At school, Seiji kept thinking of what he'd get for Haruko.
He decided he'd give her something nice as a present, but what?
During lunch, a girl in front of him adjusted a silver hairpin. The light glanced off it, sharp and soft at once. It reminded him of Haruko. She used to wear a similar hairpin. A small detail he hadn't noticed disappearing until now.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe she stopped replacing things.
The idea settled in his mind.
On the way home, he stopped at a nearby boutique—the one he always passed without looking.
This time, he slowed.
The boutique sat between a laundromat and a shuttered café.
Looks like a place that sells what I'm looking for.
Inside, there were minimalist windows and soft gold lighting.
The space felt too clean for Seiji's worn shoes.
Glass cases reflected his face back at him—still carrying the shadow of the godlike, confident man Haruko encountered in the morning. The moment that left her… blown away.
Seiji moved slowly past necklaces, earrings, small polished stones.
Then he saw it.
A silver hairpin.
Simple. Sharp.
Quiet elegance shaped into a line of light.
It reminded him of Haruko—of the restraint she wrapped around herself like a uniform. Something that wanted, secretly, to slip loose.
He bought it before he could second-guess himself.
The small box sat heavy in his pocket on the walk home.
A decision.
A gift.
A risk.
Haruko was in the dining room when he returned.
Cleaning the table, movements measured, shoulders slightly too straight. A woman reconstructing calm by force.
She didn't notice him at first.
She rarely let herself.
"Haruko," Seiji said.
Her hands stilled.
A quiet inhale.
She turned, smoothing her expression into something polite.
"Welcome back, Seiji."
Seiji held out the box.
She blinked, hesitant. Then reached for it with fingers that trembled almost imperceptibly.
She opened the lid.
The shift in her face was slow, gradual—coldness loosening, confusion melting into something warmer, almost painful.
"Seiji…" Her voice cracked. "You shouldn't have."
"I wanted to," he said.
No hesitation.
No apology.
Only the truth.
Haruko's breath broke. Only a little.
The dam she had been holding all day—maybe for years—cracked at the edges. Her eyes glimmered, the sheen of unshed emotion catching the light the way the hairpin did.
She stepped toward him.
One small shift of her weight.
When she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his, it wasn't sudden.
It was inevitable.
A slow, deep, deliberate kiss—not an impulse. Her fingers curled lightly into the sleeve of his uniform.
I like her mouth. Would've never thought she was such an amazing kisser.
Not that I'm an expert. But she is something.
Seiji inhaled the pleasant warmth of her breath, the faint tremor beneath her composure.
He lifted his right hand and placed it on his stepmom's hip—gentle but certain.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't retreat.
If anything, she leaned into his touch, as though giving the permission she had denied herself for years.
One day—very soon—I'll have her body.
He felt Haruko's tongue touch his teeth.
When she drew back, her eyes stayed on his for a long moment.
A silent confession.
Haruko closed the box with reverent care and held it against her chest—delicately, like something sacred.
"Thank you, Seiji," she said simply, with a widening smile.
Then she turned and left the room, cradling the hairpin in her arms.
Seiji stood there, breath steadying slowly, the taste of her kiss lingering inside him.
And yet…
Another thought pushed through.
I hope Yumi doesn't notice… or misunderstand.
His hand closed lightly at his side.
But in any case… this had to happen. Because I want her, too.
The house felt different.
Charged.
Changed.
Seiji exhaled, shoulders settling.
The amulet pulsed once against his skin—desire approved.