Kyousuke froze.
Sure, his flash-step footwork was slick enough to make even the infamous "old man next door" drool with envy—but being this flashy right now really wasn't ideal.
In any other situation, he would've been more than happy to be fed every bite and sip by Utaha's sweet and seductive little mouth.
But someone had just entered the room! Top priority now was getting her skirt—which had ridden up to her waist—back into its proper place.
Then, they could both pretend they were just fixing their clothes, like they had just finished getting ready for the day.
He tried to tilt his head back slightly, but the girl's arms looped around his neck yanked him right back.
Her teeth playfully bit down on his lips, making escape impossible.
His "brother"—who had only just cooled down from their earlier passion—wasn't about to take that lying down.
It immediately sprang to full attention, eager to redeem itself from the shame of earlier dreams.
Meanwhile, the black-haired, red-eyed girl in Kyousuke arms felt the growing heat pressing against her from behind.
Her body twisted and writhed, only stoking the fire.
Kyousuke was torn—trying to lock onto her tongue in their tangled kiss while keeping one eye fixed outside.
The heavy wooden door creaked open ever so slowly, and his pulse climbed with every second.
The changing room had a premium-grade hydraulic door closer—practically silent—but just as he had detected it twice before, he picked it up again now.
The soft click of the mechanism stopping meant the door had opened wide enough for someone to step inside.
'No good! Utaha-senpai, you've gotta stop now!'
But instead, she kissed him even harder—like she was trying to suck his very soul from his mouth. Her long, toned legs clamped even tighter around his waist.
'Hey! Get a grip! Can we at least wait till we get home?'
The same guy who'd just been drunk on her passion was now silently begging her to snap out of it.
Someone had entered the room, but thanks to the plush carpeting, he couldn't even tell from the footsteps if it was a man or a woman.
He was still debating whether to force Utaha off of him or just cover his ears and pretend they weren't there—when a familiar voice rang out.
"Kyousuke?"
That crisp, magnetic voice—light but commanding—made his eyes go wide.
'Mitsuha?!'
No one in the world knew that voice better than he did.
He had spent weeks adjusting to it after they first swapped bodies.
For a long time, just hearing it would give him a strange sense that someone was always standing right beside him.
'Wait, wait. Wasn't Mitsuha supposed to be with my mom right now? What is she doing here?'
Of course, he'd completely forgotten—it was Utaha who had originally volunteered to accompany his mother.
Although, realistically, his mom was probably too busy entertaining guests right now anyway...
'No! Focus! This isn't one of those anime where time freezes just because the internal monologue kicks in!'
His eyes were still wide when Utaha suddenly froze as well.
Her twisting hips and teasing tongue stopped all at once.
Her eyes shot open—wine-red and full of panic.
'Mitsuha? Miyamizu Mitsuha?'
'Why is she here?!'
Just a moment ago, she'd been in a haze of desire.
Now, her thoughts spun a complete 180.
At first, she instinctively panicked.
'If "Sayuka" sees me like this—what a disaster!' She nearly leapt off Kyousuke, ready to straighten her skirt and pretend she'd just been helping him adjust his clothes.
But then—just as suddenly—that thought twisted into something else.
'My plan… it's about to be ruined again? And at such a perfect moment?!'
Frustration flared.
But instead of releasing her hold, her legs tightened around him even more.
'Huh!?'
Kyousuke had been fully expecting her to climb off.
His hands were already beneath her, ready to support her descent.
But instead, those long legs of hers coiled even more tightly around his waist.
'What is going on here?!'
'I need to answer Mitsuha—quick!'
Even if her perception wasn't as sharp as his, Mitsuha was still a two-time national kendo champion.
She had enough observational skill to figure things out.
But he couldn't even open his mouth—Utaha's kiss resumed, her soft tongue dancing once again between his lips.
With his hands still gripping her backside, he gave a gentle squeeze, his eyes desperately signaling "Come on, get off me!"
But Utaha didn't budge.
Her ruby-like eyes shimmered with a strange emotion—a mixture of mischief and resolve.
A look that said she'd made up her mind.
'Wait, what?! Resolve for what?!'
If Kyousuke had one regret at this moment, it was that his ability to read micro-expressions was too good.
Even now, he was being dragged into a puzzle he didn't want to solve.
'What decision did Utaha just make?'
At first, she'd been angry—furious that Mitsuha had ruined her perfect moment.
She even thought, 'Fine. Every time Kyousuke tries to see Mitsuha after we're married, I'll make sure he's too exhausted to even walk.'
A "vengeful" little idea blossomed in her head.
But then, the brain that had always been so clever suddenly lit up with a "brilliant" new plan.
'How brilliant?'
Brilliant enough that it mirrored her earlier scheme—where, after being excluded from the first guest list, she took it upon herself to invite Kyousuke's family and friends to Tokyo for the ceremony.
She wasn't like Yukari, all gentle and reserved.
Nor was she like Eriri, who schemed in secret.
She wasn't clueless.
She knew where the Meiji Memorial Hall was.
If the mountain wouldn't come to her, then she'd go to the mountain.
Not only would she show up—she'd do so as the one person closest to him. That's what a wife should do: handle the things her husband couldn't.
And sure enough, Aunt Mikiko now called her the ideal bride.
She and Kyousuke had almost taken that final step.
Even if her plan had been thrown off course, she could still use this opportunity for something even better.
'Mitsuha doesn't know why she's walked into this scene? Good.'
'Then let her see. Let her see exactly how far I've gone with Kyousuke already.'
Even if her hips hadn't yet felt the pressure of that talisman string bracelet Kyousuke always wore, Utaha knew—the bond between Mitsuha and Kyousuke was deep.
She didn't expect the shrine maiden to give up.
But even a display of dominance—a warning shot—would be worth it.
The only regret she had?
'Why couldn't it have been Eriri? What a missed opportunity.'
If that idiot had walked in, she'd have collapsed onto the floor in tears.
Screaming things like "You heartless jerk!" and "Idiot!" and "BAKA!"—before storming off, pretending to be the heartbroken wife and dramatically returning to her family home.
Kyousuke would obviously run after her.
That's when Utaha would get Sakura and the others to hold him back, insisting he give Eriri some "cooling off" time.
Meanwhile, Eriri—who had no patience to begin with—would be sobbing in her blanket fort, flipping through old photos, getting more and more furious with every second.
Of course, Utaha would eventually visit her, acting concerned.
"Seriously? Is your love for Kyousuke so fragile?"
That idiot Eriri wouldn't know what to say.
'Why is it okay for someone else to kiss the guy I love, but wrong for me to be upset about it? Am I the one who doesn't understand love?'
It would drive her into a downward spiral of self-doubt.
Then, all she had to do was stuff that empty-headed idiot's brain full of her own thoughts, let her know that only by listening to her could she stay by Kyousuke's side.
'Ah~ Hahaha~ Hahahaha~~'
Kasumigaoka Utaha laughed wildly in her heart, thoroughly pleased with the script she had helped Eiri-sensei develop.
—What a pity...
The proud smile on her face now was as if the panicked, flustered girl from just moments ago had never existed.
Too bad the one who came was Mitsuha. She's no Eriri, after all.
Mitsuha…
Just like she acknowledged Eriri's talent, Utaha also silently recognized the strength of this girl who could walk around Tokyo under Kyousuke's name, managing his affairs in the real world with ease.
Manga, novels, kendo, school, family—and all the girls around Kyousuke...
The more terrifying Kyousuke's talents were, the more impressive Mitsuha had to be to keep up.
On top of that, Utaha had privately dug up more information about Mitsuha.
How her hometown was wiped out by a comet, her family shrine reduced to ash, how she left everything behind and moved to Nara, comforting grieving villagers, mastering kendo, and still managing to enter a prestigious school.
Whether or not she had talent, that unshakable will alone was something Utaha knew she herself could never match.
Still, she thought smugly, just a bit inferior to me.
But if Mitsuha were to become Kyousuke's mistress, people would only use her excellence to highlight how incredible the "main wife" must be.
Just like she could infer Mitsuha's strength from Kyousuke, others could reverse-engineer Mitsuha's talent and be in awe of Utaha.
So…
Today, she absolutely would not get off Kyousuke's lap!
Let Mitsuha see with her own eyes just how intimate she and Kyousuke had become.
He had rushed over to celebrate with her right after the award ceremony ended—that had to mean something, didn't it?
That had to prove she was the one he truly cared about the most!
She screamed this in her heart, wrapping her legs even tighter around him.
And besides—no one would ever know that she had carefully engineered this encounter, ensuring Kyousuke would come to the dressing room the moment his speech ended.
Even if someone found out, they'd just think it was playful teasing between a loving couple. Others would only envy Kyousuke for having such a considerate lover.
'Exactly!'
With this thought, Kasumigaoka Utaha clamped her legs tighter.
————————————————————————
Meanwhile, outside the room, Mitsuha softly called his name as she pushed open the door.
Even though a staff member had told her Kyousuke was the only one in the dressing room, her upbringing compelled her to knock first anyway.
Not because she was impatient to scold him for flirting with an older woman during a public ceremony—of course not.
She wasn't that kind of jealous girl.
Her mother's gentle devotion to her father had been etched into her heart for as long as she could remember. Becoming a wife like that had always been her dream.
The reason she hadn't followed Sakura and the others to see Kyousuke's mother was because she wanted to confirm something first:
Did Aunt Mikiko still remember her?
Did she remember what happened during their trip to Hokkaido?
If she went up to hug Aunt Mikiko and was met with a confused, blank stare…
Well, it wasn't about embarrassment anymore.
That would just hurt.
Once that was out of the way, she could ask Kyousuke to explain that emcee woman—what exactly was going on between them?
Though, of course, that was just a side note.
Totally not the main reason she came.
After all, if she didn't keep him in check, who knew when he'd bring home some random unconscious girl from the sidewalk claiming she was a cat who turned into a human?
Of course Mitsuha didn't believe cats could turn into girls… but men? Men could lie about anything.
After calling his name, there was no response from inside.
Mitsuha frowned slightly.
Was Kyousuke not here?
Did she go to the wrong room?
But the staff had said this hallway only led to the groom's dressing room…
She pushed the door open a bit more and stepped inside.
The room was large and mostly empty.
On the table to the side…
Hmm?
The items on the table looked like they'd just been disturbed—recently.
Keen observation was a pillar of all Takemichi-style martial arts—not just kendo, but also modern adaptations like American iaido.
Whether on the battlefield or in a dojo, observation was everything.
The TV always showed samurai wildly swinging swords, screaming as they charged, but that wasn't real swordsmanship.
Real duels were fast, precise, and dependent on reading the opponent's every move.
And someone who had won a national kendo championship twice?
Yeah, Mitsuha's observational skills were no joke.
Just one glance and she could tell the books on the table had been hastily tossed aside.
And since the staff said Kyousuke was the only one using this room—
Well, the truth wasn't hard to guess.
A faint shadow fell over her bright, clear eyes.
"…Kyousuke?"
Her voice was a bit lower this time than when she entered.
Eyes narrowing, she turned toward the red curtain in the corner of the room—obviously designed to conceal something, or someone.
Her right foot stepped lightly across the floor.
She slowly raised her hand, reaching for the curtain.
'Behind there…?'
What was he doing?
Why hadn't he answered her?
'Something's not right.'
With the thick wooden door now fully shut behind her, the only sound in the room was her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
'Was Kyousuke hiding back there? Naked?'
Ugh… just the thought made her blush bright red.
Even though she knew she shouldn't…
Her slender, pale hand gripped the edge of the curtain.
Without a second's hesitation, she yanked it open.
"Come out, Kyousuke!"
It felt like pulling the cover off a caged tiger.
"Huh!? Mitsuha? What are you doing here?"
Kyousuke turned to face her, his tone surprised but clearly delighted.
He was holding his suit jacket over one arm and fiddling with the collar of his shirt with the other.
Opposite him, Utaha stood cool and composed, looking over at Mitsuha with curious eyes—like she was a black cat that had wandered into a dog park.
"Mitsuha?" she called again.
Mitsuha didn't respond.
Her narrowed eyes glinted with amusement, and her lips curled into a half-smile as she looked at the two of them.
They had done a decent job tidying up, but not quite perfect.
Utaha's skirt still had visible creases at the waist—too wrinkled for someone who had just been standing still.
Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing slightly uneven, her eyes misty, and even the tip of her nose was red.
Her lips were at least two shades deeper than before, swollen as if she'd just been—
If this were middle school, Mitsuha might have naively assumed they were secretly eating spicy snacks.
But after two passionate nights with Kyousuke…
She knew exactly what this meant.
And Kyousuke, smart as he was, had at least removed his jacket—the most obvious place to find scratches.
How did she know that?
Well, duh—who doesn't dig their nails into his back when he kisses like that?
That was something only Miyamizu Mitsuha could know.
When it came to kissing Kyousuke, she was nothing short of an expert.
Sure, his clothes was off—but the other marks on his body couldn't be hidden so easily.
When he turned slightly, it was obvious: his pants were smudged with dust right on the backside.
That… was impossible. Not for someone like Kyousuke.
He always sat around carelessly—on steps, on the ground—but he'd never forget to pat the dust off his butt like it was part of a routine. That's just how he was.
Yet now, the dust was still there.
It wasn't just overlooked—it looked like someone had literally dipped a stick in ash and dragged it across his pants.
She was experienced—at least when it came to kissing him. But right now, even she had to admit she was at a complete loss.
How the hell did those marks get there?
Then, as if struck by divine revelation, she looked over at Kasumigaoka Utaha—more specifically, at her sharp, elegant black stilettos.
High heels? The heels?
'Wait... did Utaha hit Kyousuke's butt with her heels?'
Like... during a kiss?
Her brain conjured a ridiculous image: passionate kissing, while spanking him with stilettos. No matter how she tried, she couldn't picture it without cringing.
If anything, shouldn't it be the other way around? And with high heels? That's just cruel. Poor guy.
No, no, that can't be right. Let's think this through…
Even Eriri, who still hadn't had her first kiss, could draw those kinds of doujinshi. And she—she, a fully grown college student living with her boyfriend—couldn't figure this out?
...Wait. Doujinshi.
Miyamizu Mitsuha's mind flashed back to the ones Eriri drew—the same ones Kyousuke and she had picked up from the last Comiket.
There was even one based on Love Metronome.
In Eriri's second fanbook, there'd been a scene between Sayuka and Naoto just like this.
Sayuka straddled Naoto's waist, kissing him, groping him, taking his clothes off...
...?????
Mitsuha's mental table flipped.
She wanted to yell.
She wanted to hit someone.
She wanted to kill someone.
On the outside, she smiled sweetly at the pair.
But on the inside? She was plotting a "women's self-defense training retreat" under the pretense of helping everyone get better at handling danger.
'Unforgivable. This sneaky little thief.'
Now she understood why Sakura—usually so generous she seemed brain-dead—was so salty about Kyousuke's elementary school graduation, and why she kept pranking Naoka.
She'd known all along that the guy she liked was a shameless flirt. She'd prepared herself for it.
But this?
This feeling of having something precious stolen right from under you?
It was the worst.
It made her chest tighten like she might vomit blood. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit someone.
Mitsuha was so consumed by rage, she nearly forgot why she'd come here in the first place.
Meanwhile, Kyousuke's look of delight was slowly freezing into place—but his lips kept curling into a smile.
You're not supposed to hit someone who's smiling, right? And didn't Celty say his smile had some kind of magic in it?
Mitsuha was the supernatural type. Surely she'd be affected too, right? Right? She had to be.
And so, he put on his most genuine smile—not the fake, customer service one.
Even if everything was crashing down around him, as long as he was facing the people he cared about, he could smile through the tears.
…Even if he was the one making everything crash.
Mitsuha noticed. Of course she did.
After all, no one knew her better than he did.
Back in the early days of their body swaps, she'd actually borrowed Sayaka's phone in an attempt to record him groping her chest in the morning.
She wanted to use it as blackmail to stop him from complaining about her eating all the snacks in the house.
The plan failed—Sayaka's phone couldn't record that long—and when he woke up, the phone was sitting there in plain sight at the foot of the futon like it was nothing.
It was a stupid plan, adorably stupid—but it only proved how clever and dangerously cute Mitsuha was.
Even Eriri could recognize a scent inside a helmet.
Mitsuha's female instincts had to be even sharper.
With that thought, Kyousuke's smile brightened.
There was no physical evidence. As long as he didn't kiss Mitsuha right now, she wouldn't be able to confirm anything!
And as a mystery novelist, he had learned the art of covering his tracks.
Kasumigaoka Utaha, meanwhile, knew the game was up the moment her heels hit the floor.
So, naturally, she leaned into the performance, humoring Kyousuke's little charade.
But the moment she saw the look on Mitsuha's face—calm on the outside, murderous on the inside—she realized: she knows.
Her lips curled slightly.
The girl with black hair and crimson eyes folded her arms and met Mitsuha's gaze with a smile that was more challenge than charm.
She didn't back down one step.
———————————————————————
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