"No worries… I just arrived myself," Yukino replied with impeccable courtesy, nodding. Miura merely hummed, her response subdued, likely due to the scrutiny of her entourage nearby and a reluctance to appear too close to Kagura while standing beside Yukino.
Today, Yukino wore a pristine white cinched dress, modestly covering all but her forearms and a sliver of calf—more fabric, Kagura noted, than her school uniform. A slender coffee-brown strap held a petite LV crossbody bag tucked under her arm. Her light blue, four-centimeter block-heel princess shoes, adorned with a single ankle strap, revealed no socks, her bare legs immaculate. Unbeknownst to others, Yukino had agonized over her outfit, opting for a knee-length skirt to conceal safety shorts and menstrual panties layered with a night-use pad—not for her cycle, but as a precaution against potential embarrassments.
As if anticipating Yukino's skirt, Miura chose frayed-edge hotpants paired with sheer, near-transparent flesh-toned stockings. Her orange, strapless stiletto heels accentuated her long legs. Slim as Yukino, her black-and-white striped V-neck tee didn't broaden her frame, but the ensemble risked seeming plain. She countered this with a thin orange jacket, its jagged buttons left undone, chest exposed, the hem just five centimeters past her hotpants. Standing side by side, their height difference was stark—Miura at roughly 168 cm, Yukino just over 160 cm. Both wore four-centimeter heels, elevating them equally, yet Yukino remained shorter.
Their hairstyles mirrored their school looks with subtle flair: Yukino swapped her usual red hair tie for a crimson bow, while Miura pinned a gleaming leaf-shaped clip by her ear—a tie in accessorizing. Makeup, however, tipped in Yukino's favor. Her near-bare face, with only the faintest invisible makeup, contrasted Miura's carefully applied, though not heavy, cosmetics. This balanced their appearances. In aura, Yukino held the edge, but when it came to busts, Yukino was utterly outclassed.
Speaking of busts, Kagura realized he'd rarely touched Miura's—his focus always on kissing or more intimate areas. It was like skipping lunch, never starving but always missing something.
"Where's Hayama?" Kagura asked, scanning the roads and checking his watch. It was 3:35 PM, and Hayama was still absent. Was he bailing?
"He didn't mention being late. Maybe something came up…" Miura said, pulling her phone from her jacket pocket to check the time.
"For him to arrive later than all three of us is rather unthinkable," Yukino remarked softly, familiar with Hayama's punctuality.
"No choice, let's wait," Kagura said, positioning himself about twenty centimeters from Yukino's side.
Miura, peering over Yukino's head, shot him a curious look. "By the way, I've always wondered… Sawamura, your dad's a pure Englishman, right? Blonde, blue-eyed Caucasian."
"That's right."
"Then why didn't you inherit his blonde hair or blue eyes?"
"I suspect it's because he and his sister, Sawamura Spencer Eriri, are fraternal twins, and he inherited more of their mother's DNA," Yukino explained.
"Pretty much," Kagura agreed, inching his left arm closer to Yukino's right. "But my skin's quite fair, almost as pale as Yukino's."
"And that proves what?" Yukino shifted her arm away, tilting her chin with a sidelong glance. "That you might have potential as a pretty boy?"
"Eh, do I need to be a pretty boy?"
Before he could elaborate, rapid footsteps and heavy panting approached. The trio turned—Hayama, disheveled, arrived at 3:39 PM, barely avoiding tardiness.
Dressed simply in a solid-color tee, casual shirt, and pants—similar to Kagura's style—Hayama lacked his usual composure. He looked as if he'd sprinted miles pursued by rabid dogs, face flushed, coughing, clutching his ribs, gasping. Sweat soaked his armpits, drenching his tee and shirt, his collar damp, golden hair matted with beads of perspiration. He was a mess.
If Kagura typically matched Hayama in looks and surpassed him in charisma, this Hayama couldn't hold a candle to him. What had happened?
"S-Sorry… Really, so… sorry… I'm late… Hah—Hah…!" Hayama gasped, hands on knees.
A soccer club member, trained for endurance, shouldn't be this winded. Unbeknownst to them, Hayama's ordeal was dire. Traffic delayed him, but with time to spare, he'd taken a shortcut through an alley, only to be ambushed by two groups of aggressive men—six ahead, three behind—pinning him, a handsome youth, with invasive intentions. Terrified, he'd broken free, but the nine pursued like hounds. To avoid leading them to the meeting spot, he'd circled frantically, barely escaping.
"You look… something else," Yukino said, edging toward Miura to avoid Hayama's faint sweat odor, intolerable to a refined lady.
Miura, less fazed, stepped closer, patting his shoulder. "Hayama, you okay? What happened?"
As a former fangirl and current clique member, she was used to Hayama's post-training sweat, but this was extreme. Had he run a mini-marathon from home?
"You holding up…?" Kagura asked, shaking his head.
"Don't… ask…" Hayama managed a bitter smile, shaking his head. "Didn't expect today to be such a disaster."
Miura glanced at Kagura, elegantly delivered by a poised maid, then at the sweat-drenched, bedraggled Hayama—a stark contrast. Once smitten with Hayama, her affection had waned, overtaken by Kagura, her "troublesome little brother." Despite her bold demeanor, Miura was traditional at heart. Kagura's intimate touches and knowledge of her most private habits—her bladder control struggles—had tethered her heart to him. Seeing Hayama now, the perfect image she'd held crumbled. Were it not for her clique and Hina's friendship, she might've cut ties, but social bonds held her.
"Phew… Should we call it off? It's not too late," Yukino suggested, stroking her hair to compose herself, reluctant to dine with Hayama's odor. Kagura was no picnic either, but his "bewitching" effect was pleasant and odorless.
"No way—I want to eat…" Miura pouted, shooting Yukino a displeased look.
Yukino looked to Kagura for support, but before he could speak, Hayama straightened, smoothing things over with a grin. "No, no, sending you back after inviting you would be awful. Let's head to the restaurant."
With that, Yukino reluctantly nodded.
Miura and Yukino had chosen the same shop Miura photographed for Kagura, a recent haunt. Beyond cold drinks, ice cream, and parfaits, it offered tasty Western dishes. Kagura thought, Typical JK taste, recalling a similar spot Kato Megumi had taken him to, though with a different name.
At the four-seat table, seating became a conundrum. Miura wanted to sit with Kagura but felt obliged to mind Hayama. If she sat with Kagura, Hayama would pair with Yukino, who loathed the idea. Miura equally disliked sitting with Yukino, who reciprocated. Yukino also resisted sitting with Kagura. Kagura only cared to avoid Hayama, while Hayama dreaded pairing with Yukino. After excessive polite deferring, no one sat, bewildering the waiter.
Yukino broke the stalemate, smacking Kagura's shoulder. "You sit first."
"Uh…"
"No buts. Sit. Minister's orders."
"Fine."
Kagura took the innermost seat. Yukino promptly sat beside him, Miura opposite, leaving one chair by Miura. Hayama didn't sit.
Smiling, he handed menus to the ladies. "You three order first. I'll go last."
Yukino ordered swiftly, the waiter jotting down her choices. Miura, flipping pages, glanced covertly at Kagura, wanting him to order first as the "big sister" (born December 12, three months older). With others present, she held back. Kagura's look signaled her to order freely, so after Yukino, she quickly selected dishes, asking, "Yukino, you eat so little. Will that fill you?"
"I ordered a normal portion," Yukino replied calmly, her subtext clear: A standard girl's portion. You eat too much, Miura—watch the weight!
Miura, sharp as ever, caught it. "Oh…?" Her eyes flicked to her own chest, then Yukino's, before smirking, "No wonder."
Yukino, defeated, flushed, glancing awkwardly at Kagura. Her chest size was an eternal sore spot.
Kagura nearly laughed but held it together, thinking, Don't worry, Yukino, I adore flat chests—small's cute. Be my wife, and you'll never worry about it!
After Miura ordered, both she and Yukino pushed menus to Kagura. With two menus, they collided, neither yielding, glaring. Kagura, scanning the open page, picked a few items, saying, "I'm done," ending the standoff.
Yukino closed her menu nonchalantly, Miura mirrored her, their synchronized movements almost comical. Kagura stifled a laugh.
Hayama, far from amused, forced a smile. "All set? Want to add desserts or drinks? Don't hold back."
"No need, thanks," Yukino said first.
"I'm good," Miura followed.
"Thanks, this is fine," Kagura added.
Satisfied, Hayama paid at the counter. Returning, he gripped the empty chair, smiling, "Sorry, just got a call from Dad—family emergency. I've settled the bill, so don't worry. Enjoy~"
Kagura had half-expected this.
Yukino exhaled subtly, relieved, thinking, Good, I couldn't eat with him across.
Miura stood, concerned. "Hayama, you sure that's okay?"
"No worries, don't mind me, or I'll feel bad," Hayama said, backing away, waving. "Gotta go—sorry! Let's do this again if you're up for it~"
He bolted, fleeing the shop.
Miura sat slowly, gazing at Hayama's retreating, sweat-soaked back, murmuring, "What's with him today?"
"Hayama's a good guy," Kagura said softly, eyeing his drenched silhouette.
Unbeknownst to them, moments after leaving, Hayama rounded a corner and froze, facing the nine men who'd chased him. Fuming from their failed pursuit, smoking and cursing, they locked eyes. The stocky leader stubbed out his cigarette, pointing, "Yo, blondie's back! Get him!"
Eight men tossed their cigarettes, charging. Hayama sprinted, hair flying back, like a scene from a 007 chase. I'd rather eat with them! Even if they're annoyed, it's better than this!
Thugs might rob or beat him, but these men posed a far worse threat.
Oblivious to Hayama's plight, dishes arrived within ten minutes. Not a strict Western restaurant, cutlery was piled in a box like at Saizeriya. No one minded table manners; Kagura and Yukino ate casually.
But eating in silence was dull. With the sunset glowing, Kagura slipped off his left shoe, extending his foot toward Miura.
She froze, leaning back to peek under the table through the gap above her chest. His foot was nestled between her legs.
Her tension eased. Kagura's antics, she could handle.
"Ugh… Should've worn a skirt…" she muttered, watching his gray-socked foot nudge her thighs, a twinge of regret surfacing. A skirt would've let him slip under, toes teasing her panties, maybe even inside.
But she reconsidered—was she too indulgent with her "little brother"? This was bold, in a restaurant, with Yukino right there!
"…"
Deciding it was excessive, she stretched her leg, lightly kicking him with a tap.
Kagura withdrew his foot, slipped his shoe back on, and sighed, "Aww…"
Focusing on his food, he didn't look up for minutes, leaving Miura guilt-ridden. Had she upset him? Coupled with spraying him in the Service Club, she felt awful.
Why'd you stop him? It was fine… You have to pamper him.
She tapped his foot under the table, signaling, Go on, keep going. Big sis lets you.
But Kagura kept eating, occasionally shaking his head, intensifying her guilt. She nearly teared up, thinking, I swore to protect him, and now he's upset…
Yukino, engrossed in her meal, noticed nothing.
Miura, agonizing, slid her right foot from its shoe, cautiously extending her sheer-stockinged foot toward Kagura, resting it on his knee.
Surprised—she'd come to him after his deliberate cold shoulder—he parted his legs, signaling reconciliation.
His earlier teasing had aroused him; her initiative now made him fully erect, tenting his pants.
Sensing his spread legs, Miura smiled, sliding her foot inward, pressing her sole against his erection.
Both ate nonchalantly. Kagura relished her foot's massage, heart racing, while Miura, no stranger to "research materials" as a bold clique leader, skillfully used her big and second toes to grip him, rubbing gently up and down.
"Oh…" Kagura savored it, Miura's face flushing. Foot-play in public, with clueless Yukino nearby, was thrillingly perverse.
Even Kagura felt sheepish. He'd played with Nao at home, Miura in the schoolhouse, but this public mischief was a first, initiated by her—a daring woman.
"This fork's so hard…" Miura remarked, twirling the stainless steel, hinting at his erection.
"Utensils need some firmness, don't they, Miura-san?" Yukino replied innocently, blinking.
"Really? Isn't it too hard?" Miura plunged the fork deep into her strawberry cream cake, pointing it out to Yukino. "Look, this hard fork's sunk so deep in my soft, tasty cake, cream's spilling out."
"Isn't that normal for a fork? I'm surprised you're shocked…" Yukino tilted her head, puzzled.
Kagura nearly lost it. Miura's innuendo was masterful, and Yukino's pure response amplified the thrill. Yumiko, you sly fox!
Miura licked her lips seductively, jabbing the cake while intensifying her foot's grip. "Yukino, see? It goes in deep each time, hitting the plate's bottom."
"…What's remarkable about that? Also, you like riddling your cake with holes before eating?" Yukino's eyelids twitched, finding it wasteful.
"Yep, I love messing up my cream cake till it's a total wreck," Miura said, making Kagura tremble, bending forward.
"Fine… Eat how you like. I won't comment," Yukino said, shaking her head, sipping her slushie.
"And look, Yukino…" Miura brandished a knife from the box, gesturing, "This thing's so long and hard…"
"Miura-san, is this your first time using a knife?" Yukino asked, nearing exasperation.
"Chill, just saying. Isn't eating in silence boring?"
"I find 'no talk while eating' perfectly fine…" Yukino glanced at Kagura. What's with him? Is he unwell? He's practically on the table.
Sensing Kagura's nearing climax, Miura rubbed harder. As his erection pulsed, she "accidentally" spilled her ice water, grabbing napkins to dab her chest, exclaiming, "Ugh, so clumsy! Spilled it, spilled it…!"
Kagura, hand gripping the table, shuddered, ejaculating under her foot's ministrations.
Miura continued until his pulses faded, then slipped her shoe back on. Kagura, relieved, cast a quick Cleanse to fix his pants. Thank goodness for magic, or this'd be awkward.
"Miura-san, be careful…" Yukino offered napkins.
"Oh, thanks." Miura wiped her chest, noting Kagura straightening up, and toyed with her cake. "Tastes great, huh, Sawamura?"
"Yeah… really good," he said, catching his breath.
"I agree, it's quite nice…" Yukino said, setting down her small cake fork, which slipped, clattering under the table between her and Kagura.
Dropped cutlery demanded retrieval, but Kagura's erection persisted. Sitting, it was hidden, but if Yukino bent to pick it up, she might see, branding him a pervert. How'd I win her as a wife then?
He moved to grab it.
Yukino, seeing his move, panicked. If he bent down, his head might graze her legs. Even hand contact overwhelmed her; leg contact might trigger an orgasm. "N-No, I'll get it!"
She shoved her chair back, crouching.
"Let me, let me!"
"No, no…"
Neither yielded, each with urgent reasons. Kagura crouched first, but Yukino's swift descent ended with their heads thunking together.
"Ouch…" Yukino crouched, clutching her forehead, wincing.
Kagura fared no better, her rapid drop too forceful.
Blinking through the pain, he glanced at Yukino. Skirt hem—white thighs—panties… wait, safety shorts?! Damn!
So conservative, wearing safety shorts under a long skirt?
He averted his gaze. Yukino, flushed, grabbed the fork, stood shakily, gripping the table, "I… excuse me, I'll step away."
"Leave your bag, I'll watch it," Miura said, knowing she was headed to the restroom.
Kagura said nothing, rising, noting something off in Yukino's unsteady gait but unable to pinpoint it.
When she was out of sight, Miura reached over, rubbing his forehead with concern. "You… okay?"
"I'm fine, thanks for worrying."
He grasped her wrist, lightly licking her fingers.
Miura checked Yukino's direction—still gone—relaxing as he licked. Pulling back, she licked her fingers, smiling, "How's that?"
"Really… great feeling."
What else could he say? Honesty sufficed.
"Well…" Miura gazed out the window, cheeks pink, murmuring, "Couldn't be better…"
Yukino wobbled to the restroom. A female staffer asked if she was unwell; she shook her head. With few patrons, the women's restroom was empty. She chose the innermost stall, debating whether to hang her skirt or clutch it. Opting to hold it, she bunched the hem, slid her safety shorts and padded menstrual panties to her knees, sat, and licked her right index, middle, and ring fingers. Eyes closed, she pressed her hand to her bare mound, sliding along the slick seam.
"Just a spoon, why'd that idiot fight me for it… Why… Why do I suffer like this…?"
She raged inwardly.
"After hitting heads, I'm so… desperate. He's done something to me… I wasn't like this… Oh… I can't hold back my voice…"
Biting a wad of skirt with her left hand, head tilted back, eyes shut, her right hand's three fingers furiously rubbed her increasingly wet slit. Her middle and ring fingers pressed the dripping entrance, circling the tender flesh swiftly yet carefully.
Her left hand, clutching the skirt, kneaded her modest left breast, syncing with her fingers below, her body heating. Her womb quivered, signaling climax. Biting the skirt harder, holding her breath, pinching her breast, her right fingertips shifted to her clitoris, her slick middle finger tapping rapidly.
Her womb contracted sharply, love juices gushing, followed by a torrent spraying from her slit. She clamped her clitoris between her middle and ring fingers, grinding, leaning forward, convulsing in an exquisitely blissful orgasm.