Friday. When the watch hand ticked to 9:29, Takahashi Mio had already been standing with her umbrella at the school gate for over half an hour.
It was mid-October, nearly autumn, yet the sun still showed no mercy.
Alone under her umbrella in the shade of a tree, she stood out—especially with the meticulous makeup she wore today. People passing by couldn't help but turn for a second look.
Normally, even if she acted nonchalant on the surface, Mio would be secretly pleased by that reaction.
But not today.
Clear beads of sweat seeped from her fair forehead, clumped her curled lashes, and blurred her vision. She blinked hard before her sight returned.
Sweat dripped from her golden bangs onto her cheeks. She didn't dare wipe it, afraid of smearing her makeup into a raccoon mask, so she dabbed with a tissue.
She couldn't help glancing around. Outwardly she kept a serene smile befitting a goddess, but in her heart she had already cursed Shiratori Kiyoya dozens of times.
A guy who doesn't even know to show up early for a date is the worst—clueless about love! A loser who'll be single forever because no one will ever like him!
Infuriating!
Finally, when the minute hand pointed at six, a sedan pulled up in front of her.
Beep!
The horn sounded; the window slid down, revealing Kiyoya's face.
"Get in."
He called to her. Mio snapped out of it, lowered her head, and hurried into the car.
Sitting in the passenger seat, she stared at the refined interior; her eyes flickered.
She hadn't expected him to pick her up by car.
She fought the urge to ask, "Is this yours?"
Turning, she showed him the smile she'd practiced who-knows-how-many times.
"Good morning, Shiratori-kun."
Kiyoya looked at her face, at the beads of sweat and the dampened strands at her temples, and frowned. "Did you wait long?"
"Not really."
Mio smiled gently and shook her head as if it didn't matter.
Inwardly: So you do know I've been waiting. If it weren't for the money, I'd break up with you on the spot! And even with the money, you could at least apologize, right?
Her eyes flicked over him. Wearing long sleeves in midsummer—he really wasn't like normal people.
Kiyoya studied her natural-looking smile for a moment.
Long curled lashes, a fair face tinged with rose, and those clear, soft eyes you could practically fall into.
If he hadn't seen the world, sitting this close to a pretty girl would have rattled him.
Mio had that kind of pull.
But Kiyoya wasn't moved. He didn't believe for a second she was really this gentle.
Even Hojo Shione, the most mild-tempered among his exes, would sulk if he kept her waiting.
She'd say things like, "An apology alone won't cut it—you have to do something about it."
Still, knowing Mio's surface didn't match her heart, he was satisfied with the performance and encouraged her:
"Not bad. Arriving early is a good habit. Keep it up."
"Okay～"
Mio kept smiling with narrowed eyes, but her hands clenched tight on her knees, fingertips digging into her palms, and she silently cursed him a few dozen more times.
"Buckle up."
"Oh—um, where are we going?"
"To let you meet a different you."
He gave her a quick smile, and before she could parse it, his foot was already on the gas…
Meet a different you…
It wasn't until hours later that Mio fully understood what he meant.
First he took her to the biggest mall in central Tokyo and, like a regular, led her to a high-end fashion boutique on the seventh floor.
Before they even went in, Mio stopped instinctively.
Just standing outside, seeing the warm gold lighting and the clean, elegant decor, she knew this wasn't ordinary.
The shops she usually visited set a few mannequins outside, and inside long racks were crammed with clothes to pick through.
This place was clearly high-end; every single piece had been artfully presented.
Take the white camisole dress in front of her: to showcase youthful charm, the designer had set a layer of soft light above the mannequin's head.
Pale gold light poured over the hem like water; the pale-blue rhinestones on the skirt sparkled; a breeze slipped through the vents in the display window, lifting the fabric so that a breath of youthful elegance washed over you.
One stray glance and your eyes were caught—you couldn't help imagining what you'd look like in it.
On the crystal glass, hollowed hot-stamped letters read: Adorn your one-of-a-kind youth. The designer's signature was in the lower left.
This isn't a place for me.
The thought rose unbidden. Even without seeing the price tags, Mio shrank back.
A surge of inferiority welled up, making her want to turn and flee.
But before she could say anything, Kiyoya caught her wrist and pulled her into the bright new world.
When the carved glass door swung open, a cool, delicate fragrance washed over them.
A neatly dressed sales associate with better-than-average looks came right over, wearing a soothing smile.
"Welcome~"
"…"
Mio watched the boy in front of her converse with practiced ease; her gaze went a little blank.
Truth was, she had no idea what expression to wear or what to do with herself.
All the prep she'd done at home was suddenly useless.
Like a doll, she followed Kiyoya, listening to him negotiate with the clerk, feeling their eyes sweep over her again and again.
Her confidence was nowhere to be found.
At that moment, even the clerk seemed to have more presence than she did.
"May I ask your size?"
"Uh…"
Still spacey, Mio blinked at the question.
Before she could answer, Kiyoya did it for her:
"88-60-88."
The clerk glanced at him, blinked, then nodded and jotted it down.
"Thank you."
"…"
Hearing him recite her measurements so precisely, Mio's pupils tightened; a flush climbed her fair cheeks.
She turned her head, avoiding the clerk's gaze.
This jerk…
When did he find out her size?
How long has he been watching her? How much does he like her?
She'd thought Rika's "secret crush" theory was nonsense, but now she couldn't help doubting herself.
Not just a secret crush—maybe a hint of creep, too.
Before she could spiral, the clerk said:
"Understood, sir. Right this way, please…"
…
Following the composed associate to the next display, the woman gestured toward the clothes and looked at Mio with sincere eyes. "You could try this one…"
She delivered a stream of expert patter about how perfectly the piece suited her, and a minute later had talked Mio right into the fitting room.
When she came out and saw herself in the mirror, she could barely keep the grin from breaking out, joy bubbling up inside her.
Mio didn't actually like changing clothes, or even shopping for them.
What she liked was seeing a new version of herself.
Put on a new outfit, and you meet a different you.
Buy it, and you become that new you.
But not long after, she changed her mind.
The smile vanished, replaced by the poker face she'd hated on Kiyoya two days earlier.
Her ankles ached from walking, especially behind the knees, and the novelty had worn off.
Kiyoya was relentless.
From ten in the morning until one in the afternoon.
He dragged her from shop to shop, trying outfit after outfit.
She'd lost count of how many changes they'd done—she was almost sick of it.
What made it hard to refuse was that he wasn't just browsing; most of the pretty things she tried on, he bought.
While changing, Mio snuck peeks at the totals at checkout: almost none were under 100,000 yen.
The prices made her dizzy.
She couldn't help thinking he was insane. This was only their second meeting, and he was buying clothes this expensive.
By noon, she roughly estimated he'd spent over a million.
It hurt, honestly. Wouldn't it be better to just give her the cash? It'd be enough to wipe out her debt!
Still, she had to admit: Kiyoya had a knack for picking clothes.
Every style fit her uncannily well—like it was tailored to her.
From casual fashion to elegant long dresses to glamorous evening gowns—she cycled through them all.
Youthful, sexy, gentle, stately and refined…
Staring at the mirror, she'd never imagined she could look like this—so good she surprised even herself.
A rose-red mermaid gown showed off her figure perfectly. At 165 cm she was tall for a girl; in heels, the dress felt designed for her.
But when her eyes stopped at the teal at the ends of her blond hair, it suddenly looked garishly out of place.
Ugly. Tacky.
Even dyeing it back to pure black would be better than those streaks.
A wave of insecurity surged—she wanted to run to the bathroom and hack it off with scissors.
How had she not noticed how much it stuck out?
Were her aesthetics that bad?
Her lips pressed together; a complicated look flickered in her eyes.
"After we eat, we'll go to a salon."
At that, Mio came back to herself, a spark jumping in her chest.
She turned to look at Kiyoya, letting her surprised gaze sweep over him.
Blue jeans, white shirt, short hair, unremarkable features—but taken together, easy on the eyes.
Can he read minds?
The thought crossed her mind.
Yet seeing his calm face, the flutter in her chest settled for no reason.
This person—so hardline before—was unexpectedly gentle in things like this…
It felt like he'd read her completely.
If this wasn't "meticulous," what was?
Mio couldn't help wondering whether he'd had a girlfriend before.