Walking back to the library with the class president, Kuroba Akira felt a deep sense of relief.
Finally, tomorrow, he could say goodbye to this place. The grueling days spent memorizing vocabulary here, like some overworked college student cramming for exams, would finally be over.
"You look completely relieved, Akira-kun."
"Yeah… finally, I don't have to come here anymore."
"Huh? You're never coming to the library again?"
"Only if I need to. But I probably won't be coming nearly every day like before."
"So… does that mean you won't continue writing your novels?"
"Uh! How did you know… Ah, did you see me?"
It made sense. She had been managing the library all summer, and most of the time Akira was the only one there. Noticing him would be inevitable.
Besides studying and reading, Akira had another reason for being in the library: writing novels.
Writing them in class would be too conspicuous, so he always retreated to a corner of the library.
Of course, he wasn't writing to showcase his literary talent. He was doing what many transmigrators do:
Plagiarizing.
Yes, copying.
One of the reasons he had been diligently practicing languages was for this.
It was part of the life plan he had set for himself after being transported.
Although he wasn't in danger of being kicked out by the landlord just yet, who knew when the old lady's mood swings might return? He needed to think about earning a living.
As a transmigrator, there weren't many practical ways to accumulate initial capital.
The most realistic? Plagiarizing.
After coming to this world, Akira realized that the "Neon" here—the popular media—was subtly different from what he remembered. Famous works he knew didn't exist here.
For instance, the little story jokes he'd just shared with the class president—she'd never seen them before.
Still, relying on plagiarism for money was already an outdated plan.
After discovering his "Talent: Truth-Detecting" skill, Akira's life plan underwent a major revision.
"Could I… read one of your works, Akira-kun?"
"Not yet. Maybe someday."
"Okay…"
She didn't push. She knew showing someone your writing required courage.
After hanging the library key back in the empty administrative office, the two of them left the building and returned to the vending machine where they had first met.
"Anyway… I think I have a rough idea now of how to deal with you, Akira-kun. If I want something, I need to prepare the proper compensation first. Much more straightforward than I expected."
"Yes. I don't get motivated without actual reward. No reward, no effort."
Akira leaned back, hands behind his head, watching her drop coins into the slot again.
"But talking with you has been fun. I haven't spoken this much in ages; it's nice to finally satisfy my urge to communicate."
"Yeah. Today, you said more than you did the entire semester. I guess all that talking made you thirsty too. I know all you were really waiting for in the first place was this drink."
"Hehe, amazing! Long live the class president!"
Seeing his mischievous grin, Hitomi Anri felt a sudden urge not to treat him at all.
Other boys in class would have been happy just to talk to her—they wouldn't even dream of asking for anything else. But he was shamelessly trying to squeeze a drink out of her…
Really! I'm less desirable than a drink!
Fuming at the thought, she pressed the button for a hot drink.
Clang!
Akira crouched down to retrieve the bottle. The moment he touched it, his smile froze.
He looked at it, dumbfounded.
"Class president… this is hot milk."
"I know."
"You didn't… choose the wrong one, right? Who in their right mind drinks a hot beverage in this heat? It's scalding."
Pouting, she played the stubborn card again.
"If I'm treating you, then I get to decide what you drink, right?"
"…Fine, you're paying, so you decide."
Why the sudden mood swing? Men really couldn't understand women.
"And you, class president—what about you?"
"I'm not drinking."
"Then can I have this one?"
"It's for you."
"I don't want it…"
"Well, since you don't want the drink, I'll give you something even better as compensation."
"Huh?"
Suddenly, Anri leaned toward Akira as if to hug him.
This time, he didn't lean back or dodge. Based on earlier experience, he knew she wasn't actually trying anything intimate—just teasing.
Though their faces weren't any closer, their bodies were. He could feel the tip of her chest pressing lightly against him.
But before he could process that, she slipped her hand into his pants pocket.
The pocket was deep, dangerously close to a critical area. One more inch, and she could have grabbed… well, him.
Clearly, this was flirtatious teasing.
But she wasn't trying to touch him—she just dropped something into his pocket and pulled her hand back quickly, cheeks flushed.
Confused, Akira put his hand in the pocket to check what she had left.
He froze.
The texture, the shape… no way…
Anri's cheeks were burning red as she fanned herself and pretended to remain composed.
"Don't take it out yet. I'd be embarrassed."
"Wait… you actually… removed it?"
"You thought my flustered act earlier was fake? I'm really not used to feeling… empty down there."
"But class president… earlier, when we went upstairs to return the key, I was behind you, and you didn't cover yourself. If I had walked a bit slower…"
Saw everything?
"Yes. Just thinking about the possibility makes me so excited… but after getting used to it, the cool breeze actually feels nice. There's a sense of freedom…"
Good grief. Not only did she instantly awaken a dangerous curiosity, but she was enjoying it!
Such a quick study in perverse behavior—she really is a genius.
"This kind of game is thrilling. I feel like I'm becoming… bad."
"So… giving me this is another kind of weird play?"
"No. This is your… deposit."
"Deposit?"
"Yes. Think of it as leverage. If I suddenly decided not to bring you lunch, you wouldn't be able to do anything, right?"
"Ah…"
True. It was just an informal agreement. She could back out anytime.
"So, as long as you keep this, I won't cancel the deal on my own. But you cannot sell it. Otherwise, I'll make your bento into some dark culinary horror and force you to eat it."
"What kind of torture is that…? I won't sell it. Honestly, if anyone found me holding this, I'd be socially dead. So this is kind of my leverage too."
"Exactly why I'm giving it to you."
"Alright… looks like I have no choice but to accept it."
"Take good care of it. Lose it, and I won't give you another one."
"I'll treat it like a precious item."
Anri nodded, smiling, then deliberately bent over to retrieve a coin from the return slot. From Akira's angle, he almost—but not quite—caught a glimpse of her secret garden.
Damn it. She planned this all along!
"Well then, Akira-kun, see you tomorrow. Next time, maybe I'll show you my casual clothes."
"Oh…"
"Finally, Akira-kun… I like black too, but I prefer white."
"Huh?"
She slipped the coins into her purse, stuck her tongue out at him, and waved as she walked away, confident and composed—not at all revealing her previous state.
Once she was out of sight, Akira pulled the warm fabric from his pocket. Not from there, of course—it was just heated by her hand—but it was enough to make his imagination run wild.
The design: lacy, semi-transparent, with a delicate bow…
White.
"…The class president really is a hidden tsundere."
Thanks to today, Kuroba Akira earned four months of free lunches, a bottle of steaming milk, and a warm pair of JK panties.
…
Hiding in the corner, Hitomi Anri retrieved the handkerchief she had used to wipe his sweat.
She glanced around nervously, made sure no one was watching, then sniffed it and licked it.
"As I thought… my tears are milder."