Sora Fujimoto
(Akane's PoV)
—
The heavy wooden door of the bakery swung inward with a faint, clean creak, immediately cutting off the crisp winter air of the high street.
The interior was small, warm, and utterly saturated with the rich, suffocatingly sweet aroma of fresh dough, melted sugar, and hot cinnamon.
"Mmmmh! What a good smell...!" I said, while clinging to Shin like a child in an amusement park.
He giggled and squeezed my hand in return.
'Ahh... I feel so happy right now...' I said to myself.
Rows of polished glass display cases lined the walls, packed with an array of meticulously arranged pastries, glazed buns, and traditional loaves that gleamed under the warm yellow spotlights.
I stepped across the threshold, with my leather combat boots making a solid, echoing thud against the clean floorboards.
My left hand was still tightly, defensively locked through Shin's fingers, my grip firm as I systematically dragged him along behind me.
The sudden, violent emotional crash on the northern ridge had left my internal grid entirely depleted.
I felt hollowed out, my muscles loose, and my brain was actively demanding an immediate, massive influx of glucose to stabilize the wreckage.
I leaned my weight against the glass counter, my golden eyes scanning the displays with the clinical focus of a soldier selecting ammunition.
My gaze darted past the standard white loaves, landing squarely on a row of dark, glossy chocolate-filled breads and a tray of golden, sugar-crusted buns.
"I want three of the dark chocolate ones," I announced, my voice dropping into its usual low, gravelly rasp as I pointed a finger through the glass. "And two of the sugar-crusted ones. Right now."
Shin stood right beside my shoulder, and a massive, thoroughly amused smirk pulled at the corners of his lips as he looked down at my frantic selection.
"You are remarkably, catastrophically hungry, Takanashi," he noted, his voice a soft, teasing rumble that vibrated against my arm. "Are you planning to consume the entire inventory?"
"Shut your mouth, ghost boy," I shot back, flashing him a sharp, warning glare over my shoulder while maintaining my grip on his hand. "I have officially consumed an absurd, highly inefficient amount of calories weeping into your wool sweater on top of a mountain. My biology requires an immediate recovery script. It's a matter of absolute survival—"
"Good morning! Welcome to the shop," a soft, melodious voice cut cleanly through my defensive rant, originating from behind the high wooden register block. Too melodious to my ears.
I brought my words to an abrupt, sudden halt, with my chin snapping upward as we approached the counter.
Standing behind the display was a remarkably beautiful girl, dressed in the shop's humble, traditional linen apron over a plain white blouse, her long, dark hair meticulously tied back to keep it clear of the products.
She possessed a perfectly symmetrical, striking face, her skin flawless under the artificial lights, her entire posture radiating a practiced, elite politeness.
The girl blinked, her large, clear eyes looking between the two of us for a long, suspended second, her gaze lingering specifically on our tightly intertwined hands resting on the counter.
"Excuse me..." she began, her tone soft, hesitant, and entirely polite as a small, professional smile touched her lips. "Are you... Are you new customers? I've worked the morning shift here for months, but I don't think I've ever seen your faces in this district before."
I stepped closer, my eyes narrowing into tiny slits as I systematically scanned the contours of her face, the perfect line of her shoulders, and the rigid, disciplined set of her posture.
In that moment, the defensive, territorial instincts that had kept me isolated for seven years flared to absolute life within my chest, a sudden, cold friction static-charging the air around my skin.
"We are new," I replied, my voice dropping an octave, becoming entirely flat and cold. I kept my gaze locked dead onto her eyes, my thumb lightly tracing the heavy metal ring of the Lilibat keychain dangling from my bag. "But... you possess an incredibly familiar face. I am entirely certain I have seen your profile somewhere before."
The beautiful girl flinched under the sheer intensity of my stare, her professional smile faltering for a fraction of a second, her eyelashes fluttering as she quickly looked away, her fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of her linen apron.
Shin shifted his weight beside me, his eyes widening slightly with a sudden, silent curiosity as he looked between the two of us, sensing the immediate drop in the room's temperature.
The girl cleared her throat, trying to regain her professional footing as she reached for a plastic sheet to wrap the pastries. "Are you... Do you perhaps attend the Satsubai High School?"
When she asked that question, I analyzed her face for a few more moments, until something snapped.
"We do," I stated, a slow, razor-sharp, and thoroughly venomous smirk spreading across my dark lips as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place within my brain.
'That was... unexpected,' I thought.
Then, I leaned my hip against the wood, my tone dripping with a heavy, dangerous sarcasm that cut through the warm smell of the bread.
"Well, well. Look at what we have here. The untouchable, flawless real student council president, Sora Fujimoto! Working a manual shift in a thoroughly humble, ordinary bakery! Who in the world would have ever guessed that the school's idol possessed a real job?" I teased.
Of course, we knew each other. I was the problem girl with the best grades in the whole school, while she was the most popular one who kept scolding me for my past behavior and smiling at everyone—beautiful, perfect, and kind. Totally different from me, I guess.
After my words, Sora Fujimoto's shoulders dropped instantly, a long, heavy, and thoroughly exhausted sigh escaping her lips, and the immaculate, elite mask of the student council president completely disintegrated, replaced by the tired, frantic expression of an ordinary teenager caught in an administrative violation.
"Please..." she whispered, leaning over the counter, her voice dropping into a desperate, pleading murmur as she looked around the empty shop to ensure the owner wasn't listening. "I am begging you, Takanashi-san... don't utter a single word of mention about this to anyone at school. The board has incredibly strict policies regarding unauthorized student employment, and if the disciplinary committee finds out, my position is finished."
She paused, her large eyes shifting away from my face and landing squarely on the boy standing beside me.
She stayed perfectly stone-still for several seconds, with her gaze fixing intensely on his face, analyzing his dark hair, his jawline, and the calm, unblinking clarity of his expression.
As a girl, I could tell when someone was lusting over what was mine. Tch.
A sudden, sharp spike of violent, unadulterated jealousy shot directly through the center of my chest, turning my blood to liquid nitrogen.
'Why the hell is she looking at him like that?' My fingers locked around Shin's hand so tightly my knuckles turned white, my tensed muscles drawing his arm even closer against my side.
"Wait..." Sora murmured, her eyes widening slightly as a shock of recognition hit her face. "Are you... Are you Ishikawa? Shin Ishikawa? The class representative that Takaneda-sensei explicitly drafted to handle the bonfire and the couples dance for the Spring Festival?"
Shin let out a slow, tired breath, his free hand reaching up to casually scratch the bridge of his nose, his posture entirely relaxed despite the tension radiating from my body.
'Just shut up...' I wanted to say.
"Yeah. That's me," he admitted, his voice a flat, indifferent rumble. He looked at her with an absolute clarity. "Can you please do a massive favor and completely forget the fact that you witnessed my face inside this shop today, Fujimoto-san? I've already received two separate, highly annoying messages and calls from Daiki Sakurai this morning. My schedule is full of drama today, and I am absolutely not in the mood to explain to the faculty why I'm skipping classes."
Sora Fujimoto's eyes crinkled, a genuine, beautiful, and thoroughly friendly smile breaking through her exhaustion as she looked at him.
"Then it looks like we have an official, mutual agreement, Ishikawa-san," she said softly, a playful glint appearing in her clear eyes as she nodded her head. "We're perfectly even. If you explicitly promise to pretend you never saw me behind this register today, I will personally guarantee that the student council records will document your absence as authorized administrative leave for the festival. I'll cover for you today."
"Oh, really? Thank you, then, Fujimoto-san," my beloved Shin smiled, completely unaware that I was about to bite his arm.
The friendly, cooperative tone of her voice made the skin at the nape of my neck prickle with a visceral, protective hatred.
The fact that the school's most beloved, popular, and untouchable girl was standing there offering a secret, smiling alliance to my ghost boy was entirely unacceptable to my ego.
I had to mark my territory.
"Yes, thank you, Fujimoto, and yeah, this is precisely Ishikawa," I interrupted, my voice hitting the air with the force of a sub-zero blizzard as I stepped directly between her line of sight and his face, breaking the connection. I lifted my leather messenger bag and aggressively set the pastries down on the counter to end the interaction. "And he also happens to be my official, exclusive boyfriend. So, if you could scan the items so we can pay, that would be highly efficient, President."
Sora Fujimoto blinked, caught entirely off guard by the sheer, territorial venom in my tone.
Her eyes dropped down to our joined hands once more, the realization of our dynamic finally registering in her mind.
She didn't press the issue; she nodded quickly, her professional mask returning as she rang up the total.
I pulled a few bills from my pocket, threw them onto the counter, and snatched the paper bag of pastries from her hands before she could even offer the change.
"Have a wonderful day," Sora murmured, her smile slightly strained now.
"Goodbye, Fujimoto-san," Shin said, offering her a polite, distracted nod over his shoulder as I violently hauled him toward the exit.
Then, we stepped back out into the crisp winter air, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind us, the metallic chime tinkling one final time. I marched down the asphalt path with fast, rapid strides, my boots hitting the pavement with a vicious force, my face pulled into an absolute, dark pout.
Shin adjusted his pace effortlessly, his long legs matching my hurried steps as we moved down the alleyway. He then looked down at my profile, and a soft, intensely amused chuckle escaped his chest as he noticed the rigid set of my jaw.
"Alright, Akane," he murmured, his tone light and thoroughly patient. "What exactly is wrong with your system right now? You've been radiating a physical field of anger since we stood at the counter."
"Nothing," I snapped, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead on the pavement, my grip on his fingers remaining white-knuckled.
"It doesn't look like 'nothing'," Shin insisted, a quiet grin visible in the cadence of his words. "You look like you're preparing to launch a tactical assault against a concrete wall. Speak to me."
"Nothing, Dumb-Kawa!" I repeated, my voice rising just a fraction as I stopped my boots against the gravel path, spinning my body around to face him.
I then reached into the crinkled paper bag, pulled out one of the dark chocolate buns, and ripped a massive bite out of the pastry, chewing viciously. "It just completely, thoroughly gave me the chills to witness the specific method she used to look at your face. Tch—the flawless, universally adored student council president, being so disgustingly friendly and sweet with absolutely everyone who speaks with her. It completely gives me the creeps. She gives me a structural headache."
Shin stared down at me, his dark eyes blinking in complete, unadulterated bewilderment for a long, quiet second. Then, a soft, incredibly warm, and genuine smile broke across his features, his chest rising as he let out a low, clear laugh.
"You are completely adorable when you're being territorial, Akane," he said softly, reaching out his free left hand to gently, reassuringly stroke the side of my neck, his thumb brushing over the silver piercing in my lobe. "But you're wasting your processing power. I didn't even register the way she was looking at me. I was entirely focused on ensuring the risk of Takaneda finding us remained at zero."
"I know you didn't notice," I grumbled through a mouthful of chocolate, my shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch under the steady warmth of his palm against my neck. "You males are completely, structurally stupid when it comes to analyzing those kinds of social signals. You possess absolutely zero radar for danger."
I looked up at his calm, gentle face—the face that had belonged entirely to me in the dark of his bedroom—and a sudden, fierce urge to silence his logical arguments took over my brain.
I reached into the bag, pulled out a fresh, heavy piece of choco-bread, and violently shoved the pastry straight into his open mouth, cutting off his next sentence entirely.
"Shut up and eat your food, Baka-kawa," I commanded, my golden eyes flashing with a dark, playful promise as I forced a small grin onto my lips. "Consume your glucose before I decide to turn around, march back into that establishment, and completely tear that school idol into pieces behind her register."
Shin caught the bread with his teeth, his eyes crinkling with a massive, silent amusement as he began to chew, his hand never leaving the nape of my neck as we resumed our slow walk down the hill.
"Don't worry, Akane, I'm yours," He said, smiling.
"Dumbhead," I replied, squeezing his hand tighter.
And then, we kept walking. 'I wonder where he's gonna take me now...' I thought.
But as we moved away from the high street, the playful banter faded from my thoughts, and a strange, heavy, and deeply unsettling sensation began to form deep within the pit of my stomach.
I looked down at our joined fingers, my mind turning over the interaction with an intense, analytical focus.
'What the hell is happening to my system?'
The question clawed at the back of my mind, cold and sharp.
I had spent my entire life being entirely detached, a calculated lone wolf who looked down on the emotional drama of the high school hallways with absolute, clinical contempt.
I didn't care about popularity, I didn't care about social status, and I certainly didn't care about the opinions of the student council executives. I had even resisted the sight of Shin and Kurone for all these years.
So why exactly had a single, friendly look from a girl like Sora Fujimoto managed to trigger such a violent, immediate, and overwhelming wave of territorial anxiety inside my chest? Why had I felt so fundamentally, structurally threatened by a complete piece of corporate politeness?
'No... this is something that only Kurone would do...' I thought.
I squeezed his hand tighter, the heavy leather of my combat boots dragging against the asphalt as the shadow of the upcoming Spring Festival loomed over the horizon.
The lines of the battle were beginning to shift, and deep within my bones, a dark intuition whispered that the pristine corridors of the academy were about to become significantly more dangerous than the graveyard on the ridge.