When Aoyama emerged from the sea, the sun was setting.
Kasumigaoka Utaha sat at the edge of the coconut tree’s shadow, her chin resting on her arm as she watched the horizon.
The moment she saw him, she shot to her feet like a coiled spring, her legs moving faster than her mind could process as she stepped directly into the surf.
“Aoyama-kun—!” Her voice trembled with an irrepressible urgency.
As she drew closer and saw that he was completely unharmed, the tension finally subsided.
“You were gone so long.
I was about to fire a signal flare.” Aoyama stood in the knee-deep water, shrugging off the bulging backpack from his shoulders.
“The situation inside was complicated.
It took longer than expected to scavenge supplies.” “Complicated?” Utaha’s gaze lingered thoughtfully, shifting from his soaked body to the backpack and back again.
“Did you run into people again?” “Yeah,” Aoyama nodded.
“Four men.
They were controlling a dozen or so survivors.” Utaha fell silent for a moment.
“And those four?” “They’re out of the picture now.” “…” Is this Aoyama-kun’s version of a joke?
It certainly is.
Her expression remained impassive as she gave a slight nod, as if she had already anticipated this answer.
“And the other survivors?” “I scavenged all the usable supplies.
The rest are for them to distribute among themselves.” Utaha’s lips curved into a faint smile, and she asked no further questions.
As for why Aoyama-kun didn’t save them?
Why should he?
That was Utaha’s thought.
Though it sounded cold, even to her.
Utaha turned and walked back to the beach, sitting down under the coconut tree.
“You’re soaked.
Dry off first.” Aoyama walked over and sat beside her, placing the backpack on the sand between them.
The setting sun cast their shadows long across the ground.
“What did you find on the ship?” Utaha asked, glancing at him.
Aoyama unzipped the backpack and began pulling items out one by one.
Compressed biscuits, canned food…
the supplies piled up on the sand.
“This should last us several days.” Then, he laid a fire axe, two kitchen knives, and a fish crossbow beside the pile.
Utaha’s eyes lit up as she looked at the pile of supplies on the ground.
But then she noticed Aoyama’s hand reaching deep into the backpack again, as if there was something more important he hadn’t taken out yet.
“More?” Aoyama paused.
He silently pulled out a black dress.
Utaha’s gaze fell on the dress, and she said thoughtfully, “So Aoyama-kun likes this kind of thing~” “Ahem!” “Didn’t you say you wanted a change of clothes?” Aoyama placed the dress in front of her, his expression unchanging.
Utaha picked up the black dress and held it up to examine it.
The fabric was soft and smooth, the cut simple and elegant, with a neckline that was just right and a hemline that fell to about the knees.
She held the dress against her body to gauge the fit, then turned her head to glance at him, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips.
“Aoyama-kun’s taste is indeed very good.” Aoyama didn’t reply, continuing to pull items out of the backpack.
Two shirts, a dark gray pencil skirt, underwear, and a palm-sized mirror.
And…
When he saw the unopened package of black stockings, his hand paused.
Utaha saw them too.
Her gaze fell on the bunch of black stockings, then shifted to Aoyama’s face, her eyebrows arching slightly.
“Stockings too?” After all, her previous pair had been torn to shreds by him.
Although they had already been damaged during their journey, Aoyama was the main culprit.
“That’s not all.” With a calm expression, Aoyama placed the stockings on the sandy ground.
Then, from the very bottom of the backpack, he pulled out that black lace-trimmed stepmother dress.
The V-neck plunged below the chest, the waist was cinched, and the hem was short enough to barely cover the tops of her thighs.
“…” The air fell silent for a second.
Kasumigaoka Utaha’s gaze lingered on the stepmother dress for a full three seconds before her eyes slowly rose to meet Aoyama’s.
His red pupils held a subtle glow in the setting sun.
Her lips pressed together slightly, as if she were holding back some expression.
“It seems Aoyama-kun…
really loves this kind of thing?” Aoyama’s face flushed red.
“Ahem!
Don’t talk nonsense.” “I just thought you might like clothes like this.” Utaha rested a hand on her forehead.
“No matter how I think about it, that’s just impossible, right?” She laid the black dress across her lap, then picked up the stepmother dress, holding it open to examine it.
Her fingertips lightly brushed over the thin lace fabric.
She teased him, “It seems our Aoyama-kun isn’t very honest?” “I’m always honest.” “Then please tell me…” Kasumigaoka Utaha folded the stepmother dress and placed it on her lap, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him.
“When you were getting this dress…
what exactly was the scene you were imagining in your head?” Aoyama looked at her.
The setting sun cast a warm glow on her black hair.
The sea breeze had loosened a button on Kasumigaoka Utaha’s school uniform, revealing a glimpse of her collarbone.
Her expression remained languid and composed, tinged with a hint of playfulness.
But her fingers, curled on the surface of the dress, betrayed her own unrest.
Aoyama said, “I’ll tell you the exact scene after you put it on.” “…” The tips of Kasumigaoka Utaha’s ears flushed pink.
She turned her head away, pretending to tidy the pile of clothes, her movements a fraction faster than usual.
She carefully folded the stockings and the stepmother dress, placing them neatly beside the black dress.
Then, she picked up the palm-sized mirror and looked at her own face.
“…Is this me?” The woman in the mirror was indeed different from how she had looked just a few days ago.
Her cheeks glowed with a fair luster, her lips were a healthy red, and the corners of her eyes held a maturity she herself hadn’t even noticed.
The change was subtle, not the result of makeup or deliberate grooming.
She set the mirror down and turned her head to look at Aoyama.
He was efficiently and intently packing the cans and crackers from the ground back into his backpack.
Kasumigaoka Utaha’s gaze slid down his arm, shoulder, and waistline, coming to rest on his soaked school shirt.
“Aoyama-kun.” “What’s wrong?” “You’ll catch a cold if you wear a soaked shirt,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of nonchalance.
“Take it off first.
Put it back on after it’s dried by the fire.” “That makes sense.” Aoyama seemed to realize her point, glanced at her, and then took off his wet shirt right in front of her.
The lines of his shoulders and back were exposed in the sunset, water droplets rolling down the contours of his muscles and spreading into small dark patches on the sandy ground.
“Tch~!” Kasumigaoka Utaha stared, her gaze not wavering for a single second.