[Shiori's POV]
All of them had the same look. Smiles, admiration, envy — the perfect little world I built just by existing. "The princess," they called me. The one who was the exact definition of Pure. The one dating the kindest boy in school.
Kenta.
He looked at me with such pure eyes that it almost made me break my perfect image.
When he held my hand, it felt like he saw someone worth believing in. But that's the problem.
He believed too much. I convinced myself, he was never in love with me.. he was just in love with the image built on smiles and pretty lies.
So when he asked, "…Hey, Shiroi, is there anything bothering you…?"
I smiled — that same empty smile I've perfected by practicing a hundred times — and told him, "No, Kenta… everything's fine."
Because what could I even say? That his kindness made me feel small? That I was so tired of being perfect? That somewhere deep down, I wanted someone to break that image, someone to look beyond that, even if it meant breaking myself?
The truth was simpler and uglier: I'd already crossed a line once before. A secret that didn't fit the perfect image everyone saw. One mistake that I kept buried beneath smiles and pretty lies. And every time Kenta told me how lucky he was to have me, that secret whispered back: He wouldn't say that if he knew how deep I had already fallen.
Kenta never even tried, I told myself. He's too good, too careful, too afraid. He made me see everything I wasn't —everything I could never be. I always had to be the perfect image of purity around him. Wasn't it natural to want someone who would actually look at me, reach for me, make me feel real?
Deep down, even I knew these were just excuses, just blatant lies to justify my behaviour.
Each excuse smoothed over the sting of guilt until it almost sounded like reason. If I could convince myself it was his fault—his shyness, his distance—then I didn't have to face what I was doing.
By the time I looked in the mirror again, I didn't recognise the girl staring back. She smiled like nothing was wrong, like the lies were lighter than air itself.
I told Kenta another lie. It had become second nature by now—smile sweetly, avoid his eyes, say something harmless like "I'll be home late, club stuff." He'd nod, like always. Trusting. Gentle. Pathetic.
He never realised how exhausting it was—being with someone who never demanded anything. He always held back, always waiting for me to be ready. But how long was I supposed to wait? I had needs too. I had feelings too.
That's what I told myself the first time it happened. And the second. And the third. By now, it wasn't guilt anymore. Just a dull ache buried under the comfort of something real.
When he touched me, it was different—rough, messy, alive. Not like Kenta's careful, nervous hands. I hated how much I liked it. I hated how much I needed it. I hated how terrible a person I had become.
So when I told Kenta I was exhausted after class, I wasn't lying about that part. I was just tired of pretending that I could still turn back.
The night air was cool as I left the school gate, phone clutched tightly in my hand. I was careful, of course, I left no evidence, never made it obvious. But as I walked, I felt a familiar prickle at the back of my neck, like someone had been watching.
I told myself it was nothing. Just guilt creeping up on me. Besides, there shouldn't be anyone at this time of the day that I should be worried about.
Still, the sensation didn't leave. My pace quickened, my fingers tightening around the phone. The person I was about to meet—the one whose number I should've deleted ages ago—was waiting. I had convinced myself it was only natural.
And yet… a tiny, rational part of me whispered his name to beg me to turn around. For a moment, I almost did it.
But I had already chosen my path when I met him.