The clock on Haruto's nightstand read 1:43 a.m.
The city outside his window was still alive — car lights slipping between buildings, the hum of late-night traffic faint against the drizzle. But his room was cold, the air thick with silence. The phone in his hand glowed dimly as he typed the message with slow precision.
Haruto: Did you get tangled with the Kato?
The typing dots blinked for a moment. Then a reply appeared.
Izumi: I—I don't know what you mean.
Haruto's lips curved faintly. He could almost hear her trembling voice in that single line.He pressed call.
"Hello?" Her tone was thin, hesitant.
"You haven't changed," Haruto said, leaning against the windowpane. "Still gluing yourself to whoever's rich enough to keep you relevant. Isn't that right, Izumi?"
"I—I just—Haruto, please, it's not like that," she stammered. "They said they could help me—"
A low chuckle escaped him. "Help you?" He turned his gaze to the dark skyline. "The Kato doesn't help people. They own them."
Her breathing hitched on the other side.He could imagine her face — flawless makeup cracking under fear, the practiced charm slipping away.
Then his tone shifted — calm, almost too calm."Meet me tomorrow night. Same spot."
"Haruto—"
The call ended before she could finish.
He tossed the phone onto the bed and leaned back against the wall. His reflection in the glass looked almost unfamiliar—tired, distant. The mask of composure he wore every day was beginning to crack at its edges.
For the rest of the night, he lay awake—the city's faint neon bleeding through the curtains—eyes open, mind wandering between names, faces, and unfinished wars.
Meanwhile, on the quieter side of town, Yui had fallen asleep on the couch.Her cardigan was folded over her, a half-eaten sandwich left on the table. The television still hummed faintly — some late-night show's credits rolling.
The door clicked softly.Shoji stepped in, backpack slung low, his hair messy from the night air. He spotted her asleep, her face turned toward the dim lamp light.
He exhaled — half guilt, half affection. Quietly, he took a blanket from the chair and draped it over her. The corners brushed her cheek, and she stirred slightly but didn't wake.
"Sorry, Yu," he murmured, brushing his fringe aside. "Game ran late."
He walked toward the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck. On the counter, he placed a small lunchbox — carefully packed, though uneven — and beside it, a note scrawled in his clumsy handwriting:
"Sorry for being late. The game was so intense. – Shoji"
He fell asleep right there, head on the kitchen counter, the note fluttering slightly under the fan.
The morning came with the soft hum of traffic and sunlight slipping through the curtains.
Yui blinked awake, groggy from the couch's stiffness. The blanket still covered her, faintly smelling of Shoji's detergent. She sat up, eyes heavy, then noticed him — slumped on the counter, the note beside him.
She read it once. Twice.
A faint laugh escaped her lips, but it quickly faded into a frown as Haruto's words came echoing back:
"Tell Shoji to stay home instead of playing games."
She stared at Shoji—asleep, headphones still dangling around his neck — and felt a chill run through her. Haruto knew. Somehow, he always knew.
It wasn't a coincidence anymore.It was something else — something that both scared and fascinated her.
She brushed it off, gently pulled the blanket over Shoji's shoulders, and got ready for school.
Haruto arrived late.
The moment he stepped into the classroom, the teacher's voice thundered, "Mr. Kuroya, your punctuality has become a luxury I can't afford anymore!"
He offered a lazy half-smile, hands tucked in his pockets. "Sorry, traffic."
The teacher glared. "Detention."
"Of course," he said casually, sliding into his seat as though he'd just been invited to a tea party.
Meanwhile, Yui wasn't doing much better. She'd spent most of the lecture staring out the window, her mind a blur of thoughts — about Shoji, about Haruto, about how she always seemed to get caught between calm and chaos.
"Miss Yui," the teacher snapped, slamming his chalk on the table. "Daydreaming again?"
She jolted. "N-no, sir."
"Detention," he said flatly. "You can keep Mr. Kuroya company."
A ripple of quiet laughter went through the class. Haruto smirked. Yui buried her face in her notebook.
The day dragged on.
During lunch, Yui sat in the library, half-doodling in her notes when she overheard two girls whispering behind the bookshelf.
"You know, they say Haruto's got a soft corner for spicy things."
"Seriously?" one giggled. "That guy? He looks like he survives on ice cubes and air."
"It's true! Yuki said she saw him buying chili chips once."
Yui's pen froze mid-word.
Spicy food? That didn't sound like him at all. But… maybe he did like it secretly? He was impossible to read — always saying one thing and meaning another. Maybe this was a way to understand him better. Maybe he'd even smile for once.
So, after school, she stopped by the small street shop near the gate and bought a lunchbox filled with the spiciest ramen they sold. Her eyes watered just from the smell.
She smiled nervously to herself. "He'll probably laugh. But it's worth trying."
Behind her, Yuki watched quietly from a distance, the corner of her lips twisting upward.
Detention hour.
The classroom was nearly empty, bathed in orange light from the setting sun. The fan hummed lazily. Haruto sat near the back, legs stretched, one resting on another table. He was playing a game on his phone, expression bored.
The teacher at the front was half-asleep, flipping through exam papers.
Yui stepped in, holding the lunchbox close to her chest. Her hands were trembling.
"H-hey," she whispered.
Haruto didn't look up. "What's that?"
"I… I heard you like spicy food," she said softly, placing the box in front of him. "So I thought maybe—"
That caught his attention.
He glanced up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Spicy food?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I just wanted to—uh, thank you. For the other night."
There was a pause.Then he noticed the corner of the room — two students peeking through the glass door, whispering excitedly.
He smirked.
Without breaking eye contact, he opened the lunchbox and took a bite. The spice hit immediately — his eyes watered, but his expression didn't flinch.
The two students gasped silently.
Yui blinked, surprised. "You actually—?"
Haruto set the chopsticks down. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Let me borrow something."
"Huh?"
Before she could react, he tilted forward and pressed his lips briefly against hers — a swift, casual motion, but enough to send her brain spinning.
Her body went still. The air around them froze.
Outside, the two students who had been watching almost fell over each other as they rushed off, whispering, "They kissed! Haruto and Yui kissed!"
Standing at the entrance of the class, the teacher threw a chalk — it hit Haruto squarely on the head."Enough! Both of you — detention for the entire week!"
Yui's face turned crimson.
Haruto leaned back, stretching lazily. "Come on, sir," he said in his most casual tone, "she had something in her mouth. I was just helping."
The teacher's glare could have burned a hole through the floor. "Do you think this is a joke, Haruto?"
He smiled faintly. "Kind of feels like one."
The class burst into stifled laughter.The teacher slammed his book on the desk. "One more word, and I'll make it a month!"
Haruto raised both hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright."
Yui sat frozen, her heart pounding so hard she could barely hear the rest.
Haruto whispered. He picked up his phone, scrolled once, and finally said, "They were watching. You gave them a show."
"You—You're impossible," she muttered, standing up to leave.
He smirked, that faint glint of mischief in his eyes again. "And yet, you keep showing up."
Outside the detention hall, Yui leaned against the wall, breathing hard. The taste of chili still lingered faintly in the air, and her heart hadn't quite caught up with what had just happened.
From behind the classroom door, she could still hear the teacher scolding Haruto, his laughter cutting through it like smoke.
But what unsettled her most wasn't the kiss.It was how calm he looked — as if none of it meant anything.
And yet… for a split second, when their eyes met, she thought she saw something flicker there — something dangerously close to softness.