"So you're sticking to that story? That some 'Kamen Rider' appeared out of thin air to play the hero?"
Inside the hushed, upscale interior of the café, Mai Sakurajima took a delicate sip of her Blue Mountain blend. She watched Rin Kuga over the rim of her porcelain cup, her eyes sharp with skepticism. The very concept of a costumed savior seemed like something pulled from a children's Sunday morning broadcast—hardly a fit for the visceral, blood-scented reality of the school corridor.
Opposite her, Rin stirred his coffee with a rhythmic, detached grace. The silver spoon clinked softly against the porcelain , a metronome for the melting sugar cubes that swirled into the dark liquid.
"I told you, I was lucky," Rin replied, his voice a calm, impenetrable shield. "The Rider intervened, the monster was neutralized, and I walked away. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine."
He didn't bother trying to convince her. Instead, he let the silence linger, cultivating an ambiguity. He knew the psychology of the "Inscrutable King"—the less he explained, the more space her curiosity would occupy. To a woman like Mai, a mystery was a hook that sank deeper with every evasive answer.
Mai sensed his refusal to be drawn into a debate. She set her cup down with a soft clack, shifting her gaze to the window where the city hummed with ignorant life.
"Fine. Keep your secrets for now," she said, her voice softening into something more sincere. "But regardless of who showed up later, you were the one who risked your life to pull me out of that room. I wanted to thank you properly. Consider today a small token of my gratitude."
In the private theater of her mind, the image of Rin standing between her and the abyss monster remained vivid. He had been her White Knight in a world turned grey and ashen. Whether he admitted it or not, a tether of genuine affection had begun to tighten between them.
"An afternoon with a star of your caliber?" Rin offered a thin, amused smile. He drained his cup in one motion and stood, the chair scraping softly against the polished floor. He stepped toward her side of the table, leaning in slightly. "The honor is entirely mine, Bunny Girl Senpai."
Mai rolled her eyes at the persistent nickname, but the sharp retort she usually had ready died in her throat. Instead, she rose and, with a sudden, bold fluidity, slipped her arm through his.
"My, aren't we being assertive today?" Rin teased, though he didn't pull away.
They moved toward the exit, their strides synchronized, projecting the image of a perfectly balanced, high-society couple.
However, the peace of the café was abruptly shattered—at least for one person.
SNAP.
In a secluded booth nearby, Utaha Kasumigaoka stared at the retreating backs of the pair. She had come here seeking a quiet sanctuary to bleed words onto paper or in the notebook, but instead, she had been forced to endure a front-row seat to Rin Kuga's date.
The contrast was staggering. To her, he was the boy who called her "Fat Girl" and treated her presence like a mild inconvenience. Yet here he was, playing the attentive gentleman to another girl. The jealousy was a cold, sharp spike in her chest.
Under the table, the pencil in her hand succumbed to the pressure of her grip, snapping cleanly in two.
"Utaha? Is something wrong?" Machida Sonoko, her editor, looked up from her notes, blinking at the sudden aggression.
Utaha's jaw was set tight enough to ache. She didn't look at Sonoko, her eyes fixed on the door where the "Bunny Girl" was still clinging to Rin's arm. "Nothing. I'm fine. Let's get back to work."
She reached into her stationery case and snatched a fresh pencil, her movements jagged and hostile.
"If you say so," Sonoko murmured, though she followed Utaha's gaze toward the window. As Rin and Mai walked past the glass, the editor couldn't help but sigh. "They really are a stunning pair, aren't they? That girl looks almost exactly like Mai Sakurajima. And the boy... he has the kind of presence you only see in leads. I almost envy them."
CRACK.
The second pencil didn't stand a chance. It shattered before Utaha could even bring it to the page.