Miyuki's POV
Night settled heavily over my room, the soft hum of the streetlights leaking faintly through the curtains. My phone lay on the desk, its screen dark, but the echo of Haruto's voice still lingered in my ears. His warmth, his tenderness it had pulled me back from the edge earlier, steadied me like it always did.
And yet…
I turned in bed, restless. My heart raced at the memory of Ayaka's words, sharp as glass: Souta knows exactly what you like. I hated that her voice followed me into the dark. I hated that, when I closed my eyes, I didn't only see Haruto's face I saw Souta's grin too.
It wasn't fair. Souta was everywhere. At school, brushing casually against me in the hallway. In class, leaning too close during group work. His eyes, that teasing sparkle, always searching me out.
I told myself I hated it. I told myself I belonged to Haruto. But then, why did my pulse skip when Souta's hand brushed mine as he passed me a pen? Why did his laughter feel so much closer, so much louder, than it should have?
I buried my face in the pillow, muffling a groan of frustration. I loved Haruto. I had declared it before the whole class, for everyone to see. My loyalty wasn't a mask it was the truth. And yet, a dangerous thought whispered in the back of my mind:
What if Ayaka was right? What if I could have both?
My stomach twisted, guilt clawing at me. I hated myself for even thinking it. But temptation, once planted, never really died.
Haruto's POV
The seventh night at my grandmother's mansion was drenched in silence. Outside, the crickets sang in perfect rhythm, the wind rustling against the pines like a whisper meant only for me.
I sat cross-legged on the tatami, notebook open, fragments scattered across the page in inked lines and furious arrows. Betrayals. Dates. Places. My own mother's smile, curling where it shouldn't. Miyuki's laughter, spilling too freely in Souta's presence. Souta's shadow, always there always circling.
Each vision Valkyrie had thrust upon me burned as if carved into the back of my eyelids. I replayed them, frame by frame, until every detail was locked inside me. The brush of hands at the pool, the quiet dinners, the red-district night. Pieces of a puzzle I never asked to solve, but one I would finish nonetheless.
My pen scratched across the page:
"April 15 – laughter at pool. Public setting, but easy denial.
Jan 6 – restaurant, dessert sharing. Crossed into intimacy.
July 28 – Kaori + Souta, red district. Irrefutable."
Ink smudged along my fingers, a black stain that felt almost ceremonial. Evidence. That was what I was building. Not just for myself, not just for revenge, but for the moment when every mask was ripped away and the truth stood naked before them all.
I closed my notebook slowly, my breath even. Anger burned in my chest, yes, but colder now. Controlled. Refined. Like a blade hammered into steel.
Valkyrie's voice slithered faintly at the edge of my thoughts: You see now, don't you? The patterns. The threads. Every betrayal carries a rhythm. Learn it, and you will never be surprised again.
I tilted my head back, staring at the wooden ceiling. My fists tightened.
"I won't just learn the rhythm," I whispered. "I'll orchestrate it. I'll make them dance to it. And when the music stops" My eyes narrowed. "They'll have nothing left."
The mansion creaked softly, as though it had heard me. My grandmother's presence lingered in the distance, her strength a silent anchor. She gave me this time, this space. And I would not waste it.
I reached for the notebook again, flipping to a clean page. At the top, in bold strokes, I wrote only three words:
Miyuki. Souta. Kaori.
The rest would follow.