Vrr—beep—
Rei Ao's sports car eased into a reserved spot in front of a brilliantly lit, imposing building.
Kato Hiromi stepped out, hand in hand with him. The night breeze brushed past, letting a sliver of clarity cut through her overwhelming shame and confusion. Instinctively, she looked up at the building glowing with luxury in the dark—and froze.
The flush that had just faded rushed back hotter than ever, even redder than before.
Because the place looming before her wasn't just any building—it was a famous, ultra-luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo.
A huge neon sign blazed in the night. Golden light spilled from the revolving doors. Uniformed staff stood respectfully on either side.
A h-hotel?!
Hiromi turned to Rei Ao in shock, panic in her eyes. W-why are we here?! Shouldn't the last stop of a date be… taking me home?
As if he could read every question and flutter in her heart, Rei Ao met her wide-eyed stare with a playful, I-have-everything-under-control smile. Teasingly, he said, "What's the matter, Hiromi? After dinner, a stroll, and a midnight movie… for a couple on a date, where else would you go at the end of the night besides a hotel?"
His words were blunt and aggressive, his deep eyes gleaming with undisguised desire and possessiveness—like a predator fixing on its prey.
"Uu—!"
Hiromi instantly understood what he'd meant by "the last activity." This wasn't some simple end to the evening. This was… turning the make-believe into the real thing—leaping straight from "pretend boyfriend" to an actual relationship.
Her modesty and sense of propriety made her shy and flustered by reflex. And yet, faced with a proposal this direct—too direct, really—what rose inside her, along with embarrassment and a flicker of fear, was something even stronger: excitement, anticipation, and… a hard-to-name thrill.
She didn't get angry. She didn't feel even the slightest urge to refuse or run. If anything, his decisiveness and dominance filled her with the warm satisfaction of being wanted—and a guilty, heady sense of surrender.
Maybe from the moment she nodded and agreed to the date… or rather, from the very first tremor she felt for him—the kind she shouldn't have—she'd already foreseen this ending. Maybe… she'd secretly hoped for it.
Her rational struggle guttered like a candle in the wind, snuffed out by a tidal wave of feeling. Under Rei Ao's oppressive, irresistible gaze, Hiromi finally yielded. She bowed her head, as if she could bury her burning cheeks in her chest, and with a voice soft as a mosquito's buzz, trembling, she breathed a tiny "Mm."
That faint reply worked like a passkey. The corner of Rei Ao's mouth curled higher, satisfied and pleased. He said nothing more, tightened his grip on her trembling hand, and led her—unhurried and sure—toward the doors of that temple to desire and surrender.
The revolving glass reflected their joined silhouettes, and Hiromi's face—flushed scarlet, eyes hazy yet resolute. She knew that once she stepped through, something would change for good. But right now, she was willing—eager, even—to meet the sweet madness she knew was coming.
The night was still long. What began as playacting was sliding toward what was most real—and hottest.
…
Morning in Fuyuki City lay under a thin, clammy veil of mist. It wasn't a pure white, but tinged with gray, as if the whole world had been steeped in a cup of cold, flavorless coffee.
There were few pedestrians and cars. Now and then a commuter train rumbled over the rails, distant and heavy. Everything looked blurred—the lines of the buildings, the road ahead, the way home behind.
The air was saturated with moisture; each breath carried a chill that slipped into the lungs, along with that distinct city-morning tang of dust and faint exhaust.
In that boundless fog, a small figure in a pale lavender dress trailed blankly behind a tall man in a dark suit. The girl walked with difficulty, steps tiny, hesitant, and heavy, as if the pavement beneath her feet were not solid concrete but a sucking mire.
She was Tohsaka Sakura. She wore her favorite dress, its collar and cuffs edged with delicate lace hand-sewn by her mother, Tohsaka Aoi.
Before they left, her father, Tohsaka Tokiomi, had, for once, personally combed her hair—gathering those soft purple strands and fixing them with a pretty clip.
She looked like a little princess all dressed up for some important ceremony. But her face, which should have been bright with innocent joy, was utterly blank—numb with emptiness.
The amethyst clarity that should have shone in her eyes had lost its focus, a shadow clinging to her like a veil. Buried deep was a fear she dared not show and a vast, crushing sadness.
Beneath the calm surface of her heart, dark currents were surging. Ever since her father gently shook her awake before dawn, her small head had been foggy, unable to think.
His voice had been as steady as ever—perhaps even a shade more solemn than usual. He had said many things. For a five-year-old, the words were too complex and foreign—"adoption," "a mage's fate," "the honor of the Matou family," "a better future"…
But now each term hit the uncomprehending lake of her heart like a cold stone, sending out ripples of biting chill.
~~~
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