wide studio bathed in sunlight.
He paused at the threshold.
Inside, Haruna Minami danced.
She moved with a reckless joy that filled the room, golden-brown waves of hair bouncing with each spin. Her smock hung loose, her blouse beneath clinging faintly with sweat. Her skirt shifted with every step, flashing the curve of her thighs.
Beside her, Arisa Sato sat in silence, posture immaculate, arms folded as she observed. Her black hair fell straight and sharp, her pale skin glowing in the light. Where Haruna blazed with heat, Arisa seemed carved from shadowed ice.
Renji's gaze lingered, studying the contrast.
One fire, one frost.
His chest tightened faintly, heat stirring low at the thought. The reckless warmth of Haruna's dance tugged at something primal. The cold composure of Arisa drew him in with equal strength, demanding attention.
Haruna spun again, and this time her eyes caught his.
For a heartbeat, her movements faltered. Then her smile widened. She pivoted deliberately, her steps sharper, more daring. Her hips rolled with the rhythm, her skirt rising higher, sweat glistening at her throat as she bent low.
Renji's lips curved faintly, though he said nothing. He stood in the doorway, silver-grey eyes narrowed, letting her perform for him.
At the corner, Arisa remained still, gaze flicking briefly toward the door before returning to her folded arms. She offered no acknowledgment, no reaction.
Finally, Haruna laughed breathlessly, spun on her heel, and raised a hand in his direction.
An unmistakable wave.
Her grin was bright, mischievous, as though daring him to step inside.
Renji tilted his head slightly, considering. Heat still pressed against his chest, curiosity rising sharper than before.
Two women. Two extremes.
And both had caught his attention.
The music slowed to a stop, the faint hum of the speaker fading into silence. Sunlight poured across the studio floor, catching the sheen of sweat along Haruna Minami's neck. She stood at the center of the room, chest rising and falling, hair clinging in damp waves to her flushed cheeks.
At the doorway, Renji remained still. His hands rested loosely in his pockets, glasses glinting in the light. To the students passing in the corridor behind him, he might have looked like any lecturer inspecting the space. But his thoughts ran elsewhere.
He studied the two women before him.
Haruna, all heat and play, her blouse clinging where sweat darkened the fabric, her skirt still trembling from her last spin. Her body moved with the confidence of someone far older than nineteen, every curve shaped and sure.
And Arisa—seated, composed, her blazer perfect, her skin pale and untouched by exertion. Her figure, though hidden beneath restraint, was no less undeniable. Together, the contrast between them struck him harder than he expected.
They're students. Yet their presence… it's like seasoned women who know the power they hold.
His chest tightened, a heat rising he had no intention of showing. He schooled his features into calm neutrality.
Haruna, however, wasn't one to let a silence drag.
She stepped forward, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, then tugging at her smock to straighten it. Sweat still clung to her skin, catching the light with every movement. She stopped just in front of him, her lips curved in a playful smile.
"You're the new lecturer, right?" she asked, her tone breathless yet teasing.
Renji inclined his head slightly. "Renji Ather. Faculty of Law."
Haruna tilted her chin, eyes glinting. "Haruna Minami. Studio Arts. Remember the name."
Arisa's gaze flicked their way, cool and unreadable, but she didn't speak.
Haruna leaned closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her, close enough for her scent—paint, sweat, and something bright beneath. Her lips hovered just beside his ear.
"One day," she whispered, her voice low and playful, "you'll be my canvas."
Her laughter followed as she pulled back, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Renji said nothing at first. But behind the clear glass of his lenses, his eyes narrowed, fascinated.
Sunshine fire. Ice frost. Both impossible to ignore.