The corridors buzzed louder than usual the next morning. Yui could feel it before she even reached her classroom.
Haruto skipping class wasn't new, but this time, whispers carried something heavier.
"He's always with older people," one girl said behind her palm.
"I heard he spends nights in luxury clubs… with businessmen, even celebrities."
Someone leaned closer, their voice dropping into a thrill."Didn't you know? Haruto was seen with that idol—the one from the drama last season. People say they dated."
Their words cut into Yui like tiny blades. She told herself that she didn't care, that it shouldn't matter who Haruto spent his time with. But a dangerous, twisted thought wormed its way in: If he really has all those women, all that power—why me?
Why torment me, out of everyone?
She tried to brush it off, but curiosity dug its claws into her. Maybe it wasn't even curiosity. Maybe it was fear.
The rumors didn't die. If anything, they grew sharper, meaner.
"He never stays with one girl."
"He's not serious about anyone. They all get bored with him—or maybe he gets bored with them first."
Yui tried to ignore it, but then Yuki walked straight up to her, her smirk vicious."Even grown-ups respect him, Yui. Businessmen, idols, models… people you can't even dream of standing next to. Why would he waste time on you?"
Her words stung more than Yui wanted to admit. Her chest tightened painfully.
Why me?
Why was I the one he kept chasing, cornering, tormenting?If he didn't care… then what was I to him?
The scene shifted far from the dull classrooms and endless whispers.
Haruto was seated in a dimly lit lounge, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his tie loose, sleeves rolled halfway. Older men in dark suits surrounded him, not treating him as a boy, but as someone who commanded respect.
"I'll move the funds by Friday," one of them said.
Haruto swirled the liquid lazily, his smile sharp."Make it Thursday. I don't like waiting."
There was no hesitation in the man's nod. "Understood."
It wasn't just the men. Around him, women hovered—models draped in silk dresses, influencers snapping photos, girls leaning too close to his shoulder. Haruto accepted their attention with practiced ease, his smirk making them cling tighter, desperate to be noticed.
At just seventeen, Haruto had carved himself a seat in a world even grown men hesitated to enter. And he wore it like a second skin—effortless, dangerous, untouchable.
Later that night, as the music from the club dulled into a low hum, one of the women clung to Haruto more tightly than the rest. She was older—elegant, bold, her perfume lingering heavy in the air.
"Come with me," she whispered against his ear, her manicured nails dragging across his jaw.
Haruto allowed her to lead him upstairs, her laughter echoing down the hall as she pulled him into a private suite. The lights were soft, tinted red, shadows painting the walls like secrets.
She poured him another drink, sliding onto his lap without hesitation."You're too young to be here," she teased, her voice sultry. "But the way you act… I could almost forget."
Haruto smirked, one hand casually tracing her waist as if she were nothing more than a distraction. "Forget then. That's what I'm good at making people do."
The girl giggled, tilting his chin to kiss him. He kissed her back, but it was practiced—empty, a performance he'd done a hundred times before. For him, it was just another mask, another game.
Hours slipped by in a blur of tangled sheets and muffled laughter. By the time the room quieted, the girl lay draped across his chest, tracing lazy circles against his skin. Her tone softened, almost vulnerable."Haruto… are you serious about me? Or am I just another one of your toys?"
His laugh was sharp, cruel enough to make her freeze."You already know the answer."
Her smile cracked. She tried to laugh it off, but the sting lingered."You're heartless," she murmured, half hurt, half fascinated.
"Heartless?" Haruto's smirk deepened as he lit a cigarette, the glow casting shadows across his sharp features. "No. I just don't pretend to give away what doesn't exist."
The girl fell silent, her gaze searching his face for something he would never give.
Then—his phone buzzed.
Haruto almost ignored it, until he saw the notification. His gang mates had sent him a photo.
Yui.On the rooftop.Riku standing too close beside her.
The smirk slipped instantly, his chest tightening. For the first time that night, his mask faltered.
The girl noticed his sudden stillness. "Who is it?" she pressed, curiosity turning sharp. "Someone more interesting than me?"
Haruto didn't answer. Didn't even look at her.
Because no matter how many women lay in his bed, no matter how many whispered his name like a prayer, none of them could touch the storm that Yui stirred in him.
Back at his penthouse, Haruto dismissed his friends with a wave. The laughter and chatter died as the heavy door shut.
He stood alone in the silence, pouring himself a drink like a man twice his age. The glass clinked against the counter as he stared into the amber liquid.
His mind replayed the rooftop again—Yui's defiant eyes.The sting of her slap.The way his blood had boiled, not with rage, but with something dangerously close to… exhilaration.
His smirk faltered, twisting into something raw.
"Do I hate her…" he muttered under his breath, "…or do I want her too much?"
The silence offered no answer.
The buzz of his phone shattered the stillness. A message from one of his gang:
Your brother walked Yui home again. What should we do?
Haruto's fingers tightened around the phone. His jaw flexed, a storm brewing behind his calm mask.
He didn't type a reply. Instead, he unlocked his gallery.
His lips curved into a dangerous smirk."She thinks she can hide in his shadow."
He set the glass down with a sharp clink.
"Let's see how long that lasts."