The moment his hand pressed down on the brass doorknob of the Service Club, the black handbag resting at Tōhō Getsukai’s feet gave a violent shudder.
He lowered his gaze and nudged the canvas side with his knee.
“Final warning.
No meowing once we are inside,” he murmured.
“I will give you a three-minute adjustment period.
Only after those three minutes is it your showtime.”
A muffled, highly perfunctory meow drifted up through the zipper.
Good enough.
The tool cat had acknowledged its orders.
He pushed the door open.
The late afternoon sun poured through the tall windows, washing the entire clubroom in a warm, heavy orange glow.
Yukinoshita Yukino sat at the far end of the long table, a thick library book open before her.
Her posture was a carbon copy of their last encounter.
Long, ink-black hair cascaded over one shoulder, the pleats of her uniform skirt fell in perfectly straight lines, and her spine remained impeccably straight.
She was truly beautiful.
And truly freezing.
Tōhō’s footsteps echoed clearly across the empty room, the rhythmic tapping of his shoes breaking the silence.
Yukinoshita did not so much as twitch an eyelash.
A page turned.
The crisp rustle of paper filled the air.
He studied her profile.
Her eyelids appeared to be welded shut.
Tōhō gave her a mental round of applause.
During his last visit, he had departed without a single word of farewell, intentionally leaving behind a half-finished club application form on the desk.
In Yukinoshita Yukino’s rigid worldview, such an act was the equivalent of dumping a pile of unassorted garbage in the middle of her pristine sanctuary and strolling away.
Given her careful personality, it was physically impossible for her not to care.
But given her towering pride, it was even more impossible for her to bring the subject up herself.
Translated into plain terms, her current statuesque silence meant a fierce war was raging behind those dark eyes.
‘I do not care at all whether you come or not’was currently locked in brutal combat with’When exactly is that rude person going to finish filling out his paperwork?’
Neither side had won yet.
Tōhō offered no greeting.
He simply walked over to the exact chair he had occupied last time and took a seat.
Two empty chairs separated them—a perfectly calculated distance, neither too intimate nor too distant.
He placed his school bag on the table and set the black handbag gently by his feet.
Extracting his own textbook, he flipped it open.
The silent reading battle commenced.
The only sounds in the room were the alternating, rhythmic flips of paper.
He noticed Yukinoshita’s page-turning speed had increased slightly compared to last week.
It was a subtle acceleration, hovering right on the boundary between absorbing the text and staring blankly at words while pretending to read.
Right on cue, an incredibly faint meow drifted up from the floorboards.
Yukinoshita’s slender fingers froze mid-turn.
Tōhō casually rested his chin against his palm, shifting his gaze out the window to watch the drifting clouds.
The enemy remains still, I remain still.
Twenty seconds ticked by.
“Meow—”
This one stretched longer, carrying that sticky, lingering, high-pitched tail tone unique to kittens.
Yukinoshita’s eyes darted sideways.
A precise fifteen-degree shift, locking directly onto the black handbag resting by his shoes.
A second later, she snapped her attention back to her novel and forced the page down.
Impressive willpower.
As expected of the undisputed Ice Queen of Sobu High School, her resistance to external interference was formidable.
But everyone had a breaking point.
When the third meow sounded, the zipper of the handbag slowly slid open from the inside.
A single, fluffy white triangular ear poked through the gap.
The heavy hardcover in Yukinoshita’s hands wobbled.
Catching the micro-expression in his peripheral vision, the corners of Tōhō’s lips curled upward.
“Student Tōhō.”
Yukinoshita finally spoke.
Her voice remained chillingly level, clamped down tight.
“The Sobu High School regulations explicitly state that bringing any live animals, with the sole exception of certified guide dogs, onto campus is strictly prohibited.”
“Student Yukinoshita must be hearing things,” Tōhō replied smoothly, not looking away from the window.
“This is simply a white noise music box I purchased recently.
It produces healing ambient sounds.”
Silence descended over the clubroom.
In the midst of that exquisite quiet, the zipper gave way completely.
A pure white head popped out of the bag.
Round sapphire-blue eyes blinked against the light, a tiny pink nose sniffed the air, and two tufts of whiskers twitched with curiosity.
The kitten crouched at the canvas opening, tilted its head, and stared directly at the girl at the end of the table.
Beneath the table, Tōhō secretly channeled a faint trace of his [Feline Affinity Constitution].
The invisible aura drifted outward, giving the kitten a gentle nudge in the right direction.
Target locked.
This time, the library book actually slipped from Yukinoshita’s grip.
She caught it just in time, lowering it to the wooden table with agonizingly slow, careful movements, terrified that a sudden noise might frighten the creature away.
“Your music box.” A distinct, audible crack fractured her icy tone.
“Has grown hair.”
“It is the latest model.
A highly simulated design.”
“Student Tōhō.”
“Hm?”
“Please be serious.”
“Alright.
It is a cat.”
Yukinoshita picked up her book again, her knuckles slightly white.
“Please remove it from the premises.
This is the Service Club, not a cat cafe.”
Her words were sharp, but her body language betrayed her entirely.
Her shoulders were rigid, her gaze kept darting downward, and her fingers twitched against the book cover.
It was the physical manifestation of a desperate desire to pet the fluffy intruder, barely restrained by sheer, stubborn logic.
Diagnosis confirmed.
Yukinoshita Yukino was a terminal closet cat lover.
The kitten let out a tiny yawn, sat back on its haunches right at the edge of the bag, and began carefully licking its front paw.
Tōhō unhurriedly turned a page of his textbook.
“Do not worry, it is exceptionally well-behaved and will not run around.
Just treat it as if it does not exist.”
Those words were a direct challenge.
He was essentially telling her: You can ignore it, but it is right there.
A soft, white cloud of fur, a mere three meters away.
Well within reach.
Are you going to pet it or not?
Yukinoshita bit her lower lip.
“…That music box.”
“Cat.”
“That cat,” she corrected, her eyes practically nailed to the text in front of her.
“Its fur is whitish, but it lacks the proper gloss.
It is on the smaller side.
Its mental state appears passable, but it looks slightly thin.
It seems it might suffer from a certain degree of nutritional deficiency.”
She paused, taking a slow breath.
“Do you need me to help conduct a physical examination?”
The dignified Yukinoshita Yukino, the most unapproachable girl in the entire school, the strict enforcer of rules who had just quoted the handbook at him.
Just to get her hands on a kitten, she had fabricated a veterinarian-grade excuse out of thin air.
You have worked hard, Student Yukinoshita.
“Sure.” Tōhō nudged the handbag ten centimeters closer to her chair.
“It does not have a name yet.
Just a stray I picked up on the way here, so it really should have a basic check-up.”
“I am only offering out of humanitarian concern,” she added quickly.
“Mm.
Very convincing.”
Finishing its grooming routine, the kitten raised its head.
Sapphire eyes met Yukinoshita’s dark ones.
With a light, graceful hop, it cleared the edge of the bag.
Four tiny paws hit the floorboards with a soft pitter-patter.
It handled around the chair legs, trotting through the gap between their seats, heading straight for the girl.
Tōhō maintained the subtle guidance of his aura, silently cheering it on.
Go forth.
Claim your new owner.
Yukinoshita watched the approaching ball of fluff.
Her entire body went rigid with tension, yet she did not pull her legs back.
The kitten stopped right at the tips of her uniform shoes, craned its neck upward, and let out a fragile, high-pitched meow.
Yukinoshita’s lips parted slightly.
Moving as if she were approaching a bomb, she slowly bent forward.
She lifted her right hand from her lap, her slender fingers curling slightly inward, reaching inch by agonizing inch toward the white head.
Her fingertips hovered a mere five centimeters away.
The kitten moved.
It lunged forward with sudden, explosive energy.
Two front paws shot out, the tiny claws hooking precisely into the hem of Yukinoshita’s pleated skirt.
Then, it gave a vicious backward yank.
Rrrrip.
The faint, unmistakable sound of threads giving way echoed in the quiet room.
The hem of the skirt was dragged sharply to the side by the sudden weight.
The taut fabric instantly molded against the curve of her thigh, the edge sliding dangerously high, stopping just a fraction of an inch away from revealing something entirely unmentionable.
Yukinoshita froze completely.
Bent forward, arm outstretched, skirt yanked entirely askew.
The combination formed a deeply compromising picture.
While this specific maneuver had not been part of his tactical plan, Tōhō maintained his gentle, placid smile.
Excellent work.
The tool cat scores a flawless victory.
His gaze caught a fleeting flash of pale, smooth skin exposed by the shifted fabric.
Relying on sheer, superhuman reaction speed, he snapped his head back toward the window, staring intently at the clouds.
Still biting down on the hem of the skirt, the kitten turned its head to look back at him.
Those innocent blue eyes clearly communicated two words: Mission accomplished.
“Stu-dent-Tō-hō.”
The words were ground out through Yukinoshita’s clenched teeth.
A furious, burning red flush erupted across her cheeks, spreading visibly until her earlobes were completely crimson.
“Please.”
“Control.”
“Your music box.”
[Akarin’s Note:
Enjoying the story?