A classroom in the middle of a lesson, suddenly stripped of all sound.
Amamiya Momiji's expression as she looked at him had frozen in place, as if still waiting for him to answer her question.
Everything was frozen. Everything had stopped. As though an invisible blizzard had blanketed Sakurato High School in silence.
But Oreki Gen knew exactly why. She had already walked in.
Just like the first time — brimming with confidence, without a trace of hesitation or nerves.
Utterly certain that no one would ever witness her "miracle."
But Oreki Gen's heart was already in his throat. What she'd done last time was seared into his memory. She hadn't even zipped him back up.
And that had been out in the open, in broad daylight, downstairs in the school building!
Now it was happening during class!
What kind of fetish did she have? Did she have to pick these settings? She could have at least done it while he was in the bathroom or something. If the same thing happened again —
Oreki Gen's vision practically went dark.
Just the thought of it was pure hell.
But his thoughts couldn't manifest into action. He couldn't make a single resisting expression or movement. All he could do was watch helplessly as Sakuraba Mitsuki approached with ease.
THUMP.
A soft sound.
Sakuraba Mitsuki sat down on his desk, completely unbothered that her round backside was now planted squarely on the books he had open.
Oreki Gen couldn't help but wonder — and if he'd left a pen on there?
Sakuraba Mitsuki elegantly lifted her gaze. Her expression remained as indifferent, composed, and flawless as ever — not a single crack, not a single opening.
She was studying his face again, murmuring in that familiar, slightly husky, alluring voice.
"Mm... great facial structure. Textbook-handsome. Strong nose bridge, lively eyes. The perfect candidate to be my male lead."
Male lead? Was she a director?
Obviously not. But Oreki Gen connected the dots with what Matsuyama Shota had told him — Sakuraba Mitsuki, the pampered heiress who wanted for nothing, had a passion for drawing, and apparently quite a bit of talent at it. Was it about that?
Sure enough, being too handsome was his greatest weakness.
Her gaze lingered until she couldn't help but reach out...
Hey — you break it, you buy it... Oh wait, this was the Sakuraba family's young lady. Never mind then.
Oreki Gen clearly remembered: according to the doujin's lore, the Sakuraba family was extremely prominent in Sakurato. They had no shortage of people representing both power and money within the clan — and were rumored to have ties to the underworld...
Sakuraba Mitsuki reached out and touched his cheek first, then pinched the bridge of his nose, then his brow ridge, and finally, using her middle finger, lightly traced along his jawline. Every motion was delicate and gentle, like a master artisan studying a work of art.
"Mm... all natural. Can someone really look like this without any work done?"
You're one to talk?
This was a doujin world — could they not nitpick about these things? Just do whatever you came to do and get it over with. Oreki Gen was losing his mind.
This rubbing, pinching, and caressing all over him was exactly like a summer night when you'd finally gotten drowsy enough to fall asleep, only to close your eyes and feel a mosquito landing on your face. Maddening. Absolutely unbearable.
But soon, Sakuraba Mitsuki pulled open his collar. Instead of running her hands over him, she leaned in.
Oreki Gen immediately felt several strands of her hair slip past his collar and brush against his skin. Then came her scorching breath...
"Haaah..."
"Mmm..."
She took several deep, intoxicated breaths, exaggerated to the point of seeming addicted.
Only then did she lift her head, looking satisfied.
"Absolutely perfect... Even the scent is perfect. Exactly the kind of scent I like."
No interference. Even though they were surrounded by dozens of people, every one of them was now nothing more than a mannequin in a shop window.
Her murmured words, her every movement — like a one-woman play performed on an empty stage.
A familiar flush began creeping across Sakuraba Mitsuki's face. Oreki Gen knew that expression well — it had been rendered in painstaking detail throughout the doujin. And it only appeared under one specific circumstance...
She continued, seemingly unable to stop herself.
"I'm still not happy with how I drew that part. Even with the photo..."
"As I thought, photos alone aren't enough... I'm still stuck. It really should be the real thing, shouldn't it? Then I'll just have to trouble Oreki-kun once more..."
Sure enough — the words from the text, spoken directly from Sakuraba Mitsuki's mouth.
Now Oreki Gen finally understood what these messages really were. They were previews of the "scenes" that were about to unfold, delivered in the perspective of whatever character was about to act — and the target was always him.
He wanted desperately to stop it. But there wasn't a shred of possibility. How long had it been since the five minutes started? All he knew was that it felt interminable.
He heard his belt being unbuckled, then the sound of his zipper being pulled down. It was all painfully familiar — the last time this had happened was... well, last time.
Goddammit!
Before long, Oreki Gen was hit with the same old sensation.
Even in this late-June, almost-July heat of deepening summer, he felt an utterly out-of-place gust of cool air.
He even wanted to shudder.
Just like before, the flushed-faced Sakuraba Mitsuki lowered her head with the focus of a research scientist, and then extended her clutches...
He was done for... Were people really this curious about what they didn't have?!
What followed was Oreki Gen's personal purgatory.
Sakuraba Mitsuki, however, seemed to be having the time of her life, her gaze intensely focused — as though conducting a solemn academic study.
And then she even —
FLICK.
What the hell was she doing?! That hurts!
Was she insane?!
His own father hadn't flicked that thing since he was four years old! Was she out of her mind?!
"Would he feel the pain after he wakes up from the stop, I wonder?"
I'm feeling it right now, thank you very much! Could you please show some restraint and stop doing weird things?!
Sakuraba Mitsuki studied it for a bit longer, then finally put everything back where it belonged and even tidied up after herself.
Was he supposed to praise her manners?
She rose from his desk, then once again reached out to touch his lips. This time, at least, she didn't kiss him.
Instead, she murmured to herself.
"Looks like I need to create an opportunity for direct contact... Today after school, then. I can't keep going on like this forever. I need to make you willingly become my model, Oreki-kun."
With that, she lowered her hand and glanced at the slender watch on her wrist.
"Mm, almost time. Well then — goodbye, Oreki-kun. See you after school."
She turned and walked out of the classroom.
And soon, all sound rushed back into his ears. He gasped for air in great, heaving breaths.
The sight made Amamiya Momiji furrow her brow from the podium.
"Oreki-kun, are you feeling unwell?"
Oreki Gen blinked and looked at Amamiya Momiji. So the time stop didn't register for her either — which raised the question: could Sakuraba Mitsuki also be affected by Amamiya Momiji's "hypnosis"?
"A little. My breathing felt off."
"Sit down and rest for a bit. If it doesn't improve, let me know right away."
"Okay. Thank you, Amamiya-sensei."
Oreki Gen sat down and pressed a hand to his chest. Glancing subtly downward — well, the "gentleman" that had remained perfectly still within the time-stop field was now making up for lost time with a vengeance. If he'd still been standing...
He didn't even want to think about it.
And then he remembered Sakuraba Mitsuki's parting words.
See you after school...
"See you"?
See you, my ass!
Watch him channel his inner Usain Bolt the second that final bell rang.