Kato Megumi had always lacked presence.
From childhood through adolescence, she had existed on the periphery of everyone's awareness—seen but not noticed, present but not remembered. Intimate contact with others was a foreign concept, something that happened to other girls, not to her.
Until Akira.
Twice now, she'd crashed into him on the bus. Twice now, she'd felt the solid warmth of his body against hers. And twice now, her heart had done things she couldn't control.
A natural reaction, he'd said.
But Megumi was also in adolescence. She might not share the burning curiosity about the opposite sex that consumed her classmates, but that didn't mean she had no curiosity. Especially not about someone like Akira—interesting, attentive, and possessing an uncanny ability to read her moods and respond exactly right.
And now she'd actually touched his...
The thought wouldn't complete itself. Her face burned.
Does he not see me as just another member of the opposite sex? Does he...?
Embarrassment strangled the thought before it could fully form. The only sounds in her awareness were her own breathing and the thunderous pounding of her heart.
Baka~!
The driver's curse cut through her spiral as he slammed on the brakes again. Distracted, off-balance, Megumi pitched forward—
And this time, with no hope of catching herself, her arms spread instinctively and wrapped around him in a full embrace.
She froze.
Akira simply smiled, saying nothing.
They exited the bus together, joining the river of uniformed students flowing toward the school gates. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but Megumi's mind still churned with unaskable questions.
Akira found a topic first.
"Oh, right—Megumi-chan. I'll be late again today. Important business. Don't wait for me tonight."
"Ah." She nodded, grateful for normal conversation. "Important things come first."
"It's pretty important." His expression shifted, becoming almost serious. "I need to help a classmate deal with a demon."
"A... demon?"
"Mm."
He looked completely earnest. Completely sincere.
Megumi studied him for a long moment.
Then: "Bai, you must be very good at sports, right?"
He blinked. "Eh? How did you know?"
How did I know? The memory of their bus ride flashed through her mind—the firmness she'd felt, the undeniable evidence of his physical conditioning. Clothes could block sight, but they couldn't hide touch. Every muscle she'd encountered had been solid as stone.
"I have my ways," she said simply.
Akira laughed—that warm, unguarded sound she was beginning to recognize. "Fair enough. Yeah, I know martial arts. Some kendo too."
"Will you join those clubs?"
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Probably not. I like challenging myself with things I'm not good at. Maybe art, or something. You never know~!"
The conversation flowed easily after that—clubs and classes, favorite foods, the ridiculousness of certain school policies. By the time they reached the fork where their classrooms diverged, the earlier embarrassment had faded into comfortable warmth.
"Megumi-chan." Akira paused at the junction. "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
She watched him walk away, his figure growing smaller as he headed toward the E-classroom wing. And slowly, without her conscious permission, the corners of her mouth curved upward.
Whoosh.
The back door of the classroom slid open.
Akira blinked in surprise. He was early—unusually early—and had expected to be alone for at least a few more minutes. Instead, he found himself staring at...
Marin Kitagawa.
She moved like sunlight given human form, her presence filling the space before she'd even fully entered. The school uniform was standard issue—conservative, modest—but certain assets refused to be modestly contained. Akira's gaze, trained by years of observation, noted the subtle strains where fabric met form.
Model-grade, he confirmed internally. Even if she only shoots seasonal collections, that's still far beyond ordinary.
Her golden hair caught the morning light, shimmering with health. Her face—delicate, oval, features sculpted with unnatural precision—was currently lit with a bright smile.
"Morning, Akira-kun!"
"Morning, Marin." His eyes caught the book in her hand—a light novel, the cover featuring an illustrated heroine in an elaborate costume. "Oh? You read light novels?"
"Yeah!" She bounced slightly with enthusiasm. "What's so strange about that?"
Nothing strange at all. In fact, for Kitagawa Marin, it was an opportunity.
Because cosplay lived in the same neighborhood as light novels. Games, anime, illustrated stories—all of them were potential sources for her next project. And finding a fellow enthusiast? That was gold.
"That's not what I meant." Akira set down his book, his expression shifting from casual to genuinely engaged. "Do you have a favorite character?"
"Of course I do!" Marin's eyes sparkled with the enthusiasm of someone who'd found unexpected common ground. "I like the female protagonist in this one—Kasumigaoka Utaha."
"Oh? She's a female character?"
"Obviously." Akira grinned. "I like female characters. What's wrong with that?"
"What's she like? Are there illustrations?"
"Yeah, here—"
He flipped through the pages until he found it: an illustration of Kasumigaoka Utaha in an elegant disguise, her expression carrying that distinctive mix of intelligence and aloofness that defined her character. The translation from two dimensions to three was imperfect—it always was—but the essence remained.
"Beautiful," Marin breathed, leaning closer. "And her figure's amazing. If only she were real..."
"I've heard some people dress up as their favorite characters." Akira's tone was carefully casual. "You know—cosplay. Are you interested in that, Bai-kun?"
He looked at her—at the barely contained excitement in her crimson-tinted eyes, the way she leaned forward slightly, the almost imperceptible held breath.
"Cross-dressing?" He let the word hang for a beat. "Never in this lifetime."
"Ehhh—" Her enthusiasm deflated slightly, then rebounded. "So you mean, Bai-kun, you could accept male character cosplay?"
The fishing expedition was transparent. Akira recognized it immediately—and recognized, too, the opportunity to fish in return.
"I don't have many favorite male characters," he admitted. "If I had to name any, they'd be protagonists from some pretty obscure games."
Marin's expression transformed. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. A flush of something—excitement? recognition?—colored her cheeks.
"Eh? Eh?"
Akira studied her reaction, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Marin-chan... could it be that you...?"
Before she could respond—before he could finish the thought—the classroom door slid open.
Alisa entered like a winter breeze, her silver hair swaying, her expression carrying its usual cool composure. Frost personified, walking among them.
Marin's hand shot up in an urgent shushing gesture. "Private! We'll talk later—privately!"
"Good morning, Alisa."
"Good morning, Marin. Bai."
She passed Akira's desk, her gaze catching on the book lying open before him. She paused.
"Love Metronome?" Interest flickered in those cool blue eyes. "Bai, you enjoy this light novel as well?"
Akira blinked. He'd picked up the book partly for his own amusement, partly as bait—hoping it might attract the attention of a certain reclusive author. This unexpected bonus was... well, bonus.
"You know it?" he asked.
In response, Alisa recited a passage—a line of dialogue from Kasumigaoka Utaha, delivered with such perfect intonation that the character seemed to materialize in the space between them.
Akira answered with the following line. Then another. Then another.
From the side, Kitagawa Marin watched with growing astonishment. She hadn't read Love Metronome—it wasn't her genre—but she understood exactly what she was witnessing. This back-and-forth, this effortless exchange of quotations and interpretations... it was the same passion she felt for the characters she loved. The same desire to understand them, to embody them, to bring them to life.
They're the same kind of people, she realized. We're all the same kind of people.
The conversation between Akira and Alisa flowed like water—natural, enthusiastic, unforced. Marin could only watch from the sidelines, mentally adding "Read Love Metronome" to her ever-growing to-do list.
Ring-ring-ring.
The class bell shattered the moment.
And at the very last second—as if she'd timed it perfectly—Saeko Busujima slipped into her seat.
A whisper of fragrance drifted back to Akira—something clean and subtle, like cherry blossoms after rain. Then, almost immediately, a small folded paper appeared on his desk, delivered by a hand he couldn't quite see moving.
He unfolded it beneath the cover of his textbook.
One line, in elegant, precise handwriting:
"Noon. Rooftop."
[Time Remaining: 20:14:37]
[Mission Parameters: Final planning session before tonight's operation]