“Sakura-san…”
“Um…”
The setting sun had drenched the after-school grounds in a wash of orange.
A chestnut-haired girl stood in front of Asagami Sakura, fingers wringing themselves into knots.
Her name was Satsuki Yumizuka, Sakura’s classmate.
They had known each other since middle school.
Watching Yumizuka’s pretty face soften with that uncertain, almost coquettish hesitation, the corner of Sakura’s mouth gave the faintest twitch.
Don’t tell me—
Don’t tell me!!!
Outwardly Sakura’s expression betrayed nothing.
Inside, alarm bells were ringing.
After perhaps four or five minutes of agonized fidgeting, Yumizuka finally found her voice.
“Sakura-san, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Her cheeks were already flushed scarlet with embarrassment, her heartbeat thundering against her ribs, her hands trembling.
The lovely, delicate girl in front of her had been the object of Yumizuka’s affections since middle school—the one who had pulled her out of the dark, the one who had noticed her at all.
The second daughter of the famous local conglomerate, the Asagami family.
Asagami Sakura.
There were rumors at school that Sakura-san was only an orphaned ward the Asagami had taken in—too peripheral even to inherit the family name properly.
But she wasn’t after Sakura-san’s family fortune!
No!
She was lusting after her body!
Unable to meet Sakura’s eyes, Yumizuka edged closer—slowly, slowly.
Even without their gazes meeting, the girl’s neck and cheeks had bloomed pink with shame, and her ears were flushed an alarming shade of crimson.
Yumizuka’s gaze caught on the tempting line of Sakura’s black-stockinged legs, and a sweet fragrance flooded her senses.
She nearly bolted on instinct.
At last she forced herself to look up, to meet Sakura’s eyes—those clear pupils, lake-still and lake-cold.
Eyes welling, embarrassment unbearable, Yumizuka’s whole body trembled.
“I love you!!!”
Her voice rang down the empty corridor.
Then, head ducking again, unable to bear Sakura’s gaze any longer, Yumizuka lowered her head once more.
She seemed drained of every ounce of strength, on the verge of collapsing where she stood, her chest heaving in ragged breaths.
Of course it would happen again!?
How many is that now!?
Sakura covered her face with one hand.
She’d had the gnawing sense, ever since meeting that strange monk as a child, that her entire life had been quietly tipped off its axis.
“Um… I’m sorry.” Sakura turned her down smoothly, with the ease of long practice.
“Even though Satsuki-san is very cute, and you’ve always looked out for me…”
“…”
Sakura looked at the girl in front of her.
Yumizuka’s exquisite face had dissolved into something heartbreakingly cute—tears welling in shame, body trembling with tension.
As Sakura’s refusal landed, the girl bit down on her lip, and her expression collapsed into something forlorn.
I’m being so cruel…
But staying ambiguous would be crueler still.
“So—let’s keep being friends, all right?” Sakura took Yumizuka’s hand.
The girl’s hand was long-fingered, the skin cool to the touch—but soft.
“Um…” Yumizuka lifted her face.
“Sakura-san—just now you called me Satsuki?”
Watching Yumizuka’s expression suddenly brighten, Sakura felt a small clench in her chest.
Now that she thought about it—she had always called her Yumizuka-san before, hadn’t she.
“Y-yes.” Wondering whether she’d just made yet another mistake, Sakura turned her head to the window.
The setting sun was already low.
It was getting late.
Shiki-nee-san had said Tokyo had been restless lately, and made her promise to be home before dark.
Besides, her sister would worry.
“That’s enough for me.” Yumizuka raised her hand, as if she could still catch the sweet trace of Sakura’s scent on her fingertips.
“I never really had any hopes anyway—Sakura-san is loved by so many people, after all.”
Sakura’s expression darkened slightly.
She did not want to be loved by that many people.
Almost everyone who circled her seemed to harbor inappropriate intentions of one kind or another.
Well—except for Onee-san.
And Shiki-nee-san at most.
And maybe that old auntie Touko on top of that… Sakura ticked them off on her fingers.
“So, Sakura-san.” Yumizuka clasped her hands together.
“What you said just now—was it true?
Can we really still be friends?”
“Mm.” A warm, soft smile lifted the corners of Sakura’s mouth.
“Of course.”
She still remembered.
Back in middle school, the girl in front of her had been locked in a storage room, shaking.
Sakura had been looking for somewhere to change out of an ill-fitting sports bra at the time, and stumbled across her—curled up like a wounded little animal in a dark corner.
“Then that’s enough.” Yumizuka pressed her palms together.
“When I’m in trouble again, Sakura-san—will you help me?”
“Of course.”
As Sakura watched Yumizuka shouldering her schoolbag and walking away, an inexplicable, very dark sense of foreboding rose in her chest.
“Um—Satsuki!” Sakura called after her.
The girl turned in the dusk light, that pretty face haloed in soft orange—so soft that for a moment it looked as though her smile had been brushed with blood.
“It’s late already.
Let me see you home.”
“Okay!” Yumizuka, abandoning her usual quietness, came bouncing back to Sakura’s side.
The two of them walked shoulder to shoulder toward the school gate.
A black sedan was already waiting there.
Not her family’s car.
The Ryōgi family’s.
The corner of Sakura’s mouth tugged up despite herself.
So they had a guest at home tonight.
“Asagami-sama.” The Ryōgi family maid pulled the door open and bowed slightly.
Sakura returned the courtesy, then guided Yumizuka into the back seat with her.
Right now—she was Asagami Sakura.
She had carried other surnames once.
Tohsaka.
And, briefly, Matou.
But now—Asagami.
The engine rumbled to life, and the black sedan carried them away.
Sitting beside Sakura, Yumizuka was filled with a satisfaction she could not quite put into words.
It wasn’t much.
And yet it felt as though she were closer to Sakura than anyone else—a small, warm nearness.
It was only at the corner of the street where Yumizuka lived that Sakura allowed herself to relax.
She watched Yumizuka’s back recede.
Nothing should… go wrong, right?
She had been so careful.
Just one street, one alley, that was all.
Ever since meeting that strange monk, Sakura had come to trust her instincts implicitly.
No—instinct was no longer the right word.
Take, for instance, the moment she had met that woman at the office—the words Scarred Red had appeared, hanging above her head.
She thought, unbidden, of that intelligent, mild-faced woman, and reflexively pressed a hand over her own backside.
A faint phantom ache rose to greet the thought.
“That auntie didn’t come over today, did she!?” she asked the maid.
“Does Asagami-sama mean Aozaki-sama?” Watching in the rearview mirror as Sakura clutched her behind in alarm, the maid suppressed a smile and began to turn the car around.
“Aozaki-sama did not come today.”
Sakura’s expression eased.
The last thing she wanted was for someone in her own home to flip up her skirt, drape her over their lap, and spank her.
It was too… mortifying.
“Please hold on tight, Asagami-sama.” The maid pressed down on the accelerator.
“The young mistress instructed me to bring you home before dark.”
(Cover)