[IMG] Tsukim Chifuyu (The Pure Girlfriend's Fall)
[IMG] Saki Yoshida (Metarmophosis)
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Tsukimi's words hung between us like glass shards.
"You're a liar."
The system didn't disagree.
I wanted to answer her. To deny it. To tell her she wasn't wrong. But before the silence could settle, my phone buzzed again, one sharp vibration this time, urgent.
Saki.
I stood. Tsukimi's eyes followed me, wet and sharp. Her grip tightened on the sheets, but she didn't speak again. She didn't need to. The accusation already carved its place deeper than any blade could.
"Rest," I said quietly. "I'll be back."
Her laugh was brittle, broken. "You'll be with her."
I didn't answer.
...
The school rooftop was quiet when I arrived, sun cutting through scattered clouds. A breeze pulled at the edges of Saki's hair as she turned, smiling the moment she saw me. The sight almost knocked the air from my lungs, not because of beauty, but because she still looked at me like I was whole.
"You came." She lifted the small bento bag in her hands like a gift, "I… tried to make something you'd like. I wasn't sure if you'd eat much today."
I forced a smile. "Of course I came."
I sat beside her, the distance closing with practiced ease. The bag opened to reveal careful compartments: rice shaped into clumsy hearts, tamagoyaki folded too thick, and cut fruit arranged like stars.
Her fingers fidgeted as she placed the box in my lap. "It's not perfect, but… I wanted to try."
I picked up a piece of tamagoyaki, biting in. The taste was uneven, but warm. Human. Real.
"It's perfect," I said.
Her cheeks flushed. She lowered her gaze, smiling to herself. "You always say that."
I leaned back against the railing, "Because I mean it."
Saki glanced at me, hesitation in her eyes. "Lucien… you really do look tired. Is something wrong?"
A memory of Tsukimi's tears sliced through me. Her voice, raw and breaking.
"You're a liar."
I caught Saki's hand gently, my smile steady. "I'm fine. As long as I'm with you."
Her blush deepened, and she squeezed back, fragile trust pouring into the gap between us.
Saki leaned against my shoulder, quiet for a moment. "I'm glad. You always make me feel safe."
She hummed a little tune under her breath as she arranged the bento between us, as if placing each piece with the care of someone setting down a promise.
"You always make the tamagoyaki hearts," I said, soft, watching the way her fingers lingered on the rice before she moved on. "You don't have to do that."
She shrugged, a small, embarrassed smile. "You mentioned liking them once, a long time ago. I remembered. I thought… it would make you smile."
It did. It made everything else recoil, guilt like an undertow, the hotel room and Tsukimi and the weight of what I'd done, but for a moment the sun warmed my face and there was only Saki: the way her hair fell over one eye when she concentrated, the quick, hopeful tilt of her head, the honest tilt in her voice.
I took a careful bite, savoring the warmth and the salt and the slightly-too-sweet egg, and let the ordinary act anchor me.
"It's amazing," I said, meaning it in the simple way someone means the wind is cold or that coffee is good.
She laughed, relieved. "You always say that."
We ate in companionable silence. Her presence was the kind of quiet that filled rooms, no pretending, no posturing, only the small, trustable things two people learn about each other over time: which side of the pillow you like, the exact way you scrunch your nose when thinking, the song that makes you cry.
I let her talk about nothing, her geometry homework, a stray cat she'd fed behind the convenience store, a teacher who'd pronounced her name wrong in roll call, and I answered where I could. My voice was steady; it was easier to be steady with her than with anyone else. She listened to me the way someone listens to a favorite record, rereading the grooves with a smile.
When she reached out to brush a crumb from my cheek, I froze for a heartbeat and then relaxed into it. Her fingertips were warm, careful; the gesture was intimate without fanfare. I found myself memorizing the way her hand moved, as if cataloguing small proofs for a future I wanted to keep safe.
"You seem… different today," she said, watching me over the rim of her bento box. "Tired, but… softer. Happier. Is that because of me?"
The question landed with a weight I didn't deserve. I could have lied, said I was fine, unaffected, but the honesty in her eyes made lies taste bitter.
"Because of you," I said, and the words weren't practice anymore. They carried the kind of truth that didn't fix anything, but it was the truth I could offer at that moment.
Her smile brightened until it hurt in a good way, a bloom that pushed away the shadows for a little while. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and turned, earnest.
"Good. Because I… I like seeing you smile."
We sat close enough that our shoulders touched. The contact was small and ordinary, and it steadied me. I let the warmth seep through the places that had been hollowed out earlier, an honest, steadying presence in a life that lately felt constructed of compromises.
There were things I wanted to tell her: the ledger in my vision, the way the world had been rearranged around my errors, the soft, terrible letters the system had written into people's hearts. There were confessions waiting like landmines. But the sound of her voice, low and trusting, made the world shrink to this rooftop, to this lunch, to the way her hand fit in mine when she reached for the last piece of fruit.
"Tell me about your day," she said, nudging it back toward me like a gentle command. "Not the big stuff. The tiny, silly things."
So I told her the small lies that felt like truths, how I'd nearly missed my bus because I'd spent three minutes deciding if the scarf I'd bought was too dramatic, how a pigeon had decided my head was a throne on the art quad, how I'd almost spilled coffee down my lap during calculus. She laughed at the pigeon and shuddered at the coffee, and with each laugh the guilty, sharp edges of the morning softened.
When she reached into the bento for another piece of fruit, her hand brushed mine. I didn't pull away. The world outside continued on: distant horns, a trash bag tumbling down an alley, students hurrying across courtyards. Up here, the only thing that mattered was that she believed the man beside her was whole, that she had chosen to make lunch for him and that he had come.
She leaned her head against my shoulder, a small, untroubled weight. "Promise me one thing?" she murmured.
"Anything."
She let out a breath that was half laugh, half question. "Don't change on me."
The request was simple and fraught. It was as if she were asking me not to erode, not to become the kind of man who took for granted the gentleness offered to him. My throat tightened. There were so many things I wanted to promise and knew I couldn't keep.
"I won't," I said. My hand found hers and squeezed, soft, affirmative. "I won't change."
She hummed again, turning the tune into a quiet companion. I listened and believed, briefly, that belief was enough.
...
Lucien's shoes clicked softly against the pavement as he trailed behind Takagi. The sun was dipping lower now, shadows stretching long, and the streets around the school were filled with the students dispersing. A baseball cap dipped low over his eyes, dark jacket zipped halfway up, he blended seamlessly into the flow of bodies. Too ordinary to notice. Too deliberate to be accidental. Or... he tried to be.
His jeans hugged close to his frame, dark enough to swallow the shifting light. Sneakers cushioned his steps, steadying his gait. Every detail of his attire was calculated, chosen to erase him from memory before anyone could place him.
Takagi walked ahead, unaware. His posture was easy, phone in hand, his bag slung carelessly. From a distance, Lucien studied him the way a surgeon studies an incision point, not just who he was, but who he could become once bent beneath the system's will.
The Whisper Key pulsed faintly in his pocket, as if eager. But tonight wasn't its turn. Tonight belonged to Mirage Veil.
Lucien waited until Takagi turned down a quieter street, one of those alleys that connected back toward the river walk, where the sound of cars dulled and the foot traffic thinned. Perfect.
His pulse slowed, his breath even. He was already inside the role: hunter, shadow, villain.
He closed his eyes briefly. The system's interface flared at the edge of his sight.
[Item: Mirage Veil — Active Window: 24h.]
[Target: Takagi.]
[Illusion Construct: Lover.]
Lucien's lips curved, though there was no humor in it. He whispered, barely audible: "Let's see how faithful you are."
The veil unfurled like smoke, unseen threads weaving through the air. Takagi stiffened mid-step, his phone faltering in his grip. His gaze shifted, eyes widening as the world rearranged itself for him.
"Tsukimi?" he breathed, his voice cracking with disbelief and relief all at once.
Lucien's stomach tightened. There it was, the hook sinking in, the false mirage blooming. To Takagi, the empty air now wore Tsukimi's face, her voice, her body, her warmth. Every detail stolen and sharpened into a perfect imitation.
The boy's eyes softened instantly, his whole frame shifting the way it always had when Tsukimi was near. He reached forward, hesitant, fingers brushing nothing that to him felt like skin. "You… you're here. I thought..."
Lucien adjusted his cap lower, watching from the mouth of the alley, invisible in plain sight.
"Tell him what you'd do for him," Lucien murmured.
And Mirage Tsukimi obeyed. Her lips, her voice, spoke the words Takagi most wanted to hear. Words that weren't hers anymore.
The boy's shoulders eased. His laugh was shaky, boyish. "God… I missed you. You don't know how much."
Lucien's jaw clenched, torn between satisfaction and nausea. This was the villain mask in its truest form, making love into a weapon, turning faith into a leash.
Lucien adjusted his stance, leaning against the brick wall, the baseball cap shadowing his eyes as he watched the scene unfold. The lie lived, breathing through Takagi, reshaping him. And Lucien, hidden in dark tones and silence, held the strings.
Takagi's breath came faster now, his hands hovering as though afraid to break the fragile miracle before him. Mirage Tsukimi tilted her head, lips curving with the softness only Lucien could script.
"You'll do anything for me, won't you?"
Takagi swallowed, nodding without hesitation. "Of course. Always."
Lucien's fingers flexed in his pocket, coaxing the illusion's voice sharper, silkier. "Even if it's hard?"
"Yeah." His grin was crooked, boyish, desperate. "If it makes you happy, I don't care."
[Target Response: 94% compliance. Suggest escalation.]
Lucien exhaled slowly through his nose, letting the villain mask press tighter against his skin. "Good," he murmured under his breath, "Then tell him what to skip."
Mirage Tsukimi leaned closer, her hair falling over her shoulder exactly as it would in life. "Skip practice tomorrow. Stay with me instead."
Takagi froze, tension flickering in his jaw. The football team was his only claim to worth at school. Even with his grades sinking, he still had the field.
"I… if I miss practice, coach'll kill me," he said, half-laughing, half-pleading.
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Push harder."
The mirage's hand brushed Takagi's cheek, her eyes shimmering with false devotion. "Don't you love me more than football?"
Takagi's throat worked. He laughed again, shakier this time. "Of course I do, it's just..."
"Then prove it." Her voice was soft, absolute.
His bag slipped off his shoulder. His knuckles whitened around the strap. For a long second, he looked like a boy caught between two cliffs: duty and desire, team and lover.
Finally, he nodded. "Fine. Screw practice. I'll skip it for you."
The system pulsed, sharp and satisfied.
Lucien leaned back against the wall, his smirk bitter. "Pathetic," he whispered, though his chest burned with something that wasn't triumph.
But he wasn't done. Not yet.
"Tell him to stop studying tonight," Lucien ordered, voice low. "See if he'll trade his future grades for you too."
The mirage obeyed.
And Takagi, with the kind of stupid, reckless smile only love could twist into someone's face, said yes.
The system's voice slithered through my mind like oil on water:
[Mirage Veil Intensifying. Physical Contact Imminent.]
Takagi's breath hitched as Mirage Tsukimi stepped closer, her fingers brushing his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut, drunk on the illusion of her touch. I adjusted the angle of my phone, the camera lens glinting in the dim light of the alley.
"Kiss me," I commanded through the veil.
The mirage obeyed.
Takagi's hands found her waist and pulled her close. His lips met empty air, but to him, it was real. To him, she was real. The system's text flickered in my vision:
[Illusion Stability: 98%; Target Emotional Response: Euphoria (99%)]
I zoomed in, the shutter clicking silently. The photo captured everything: Takagi's desperate grip, the way his body arched into hers, the blissful ignorant smile on his face. But to anyone else, it would look like he was kissing a stranger. A girl with dark hair, a sharp jawline, a body that wasn't Tsukimi's.
[Evidence Acquired: Photo (1/1)] [Blackmail Potential: High]
But I wasn't done.
"Deeper," I murmured.
The mirage's hands tangled in Takagi's hair, her mouth moving against his with a hunger that wasn't hers. Takagi groaned, his back hitting the brick wall as the illusion consumed him. I switched to video, the recording light blinking red.
"Say my name," I ordered.
"Tsukimi..." His voice broke, raw and breathless.
The mirage pulled back just enough to whisper, "I'd do anything for you."
Takagi's eyes burned with devotion. "Anything."
[Video Acquired: 30s (Audio: Clear)] [Leverage: Optimal]
I lowered the phone, my stomach twisting. This was too easy. This was wrong.
[Objective Update: "Break the Rival"] [Progress: 87%]
Takagi's hands slid lower, his fingers digging into the mirage's hips. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to watch. This was the plan. This was necessary.
A sharp crack echoed through the alley.
Takagi stiffened, his body going rigid. His eyes rolled back, his knees buckling. The mirage flickered, dissolving like smoke as he crumpled to the ground.
I stepped forward, my fist still clenched from the strike. His chest rose and fell, unconscious, not dead. The system's text flashed:
[Target Neutralized. Mirage Veil Deactivated.]
I crouched beside him, my fingers brushing his pulse. Steady. Alive.
[New Item Unlocked: Blackmail File (Takagi)- "Because nothing says 'romance' like leverage."]
[Contents: Photo (1), Video (1), Audio (1)] [Effect: +10 Charm (Permanent)]
[Good luck, Host!]
I pocketed my phone and stood, my shadow stretching long across the pavement.