What was she hearing? What was she seeing?
Every word, every gesture from Seiji Fujiwara carried an unquestionable authority, but it didn't come from violence or threat. It came from something else entirely... an owner's matter-of-fact dominion over private property.
There was no anger in his tone, only amusement and play.
And Yukino's reactions made Iroha Isshiki's scalp prickle.
No shame, no resistance. She was simply, calmly accepting his "inspection" and his "nitpicking," and offering composed responses to every "issue" he pointed out.
It was something Iroha couldn't comprehend at all.
...
Seiji circled around to Yukino's back, his gaze settling on the elegant curve of her spine.
"Too thin..."
He shook his head, a touch of dissatisfaction on his face.
"At least you've remembered to keep the back side clean?"
"...Yes, because Fujiwara-sensei required it." Yukino sighed softly.
"Why the sigh?"
Seiji's voice dropped lower, laced with wicked seduction. "Don't you enjoy it too?"
Yukino bit her lip and gave up on answering such a tedious question.
"Why have you gone silent?" His voice was full of laughter. "I remember telling you to express your feelings honestly, little Yukino."
Behind the water tank.
Iroha's expression was slowly stiffening.
What she was witnessing might be something even more terrifying.
The realization sent a chill through her.
...
The static teasing seemed to be growing dull for Seiji.
For a collectible already branded with his exclusive mark, what he enjoyed more was making it perform, under his commands, the dynamic beauty of being "tainted," displaying behaviors entirely opposite to its original temperament.
He stepped back two paces to give himself enough room to observe, then spoke in the tone of a stage director instructing his actor.
"All right, warm-up's over. Let's begin."
In the shadows.
Iroha's chest was filling with fear and confusion.
Instinct told her to flee this place at once, but her feet felt nailed to the ground. A fierce curiosity drove her, demanding to know how this absurd "performance" would unfold.
Seiji's instructions were full of malicious whimsy. "From here, walk to the other end of the rooftop, then walk back. I want a runway walk."
"Imagine you're not on a school rooftop, but on a Fashion Week runway, presenting yourself to the entire world."
"Watch your expression. Haughty. Cold. Make everyone feel they're looking at a piece of art they can never possess."
The instruction threw Iroha's mind back into chaos.
Making a stark-naked girl walk a runway on an empty rooftop?
And with a haughty, indifferent expression? What a humiliating demand!
But Yukino's face remained calm.
She drew a deep breath, and in those hollow eyes she actually managed to summon a flicker of cold pride that belonged to a runway model.
She rose onto the balls of her feet and extended her long legs, walking step by step across the cold concrete in a posture of consummate professionalism and grace.
Her waist swayed gently with each stride, every muscle in her body moving as though under precise control, displaying a fluid kind of beauty.
Her steps were steady and rhythmic, each footfall landing on the same beat.
Only at this moment... this model wore not a stitch.
That professional pride of a model, set against her completely exposed body, created a powerful visual impact, absurd and profane all at once.
Iroha's mind went blank. She could only stare.
Watching as Yukino's perfect body, beneath the lingering glow of the setting sun, traced one beautiful, profane arc after another.
"Your stride and rhythm are excellent. As expected of the Yukinoshita heiress. Even something like this turns out so polished thanks to that elite upbringing." Seiji clapped lazily, like a judge, but his tone shifted sharply, growing severe. "However, the expression is wrong!"
He stepped forward and pinched her chin. "I want the cold pride of an ice queen, not the numbness of a doll."
"Have you forgotten the look you used to have? That gaze mixed with disdain, contempt, and superiority. Do it again, with that look."
Yukino's body trembled faintly, a flash of shamed irritation passing through her eyes.
"What? Can't do it?"
Seiji's smile turned wicked.
"If you can't, I'm going to have to punish you severely."
The fists Yukino had been clenching tightened in an instant, her nails digging deep into her palms.
A flush mixed with pain and humiliation spread rapidly from her neck across her face.
"Please... don't..."
She forced the words out through her teeth, her voice raspy, somewhere between dissuasion and pleading.
Watching this from a distance, Iroha felt her heart almost stop.
Fear.
A fierce fear seized her heart in an instant.
"No..."
The sheer terror pulled the sound from her lips before she could stop it.
On the rooftop, it stood out jarringly.
In an instant, the rooftop "performance test" came to an abrupt halt.
Seiji stopped his further exploration of Yukino's body. He slowly withdrew his hand, casually wiping it on her thigh, which was still taut with trembling.
Yukino's eyes, somewhat unfocused now from the continuous stimulation, slowly turned toward the source of the sound: that enormous, rust-stained metal water tank.
But her face still held no extra expression.
Seiji didn't even turn his head.
He was still watching the sun on the verge of sinking below the horizon, and spoke in a relaxed, easy tone, as if addressing the air itself.
"Looks like we have an extra little audience member."
He paused, then added lightly:
"Aren't you going to come out, Isshiki?"
Isshiki...
Those words struck like four precision sniper rounds, piercing Iroha's last line of psychological defense in an instant!
He knew!
He had known from the very beginning that she was here!
Then everything before... had it all been a deliberate performance staged for her?!
Was she part of his play?
The thought was the final straw, and it crushed her completely.
Fear flooded her mind in an instant, washing away all capacity for thought.
The "cunning" and "quick wit" Iroha had always been so smug about, in this moment, didn't leave behind even the faintest residue.
"No... no..."
She could only shake her head on instinct, her body trembling violently from fear. The phone in her hand slipped from her grip and clattered to the ground, the screen cracking on impact.
Run!
Run, now!
That was the only thought in Iroha's mind.
But her legs felt as though they'd been filled with lead, locked in place by the invisible shackles of fear, too heavy to move at all.
She could only watch helplessly as Seiji, perfectly composed, walked step by step toward her hiding place.
Each step felt as though it landed on her heart, leaving her gasping for breath.
At last, Seiji reached the water tank and stopped.
He didn't roughly drag her out. He simply looked down at the figure curled in the shadow.
There was no anger in his eyes, no surprise. Only scrutiny.
"What a pity." His voice was flat, but it carried a coldness that made Iroha feel her very soul was freezing over. "I'd thought, as an 'opportunist' with a fair amount of fame at Sobu High, you'd display higher powers of observation and analysis."
"Yet here you are, still operating at the primitive level of using 'romantic relationships' and 'reputation threats'?"
"You haven't even managed the most basic risk assessment of your own situation."
"Truly disappointing."
Every word was like a precise scalpel, slicing through Iroha's mind again and again.
All the survival skills she'd taken pride in were, in his eyes, nothing but "primitive and inefficient" tools.
"No... it's not like that... I... I was just passing by... I didn't see anything!" Her face was pale, her excuses tumbling out incoherently.
"Passing by?" Seiji let out a soft laugh thick with mockery.
He slowly crouched down and reached out a hand, pinching her chin lightly, forcing her to lift her head and look him in the eye.
"Your route, the timing of when your phone camera turned on... all of it has been under my surveillance, Isshiki."
"Your turn is over."
His tone left no room for argument.
"Now, it's my turn."
With those words, the unease in Iroha's heart surged to its absolute peak.
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