"Both batches taste great—just a faint sweetness, exactly my taste."
Late at night in his dorm, Yukio had opened the two boxes of chocolate. He was odd that way: coffee and tea were both stimulants, yet drinking coffee before bed never kept him awake, while tea absolutely would. So— well past midnight—he unwrapped Karuizawa's and Kushida's chocolates, brewed a cup of coffee, and treated the lot as a midnight snack.
He had to. Now that he understood why all the girls had been acting strangely—making handmade chocolate—he sensed he'd be receiving even more tomorrow. If he didn't eat what he had, the pile might grow until just looking at chocolate made him nauseous, which would be unfair to the feelings behind each gift.
While he munched, he was also chatting idly with Sakura on his phone. Something about her seemed extra talkative tonight. Normally she said good-night at a set time, but now it was nearly 1 a.m. and she was still bubbling about photography— even sending him the shots she liked best but had never posted on her idol site.
"Wow," Yukio marveled. "Hard to believe you took all these yourself. Feels like you don't even need a photographer—you handle shooting, makeup, and post-editing all on your own."
On screen Sakura replied—flustered:
"N-No way… I… I still think the autumn set you shot last time was prettier."
A shy little white bear emoji hid its eyes after that line.
"Still no confidence," Yukio muttered. Her appeal was undeniable; the number of die-hard fans on her personal site proved it. Yet in real life she remained timid. Telling her she needed to improve could only work gradually; breaking from past self-doubt and embracing new courage would take time.
Knock knock.
Someone tapped on the door. At this hour a timid soul might panic, but Yukio merely wondered which lunatic visited at nearly 1 a.m.
His phone buzzed. From Sakura:
"Yukio-kun, it's me."
Another embarrassed emoji.
Yukio grinned. He had underestimated her—coming to his room in the dead of night was already a huge first step for her. Without texting back, he opened the door—and a small gift bag was thrust at his chest.
There stood Sakura, the same pink waterfall of hair tied into twin tails at her neck—begging to be tugged. Behind her glasses was a face aflame; nervous, shy, yet determined. A simple cardigan over her uniform couldn't hide curves that put most girls on campus to shame.
Both hands cupped the knitted bag, as though she'd been poised the moment the door opened. Tiny beads of sweat slid down her cheeks despite the February cold.
Something rippled in Yukio's chest—emotions he couldn't name. If I leave her like this, she'll break.
So he pushed aside the jumble and said the simplest thing: "It's freezing. Come in and warm up a bit."
"Eh—?!" She nearly burst. Go… go inside? Alone, past midnight, boy and girl in one room—that's…! She had deliberately chatted until he was sleepy, then sneaked over so no one would see— and now this…!
Steam practically puffed from her head as unhealthy images flooded her mind. The blush spread until even her eyes darted wildly in their sockets.
"N-n-no… no need!" The embarrassment was too much. In a move she'd never have dared before, Sakura shoved the bag into his arms, hopped back two steps, and bolted.
She shot into the elevator, dashed to her own room, and flopped onto the sofa—rolling left and right as her face burned.
"Uuuh… what did I do?" She finally squeaked, burying her face under a pillow in a hopeless attempt to cool it. It only got hotter, yet she clutched the pillow as if it made her invisible—even though this was her own room and no one else was there.
Ding-dong. Message notification.
Sakura flung the pillow aside, sprang up, grabbed her phone. Yukio had texted:
"Delicious. I love it."
"Yukio-kun…" The frantic look melted into calm. Knees together, chin on them, she simply stared at the screen— and a pure, radiant smile bloomed, bright as a girl basking in summer sun by the pool.
Hehe… Yukio-kun said he really likes my chocolate…
Wait—! She suddenly realized she hadn't stated whether it was honmei or giri.
Panic returned; she typed at lightning speed:
"I'm so glad you like it! I only made that one; I didn't buy any other chocolate."
That should make it clear it was honmei, right? But—but that's practically a confession!
Steam erupted again; she rolled off the sofa and spun on the floor, tranquility gone in an instant.
...
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