Hashimoto Arina's breath brushed against his lips, her tongue pressing roughly against his.Their mouths clung together, tongues scraping awkwardly, saliva spilling from the corners. There was no sweetness, no skill—just raw friction.
Shirakawa Natsu's face burned red. He felt none of the romantic passion people often described when kissing.
Suddenly, he pushed Hashimoto Arina away. For the first time, he looked at her clearly—and froze.
Her expression was blank.No love. No anger. No emotion at all.
Natsu's chest tightened. He wanted to ask her why, wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in his throat.
Without warning, Hashimoto Arina placed her hand on his chest and shoved him back onto the bed.Her palm pressed down, keeping him from rising. She swung her leg over, climbing on top of him, her weight pinning him down.
"Arina-senpai…" Natsu wanted to protest that she hadn't even taken off her high heels before lying down on the bed, but this was hardly the time. His mind spun in chaos, unable to form words, only watching as she lowered herself closer and closer.
Hashimoto Arina leaned down until their faces were barely a centimeter apart. Their chests hovered so near that, to the eye, it seemed they were already pressed together.
Face to face, they could feel each other's breath.
"You're afraid," she murmured, her voice soft but cutting. "Your body is trembling."
"I…" Natsu opened his mouth, but nothing came. She was right—he was nervous, shaking beneath her.Not just because of fear—because she was straddling him, her body pressed firmly against his.
Even with her ample chest cushioning between them, his frail body couldn't handle the pressure. His lungs tightened; his breathing grew shallow. His face flushed as air became harder to draw.
Sensing his struggle, Hashimoto Arina quickly pulled away. She shifted him to his side, pressing herself against his back, her hand gently stroking along his spine, helping him regulate his breath.
Natsu exhaled several ragged breaths before his chest finally eased. The air returned, though the atmosphere between them had shifted into something fragile and uncertain.
"…Arina-senpai…" he whispered once he could speak again.
But before he could say more, a hand covered his mouth from behind.
"Don't talk," she whispered against his ear. Her palm pressed firmly to silence him, keeping him from even turning to see her face.
Natsu could only feel her body pressed against his back, but her expression remained hidden.
"Have you ever truly loved someone?" she asked softly. "Loved them so much that being together feels like the most natural thing in the world? So much that every plan for your future has their shadow in it?"
Her words sank into him like weight. He wanted to answer, but her hand still sealed his lips. The question lingered, delicate and heavy.
"Don't rush to answer. You're still young," she continued, pressing closer, her warmth enveloping him.
Natsu could feel the curve of her thigh behind his knee, the faint friction of her skin-colored stockings brushing his own. It was strangely sensitive, stirring something inside him.
"I'm your girlfriend," Hashimoto Arina whispered, her voice like silk. "Don't overthink it. Don't ask anymore."
They remained that way, bodies pressed together on the bed.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, she finally rose. She tucked the blanket around Shirakawa Natsu, then bent down and kissed his forehead with a faint smile."See you tomorrow."
With that, she picked up the bento box and left, leaving Natsu alone.
Watching her retreating figure, he muttered under his breath, "I didn't even ask her anything…"
But then he remembered the taste of her lips, the press of her body, the rhythm of her heartbeat against his.For a fleeting moment, they had seemed to merge, inseparable—yet when he reached for her, she slipped through his fingers like sand.
Now that she was gone, an inexplicable ache stirred in his chest.
"I think… I'm really falling for her."
He chuckled bitterly. He had always thought of himself as someone obsessed with sheer black stockings—but somehow, the sight of Hashimoto Arina in sheer flesh-toned ones made his heart race.
That, he realized, was love.
Outside the ward, Hashimoto Arina leaned against a darkened corner of the hospital corridor. The lamps didn't reach here.
She pressed her forehead hard against the wall."Idiot… what the hell am I doing with that kid?"
Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the distance.
Her body froze. She prayed silently that no one would find her.
But a flashlight beam cut through the shadows, landing directly on her.
"Ah! Who's there?!" a young nurse yelped, startled. She was on night duty and hadn't expected to see anyone in the corner.
A figure in a white coat stood there silently—unnervingly still.
Though hospitals were notorious breeding grounds for ghost stories, nurses were taught not to believe in such things. Still, the girl instinctively stepped back, wary.
"Sorry…" Hashimoto Arina forced a strained smile, turning her head. A warm trickle slid down her temple—only then did she realize she had struck her forehead too hard against the wall. Blood seeped slowly from a small bruise.
"Ahhh!!"
The scream ripped through the halls. The nurse dropped her flashlight and bolted, scrambling away. Fluid darkened her skirt as she fled down the corridor, leaving a trail behind.
The next morning.
"The hospital's haunted?" Shirakawa Natsu overheard two young nurses whispering as he stood in the corridor.
According to them, ten years ago a female doctor in obstetrics had performed twisted experiments on other nurses—only to be killed by her own subjects. Rumors of her ghost still lingered.
Natsu scoffed quietly. Hospitals were crawling with ghost stories. But this was the real world—an age of science. Ghosts and demons didn't exist.
Still, Hashimoto Arina had taken the day off, citing illness. She had reminded him only to eat on time.
Natsu frowned. Was she just avoiding him? After yesterday, he had lost all chance of drawing more answers from her.
"…Troublesome."
As usual, the first thing he did after waking was check his phone and open the Huangmao app.
Her affection level for him still sat stubbornly at ninety-nine. No higher, no lower—locked in place as though welded there. He wondered if there were six hidden decimal places.
He spent the morning sketching idly on his bed. Despite last night's turmoil, his heart felt oddly calm.
Could… could intimacy really have a healing effect?
He was still drawing when Yazhikui Miyuki walked in carrying a bento box.
"Is this your private ward now?" she said casually, glancing at the two empty beds before tossing the box onto his table.
The hospital meals were expensive, bland, and barely edible. After last night's dream of Arina's long legs tangled like shredded pork, his body had woken weak and craving nutrition. He had asked Miyuki to grab him something better from a convenience store.
He hadn't expected his childhood friend to actually bring him homemade lunch.
"The hospital just has bad performance sometimes." Natsu shrugged, masking his surprise. Of course, the real reason his ward was empty was because Hashimoto Arina was his attending doctor—she deliberately arranged it this way. But that was something he'd never admit aloud.
He opened the bento, and his eyes lit up. Perfectly arranged meatballs, sausages, hamburger steak—the sight alone made his mouth water.
"I didn't know you could cook this well."
"Please." Miyuki rolled her eyes, waving off the compliment. "Koizumi made it."
"Oh, I see." Natsu nodded, still grateful. If Koizumi had made the lunch and Miyuki had given it away, then Miyuki herself probably only ate cheap bread from the convenience store.
"It's too hot—I don't want to eat." Miyuki waved dismissively, clearly changing the subject. "Anyway, Koizumi's planning to deal with Kimura-hama today."
"Deal with him?" Natsu sat upright, suspicious. "How?"
"Temptation. Photos."
Natsu pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you serious? I've never met Koizumi, but Kimura-hama has no shortage of women chasing after him. He's been a coach for years without a single scandal—that alone proves he's not the type to prey on students."
"I tried to stop her." Miyuki shook her head. "But adults make their own choices. They have to live with them."
Natsu sighed, lowering his head back to his meal. Kimura-hama was a rival, sure—but he didn't want to defeat him through cheap tricks.
Just then, Miyuki's phone buzzed. She opened it, and the screen displayed a shaky video feed.
Curious, Natsu leaned over. The footage showed a school corridor, students bustling past in uniform.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Koizumi pinned a hidden camera to her chest," Miyuki explained. "That way, even if someone destroys her equipment, the footage transmits live. All she needs is one incriminating shot to complete the task."
"…Clever," Natsu admitted. Far from the reckless girl her name suggested, Koizumi seemed calculating. She didn't need a real affair—just a screenshot of something suggestive. That alone would ruin Kimura-hama's reputation.
Still, the thought unsettled him. He felt more like the villain in someone else's story than the protagonist of his own.
But he couldn't help himself—he wanted to see the legendary Kimura-hama with his own eyes.
On the screen, an office door appeared. The feed shook as Koizumi knocked.
"Come in," a voice called. It wasn't the deep, magnetic voice Natsu had imagined. Instead, it was gentle—almost neutral, but carrying a warmth that painted an image of its owner in the listener's mind.
The door creaked open. A playful, slightly shy female voice—Koizumi's—said, "Kimura-nii…"
Natsu barely registered her tone. His attention was riveted on the man in the office.
Kimura-hama himself.
Photographs never did people justice, he knew. Sometimes they flattered; sometimes they failed.
In this case, the photos had failed. Because in person—Kimura-hama was far more striking than in any picture.