First, there was something important to understand: this was a doujin world. The characters inside it being horny was a baseline attribute.
Whether that intensity changed due to his transmigration was unclear — the system hadn't given him any indication so far.
But Oreki Gen was well aware that any contact — any physical contact at all — could trigger consequences beyond imagining.
Sure, just like in the real world, mutual affection needed to be cultivated step by step. But the things achievable at each stage here would be far more extreme.
A relationship that would normally be at the hand-holding phase? In this world, with him specifically, it might not stop there...
Did "capturing" a heroine simply mean claiming her body and then triggering some heartfelt exchange? Oreki Gen wasn't that naive. Given the doujin's outcomes... whether or not they slept together guaranteed absolutely nothing.
Wind gently stirred the curtains.
The field outside was quiet — no basketballs bouncing, no footsteps pounding the track. Because it was the weekend...
Their gazes seemed to collide in the still air, like two masters squaring off — the moment blades clashed, the duel would determine both the winner and the survivor.
Oreki Gen broke the long silence first.
"I'm just an ordinary person. I don't really understand art. But being touched would make me uncomfortable, so I have to decline."
Watching him deliver that line with such a calm expression, something like genuine surprise flickered in the depths of Sakuraba Mitsuki's eyes.
A young man refusing "intimate contact" with her was evidently something she'd never anticipated.
Even an idiot wouldn't do that, would he? No — he was no idiot. He was actually quite smart.
"Do you dislike me, Oreki-kun?"
Sakuraba Mitsuki asked, suddenly.
Oreki Gen shook his head. "I wouldn't say dislike. More like... I don't really feel anything."
Saying he disliked her outright would be unreasonable — they'd only formally met a handful of times. It would only invite unnecessary suspicion or unforeseen consequences.
"Nothing" should dampen her interest to some degree, right?
But Sakuraba Mitsuki smiled.
"Then you'd be the first man to feel nothing after seeing me, Oreki Gen."
Oreki Gen felt a headache coming on. This wasn't going the way he'd imagined...
"That's normal enough. There are exceptions to everything. Everyone's tastes are different. I'll admit your looks are the type most people are drawn to, but..."
"But what?"
Sakuraba Mitsuki watched Oreki Gen with a smile, while the handsome young man turned his somewhat contemplative gaze toward the window.
"I value the soul more..."
It sounded like something chuuni and shameless. Who wasn't a visual creature, really? He just happened to see further than most.
Sakuraba Mitsuki wasn't the least bit surprised by his answer. She seemed to have come prepared.
"I understand. I won't touch your body."
She'd given in that easily?
Oreki Gen looked at her. Her gaze flickered for an instant.
"But what if you touch me?"
Oreki Gen shook his head without hesitation. "That won't happen. I need to make something clear — I'm not saying all this as some kind of reverse psychology to get your attention, Sakuraba-san."
Sakuraba Mitsuki seemed entirely unbothered. Still proud. Still assured.
"It's fine. Please have a seat, Oreki-kun. I'm going to begin."
Oreki Gen hadn't brought anything, so there was nothing to put away. He sat calmly in the chair across from the easel, watching the stunningly beautiful young woman pick up her brush and palette once more.
"I don't need to strike any special pose, do I?"
Sakuraba Mitsuki lifted her gaze from behind the easel.
"Face me. And look at me."
A perfectly normal yet oddly loaded request.
Oreki Gen didn't overthink it. He sat upright, facing her, and met Sakuraba Mitsuki's gaze — eyes that seemed devoid of any excess emotion, cold to the extreme.
She would occasionally lower her head to add a few strokes, and sometimes ask him to adjust his posture.
Tilt your chin up. Look to the side. Stand up for a moment — simple directions, all of which Oreki Gen followed without objection.
But after a few minutes, he suddenly spoke.
"Once you're done with this painting, you'll honor our agreement and delete the photos, right, Sakuraba-san?"
Sakuraba Mitsuki looked up with perfect composure. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because we never agreed on that. The only thing we agreed on was that I wouldn't go to the police."
"That's a bit underhanded, don't you think? If that's all there is to it, there's no reason for me to sit here and cooperate."
Oreki Gen seemed genuinely annoyed — a normal reaction to being toyed with. He appeared ready to stand up and leave, but then —
He couldn't move.
Like an exquisite work of art, the handsome young man sat with his back to the sunlight by the windowsill. Even his irises had stopped moving — a frozen sculpture, no blinking, no rising from the chair.
Even the curtains had stopped swaying, as though the breeze itself had died.
The classroom fell into a terrifying silence.
Then the young woman with hair like a black waterfall rose slowly, set down her brush with ease, and walked step by step toward the frozen, abruptly motionless Oreki Gen.
She leaned down slightly, studying the young man's face.
Sakuraba Mitsuki finally let that rare smile surface.
"You really are cautious... But I'm sorry. I have the power to break through any boundary."
Without a trace of hesitation, she reached out and gently caressed the skin of the young man's cheek.
"What a fine face... If only I could keep it all to myself."
She sounded almost wistful.
This time, she didn't linger on his lips. Her fingers traced across them with lingering reluctance, then moved to Oreki Gen's collar.
POP —
POP —
One by one, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt, baring his collarbone, then the subtly defined lines of his chest, then the faintly sculpted blocks of his abs...
Her palm slid down from his collarbone, and her gaze took on a bewitching quality.
As though some unnatural flame had been lit within her.
Her hand glided across him like someone polishing fine porcelain.
"What a beautiful body... If you weren't my male lead, letting all this go to waste would be an absolute crime, wouldn't it?"
Her hands arrived at the firmly fastened waist of his trousers.
Sakuraba Mitsuki lifted her head, and a smile appeared on her face — one that no one else had ever seen, alluring beyond measure.
"So forgive me. Even if it's underhanded, there's no way I'm letting you go. You're my endless wellspring of inspiration... Oreki-kun, you are my flame."
POP!
The trouser button came undone.
Her cheeks flushed an unusual shade of crimson, but what dominated her expression was the near-fanatical excitement blazing in her eyes.
She wasn't the least bit nervous. This time, her hands didn't even tremble.
She pulled it free. Let it hang.
A natural drop.
She stood up and sniffed her palm.
"Hah... A strange scent. But surprisingly, I don't dislike it."
She looked at Oreki Gen with a smile that seemed like a farewell, then slowly returned to her seat.
And simply... watched him. Waiting in silence.
Waiting...
"Whoooosh~~~"
Wind swept through the curtains, sending them rippling like gentle waves.
Her gaze shifted — growing calm and razor-sharp.
"Oreki-kun, what are you doing?"
She spoke suddenly. Every sound in the classroom returned to normal.
And the young man sat right there — every button of his shirt undone, his entire torso exposed.
That wasn't all. His trousers were unfastened as well, and something that absolutely should not have been on display was now in full view. The scene resembled a flasher's crime in progress.
In Sakuraba Mitsuki's expectation, he'd probably panic, blurt out something about how he had no idea what had happened and that he'd never meant to do this, all while looking innocent and outraged — yet unable to explain any of it.
No matter. Sakuraba Mitsuki picked up her phone, aimed it at Oreki Gen, and pressed record.
She was looking forward to his performance.
When Oreki Gen's gaze refocused and he looked down, as if his soul had left his body, and saw the state he was in —
He didn't look shocked.
He didn't scream in a frenzy.
He didn't demand to know what the hell had happened.
He didn't even... tuck himself back in.
A flicker of confusion crossed Sakuraba Mitsuki's eyes — and then she watched as he slowly raised his head, his gaze burning with intensity as it locked onto hers.
Within those eyes blazed the sharp light of a detective who had just cracked the case and pieced together every last clue.
"Sakuraba-san. This time — and last time, too... It was you all along."
What was he saying? Could it be... he'd known from the start?