As Ren Katsuragi's silhouette faded into the distance, Kakeru Ryūen shut his eyes, tipped his head back, and forced himself to think.
Ren hadn't been wrong.
Ryūen didn't have a choice.
One bad read. One misstep. And Class C had become Ren's personal blood bag.
He'd been outplayed again.
That demand for ninety percent hadn't been greed. It had been a trap—set wide enough to let Ryūen "negotiate," so the rest of Class C could keep believing in him.
Ryūen only understood it after he walked away.
If Ren had taken ninety percent, Class C would've been dead. If Ryūen had gone for the throat and declared he'd drag Class A down with him, Class C probably would've backed him.
But Ren let it drop to eighty.
Harder living. Tight months. But not extinction.
That ten percent wasn't mercy. It was a knife stopped a hair above the class's breaking point.
Still—"barely surviving" wasn't a plan.
As Class C's leader, Ryūen needed air. Options. A way to keep his people from rotting into Ren's slaves.
And Ren's contract had only mentioned one thing: the points the school distributed at the start of each month.
Which meant—
Everyone in Class C could still make "extra income."
That had been the real point.
And with how openly Ren had laid out his arrangements for Ken Sudō… that interest didn't stop at Class C.
He was sniffing around Class D, too.
Who?
"Kikyō Kushida?" Ryūen snorted, the thought amusing him more than it should've. "So that's the one he picked. Pathetic."
Fine.
If Class C had become Ren's blood bag, then Ryūen would turn Class D into Class C's.
Reset. From the beginning.
He pulled out his phone.
"Hello, Ryūen?" Daichi Ishizaki's voice came through, uncertain—like he couldn't figure out why the call was happening now.
Ryūen lifted a hand to block the sun cutting into his eyes. His mood had steadied. Sharpened.
"Ishizaki. Keep pressuring Ken Sudō like before. Same plan. Faster."
Sudō had already been ground down by Ishizaki and the others. Now Ryūen just needed to bite into Class D while it was still soft.
If he moved quick enough, Class C could breathe again—before the whole class collapsed into becoming Ren's property in everything but name.
On the other end, Ishizaki clearly felt the shift. He didn't care that this order contradicted what he'd been told earlier.
"Yes, Ryūen-sama!"
Ryūen ended the call and spoke toward the direction Ren had gone, voice low and flat.
"Arrogant dragon. Don't get so high you forget you can bleed."
—
Ren spotted the girl sitting on the bench along the path, posture small, like she'd been waiting there the whole time.
He let out a soft laugh.
"Airi?"
At the sound of his voice, Airi Sakura's head jerked up. She'd been nodding off, fighting sleep, but the moment she saw him—those red eyes approaching—she woke completely.
She was still shy. Still careful. But she looked at him anyway.
Ren sat beside her, then lifted her easily and settled her on his lap.
Airi tensed for half a second—then melted as he pinched and kneaded her cheeks like she was something soft he'd claimed.
Warm. Plush. Too easy to squeeze.
Today she hadn't tied her hair into twin tails. She let it fall straight, all the way to her waist—like Ren did.
It changed her. With her hair down, that usual trembling timidity faded. She looked calmer. Cooler. Almost distant.
Ren kept squishing her cheeks until he'd had his fill, then asked, casual as if it meant nothing,
"You getting used to Class A?"
Back then, saving Airi had served more than one purpose. It helped move his plan—cameras, angles, blind spots. It also vented something ugly inside him, something that needed an outlet. Even what came after—making things right for her—had fit cleanly into what he wanted.
Now, Airi's feelings were obvious.
Ren wasn't the type to pretend he couldn't feel it. And he wasn't the type to reject something just because it had started with him saving her.
People liked what they liked. Airi Sakura was beautiful, and Ren wasn't going to act like that didn't matter.
He saved her because he chose to. That was it.
And anyone who wanted to lecture him about "pure love" could choke on it. Love was never pure to begin with.
"Um… everyone in Class A is really nice," Airi said, honest.
She stayed tucked into his arms without protest, letting him do whatever he wanted. If anything, she looked comfortable—eyes half-lidded, enjoying it.
Ren's hands weren't smooth like the girls in Class A. Not like Kato's delicate fingers, either. His palms and fingertips were rough with calluses, and when he touched her face it left a faint scrape of friction that made her shiver.
And that scent—Ren's scent—something she couldn't name, something she didn't recognize anywhere else—
It made her feel safe in a way that was almost frightening.
Airi rubbed her cheek against his chest like a cat.
Ren watched her, then asked, "Airi. Is there anything you want to do?"
"Take pictures every day… and just live happily," she said. She didn't understand why he was asking, but she answered anyway.
So that's it.
No drive. No hunger.
He couldn't shape her the way he was shaping Honami. Different tools for different people.
Ryūen had figured out most of the structure, but he'd missed one detail.
Ryūen's value.
To Ren, Ryūen was a whetstone—useful, controllable, something you kept close because it sharpened what you wanted sharp.
A whetstone named Kakeru Ryūen: the kind who didn't play by rules, who would do anything to win.
Perfect.
Perfect for grinding the softness out of the rule-bound Honami.
Airi felt the shift in him—the stillness when he started thinking.
She moved slightly in his lap and asked, quiet, "What is it, Ren?"
Ren looked down at her.
Then he asked the same question he'd asked Ichinose before.
"Airi. Do you like me?"
Airi didn't answer it directly.
Instead, she said something that made Ren blink once—just once.
"I… I looked up the customs of the wealthy," she said, her voice small. "Can I be Ren's concubine?"
She wasn't stupid. Just shy. She'd seen Ren and Ichinose. She understood what that meant.
So she'd done her homework—and placed herself where she thought she belonged.
She knew exactly what she weighed.
Her fingers tightened on his shirt.
"Ah… Ren… no," she blurted, panic breaking through. "Don't—don't hate me…"
She was already scrambling for words to fix it, to take it back, to make herself smaller—
Ren caught her chin and turned her face up.
Airi froze.
Ren's eyes didn't move. Didn't soften.
He kissed her.
His kiss was exactly like the rest of him—direct, forceful, leaving no room to misunderstand.
Time stretched.
Airi's breath hitched, then vanished.
When she felt like she was about to suffocate, she patted his chest in frantic little taps, begging him to stop.
Ren finally pulled back.
A thin, silver strand lingered between them for a moment before it snapped.
Airi sucked in air, face burning, and immediately buried herself against him—hiding in his chest so she didn't have to meet his gaze.
Ren chuckled under his breath and patted her back.
"Airi," he said, amused. "You really are something."
"Mm…" she murmured, weak and shaken.
Ren's decision settled in his chest, clean and final.
Fine.
He'd keep this useless little girl—this girl with no ambition—safe for the rest of her life.
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