Yes, this brand was well known to Haramura Makoto. It ranked among the world's top labels—so coveted that women often exchanged their bodies just to own a single item.
He glanced back at Shokuhou Misaki, who was eagerly scanning the racks, then quickly averted his eyes. Clearly, she had no connection to such extremes.
"But are you buying something for your father? This is the men's section."
Indeed, the brand was famed for menswear as well. Makoto had assumed she sought a new outfit for herself, but it seemed not.
"Makoto-kun, sometimes men who pretend not to understand are very annoying," Misaki teased, tiptoeing to pull a linen-colored suit jacket from the rack and holding it up before him. But judging by her expression, it fell short; she frowned and returned it to the rack, resuming her hunt.
"Buying clothes for myself would be nice, but sadly every member of my family has bespoke outfits from personal designers," she said. "They measure us yearly and send each season's wardrobe. I've never bought clothes off the rack."
Of course—noble ladies of the academy dorm rarely shopped in public. Misaki, who'd grown up confined and used as an experiment, was no exception. Makoto's lip twitched—he had truly forgotten.
"So today's main mission is to get you new clothes," Misaki declared, returning to stand before him. She propped her chin in her hand, her starry eyes sweeping left and right. "We do need them."
She signaled to a sales clerk, spoke quietly for a moment, and the clerk left.
"What now?" Makoto asked; her voice hadn't carried far enough for him to overhear.
"My designer is on the way," she said. "These ready-made options are fine, but truly highlighting one's figure requires custom tailoring."
…
Time ticked by. They couldn't have set out late, yet now the sun stood at its zenith, unrelenting overhead—proof of how long they'd lingered at that boutique.
"This bespoke process is more trouble than buying off the rack," Makoto complained, shading his brow with his hand.
"It's only the first measurement. Shopping off the rack has its own hassles," Misaki replied, hurrying into a shady spot under a tree. The heat weighed heavily on her.
"Besides, boys just grab whatever fits, so their shopping is quick," she continued. "But your design sketch looked good."
Producing a parasol from her bag, she waved it at Makoto. He immediately lifted it and shielded her from sun and glare.
He said nothing of her spending—money held little value for her. A few outfits were trivial.
"Where to next? Surely this isn't the end of our date?"
He held the parasol over her, walking beside her.
"Of course not—it's not even a third of the day yet."
Misaki clasped her gloved hands shyly, her gaze filled with eager anticipation.
"Really, it's hot today," she said. "In this weather, there's only one thing I can think of."
Her eyes sparkled with expectation. She hoped he would name her wish.
Makoto laughed. "A pool would be fine, but you can't swim, can you? And even a public water park draws crowds—can you stand that?"
The answer was obvious. In summer, aside from air-conditioned rooms, the only pleasant outing was anything involving water.
"Don't worry, I've got the perfect plan," Misaki said, clearly delighted. Today's date could continue—perfect.
"And what else?" Makoto asked.
She gave him that same expectant look, eyes shining.
"Swimsuit?"
Makoto's lips twitched.
"What's that expression?"
"You look like you're not expecting my swimsuit."
Misaki read his mind, but he hadn't yet noticed the shift in the air. He kept talking:
"Honestly, a middle-schooler whose development is below average isn't exactly something to get excited about."
"But Misaki, you're beautiful. A little flaw is normal."
"And you're still young—when you grow up, you'll have more…"
Makoto droned on, unaware that a gathering gloom had begun to swirl around him.
"Could you maybe stop talking now?" Misaki snapped.