Chapter 1: Prologue

There are people whose mere presence shifts the atmosphere around them.

Private Sōshūkan Academy—Sayaka Hisaka, a first-year student in the high school division, is exactly that kind of person.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

It was during a break one day. I sat in the frontmost seat by the classroom window, with Hisaka right beside me. That’s how the seating was arranged when we started high school.

Normally, seats would follow alphabetical order, but Sōshūkan isn’t your typical school. This academy caters to the children of elite families, where longstanding rivalries between houses sometimes sparked conflicts—or even bloodshed—breeding deep-rooted grudges.

Even something as mundane as seating is decided with deliberate intent by the school. Why were Hisaka and I were placed next to each other? I haven’t the faintest clue, nor can I begin to guess.

Sayaka Hisaka, with her light brown, semi-long hair and strikingly beautiful features, seemed to carry an air that set her apart.

She wore black-rimmed glasses and tied her light brown hair back in a slightly old-fashioned double ponytail, yet these quirks did nothing to dim her beauty.

Even when she was simply reading a paperback, I couldn’t help but be captivated, my gaze irresistibly drawn to her. Sometimes, like now, I lingered too long, and Hisaka noticed, shooting me a suspicious glance.

“By the way, Hisaka, what’re you reading?”

“A mystery,” she replied. “Someone gets killed out of nowhere, and the detective’s hell-bent on catching the culprit—sticking to suspects like glue, dragging their secrets into the open. What’s fueling that kind of passion?”

“How should I know?”

Why was she dissecting the tropes of a mystery novel like that?

“Wait, Hisaka, you just picked up some random mystery you didn’t know about?”

“It was thirty yen at a used bookstore.”

“No wonder it looks so beat-up.”

The book had no cover, its pages yellowed from sun exposure, and it seemed one good shake away from falling apart. Yet, in Hisaka’s hands, the tattered old thing somehow took on the air of a rare antique tome. It was almost uncanny.

“Being beautiful sure has its perks…” I muttered under my breath.

“Hm?”

“No, nothing. Don’t mind me.”

“Okay then,” Hisaka murmured, her eyes already back on the book.

“Beauty doesn’t mean much if you don’t sell your looks,” she added softly. “Otherwise, you’d be so broke you can’t even afford a seven-hundred-yen paperback.”

“You heard me, huh? Wait, you’re that broke…?”

“I’m a scholarship student here, you know? If my family had money, I wouldn’t even qualify to apply.”

“Right…”

Sōshūkan Academy, where we studied, could easily be dubbed a “rich kids’ school.” Its students came from families with significant wealth, and the tuition was exorbitantly high.

My Kiyomiya family traces its noble roots back to Kyoto, a legacy that endures in our wealth today, so the steep tuition fees of this school have never been a concern.

This institution operates as an escalator system, seamlessly guiding students from elementary through university. I’ve been here for over nine years, yet I only recently learned of the scholarship program’s existence.

“Still, Hisaka, you transferred here just a year ago and have topped our grade ever since,” I remarked. “With that mind of yours, you’ll likely amass a fortune someday.”

Her lips pursed slightly. “It’s hardly refined to reduce everything to money so swiftly.”

“Didn’t you bring up money first, Hisaka?”

I couldn’t help but bristle at being painted as crass when she was the one who broached the subject.

“Ah,” she murmured suddenly.

“Hm? Something wrong?”

“Are you planning to read this mystery later?” she asked, gesturing to the paperback in her hand.

“Nah, not really. Doesn’t seem like my thing,” I replied with a shrug.

Hisaka extended the book toward me, her expression unreadable.

“Ah,” I echoed, mimicking the same sound she did earlier.

My eyes fell on the page she’d been reading. The name “Mano” was prominently highlighted in pink fluorescent marker. Beside it, an arrow drawn in red pen pointed to the damning word “Culprit!” scrawled with unmistakable clarity.

“That’s just cruel. Not even halfway through,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“It wasn’t worth the thirty yen I paid for it,” Hisaka sighed, her tone flat with disappointment. “I’m returning it and demanding a refund.”

With a swift motion, she stood, snatching her school bag from beside her desk.

“Whoa, hold on! I get how you feel, but it’s just thirty yen!”

“It’s not about the money—it’s about pride. They sold me this, and I won’t forgive them.”

Hisaka declares firmly, gripping her bag and standing up.

“W-wait, Hisaka!”

“Eek!”

“Oh!”

Crap…!

“…”

For a fleeting moment, I caught the normally composed Hisaka’s expression stiffen.

As she turned to leave, I reached out instinctively, my arm curling around her waist before I could think better of it.

Her navy blazer conceals it well, but the moment my hand brushes against her, I’m struck by how astonishingly slender Hisaka’s waist is. Can a person this delicate even have organs?

“Hey, Kiyomiya’s harassing Hisaka-san…”

“Whoa, isn’t that, like, assault? Should we tell a teacher?”

“That’s just too scummy…”

The murmurs from the girls around me jolt me back to reality, and I hastily released Hisaka’s waist. Even if I only meant to stop her, there’s no denying it—my actions crossed into blatant harassment.

“Fine, I’ll let it slide,” Hisaka says coolly.

“Huh?”

She forgave me that easily? Or so I thought—

“If you want to touch me, wait until we’re home.”

“…!”

I nearly topple out of my chair, still seated.

Before I can recover, Hisaka leans in, her lips hovering dangerously close to my ear. Her whisper is so intimate that I can feel the warmth of her breath, her lips almost grazing my skin.

“The bell’s about to ring,” she adds nonchalantly.

“Y-yeah.”

As if nothing happened, Hisaka settles back into her seat, retrieving her textbook and notebook from her desk with practiced ease.

This girl beside me—a scholarship student, a model of academic excellence—had me completely outmaneuvered.

Come to think of it, there’s no way someone like that would skip school to barge into a used bookstore and start yelling.

I’m being played like a fiddle in the palm of Hisaka Sayaka’s hand, both in the classroom and… at home.