Most boys, when they hear a girl say she looks at them differently from everyone else, would feel their heart skip a beat. Yukio, however, felt nothing of the sort. Shiina's constant backing, Karuizawa treating him as the pillar of her world—weren't those also forms of looking at him differently? Self‑praise or not, that's truly how he saw it.
So he didn't answer Kiryuin right away. Instead, he walked over to a tree, sat with his back against the trunk, and patted the empty spot beside him.
Kiryuin blinked, then sat down at his side. They leaned against the same tree, quietly taking in the winter woods. Wind rustled the leaves—neither lush green nor withered yellow—filling the cold air with a lonely hush. When Yukio finally spoke, his voice carried a depth that seemed to reach straight to the heart.
"Could you tell me," he asked, "why you feel this way, Senpai?"
"Are you sure you want to hear it?" Her crimson eyes tracked the quiet canopy above. "It's a dull story—some would say a very rich‑girl humblebrag."
Yukio's silence created just enough space, and Kiryuin found herself willing to share. He's the only one worth it anyway, she thought, and began.
"It's nothing special—just your ordinary, upper‑class tale. My parents belong to two rival factions of the same zaibatsu. They married for profit, not love, and kept living their own separate lives afterward."
"Mother is mild by comparison—she only sneaks out to have fun. Otherwise, how would I know some host clubs pull in tens of millions of yen a night? Father is worse. Growing up, I saw more than a dozen aunties wander through the house."
Yukio relaxed further, shifting to an even more casual posture. "I can sort of understand your father."
"Pfft, birds of a feather," Kiryuin laughed, hinting that she knew exactly how popular Yukio was at AN High School. "Anyway, that's my life. Born into comfort: never short of food, clothes, or top‑grade ingredients flown in from anywhere on Earth."
"People with ten billion or a hundred billion yen—there's no real difference in how they indulge. Call it humblebrag all you like, but the truth is it gets painfully boring after a while."
"Then comes the assembly‑line elite education. Over twelve hours of lessons a day. I couldn't stand it and chose AN High School on my own. Fresh and exciting at first, but soon that bored me too. This whole training mid‑level talent model is just a game to me."
"In the end? I'd follow in Father and Mother's footsteps—marry someone for benefits, then live separate lives until we're gray and in our graves."
"Does that sound interesting to you?"
This time Yukio didn't claim to understand. His own family, though politically linked, was grounded in genuine affection built since childhood—nothing like Kiryuin's cold arrangement. When you can't empathize, saying "I understand" is just empty comfort.
"So," he asked instead, "you came to me as a bit of rebellion—one fling before the inevitable business marriage?"
Kiryuin's patience snapped. She jabbed an elbow outward—Yukio blocked in time. "Don't belittle me. I'm not that childish. I want thrills, refuse to marry for life, and decided you're the best match."
That left Yukio more confused. How did this reach "never marrying"? Reading his face, Kiryuin elaborated:
"It's simple. My parents ruined any desire for family of my own. And don't think they'll force me to produce an heir. Even if Mother doesn't care, Father has plenty of illegitimate sons I've never met."
The gender‑equality angle was tricky, but Yukio finally grasped everything. Kiryuin's issue wasn't inheritance but the inevitable marriage alliance waiting ahead. Hence her remark about maybe not lasting until her thirties or forties—not because she'd die early, but because she wouldn't be allowed to stay single that long.
The only way out? Tie herself loosely to Yukio. No formal marriage, just enough of a connection to fend off her family's pressure. Add that she genuinely admired him, and he became the perfect solution. Other rich heirs could offer the same escape, yet she didn't fancy any of them.
Understanding dawned, Yukio sighed. "I can't shake the feeling you're using me."
"Quit acting like you're being exploited." She pointed out the bottom line. "All the perks are yours. I'm the one paying, and you don't have to worry about my side at all. I won't meddle in your love life. I'll show up when I need a thrill and disappear to travel when I don't. Doesn't that make your life easier?"
…It still felt odd—like he'd be… a prostitute, and she the paying customer. Yet one question nagged at him.
"But in that family environment, wouldn't your ideal partner be someone with my background and total loyalty?"
"Nope." With a swift motion she swung a leg across and sat on his lap, hand braced against the tree in an outright tree‑slam. Scarlet eyes met his directly.
"You're dead wrong. If you were that loyal, someone else would've snapped you up already and I'd have zero chance. Much better that you're a flirt—but one who cares."
Yukio still doubted. "What if there is affection between us?"
"Don't overthink it! We can build it from now on." And with reckless courage, Kiryuin kissed him full on the lips. Yukio froze—she really was this direct?
Several breaths later she drew back, satisfied, and whipped out her phone. A notification chimed: she'd transferred him thirty thousand private points.
"Tastes pretty good," she said. "Think about how to grow that affection. Right now, I'm just a little smitten."
Blinking at the transfer alert, Yukio managed a dry laugh, revenge glinting in his eyes. Fine—next time I'm the one sending money. We'll see who's the real boss.
Leaving that single statement hanging, Kiryuin strode away, so briskly that Yukio barely caught the lingering crimson on her cheeks—color that even the winter wind couldn't cool.