By the time Aoyama surfaced, the sun was already sinking toward the horizon.
Kasumigaoka Utaha sat at the edge of the coconut tree’s shadow, chin resting on her folded arms as she watched the sea.
The moment she saw him break through the water, she sprang to her feet as if released from a coil, her body moving before her thoughts could catch up.
She stepped straight into the shallows without hesitation.
“Aoyama-kun!”
There was no hiding the urgency in her voice.
Only when she reached him and confirmed he was uninjured from head to toe did that tension ease from her shoulders.
“You were gone for a long time.
I was about to fire the Flare Gun.”
Aoyama stood in knee-deep water and shrugged off the bulging backpack.
“Things inside were complicated.
It took longer to gather supplies.”
“Complicated?” Utaha’s gaze drifted over his soaked uniform, then to the heavy pack at his feet, and back again.
“You ran into people again, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” He nodded.
“Four men.
They were controlling more than a dozen survivors.”
She fell quiet for a beat.
“And those four?”
“They’ve retired from the world.”
“… ”
So this was Aoyama-kun’s idea of a joke.
Her expression barely shifted.
She simply nodded, as though she had expected that answer all along.
“And the others?”
“I took everything useful.
The rest is theirs to divide.”
Utaha did not ask why he hadn’t saved them.
Why should he?
The thought felt cold, but it was honest.
She turned and walked back to the beach, settling again beneath the coconut tree.
“You’re drenched.
Sit in the sun and dry off first.”
Aoyama joined her, placing the backpack between them.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the sand, their silhouettes stretching toward the treeline.
“What did you get?” she asked, angling her body toward him.
He unzipped the bag and began laying items out one by one.
Compressed Biscuits.
Canned goods.
Bottled water.
The small pile grew steadily on the sand.
“This should last us several days.”
Next came the Fire Axe, two kitchen knives, and a Fish Crossbow, which he set carefully to the side.
Utaha’s eyes lit up at the sight of the supplies, but she noticed his hand dive back into the bag as though something else remained.
“There’s more?”
He paused, then silently drew out a Black Dress.
Her gaze settled on it, thoughtful.
“So Aoyama-kun likes this kind of thing.”
He coughed.
“You said you wanted a change of clothes.”
Without a change in expression, he placed it in front of her.
Utaha lifted the Black Dress and unfolded it.
The fabric was smooth, the cut simple and elegant.
The neckline dipped modestly, and the hem fell to about the knee.
She held it against herself, assessing the fit, then glanced at him with a faint, knowing smile.
“You have surprisingly good taste.”
Aoyama said nothing and continued unpacking.
Two blouses.
A dark gray bodycon skirt.
Underwear.
A palm-sized mirror.
Then his hand paused.
He pulled out a still-sealed pair of Black Pantyhose.
Utaha noticed immediately.
Her eyes flicked from the pantyhose to his face, one brow lifting slightly.
“Pantyhose too?”
The previous pair had been torn to ruin.
Worn thin from travel, yes, but the final damage had definitely been his doing.
“There’s more,” he said calmly, setting them down.
From the very bottom of the bag, he retrieved the Bodycon Dress.
Black lace trim.
A plunging V-neck that dipped well below the chest.
A cinched waist and a hemline so short it barely covered the tops of the thighs.
Silence settled between them for a full second.
Utaha’s gaze lingered on the dress for three long seconds before rising slowly to meet his eyes.
In the glow of sunset, her crimson irises seemed to catch the light.
Her lips pressed together, as if holding back a reaction.
“So you really do love this sort of thing?”
A faint flush crept up Aoyama’s face.
“Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“I assumed you thought I’d like it.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead.
“In what world would that be your first assumption?”
Setting the Black Dress across her lap, she lifted the Bodycon Dress again and let the delicate lace slide between her fingers.
“It seems our Aoyama-kun isn’t very honest.”
“I’m always honest.”
“Then tell me,” she said, folding the Bodycon Dress neatly and resting it on her knees, tilting her head as she looked at him.
“When you picked this out, what exactly were you imagining?”
The sunset gilded her dark hair in warm tones.
The sea breeze had loosened one button of her school uniform, revealing a slender line of collarbone.
Her expression remained lazy and composed, edged with teasing amusement.
But the fingers curled slightly against the fabric betrayed her own unsteady pulse.
Aoyama met her gaze.
“I’ll tell you the details after you try it on.”
“… ”
A faint pink spread to the tips of her ears.
She turned away under the pretense of organizing the clothes, her movements just a fraction quicker than usual.
Carefully, she folded the pantyhose and the Bodycon Dress, stacking them with the Black Dress.
Then she picked up the small mirror and studied her reflection.
“… Is that really me?”
She did look different from a few days ago.
Her cheeks held a soft glow, her lips a healthy flush.
There was a subtle maturity at the corners of her eyes that she did not remember possessing.
It was not makeup, nor deliberate styling.
It was something quieter.
She lowered the mirror and glanced at Aoyama.
He was repacking the canned food and biscuits with efficient focus, movements steady and deliberate.
Her gaze traced down his arm to his shoulders, then along his waist, finally settling on the soaked school shirt clinging to his torso.
“Aoyama-kun.”
“Hmm?”
“If you stay in wet clothes, you’ll catch a cold.” Her tone was casual, almost careless.
“Take it off and let it dry before putting it back on.”
“Good point.”
He blinked in realization and, without hesitation, pulled the drenched shirt over his head right in front of her.
His shoulders and back were revealed in the amber light, clean lines defined beneath damp skin.
Droplets rolled along the contours of his muscles before falling into the sand, leaving small darkened patches behind.
“Honestly…”
Utaha did not look away, not even for a second.