T/N:
So like, I made a mess.
Turns out, Megumi and Haruto didn't go all the way and the semi-fluff written on the previous chapter amount to nothing...
Bruh, I'm sorry.
Treat it as a filler or some shit, I'm really sorry.
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The soft cry of the night wind was something one never tired of hearing—especially when it brushed against the ear like a secret. Haruto could almost hear it now, weaving through the silence, blending with the faint rhythm of breathing that lingered in the air.
It was a moment that made one want to listen forever.
But peace, as always, was short-lived.
Haruto reached out, brushing his fingers along Kato Megumi's bare feet, intent on drawing her closer. His mind was still clouded with warmth, the kind that dulled reason.
Yet before anything could continue, a faint sound broke the stillness—a light, deliberate tapping from beyond the door.
Footsteps.
They stopped right at the entrance.
The two froze.
Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Megumi's face turned pale, panic flickering across her expression. But it only lasted a second. She took a breath, steadying herself with surprising composure.
If she was going to win tonight, she would win thoroughly.
Or so she told herself.
But fate, it seemed, enjoyed its jokes.
A metallic click came from the door.
Her blood ran cold.
Someone was picking the lock.
"That—!" she mouthed, stunned. How could—?All the room keys had been taken away, yet the door was opening. Someone outside was picking the lock.
Her heart jumped to her throat.
Panic set in. Megumi quickly freed herself from Haruto's hands, grabbed for her sash, and looked around desperately. Her gaze caught on the large wardrobe against the wall—a wide, lacquered piece that could easily hide several people.
Without hesitation, she moved. Barefoot on tatami, she darted across the room in perfect silence. Like a startled cat, she slipped into the wardrobe, closing the door behind her with surgical precision.
Not a sound. Not a trace.
Haruto stared after her, speechless.
"…Really?" he whispered, lips twitching. "What happened to that bold determination from a minute ago?"
He sighed, ruffling his hair. "Women's enlightenment sure doesn't last long."
Resigned, he smoothed out his rumpled clothes, then gathered the disheveled sheets and quilt with a wave of his hand, storing them neatly away in his kamui space.
Just as he finished, the lock clicked again—and the door swung open.
The door opened.
A figure stepped through—swift, silent, and graceful.
And then Haruto saw her.
The moonlight caught the curve of her form—black fabric, smooth and form-fitting, clinging to every motion. A hood obscured her face, but as she closed the door behind her, she reached up and pulled it back.
Golden hair cascaded like a waterfall.
Hayasaka Ai stood there, framed by moonlight, her skin pale as porcelain and her expression unreadable.
"Hayasaka…?" Haruto blinked. "You're seriously picking locks now?"
She said nothing.
Her gloved hands fell to her sides, then slowly—deliberately—she began removing the gloves, one by one. The motion was so fluid that Haruto, for once, didn't know where to look.
"Ms. Hayasaka," he started carefully, "if this is an assassination attempt, I'd like to know why it looks so stylish."
No reply.
Her steps were silent as she approached, but there was power in them—like a wave gathering before it breaks. Her expression was cold, her eyes sharp, and for a moment Haruto actually felt nervous.
Did she know something? Did she find out about Megumi—?
Before he could think further, she leapt.
"Wha—"
He barely had time to react before Hayasaka collided with him, sending both of them tumbling onto the tatami.
Her grip was firm, but the impact was soft; it didn't hurt, just startled him.
And then, he realized—she was trembling.
Not with anger. With emotion.
"…Ai?" Haruto asked quietly.
Her face was buried against his chest. When she spoke, her voice cracked slightly.
"It's not Miss Kaguya! I just—ugh!—I can't believe her sometimes!"
Haruto blinked. "Wait… this is about Kaguya?"
Hayasaka looked up at him, cheeks puffed in indignation.
"She said she was going to come see you tonight, right? But halfway here, she got all shy and said—'I can't possibly do something like that!' And guess who got sent instead?"
Haruto couldn't help it. He laughed.
"You're telling me Kaguya sent you to—what—'test the waters?'"
"Exactly!" Hayasaka huffed. "She said she wanted to see your reaction to a night visit, but she didn't want to risk it herself. So now I'm out here picking locks and sneaking into rooms like some sort of secret agent from a dating sim!"
Despite her irritation, there was something undeniably adorable about the way she pouted.
Then she paused.
Her nose twitched slightly.
"Wait a second…" she murmured. "Why do you smell like milk and… heather?"
Haruto froze. "Uh—scented shampoo?"
Hayasaka narrowed her eyes suspiciously but let it go. She sighed, muttering, "This is all Kaguya-sama's fault anyway…"
And then, without warning, she tilted her head upward and pressed her lips against his.
The kiss was sudden—soft, but full of heat, like the spark of frustration finally catching flame.
For a few seconds, the world shrank to just that point of contact—the warmth of her mouth, the faint tremor in her breath, the scent of moonlight and perfume.
When she finally pulled away, she whispered, "That's for making me do her job."
Haruto chuckled softly. "I didn't exactly ask her to."
"Still counts."
She rested against him, breathing slow and even.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The moonlight stretched long shadows across the floor, and the silence between them wasn't awkward—it was strangely peaceful.
But then—
Another click.
Both froze.
That sound again.
Hayasaka's head whipped toward the door. Her instincts kicked in instantly.
Without missing a beat, she grabbed her gloves and hood, scanning the room in a flash. Her eyes landed on the wardrobe.
Haruto followed her gaze and sighed internally.
"No way…"
Too late.
Like a blur, Hayasaka darted across the tatami, scooped up her things, and slipped inside the wardrobe with surgical grace. The door shut silently.
Now, there were two women hiding in the same closet.
Haruto stared at the wooden door, utterly expressionless.
"…Ahh shit," he muttered helplessly. "Just… unbelievable."
The latch clicked once more.
He turned toward the door, already half-dreading who it would be this time.
The night, apparently, was just getting started.