How long does it take to change a person?
To Shiratori Kiyoya, that question was as nonsensical as "How long does it take for someone to grow up?"
Takahashi Mio was like a fledgling hawk accidentally raised among barnyard chicks. Even if she had the ability to soar, trail a mother hen day after day and, over time, she'd forget what was special in her bones.
She didn't need to be changed—she only needed direction.
Mio was like that; Hojo Shione was like that; Hasegawa Saori too. They already had potential others lacked; all he had to do was give the water a push and their strengths would surface on their own.
It was just a bit harder than that old riddle about "how many steps it takes to put an elephant in a fridge."
First, he needed to take Mio up to the treetops—say ten meters off the ground. Let her see the wide world outside and sink into it. When she couldn't pull herself away—when she began to yearn for it—he'd only have to give her a little shove from behind, and she'd spread her wings.
Of course, along the way he had to be careful not to develop too much feeling himself. Once a fledgling got attached, she might break off mid-dive and fly back to perch on your shoulder and refuse to budge. Ask her why and she'd answer, perfectly earnest: "I just want to stay by your side and take care of you."
Still, Kiyoya figured that wasn't likely to happen with Mio…
…
"Please just put these in the back seat."
"Certainly."
After directing the clerk to stuff the armfuls of shopping bags into the car, Kiyoya and Mio got in.
Finally, a chance to sit.
The moment she sank into the soft seat, even with the lingering heat in the car, Mio couldn't help relaxing a lot. She rubbed her sore calves, then rolled her neck. When she turned, she saw no trace of fatigue on Kiyoya's face at the wheel—his back was ramrod straight.
Is this guy made of iron?
She liked shopping, too. Since high school she'd gone out with Haruno Rika and other friends and had never felt this wiped. And girlfriends always complained:
"Ask a boyfriend to go shopping and he acts like it's killing him. If it's getting a room he's raring to go like a wild horse, but this? Nope."
"It's not like I made him spend money, and he goes on about how 'shopping is pointless.'"
"That jerk—when he's messing around in bed or gaming he never runs out of energy…"
…
Mio forgot what she'd said back then, but she'd come away with the impression "men hate shopping."
Apparently, that didn't apply to Shiratori Kiyoya. Was he even a man?
She studied his profile, remembering how he'd behaved in the mall—nothing out of line, always keeping a respectful distance. Even his gaze never gave her that "ants crawling over you" feeling of being violated.
If a guy wasn't swayed even by a beauty like her, was it so wrong to wonder if he was really a man? Unless he was a repressed type.
Thoughts tumbled through her head. Seeing Kiyoya sit so upright, she unconsciously copied him—sitting up straight, prim and proper.
"If you're tired, lie back a bit. No need to push yourself," Kiyoya said, glancing over.
"Ah—I'm fine, not that tired…"
She blinked, then offered a gentle smile, playing the considerate girl. "I'm too happy today to feel tired…"
Mid-sentence, she realized Kiyoya had leaned in. Her words cut off. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes; her hands clenched on her thighs.
What's he doing?
She didn't really think he'd suddenly pounce, but with him this close—close enough to catch his scent—her whole body went stiff.
Click!
A crisp sound from below: her seatback reclined forty-five degrees, just right for resting.
"Lie down. We skipped a midday break. After we eat, we're heading to a salon to do your hair. Use the drive to rest," he said, settling back and buckling his belt.
"Thanks…"
Mio buckled up too, lightly biting her lip, looking shy and innocent like a sixteen-year-old. "You're very gentle, Shiratori-kun."
Kiyoya's hand froze on the gearshift. He turned and stared straight at her rose-bright face.
"What is it?" she asked, unnerved by his gaze.
"You seem to have forgotten how you were the first time we met."
Mio stiffened; the smile on her face went wooden.
"I won't think differently of you because you act gentler or nastier," he said evenly. "So don't force yourself."
Being called out felt lousy—especially by someone she barely knew. Her toes curled inside her sneakers; she wanted to sink into the crack between the seat cushions.
Does this jerk not know how to talk?
Even so, she kept the awkward smile and tried to explain: "That time was… a misunderstanding. I'm not usually that hot-tempered…"
Kiyoya shook his head, serious. "Too sugary."
"You do have real acting talent, but you're not there yet. You don't have a precise handle on yourself."
He tossed out a line she didn't really understand.
"You don't fall for someone that fast. And I'm not your type, anyway."
"We're going to be dealing with each other for a long time, Takahashi-san. Are you sure you want to perform every time you see me?"
Mio's smile vanished; her eyes grew complicated, then blank. She hunched her shoulders, lay back, and said nothing.
Straight-laced men were so boring.
Still, she had to admit: his car was ridiculously comfortable to recline in. What did his family do, anyway? A freshman with a car, and spending like this?
Rich second-gen were the worst. And his family—dumping money on him and not training his EQ?
Whatever. Since he'd put it that bluntly, she didn't need to keep pressing warm cheeks to a cold backside. She'd been thinking that since she was taking his money she should at least provide some "emotional value," but apparently not.
Easier that way.
She gave up on the act, let her gaze drift to the headliner, and closed her eyes to rest.
Then a pink-white sticker edged into view.
Huh?
She blinked, lifted her slim waist, and leaned closer to look.