CHAPTER 1
Flirtation. Seduction. Pleasure. Obsession.
My father used to tell me stories about the good old days—a time of balance, when love flowed freely between boys, girls, young and adult.
But that all changed when the Idol craze began.
Only a single femboy, master of all four elements, could cure the horny… but when the world needed him most, he got gooned.
—
The hall buzzed with laughter, a cruel chorus echoing off the ceilings. In the middle of it all, a boy crouched near the aisle, shoulders slumped, chest tight with humiliation.
Arata Kiyomi watched as Kuroda Hotaru—his girlfriend—pressed herself against another boy. Souta Izumi. The contrast was sharp: Izumi, the son of a wealthy businessman, confident and untouchable; Kiyomi, son of a police officer, small and ordinary in the eyes of the world. The difference stung more than any words could.
Hotaru's head rested on Izumi's chest while Kiyomi's heart shattered. Izumi looked at him—not with malice, but with that infuriating calm pity.
"Kiyomi-chan, have you ever kissed anyone before?"
A boy jeered from the back.
Kiyomi didn't respond. He swallowed hard, trying to process the scene, trying to make sense of the betrayal.
"Hotaru… why?" he whispered, voice raw.
Someone laughed, then another.
Hotaru pulled away from Izumi just enough to flash a sharp, predatory smile. "Wanna see something else, Kiki?"
She leaned back into Izumi. Their lips met—wet, messy, and intentional. As they pulled apart, a string of saliva stretched and snapped, a few droplets spattering onto Kiyomi's cheek.
"Lick it up, Kiyomi!" someone shouted. The laughter grew into a roar.
Izumi gently pushed Hotaru aside, his tone dripping with the fake chivalry of a prince. "Everyone, calm down. There's no need to humiliate him." He reached out a hand to Kiyomi. "Friends, right?"
Kiyomi hesitated, but the social pressure was an iron weight. He reached out.
With a surge of hidden strength, Izumi didn't pull him up—he yanked him forward. Kiyomi stumbled, losing his balance and falling helplessly between Hotaru's open thighs.
"KYAAAAA!" the girls in the room shrieked in unison.
Hotaru didn't hesitate. She buried her heel into Kiyomi's groin. "Sexual harassment! A predator! Izumi-kun, help me!"
Pain flared, white-hot and blinding. Izumi lifted Hotaru effortlessly, cradling her like a trophy. "I'm here, Hotaru. You're safe now."
Pain flared, sharp and burning, not just in his body but deep in his chest.
Kiyomi scrambled to his feet, defeated, humiliated. He bolted from the classroom, heart hammering.
Before he disappeared down the hall, he stole one last glance. Izumi's smirk lingered—mocking, calm, untouchable.
He returned home, shoulders heavy, chest tight. The weight of humiliation pressed him into his desk. Tears fell, silent and bitter, as he buried his face for what felt like an hour.
Ding.
His phone buzzed, lighting up the desk. The lock screen displayed:
"Inori ★ Just uploaded a new music video!"
For a moment, Kiyomi froze. The thumbnail caught him off guard—her smile, radiant and familiar, the same way it had been in middle school. A spark flared in his chest, fragile but undeniable.
He pressed Play. Watching her dance, her movements effortless, her laughter ringing through the screen, memories flooded back:
"Kiyomi, watch me dance!"
"Kiyomi, am I cute?"
"Kiyomi, help me do my makeup!"
Those moments were gone, swept into the past—but the feelings they carried still lingered.
(My chest still ached, but… wow, look at her shine on that stage.)
A surge of determination rose within him. If she could shine like this, he could reclaim a piece of himself too. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled out his own makeup, his hands moving just as they had all those years ago, using the strokes and shades he once used on Inori.
Finally, he put on a silky, long pink wig he had bought for her, letting it cascade over his shoulders. In the mirror, a striking image stared back—a beauty that could make anyone do a double take. His small frame, delicate and slight, could easily be mistaken for that of a petite girl.
(I think I still have Inori's dress…)
He opened a small box tucked in his wardrobe, filled with fragments of memory: pictures, tiny rocks, and her dress. With a quiet smile, he pulled out the sleeveless white dress. It fit him perfectly, the skirt barely brushing the tops of his thighs.
Kiyomi spun before the mirror, skirt fanning around his thighs. A giggle escaped him, soft and high. He struck every pose Inori had shown him—arms fluttering, eyes sparkling, lips curling into practiced smiles. Each motion teased back a warmth that had nothing to do with the sting from earlier.
Ding.
His phone buzzed again.
Mom: Kiki-kun, I'll be late. Can you buy groceries?
Kiyomi: Yes, mom~
Without changing a thing, he stepped outside.
The world seemed to stop. All eyes turned toward him, drawn as if by gravity. Whispers followed, stares lingered. Some even stepped closer.
"Hey, are you free?"
"Can I walk you home?"
"Sorry, this is sudden, but… can I ask for your LINE?"
Kiyomi smiled politely, rejecting each request with grace. He tested a high, lilting voice as he spoke—somehow, it worked. People seemed convinced.
(Am I really that cute?)
On his way to the local department store, he experimented with it further, adjusting pitch and tone, repeating phrases under his breath, hunting for the perfect balance—one that sounded small, soft, and irresistibly cute.
The aisle was unusually empty, the soft hum of lights his only company. Perfect for practice.
He hummed one of Inori's songs as he reached for an apple. One shone brighter than the rest, perfect in its glossy red skin. Just as his fingers closed around it, another hand brushed his.
"Ah, sorry," Kiyomi said automatically.
He turned—and froze.
His heart stammered, thumping painfully against his ribs.
(Why is Izumi here?)
"Are you okay?" Izumi asked softly, eyes calm and steady.
Kiyomi's tongue felt frozen. He released the apple immediately, barely aware of his own hands.
"So… sorry," he stammered, voice squeaking.
Izumi smiled, calm and patient, but Kiyomi couldn't handle it. He spun on his heel and bolted, chest heaving as panic raced through him.
(No way… no way… no way… Did he see me?)
Once he felt he was far enough, his stomach dropped.
(Oh no! My groceries!)
He darted back to the fruit section—gone. Every aisle, every spot he had passed—nothing. Defeated, Kiyomi slumped, clenching his fists.
(I hope Mom isn't angry…)
He exhaled sharply, trying to calm himself.
Then—a firm hand grasped his arm.
"Who—?" shocked, Kiyomi turned.
"You forgot this."
Izumi held up Kiyomi's grocery bag, winking lightly.
Kiyomi's cheeks flamed as he snatched it back.
(Maybe he's not that bad…)
"Thank you…" He murmured, bowing slightly.
"You owed me something for that bag,"
Izumi said, still smiling.
"What is it?" Kiyomi asked, hesitant.
"You owe me your name…"
(My name? But I thought he already knew me…)
"I don't think—"
Before he could finish, Izumi grabbed his hand, cutting him off. He pulled Kiyomi close, so his head rested against Izumi's chest. Kiyomi looked up, eyes wide.
(Wha…!)
"My name is…"
Kiyomi froze, unsure what to say. Then, a memory flickered—the time he had played idol with Inori:
"Kiyomi isn't an idol name."
"Who am I then?"
"Sakura."
The name settled in his mind. He whispered it, soft but certain.
"Sakura."
Izumi's smile deepened, warm and approving.
"That's a cute name… Sakura."
He leaned closer, thumb brushing gently against Kiyomi's lips.
"You can call me Izumi."
Kiyomi's stomach twisted.
"Izumi… I think this is wrong."
"No one is watching," Izumi replied, voice low and smooth, almost taunting.
Kiyomi tried to pull away, but Izumi's hold was iron-strong, pressing him closer.
"You're not going anywhere," Izumi chuckled, his smile twisting into something sharp, dangerous, impossible to ignore.
(What's going on?)
Kiyomi's face turned pale. Fear and a rush of adrenaline surged through him as he stared at Izumi's predatory grin.
"Not until you satisfy me."
Izumi grabbed Kiyomi's hand and guide it to his crotch.
(Eh? He's this big... No... No... No... I mean why is he hard?)
"Izumi?"
"Yes?"
Then, in a flash of daring, he widened his eyes, puffed his cheeks into a cute expression, and asked:
"Don't you have a girlfriend?"
Izumi's chuckle was slow, deliberate.
"I might look popular, but the truth is…"
(The truth is?)
"I have no girlfriend," he said then stucked his tongue out playfully.
(What? What about Hotaru? NO! This is my chance to make these cheaters break up!)
Heart hammering, Kiyomi rose onto his toes and pressed his lips against Izumi's. Warm. Slow. Intentional.
Izumi froze, just for a fraction of a second—the first crack in his otherwise confident mask. His arms loosened, releasing Kiyomi.
Kiyomi stepped back, winking, letting the tension hang in the air.
"Do you like it?"
Intrigued and aroused, Izumi lunged, pulling Kiyomi down. They tumbled onto the floor, Kiyomi pinned beneath him. The heat was suffocating. Izumi's hand moved with practiced speed, tugging at the top of the white dress.
(Izumi! Eh!?)
Kiyomi's chest was revealed, vulnerable under Izumi's gaze. A flush raced over him as heat pooled low in his stomach.
He swallowed hard, breath catching.
"Izumi… go on…" he murmured, panting, betraying the fire building inside.
Izumi leaned closer to Kiyomi's cherries, inhaling their sweet, musky scent.
A ticklish, electric shiver ran through Kiyomi as Izumi's tongue traced over him. Izumi licked and nipped, teasing every sensitive curve of his bare chest.
Kiyomi bit his under lips, moaning helplessly as heat pooled low in his belly, muscles stiffening uncontrollably.
"Izumi... stop..."
His legs trembled, and a sudden, hot rush betrayed him—urine soaking the bottom of his white dress.
"No…" he whispered, voice soft and trembling, cheeks burning with shame.
Izumi smirked, eyes glinting with mischief.
"What just happened, Sakura?"
Kiyomi didn't answer, looking away, heart hammering in his chest.
Amused, Izumi released his hands and stood up.
Kiyomi pushed himself upright, and his face was suddenly close to Izumi's crotch. The sharp, masculine scent hit him instantly—a bold, intoxicating aroma that stole his girlfriend.
Kiyomi's chest heaved, fingers curling against the floor, as his body betrayed him—then a sharp voice cut through, freezing the moment.
"Izumi?"
Izumi froze, face paling.
"Nanami?" he swallowed, caught off guard.
The girl stepped closer, and without a second thought, Izumi bolted, leaving Kiyomi trembling and alone.
Heart still racing, breath uneven, Kiyomi sank back slightly against the floor, mind whirling with what had just happened. His body ached, every nerve alight, teasing him with the memory of Izumi's hands, lips, and heat.
(What would happen if… we continued?)