"Countless years had passed."
"Mountains had become valleys, rivers had turned into plains, and primeval forests had evolved into cities of steel."
"Yet one thing remained unchanged: the human heart—love, family, friendship."
"Love and hate, affection and betrayal, intertwined in eternal cycles."
Yukinoshita Yukino finally understood why some things are called "classics" and not just "clichés." At the core of every action lies emotion.
No matter how the world shifts or how much time passes, the same feelings will always lead people to the same actions.
She looked down at the cherry blossoms below, her gaze landing on Yamauchi Sakura, who was looking up at her and waving enthusiastically.
Waves of emotions surged through her, pushing nameless feelings to the surface.
As if testing the waters, Yukino hesitantly raised her hand in response, like a baby grasping a rattle for the first time.
She gave it a tiny wave and forced a faint smile.
The golden evening sun bathed the school building in warm light, casting a gentle glow over Yukino's pale face.
The sunset was beautiful—but still, only the lingering light before darkness.
Yet the smile on the girl below was as dazzling as the midday sun.
That question resurfaced in Yukino's mind again: What kind of environment, what kind of past, could shape a girl like that?
Something that should've been so suffocatingly painful—when told through her voice—somehow sounded enviable instead.
Yukino had every reason to believe that if it hadn't been her sitting there listening to Yamauchi Sakura's story, anyone else would've thought, 'If I could be loved like that, if I could experience that kind of love… then even dying right now would be worth it.'
Though she still couldn't agree with it, she now understood it.
The whole thing felt like someone telling a horror story—but the listener was sitting in a lush green garden, surrounded by vibrant blooming flowers, beneath puffy white clouds and a warm sun.
The air was filled with floral fragrance and the aroma of fresh bread from the kitchen.
Friends and family with joyful smiles gathered around, and five kittens of various colors dozed at their feet.
In a scene like that, even a horror novel written by a Nobel Prize winner couldn't scare you.
There wasn't a trace of darkness in her world.
It was always full of sunshine and the scent of tangerines.
She was surrounded by love.
To her, this whole situation seemed like a tiny pebble on the road—something you could casually kick aside and move on.
Yukino didn't feel even a hint of envy.
Even if she was someone who had been overlooked since birth, named simply because it snowed the day she was born—even if she didn't have someone like Hojou by her side—she was content.
She accepted that her world didn't have as much love in it.
But different lives create different people.
A lonely life made her strong.
With no one to support her, she learned to be independent. And she was proud of who she'd become.
Now, she was only analyzing these feelings to refine her craft—the art of understanding the human heart.
Her intuition told her the answer lay in the conversation she had just had.
Naturally, the image of that flushed, blissful face—red like someone drunk on happiness—came to her mind.
Hojou Kyousuke.
Yamauchi Sakura mentioned his name in almost every sentence.
Aside from her family, all her joy seemed to stem from him.
Stripping away the outlandish parts, the simple fact was that someone like him had loved her, cared for her, protected her from all the bad in the world.
That's how she stayed so innocent—innocent enough to make a request like that.
A request titled: "Help Hojou Kyousuke forget Yamauchi Sakura."
Even someone like Yukino, who had never been in love but had read more than her share of literature, knew that the best way to make someone forget about another person… is to make them fall for someone else.
So, the request could be rewritten as: "Make Hojou Kyousuke fall in love with Yukinoshita Yukino."
Combined with that earlier, ambiguous request, Yukino had every reason to believe that what Yamauchi Sakura truly wanted… was for her to fall in love with Hojou.
Because only then could she be certain—no matter what happened to him—Yukino would always be there to help.
Arms still folded across her chest, she looked down at the dispersing crowd below.
At that moment, thick evening clouds swallowed the sun, casting shadows across the school building.
The glass windows, once glowing faintly, lost their shimmer—and so did Yukino's expression.
The pride that had always marked her face was replaced with an unfamiliar darkness.
Hojou Kyousuke.
She had heard that name countless times even before entering the school.
From her mother's lips, her sister's, even her father's. And… from that file she mockingly called the "Successor's Suitor Candidate List."
"Hey, Yukino-chan. Don't you think this guy suits you pretty well? Maybe he's the only one who could accept all your little quirks."
After the entrance ceremony, when she was supposed to head straight back to class, her sister had stopped her and said those words.
"I don't think so. Seeing him is like seeing another version of you. If anything, you two are the perfect match."
Yukino's response had been cold.
"Aw man, even you think so, Yukino-chan? How troublesome… Mom seems to really like him. I've been worrying—if you fall for him, how am I supposed to deal with Mom?"
That woman always said the most absurd things. As if she would ever fall for someone like that.
From every angle, he was the type she disliked: radiant, admired, skilled in social interactions, effortlessly balancing academics and career.
No wonder their mother favored him.
"Boring."
She shook off her sister's hand and turned to leave—but was stopped by her mother's firmer-than-usual voice.
Lips pursed, she stood still, posing for a family photo with the two of them, her face emotionless.
"Yukino, you should learn to be a bit more sociable at school. Making friends is just as important as studying. Even if you can't balance both like Hojou-kun, try to make some effort."
Like any parent sending their child off to a new life, her mother offered words of encouragement.
Always the perfect "mother," always fulfilling her role flawlessly—just like she'd always made all the decisions. Yukino simply had to follow.
"Mm." As always, she lowered her head and responded quietly.
"High school should be fun. Don't push yourself too hard. Just be happy—that's all I want," her mother said warmly, resting a hand on her shoulder.
"Mm." She knew exactly what that meant.
She wasn't the heir.
Even if she scored dead last in her class, it wouldn't affect the Yukinoshita family's reputation.
Every family had one underachieving member; it just gave others a chance to praise the elder sibling even more—to admire the true successor and envy the Yukinoshita family's promising future.
All she had to do was follow her mother's script.
For years, her sister had played the role perfectly—so perfectly, it was all Yukino could do just to look up at her in awe.
'Yukinoshita Haruno. Hojou Kyousuke.' She repeated their names in her mind, turning them over slowly.
'Tomorrow, I'll finally meet him. Let's see what kind of person he really is. Let's see what, exactly, Mother wants me to learn from him.'
The Kendo Club's practice room wasn't located in the special building.
Instead, it was in a separate structure next to the tennis courts.
Yamauchi Sakura walked with a light, cheerful step, humming a completely tuneless melody, clearly in high spirits.
She knew full well that her "scheme" had already been seen through by Yukinoshita Yukino.
But that was exactly what she intended.
That overly competitive girl and childish to the core—had walked straight into her real trap.
A girl who had never loved anyone before would never have guessed that curiosity was simply another disguise for love.
The moment curiosity took root, you'd find yourself drawing closer, trying to understand.
And before you knew it, you'd be startled by the strange, inexplicable feelings that had begun to stir within.
Without bothering to knock, Sakura pushed open the Kendo Club's door like she owned the place.
As Kyousuke's "favorite," she considered it beneath her to knock—if she did, the people inside might feel guilty for not greeting her properly.
And that would be a major offense.
As someone dubbed the "Hojou Kyousuke Encyclopedia," it took her only 0.1 seconds to spot him lounging lazily behind the crowd—alongside the girl sitting next to him.
"Ta-da! The peerless general, Yamauchi Sakura, has arrived!"
She stood tall and gave a mock salute, her voice bright and full of energy.
The sudden interruption made both of them smile.
"You're so slow—I've been starving waiting for you."
Just to be clear, that wasn't Kyousuke complaining.
That was Yamauchi Sakura herself, flipping the blame effortlessly.
Reverse accusations were her specialty—he'd apologize sincerely, then take her out for something delicious.
That was the usual pattern.
"Alright, let's go then."
Kyousuke stood up, brushing off his pants out of habit—even though he had been sitting on a cushion that Shouko brought.
Shouko quickly picked up the cushion and went to store it in the cabinet.
"Kisaki, Tamaki, I'm leaving the rest to you."
"Yes, sir!" x2
Watching their club captain, freshly showered and back in his uniform, walk off with two beautiful girls in tow, the two juniors didn't dare say a word.
They were already lucky just to be invited. Besides, he'd already taught them three solid techniques today.
What more could they ask for?
Technically speaking, Kyousuke wasn't even skipping practice—there were plenty of students heading home already.
Not every club was as intense as the sports teams.
Take the Goldfish Research Club, for instance—were they really staring at goldfish for two full hours?
Since it was already late and time for dinner, their earlier sushi plan was scrapped.
Kyousuke pulled out his phone to order some food.
Uber Eats hadn't launched in Japan yet, and aside from restaurants that hired their own delivery staff, the only option was an old-school service like Demae-can for fast food like McDonald's.
The sushi place was new and hadn't hired any delivery workers yet.
So technically, it wasn't delivery—it was takeout, and he'd have to pick it up himself.
"You're so sloooow! I'm starving to death here!"
The moment Kyousuke opened the front door—before he could even change his shoes—a crisp voice rang out from inside.
In his mind's eye, he could already picture her: sprawled on the couch, golden hair a complete mess, flailing her arms and legs in all directions, an empty bottle of cola beside her.
Yup. That had to be Eriri.
"Welcome home, Kyousuke-kun," Yukari called softly from the kitchen, holding a towel in her hands.
"I'm back," Kyousuke replied with a smile—just like he had in Itomori.
In the dimly lit Japanese-style room, Kasumigaoka Utaha sat on a floor chair, typing away on her keyboard as she teased Eriri.
"I doubt it's actual hunger that's bothering her." Only Utaha could throw a jab like that without fear.
"Hah?! You perverted woman! Do you have anything normal in that brain of yours?!" Eriri snapped, turning around and gripping the sofa's backrest for support.
Just then, a fluffy white furball came charging toward Kyousuke and bumped into his leg.
At the same time, he swore he heard a voice—like an auditory hallucination.
[Aniki, you're finally back! I missed you so much!]
But Kyousuke had no time for distractions.
Arguments drained too much energy—and in a few minutes, Eriri would be clinging to him again.
He headed straight for the kitchen, tied on an apron with Yukino's help, and began preparing dinner.
"Hey, Momotaro, are you hungry too?" Sakura had already changed into her indoor slippers and plopped down on the floor, rubbing the little dog's head.
Then she reached for a box of treats on top of the shoe cabinet.
[No, you've got it all wrong, Boss. Eriri already fed me tons earlier.]
[I said I was full, but… alright, alright, I'll eat a little more.]
[It's not like you understand what I'm saying anyway. I don't want you to be sad, so just a little more, okay?]
Momotaro let out a soft whimper before lowering his head to eat again.
With dinner nearly done, Kyousuke hopped on his bike and picked up the sushi.
It worked both as a main dish and side—it really was a culinary miracle.
After dinner came their usual walk—but Eriri, having eaten too much, wasn't moving an inch.
Every time Kyousuke tried to pull her up, she'd cradle her stomach like a woman eight months pregnant and scream in protest.
With Sakura, equally reluctant to move, chiming in enthusiastically, the walk was officially canceled.
No movie either—not every day was so free.
Utaha was writing the script for the school play this semester, and Yukari had work from school to take care of.
Shouko, ever the studious one, had returned to her room, laptop open, reviewing and previewing material sent by the training institute.
Sakura vanished into her own room for who-knows-what.
That left just Kyousuke and Eriri in the living room.
"Why are you back so early today?"
Despite her love for anime, Eriri worked hard to maintain her "perfect noble lady" image—staying late to guide her clubmates, even if it meant missing her favorite show.
"It's because of the contest," she grumbled.
"The contest? Isn't that still a while away?" Kyousuke tilted his head. "The signups were just yesterday, and you only need to submit your work before June."
"Are you an idiot? A month isn't nearly enough to finish a painting!" Eriri exploded.
If she hadn't eaten so much, stretching her stomach to what felt like its breaking point, she'd already be yanking his ear and lecturing him about how sacred art was.
Damn it—why did the food have to be that good? Why couldn't he keep her in check the way he did with Sakura?
"Eriri…" Kyousuke looked at her with wide eyes, his voice trembling with emotion. "You've really grown up…"
"Huh?" She glanced down at herself. No, she hadn't magically matured overnight.
"You used to be a last-minute warrior. You wouldn't touch your pen until the deadline was breathing down your neck. And now look at you—already stressed about it so early."
"YOU IDIOT!" With a roar, Eriri shot to her feet.
Her legs, clad in black tights, sank into the soft gray sofa.
She stormed off to the other couch, straddled Kyousuke's lap, and unleashed a flurry of "loving punches" straight to his chest.
The so-called "fist of love" was a strange thing.
Each punch looked like it was thrown with full force, yet to the one receiving it, it felt more like a gentle massage.
That's how something hard like a punch could be softened into something warm and affectionate.
"Hey, hey, be careful with your stomach—watch out or it'll start hurting!"
That was close.
Eriri looked so much like an expectant mother slumped on the couch that Hojou Kyousuke almost let the wrong thing slip out.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Eriri, her face already flushed from the brief burst of movement, rolled off him and sat aside.
Without a word, she clutched her stomach, her expression paling like a cartoon character losing color—first white, then ghostly pale.
Kyousuke turned his head to glance at the girl who had suddenly lost all her energy. He let out a sigh and said, "Lie down. I'll rub it for you."
This idiot was always like this.
Sure, people in Japan were used to eating raw food, or mixing ice cream with all kinds of dishes, but everyone had their limits.
Eriri, the amateur she was, always got the short end of the stick—whenever she got the urge to eat ice cream right after something deep-fried, she'd freeze up like someone just pressed her off switch and start sweating buckets.
Just like now.
The shine had vanished from her golden twin-tails, and her delicate face looked pitiful.
"Nnngh~" she whimpered, her lips trembling, clearly expecting something.
Heh.
This was one of the killer techniques passed down from her mom: show just the right amount of weakness.
Men could never resist a girl who looked vulnerable and in need of help.
Of course, she didn't really give herself a stomachache on purpose!
Since she'd gotten home earlier, Eriri had already changed out of her school uniform and into a comfy cotton T-shirt and shorts.
Though she was an artist, she had zero sense of fashion when it came to herself—she only cared about comfort, just like Hojou Kyousuke.
Seeing the little blonde acting like it hurt to even move, Kyousuke gently supported her upper body and laid her head in his lap.
Her whole body suddenly felt like marshmallow, soft and completely devoid of strength.
The thin cotton shirt clung to her skin, tracing her graceful curves.
Even without x-ray vision, anyone could clearly see the shape of her bra.
Her small tummy had a gentle, cute rise to it.
Kyousuke reached out with his right hand and lightly placed it on her stomach.
A surprising heat radiated through his arm, the smoothness of her skin evident even through the fabric.
"See? I didn't actually eat that much!"
Once her head was resting on his lap—which wasn't exactly the most comfortable pillow—Eriri instantly felt better and couldn't help but start rambling.
"Mm," Kyousuke hummed, slowly massaging her tummy in a gentle clockwise motion.
Her soft, tender skin looked like it'd bruise if he applied even a bit more pressure.
"Don't get any weird ideas, got it? Giving me a massage is just one of your basic chores!"
Eriri's face was already regaining its color, now flushed in a lovely shade of pink.
"Mm," Kyousuke replied simply, concentrating as if repairing a priceless treasure—completely focused, not daring to get distracted.
Her waist was so slim that his hand could easily cover it.
No matter how hard he tried to control himself, it was impossible not to brush against other areas.
The warmth from his touch seemed to seep deep into her stomach, sending a ticklish, fluttery feeling through her, making her eyes glisten.
The white ceiling light cast a gentle glow over the room, creating a soft shadow on Kyousuke's face as he looked down.
Without her glasses, Eriri couldn't clearly see his expression, making her even more flustered.
The living room fell into a hushed silence, the only sound being the pitter-patter of Momotarou pacing back and forth.
Ugh, so embarrassing! Sure, they'd done this kind of thing before, but that was back at her house—her turf.
Now that she'd lost her home-field advantage, the embarrassment hit ten times harder.
Realizing how awkward things were getting, Eriri quickly fired up her brain and gave a new order:
"Hey, chore-boy. Say something funny."
…
Eriri might not have been able to see Kyousuke clearly, but he could see her just fine.
Her usually cute face looked even more radiant under the warm, ambient light.
Her lips, soft and pink like cherry blossom petals, shimmered with a tempting glow.
He had to constantly rein in the impulse to lean down and kiss her.
Not to brag, but being able to swallow nervously without getting caught was one of his best survival skills when hanging around a beautiful girl.
Just when he was about to ask the director—mentally, of course—if he could get a kiss as a bonus, a new command snapped him out of it.
"Have you decided on which theme you're going with, Eriri?" he asked, latching back onto their original topic.
Talking about something serious would definitely help calm his rebellious thoughts.
This was important business, after all!
'Idiot! This is the part where you're supposed to compliment my figure!'
'Do you know how hard I've been working out every night under Mom's guidance? Daily measurements are practically a ritual!'
"No!" Eriri snapped, spitting out the word with an almost mechanical bluntness.
"I think 'Hard Work' suits you best," Kyousuke offered.
The Tokyo Youth Art Exhibition had given them two possible themes—"Youth" and "Hard Work."
From his point of view, Eriri was practically worthy of a Nobel Prize in Effort—she could win "Most Inspiring Overachiever" in the world.
She was a rich heiress who had drawn so much her eyesight was going bad.
Despite being able to live ten lifetimes off her inheritance, she still released new works regularly—each one a hit—and even forced herself to draw explicit content for the sake of sales.
Truly, enough to bring a man to tears.
"Nonsense," Eriri scoffed, summing up her thoughts in one curt word.
"…"
"Hard work is for people who need it. Someone like me—a genius beautiful girl—should be singing praises of youth without restraint!"
"…" Kyousuke gave her a complicated look as she glared back with sharp eyes—though he knew she wasn't actually angry.
She was just squinting, trying to see him clearly.
The curse of extreme nearsightedness.
"And besides…" she mumbled, her voice suddenly much softer, "If someone like me chose 'Hard Work' as a theme, people would just think I'm being pretentious."
Her quiet admission made something shift in Kyousuke's eyes.
He understood immediately.
In a group of girls, if someone complimented a pretty one on her flawless skin, and she responded by earnestly sharing all the products and techniques she used, people wouldn't praise her—they'd judge her.
The right response was to act troubled and say something like, "Ugh, my subcutaneous fat is so thick, it's embarrassing."
Eriri was caught in that exact dilemma.
Everyone saw her as a genius illustrator, and she enjoyed that image.
But if she admitted that her skills were the result of staying up late every night since third grade, drawing until her vision suffered…
There were only two outcomes: either people would call her fake and say her "perfect girl" image had cracked… or the illusion would still shatter—just in a different way.
Either way, she'd fall from her pedestal.
She really had it rough.
Smiling gently, Kyousuke reached out with his left hand and placed it gently on the girl's head.
"Don't get too full of yourself just because you're a lowly assistant. Rubbing my stomach was already crossing the line," Eriri muttered under her breath, though her lips curled into a small smile as she closed her eyes.
That little flicker of vulnerability she'd shown earlier vanished like it had never been there.
"To me, Eriri's really been trying her best, you know."
"Idiot. Only idiots need to try hard!"
"Yeah, yeah. Eriri's definitely not an idiot."
The room fell silent again—but this time, it was a gentle kind of quiet.
Unlike the earlier tension, a warm, comforting atmosphere settled between them.
As Kyousuke stroked the soft strands of hair under his fingers and felt the warm little belly beneath his hand, he couldn't help but feel completely content.
"I signed you up too," Eriri said abruptly, breaking the calm.
"Huh?"
"For the competition."
"Huh??"
"What? Got a problem with that?" she snapped. "It's totally normal for the male and female leads to enter a contest together, right? And when you don't make the cut, I'll be there to console you—generously!"
She glared at him like she'd chop his head off if he dared to protest.
With her nearsighted squint adding to the intensity, her usual tsundere bite suddenly felt surprisingly serious.
So, what would Kyousuke say to that?
From the day they'd met, he'd understood exactly what kind of person Eriri was.
She was the type who'd scream she was never giving birth again while in the delivery room—then yell at you to experience the pain yourself.
Compared to that, a little art contest was practically mercy.
"Got it. Then I guess I'll go with 'Hardwork' as my theme," he said with a chuckle, still gently massaging her stomach.
"Huh?! Where's your shame?"
This idiot—how could he possibly have the audacity to talk about hardwork?
In Eriri's eyes, Hojou Kyousuke was the very embodiment of genius.
She still kept the "Vaccine Man" he'd drawn when they first met tucked away in a super-secret folder.
In just three years, he'd surpassed artists who'd been honing their craft for decades.
And he was going to draw something themed around hardwork?
"Hey, I try hard too, alright? Lately, I think I might even be getting a bit nearsighted," he said offhandedly.
"What!?" Eriri suddenly shot up, eyes wide with concern.
She grabbed his face with both hands and leaned in close, studying his eyes.
Their foreheads and noses were just a breath apart.
Warm, damp breaths brushed against his cheeks.
He could see the long, thick lashes framing her brilliant blue eyes, the snowflake-like patterns in her irises, and—more than anything—the concern shining through them.
Seeing that look on her face made the corners of his mouth lift into a soft smile.
Whether she caught that smile or just realized that you can't diagnose nearsightedness by eyeballing someone's face, Eriri huffed and shoved his head to the side, then scooted off his lap.
"Alright, time to do your eye exercises for the day," she muttered, dragging him up and barking out commands like a gym coach.
"Yes ma'am, yes ma'am~~"