Kasumigaoka Utaha. Pink danger level.
Definitely needs a proper education.
Akira settled in to wait. Chapter Two featured four heroines—he'd seen three emerge. The fourth remained absent as the student tide dwindled to a trickle, then ceased entirely.
Patient. Be patient.
A black sedan glided to a stop before the gate. The door opened, and a girl emerged—ladylike features, pristine smile, the kind of curated elegance that spoke of old money and careful upbringing.
Suou Yuki.
Her danger level was Black.
Above Busujima Saeko. Above everyone. Ranked first.
Suou Yuki — Black
Busujima Saeko — Purple
Kirigaya Suguha — Red
Kasumigaoka Utaha — Pink
The sensible play was to start with the lowest difficulty—Pink, Kasumigaoka—and work upward. But Akira had no intel on where any of them lived, what their routes were, how this chapter's architecture worked.
The black sedan pulled away. He flagged a taxi.
"Follow that car. Discreetly."
The villa district was exclusive. Guarded. Gated. The kind of place where "outside vehicles" weren't just unwelcome—they were physically impossible without clearance.
Akira waited until dark, then tested the perimeter wall.
ALARM.
Lights. Voices. The immediate, professional response of security personnel.
He was back in the interface before anyone reached his position, staring at the magnified phone screen with fresh appreciation.
BOSS of Chapter Two, indeed. Villa. Guards. Professional surveillance.
The conditions were clear: he'd only get close when she traveled without her car. On foot. Public transport. A moment of vulnerability.
Patience.
The chapter's title was elegantly simple: [Tailgating]
Four heroines. Four routes. Four chances per night—now five, thanks to Chapter One's completion bonus.
He lived with Busujima Saeko, yes. But this wasn't reality. The game's logic operated independently; his real-world intel was worthless here.
Stick to the difficulty order.
He selected Kasumigaoka Utaha — Pink.
The world dissolved and reformed.
He stood at a bus stop. A bus pulled in. Through the windows, he spotted her—long black hair, small book in hand, seated near the middle.
He boarded with the crowd.
Rush hour. Students and workers packed together, bodies pressing, space at a premium. Akira maneuvered until he stood beside her, close enough to catch the subtle scent of shampoo.
Then he noticed the man behind the girl across from them.
Not touching. Not quite. But close. Too close. His hand hovered near his waist, obscured by the press of bodies. With each sway of the bus, he bumped against her—intentional, systematic, disgusting. His expression was a study in furtive pleasure.
Akira's lip curled.
He tapped Kasumigaoka's shoulder. She looked up from her book, startled.
"Excuse me. Would you switch places with me?"
She studied him—handsome face, direct gaze, nothing of the pickup artist's oily charm in his demeanor. After a moment, she nodded and slipped past him.
Akira took her position.
Then, without warning, without preamble, without a single word of accusation—
WHAM.
His fist connected with the pervert's jaw. The man's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled like a marionette with cut strings.
The bus erupted.
Akira raised his voice, calm and carrying: "Ladies, cover your eyes. You don't want to see this."
He hadn't named the crime. He hadn't needed to. Every woman on that bus understood instantly.
Kasumigaoka Utaha pressed herself against the window, heart hammering. That man—that disgusting man—was he going to—if that handsome boy hadn't—
She couldn't finish the thought. The image of what might have been made her shudder violently.
Other girls weren't so fortunate. Those who'd been in the pervert's line of sight caught glimpses they'd never unsee. Their shrieks filled the bus, faces crimson with shock and disgust.
At the next stop, police boarded. Statements were taken. The pervert was dragged away, still unconscious.
Akira received an old man's grateful clap on the shoulder and the bus's collective cheers as he stepped off.
Kasumigaoka Utaha stepped off with him.
Same stop? He filed the information away.
She slowed her pace, matching his. Studied him from the corner of her eye. Handsome. Sunny. Righteous. He'd seen something wrong and acted—no hesitation, no performative outrage, just action.
That wasn't common. That wasn't ordinary.
"Excuse me." Her voice was careful, measured. "Do you also live around here?"
"Mm. I just moved here recently."
The answer flowed smoothly—friendly, open, normal. Inside, Akira was laughing.
This is stalking. Pure, undisguised tailing. And it's nothing like the games I remember.
The traditional approach would have been different: shadow her from a distance, heart pounding every time she glanced back, never knowing when the opportunity would come. Suspense. Uncertainty. The thrill of the hunt.
He'd played that game to exhaustion. This—this easy rapport, this walking-her-home domesticity—was a refreshing change of pace.
"My name is Kasumigaoka Utaha. First-year high school student."
"Akira." He matched her rhythm. "Probably a third-year? I just moved here. Still learning the neighborhood. I know the route back, but ask me to name the streets..." He shrugged, self-deprecating.
"If you live nearby, we likely attend the same school."
"Is that so?" He managed genuine surprise. "I couldn't say."
They walked together through quiet residential streets, conversation flowing with surprising ease. She asked about his impressions of the area; he deflected with cheerful vagueness. She shared anecdotes about local shops; he filed every detail away.
Too soon—or perhaps exactly on schedule—they reached her door.
"I'm here." Kasumigaoka Utaha turned to face him, a small smile playing at her lips. "Thank you for walking me home, Akira-san."
He gestured vaguely down the street. "My place is still a few hundred meters that way." Then, with perfect gentlemanly concern: "Open your door. I'll wait until you're safely inside."
Such a gentleman.
The thought bloomed unbidden, warming her. Handsome, cheerful, considerate—he was accumulating virtues like flowers in a pressed collection.
"Of course, Akira-san."
She produced her key, fitted it to the lock. The door yielded with a soft click.
"A boy like you would be incredibly popular at our school, you know." She chattered while turning the knob, the comfort of home beckoning. "Actually—someone like you must already have a girlfriend, right?"
She pushed the door open.
A hand clamped over her mouth and nose.
Before her brain could process, before her muscles could react, she was yanked backward into the genkan. Her key clattered to the floor. The door slammed shut. The lock engaged.
Darkness. Confusion. Him.
Kasumigaoka Utaha froze, every instinct screaming, her mind refusing to accept what her body already knew.
"Akira-san." Her voice emerged muffled through his fingers, thin and desperate. "This isn't funny. You can't—this kind of joke—"
His lips brushed her ear. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
RIP.
Her shirt parted like paper.
She felt him behind her—not a man, not the sunny boy who'd defended her on the bus, but something else. Something patient. Something hungry. Something that had been waiting.
His hands found her.
Both hands. Full coverage.
[God's Hand — ACTIVATED]
Target sensitivity: DOUBLED.
The effect was immediate, devastating. Sensation bloomed through her like fire through dry grass—too much, too fast, her body responding before her mind could veto.
[Backstabber — ACTIVATED]
Attack damage: +50% (adaptive).
She went rigid. Then trembling. Then crimson.
"Akira-san... no..." The words emerged broken, barely coherent.
He held her there, savoring every tremor, every involuntary response.
"Your reactions," he murmured against her ear, "are exquisite. You'll be rewarded appropriately."
"B-But the bus—you were—you saved me—you were good—"
His hands continued their work, patient and thorough.
RIP. Her pleated skirt joined her shirt on the floor.
He pulled her close, her back against his chest, her resistance a fading memory.
"Yes." His voice was warm, almost affectionate. "And?"
The word hung in the darkness, infinite in its implications.
And what does that have to do with this?