Hitomi Anri noticed Kuroba Akira perk up, his gaze sharpening into that same calculating look she had seen on shrewd businesspeople before.
It was the kind of look that measured the value of everything—including people.
It reminded her of her mother, but unlike her mother, Kuroba Akira's gaze didn't inspire fear.
She knew he was silently signaling her to "renegotiate," but she deliberately pretended not to understand.
"Wasn't I just talking about compensation? I think joining the Literature Club should be a great opportunity for you, Kuroba-kun. Who knows… you might even encounter something that makes your face flush or your heart race."
"Class president, I'm a practical person. I don't treat reality like some bishoujo dating game."
And even in a GALGAME, "heart-racing" in the context of the Literature Club would probably induce cardiac arrest rather than excitement.
"I see… though, you don't seem embarrassed even when talking to me. You seem used to interacting with girls already."
"Embarrassed?"
"Well… it's not vanity, but very few boys can talk to me without any nervousness. Those who aren't nervous usually stare in a way that makes me uncomfortable."
"That's because you're really beautiful, class president."
High school boys were basically walking bundles of desire. Seeing a pretty, cute girl, they couldn't help but stare—especially when it's the class president, a top-tier beauty, whose looks never got old.
"Thank you, but Kuroba-kun's gaze doesn't make me feel that way."
"Class president… are you saying I have deadfish eyes?"
"Hehe, I actually like your gaze, Kuroba-kun. It feels like I'm being truly appreciated. This isn't flattery—it's genuine."
"I'm honored. So, class president… how exactly do you plan to buy me?"
Kuroba Akira stopped beating around the bush and threw a direct question.
Hitomi Anri, realizing the bargaining stage was over, wore a look of determination.
"I understand… wait here a moment."
With that, she jogged away.
Kuroba Akira stared after her, wondering where she was going. Then he remembered what he had just said and realized—she might be fetching money.
So this was… extortion?
"Wait, class president, that's not what I meant—"
She was already out of sight.
Chasing her? Nah… better to explain when she came back.
Soon, she returned—but this time, not jogging. Her hands were pressed one in front, one behind, smoothing her skirt, taking tiny shuffling steps as if gliding across the ground.
By the time she reached the vending machine, her cheeks were red—probably from the heat, maybe from embarrassment.
Kuroba Akira could already guess what she had done. But it was so absurd that he didn't want to accept it as reality.
Yet the class president proved it with her actions: genius brains think differently.
She pulled something from her pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief, and handed it to him, thoughtfully adding a note.
"Um… it's really hot today, so it might smell a little… If you want it clean, I can wash it and bring it tomorrow. But I heard boys usually prefer it… natural."
"Huh? Class president, what are you talking about?"
Kuroba Akira played dumb.
She tilted her head.
"Kuroba-kun, isn't this exactly what you wanted?"
"…."
Take it? Really take it?
This felt worse than extorting money…
But it wasn't his idea—she had offered her personal item voluntarily.
Apparently, their earlier conversation had led her to believe he wanted this.
If anyone knew, he'd definitely be labeled a pervert.
No… if people knew, it was the summer edition, sweat-stained, original, top-ranked girl's panties. Someone might pay a fortune for this.
"No! Wait! Actually… never mind!"
Before he could think further, she'd already withdrawn the handkerchief and its contents.
"Why suddenly 'never mind'? Did your shame as a girl finally kick in?"
"Because you were planning to sell my underwear, weren't you?"
"Uh…"
Even a fleeting thought didn't escape her notice—her ability to read people was impressive.
"If you were using it yourself, fine. But selling it… I can't accept that. So never mind."
"…Where was I supposed to use it anyway?"
"Hmm… like… for tea? As a mask? As spell components?"
"Class president… you're secretly a shrine maiden, aren't you? Looks like you've been studying your 'materials' thoroughly."
"I don't understand what you're saying, Kuroba-kun."
"Fine. If you say so, I'll take your word for it."
"Looks like the heat got to me… thinking I could buy you with something dirty like this… Just tell me what you want instead."
"Class president… haven't you seen how embarrassed I am? Don't you know what I need most right now?"
Kuroba Akira made a money gesture.
Money!
Money! Give me money! I'm a student, so give me money!
"I know what you need, Kuroba-kun."
Hitomi Anri held the 1,000-yen bill she'd just retrieved and displayed it.
"But I don't think a single 1,000-yen note is enough to buy you."
"So I'm that valuable? The more you offer, the happier I'll be."
"I have more money, of course. But I want to buy you with my own things—not with money from my parents."
"Fine. No cash transaction, then."
Surprised that Kuroba Akira accepted so calmly, Hitomi blinked.
"You agree? I thought you'd be disappointed and call off the deal."
"No choice. Principles matter."
Indeed, using parental money for something like this was off-limits.
"I see…"
Hitomi Anri smiled, pleased.
"So, Kuroba-kun, what do you want? Anything I can give, I'll trade with."
Her mind flickered with another question: What can I even offer?
This had long haunted Hitomi Anri—doubts and insecurities about her own worth.
Without relying on family, social status, or physical charm, what could she genuinely offer?
She couldn't think of anything.
So she wanted Kuroba Akira to show her.
If anyone could see through her like her mother had… maybe he could tell.
Please… tell me. What is my value?