The morning air felt more alive than usual.
A pale blue sky spread over International Academy as birdsong mixed with the tread of students heading for the training field.
Today was special—the start of the AnnualOutdoor Training Program, a joint exercise for all classes from Grade 1 to Grade 5. The academy banner snapped in the center of the field while lines of uniformed students formed up by grade.
From a distance, several groups whispered. The same name kept circling.
"Do you see him?"
"That's Kiryuu Kizaki, right? The kid from Class F?"
"He actually showed up for this? I thought he was the type to skip."
Every time the name was spoken, the tone shifted—not anger or awe, but a puzzled curiosity. Students who used to see Class F as deadweight now stole glances in that direction.
Kiryuu stood at the back with his class.
The academy tracksuit looked different on him—not because of the cut, but the way he wore it: calm, relaxed, projecting a confidence that made others give him space without thinking.
Mizuno Airi stood beside him, pretending to look elsewhere, though her gaze kept returning.
"You know everyone's staring at us, right?"
"Not us," Kiryuu replied quietly. "Me."
"Cocky."
"Honest."
She let out a small laugh to hide her nerves.
"I'm not used to being in the spotlight."
"Learn to ignore the outside noise."
"Like you?"
"Like me."
A whistle blew—the first activity was about to begin.
Hanabira, supervising the first-years, gave instructions from a small podium at the edge of the field. Sunglasses hid half her face, yet every time Kiryuu moved, something in her body language shifted—her stance, her tone, even her breathing.
Don't show it. Don't let anyone notice, she warned herself.
But from the side, Airi had already caught the subtle change.
She leaned toward Kiryuu and whispered:
"Sensei's watching you."
"She's watching everyone."
"Only when you move does she pause."
Kiryuu didn't answer. A faint smile was enough.
A few meters away, two figures in red uniforms stood beneath a nearly bare sakura tree—Yuna and Yuni Gorosei. They weren't part of the first-year drills; they were "observing for academic reasons."
Yuna: "He doesn't look excited at all."
Yuni: "Maybe everything looks easy to him."
Yuna: "Or he's hiding something."
Yuni: "You scared?"
Yuna: "I rarely get scared… but I do like a challenge."
Yuna's eyes caught Kiryuu as he helped Noel set cones on the field. The way he dipped his head, gave short, low commands—firm without barking—made people obey without feeling forced.
Yuni: "He makes everyone move with him without noticing."
Yuna: "That's why I want to see how far he goes."
Class 1-F became the center of attention.
No longer pitied, they worked in sync; even students from other classes came over to help without being asked.
Noel, as class rep, scribbled on his clipboard:
Today our class worked like a real team.
Cause: Kiryuu Kizaki.
Meanwhile, Hanabira watched from afar, attendance sheet nearly slipping from her fingers.
"You really have changed this place, Kiryuu."
She drew a long breath, squared her shoulders, and called out with more force than usual:
"Class F! Two laps around the field!"
"Yes, Sensei!"
Their voices were in unison.
Kiryuu glanced her way and gave a tiny salute—brief, yet enough to throw her heartbeat off rhythm.
Around them, the whispers grew again.
"Class F looks… organized?"
"What happened to them?"
"I heard they've got a genius now."
"Genius or not, his aura is different."
Sakura snapped the moment—Kiryuu leading the run, black hair blown back, his classmates falling in behind. The photo would later spread across student forums, starting a small legend about "the Class F that changed under one boy."
They didn't know it yet, but the world started turning a little differently that day.
Its center wasn't the academy, nor the system—it was a person named KiryuuKizaki.
Midday sunlight flashed across the green turf of the back field. A soft wind blew, but the grounds were loud with laughter, shouts, and the energy of students from many classes running joint drills.
For most first-years, it was just another physical session.
For anyone watching closely, there was a single point of gravity.
As always, it was Kiryuu Kizaki.
Kiryuu helped Noel with the cones while Airi, Haruna, and Rika joked near the line. Sakura filmed non-stop. In the distance, Yuna and Yuni spoke in quiet tones under the trees.
Yuni: "He makes people work in order without ever being 'leader.'"
Yuna: "That's what worries me. People like him don't follow systems—they create their own."
The mood suddenly shifted when a soccer ball cut hard across from the adjacent pitch. It nearly hit Airi as she turned—but Kiryuu's hand flashed up, plucking it from the air a heartbeat ahead of everyone.
"Airi, you okay?"
"Yeah… but—"
Before she could finish, three older boys in Grade 3 uniforms strolled over, chuckling. They weren't part of the drills, but clearly not strangers here. The one in the center wore a red armband: Senior Captain – Football Division. Tall, light-brown hair, face smug with confidence.
"Oops," he said with a crooked smile. "Didn't think the ball would curve that far."
Kiryuu spun the ball on his palm, calm.
"Next time, control your kick."
"You teaching me soccer, Class F?"
Students turned to watch. They knew the face—Takizawa Ren, the senior team's captain and one of the most arrogant names on campus.
Takizawa: "I hear you're the new top scorer in exams. Rankings mean nothing on a pitch."
Kiryuu: "Agreed."
Takizawa: "Good. Then let's test that theory."
"How?"
"One on one. Goal to goal."
A ripple of cheers.
Hanabira yelled from the podium:
"This isn't the time for matches, Takizawa!"
"Relax, Sensei. Just a little entertainment. The lower classes should learn the difference between reality and dreams, right?"
Kiryuu stared at him, then set the ball at midfield.
"One on one. First to score wins."
"You serious?"
"I don't play around when people mess with mine."
The crowd tightened, forming a ring around two boys from different worlds—one above the system, one below it—standing on the same ground.
The whistle sounded. Takizawa attacked first.
He was fast, technical, trained. Left feint, right feint—yet every move looked read a beat early. In a flash, Kiryuu took the ball with a clean tackle and slid left. His balance was effortless—not like a student, but like someone who'd lived inside this game.
Striker of Japan's street leagues, he thought. Seems the body still remembers.
He nudged the ball with his toe and struck from twenty meters.
It ripped through the air with a tight spin and slammed the upper net with a ringing THUD.
Silence.
Only the ball rolling out of the mesh made a sound.
Takizawa froze.
Airi's hands flew to her mouth.
Under the tree, Yuna and Yuni smiled—the same awe, different shades.
On the podium, Hanabira nearly dropped her mic.
Kiryuu: "First goal."
Takizawa: "You—"
"You're good. Don't challenge people before you know their game."
He walked off, leaving a quiet field behind. His footsteps echoed a new truth across the academy.
Yuna: "Now I believe it."
Yuni: "Believe what?"
Yuna: "He's not a common genius. He's a player from another world."
Yuni (soft laugh): "Or a king playing on a smaller board."
Hanabira watched from afar, breath still unsteady.
"Kiryuu Kizaki… What else are you hiding from this world?"
At the sideline, Airi tightened her laces, smiling to herself.
"You're insane… so why do I like watching you win?"
From the rooftop of the old building, Sakura took the day's final shot—Kiryuu walking away from the pitch, surrounded by students who could only stare. In the frame, even the sky seemed to bow.
After the incident, the academy wouldn't stop buzzing.
Not about exam ranks anymore, but about a single strike—about how a Class F student made a ball obey.
"Did you see that kick?"
"He stripped Takizawa like a pro."
"Who is he, really?"
Kiryuu Kizaki was no longer gossip—he was a small myth.
For Class 1-F, that myth had become their new normal.
That afternoon, the multi-use study room on the second floor glowed with orange light.
Kiryuu stood at a long table, a small whiteboard in hand, facing the same faces that once looked dull—and now shone with focus.
In front sat Airi, Haruna, Elena, Rika, and Noel.
Sakura perched to the side, camera around her neck but idle—busy sketching quick lines in a notebook instead.
Kiryuu: "This isn't about memorizing answers—it's about seeing patterns."
Haruna: "What kind of patterns?"
"Like reading a ball's flight—understand the wind, you can predict where it drops."
"You're turning math into soccer training."
"Everything in life's the same. It's angle and timing."
Laughter, but each word sank cleanly.
Elena, who always argued first, leaned back with arms folded, unusually serious.
Elena: "You don't think like normal people."
Kiryuu: "Maybe because I'm not normal."
Rika: "Pfft—crazy. But I like the confidence."
Airi: "He's not crazy. He's… different."
Her tone drew a few glances. She ducked to her notes, cheeks pink.
At the door, Miss Hanabira watched quietly.
Since the field, she'd received a memo from student council and admin:
Student Kiryuu Kizaki shows exceptional potential.
Recommend appointing him as temporary tutor.
At first, she assumed it was just an excuse to keep him under observation. Watching him now—steady, precise, anchoring the room—she realized he wasn't merely "exceptional." He was the balance point of a class that used to wobble.
Kiryuu wrote a set of equations.
"Solve these with your own logic. No memorized steps."
Noel raised a careful hand.
Noel: "What if my logic's wrong?"
Kiryuu: "Wrong is part of logic. The world started with mistakes, not victories."
Silence; then one by one, they tried—not because they had to, but because they wanted to hear how he would respond.
Airi wrote, though her eyes kept drifting to Kiryuu's face—the way he spoke, moved, the flick of black hair under the light. Something stirred inside her. She bit her pen, smiled, and whispered without realizing:
"You're dangerous, Kiryuu…"
Sakura, close enough to hear, smiled but said nothing. She sketched his jawline, the focused eyes, that faint edge of a smile. Under the drawing she wrote, "Center of gravity."
As dusk settled, Hanabira clapped softly from the doorway.
"Alright, that's enough for today. Thank you, Kiryuu."
"My pleasure, Sensei."
He looked to the others.
"Keep studying—but don't forget to live. High scores mean nothing if your head's empty."
Rika: "Tch, free motivation."
Elena: "It tracks."
Haruna: "I'm trying his method tonight."
Airi: "Me too."
(small smiles around the table)
Hanabira waited until they'd filed out, leaving Kiryuu last.
Hanabira: "You changed this class in a week."
Kiryuu: "I just shared what the real world taught me."
"And what is the 'real world' to you?"
"People who fight not to win—but to keep living."
He left, and Hanabira stood alone.
In the amber light, the whiteboard still held a single sentence he'd written:
"Knowledge without direction is just noise."
She traced the words with a finger, a small smile forming.
"And you, Kiryuu… you're not just a student. You're the center everyone's been searching for."
Dusk lowered its curtain slowly.
The sky above International Academy shimmered gold and amber, reflected in the tall windows of an old, forgotten building.
On its rooftop, Sakura Meiyuu sat cross-legged, her pale pink hair swaying gently in the wind.
Her camera rested in her lap as she flipped through the photos she had taken throughout the day — the morning run, the training session, the moment Kiryuu wrote on the whiteboard.
Every shot captured the same face, yet none of them felt the same.
In one, he looked calm.
In another, thoughtful.
But one photo made her heartbeat stumble —
Kiryuu smiling faintly toward the window, the afternoon light falling across his cheek.
"Why… does this one feel different?" she whispered.
The rooftop door creaked open.
Footsteps. A familiar voice drifted through the wind.
"Didn't think anyone still comes up here."
Sakura flinched lightly and turned.
Kiryuu Kizaki stood there, sleeves rolled up, two cans of soda in hand.
"I just… like the view from here," she said quickly.
"I figured," he replied, placing one can beside her. "High places always give a clearer perspective."
He sat beside her — not too close, yet close enough for her to feel the quiet warmth between them.
Sakura lowered her gaze, trying to hide the rhythm in her chest.
Kiryuu: "You like taking pictures of everyone?"
Sakura: "Almost everyone… but lately, just one person."
"Who?"
"You."
He turned his head.
No surprise in his eyes — only calm curiosity.
"Why?"
"Because… you're like a moment that shouldn't exist. And once it does, I can't look away."
Her laugh came soft, nervous.
"Sorry, that sounds weird."
"No," Kiryuu said quietly. "It sounds honest."
The wind swept through again, scattering strands of her hair across her face.
Her camera slipped a little, but Kiryuu caught it before it fell.
The screen was still lit — rows of photos of him, taken from different angles.
"You took all these in secret?"
"Yeah."
"Why not just ask?"
"Because if you knew… that expression would disappear."
Kiryuu studied one photo — himself, standing in the field, looking up at the sky.
"You know the difference between seeing and looking?"
"What is it?"
"People who look only see what's in front of them. People who see… find what they're searching for."
He set the camera gently back in her lap.
"Keep taking pictures. But don't stop living when your camera stops."
Sakura stared at him for a long moment, as if memorizing every line of his face.
"You talk like someone who's lost too many things."
"Maybe because I have."
The quiet weight in his tone sent a chill down her spine.
She wanted to ask more — but when she turned, he was already standing, eyes fixed on the sunset.
Kiryuu: "Dusk is beautiful because it knows when to end."
He walked toward the door, opening it with a slow creak.
Sakura stayed seated, clutching her camera close.
"But if the dusk were like you," she whispered, "I wouldn't mind if the night never came."
A few moments later, she looked at her screen again.
The last photo had been taken accidentally — both of them in frame, sitting side by side against the dying light.
At the corner of the screen, her own reflection smiled back.
"Maybe I've started orbiting around him too…"
Night dropped slowly, like a black velvet curtain across the sky.
Neon lights in the International Academy District flicked on one by one, reflecting off the windows of the Kizaki home.
Kiryuu lounged in a chair with a notebook in hand—but his eyes kept drifting to the phone on the table.
The name on the screen lit up now and then: Mizuno Airi.
He'd read the messages already, but hadn't replied.
Airi: "I haven't been able to sleep since this afternoon."
Airi: "Do you remember Saturday?"
Airi: "Why is it so easy for you to forget what makes other people forget to breathe?"
He exhaled slowly.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, not cynical—resigned, as if to a world that still didn't know who he really was.
The phone buzzed again.
This time, not a message.
Incoming call: Miss Hanabira.
Kiryuu: "Sensei."
Hanabira: "You're at home?"
"Mm."
"Did you forget something?"
"If this is about tomorrow's drills—"
"It isn't."
"Oh." (a small smile) "Dinner."
"Yes, dinner. Don't tell me you forgot."
Her voice sounded calm, but there was a tremor she couldn't hide.
Kiryuu recognized it—the same tremor of someone waiting while pretending not to care.
"I remember," he said softly.
"Good. I've booked a place. A small riverside restaurant."
"Sounds like a nice secret."
"Maybe because it is a secret."
Silence stretched between them—not awkward, merely two people denying their own pulse.
Kiryuu: "Are you sure you want to see me tonight?"
Hanabira: "If I said no, I'd be lying."
"If I say yes?"
"Then I need to make sure no one sees us."
Kiryuu chuckled.
"You're getting bold, Sensei."
"You made me this way."
Her voice dropped—lower, softer, almost a whisper.
"Eight o'clock. Don't be late."
The line clicked off, though her voice seemed to linger in the air.
Kiryuu stared at the phone for a long moment.
"Hanabira" still sat on the screen, and beneath it another notification appeared:
Airi: "I want to see you tomorrow. Can I?"
He locked the screen, leaned back, and watched the ceiling.
Gravity pulls from different directions. Sometimes all I need to do is let them collide.
The clock crept toward five to eight.
Kiryuu stood, pulled on a plain black shirt and a light jacket.
The mirror offered back a composed figure—tidy, controlled, with eyes that hid more than they shared.
"Dinner, huh… Let's see how far I can move in this world without losing myself."
He grabbed his keys and stepped into the night.
A light drizzle silvered the academy district, turning the stone streets into mirrors for the amber streetlamps.
The riverside restaurant was quiet—tea-light candles at each table, a soft wash of jazz, and the hush of water sliding by beyond the wide glass.
Kiryuu arrived early.
He wears a black short-sleeved button-up shirt, left unbuttoned open to the cool night air and layered over a plain gray crew-neck T-shirt. His pants are slim-fit black chinos that taper neatly at the ankles. On his feet are clean white Nike sneakers.
He ordered mineral water and took a seat facing the river, watching his reflection blur in the glass. Comfortable silence. Still, he knew that after tonight, nothing would be quite the same.
The door opened.
Heads turned.
She stepped in—Miss Hanabira.
Miss Hanabira's body was tall and seductive—with an almost unrealistic hourglass figure: a slim waist that caught the eye, wide hips that moved with every step she took, and a large chest that was clearly visible behind the tight fabric of her dress, making it look as if she was not wearing a bra or underwear.
She wore a dark brown bodycon dress, tightly fitting every curve of her body. The cut was open on one side, revealing a bit of smooth skin on her neck and left shoulder. Her every movement emphasized her extraordinary figure—the dress was not just a dress, it was an open challenge.
Her face was soft but mature, balanced between elegance and danger. A small smile graced her lips—a smile that never answered questions, but always raised more. Her long black hair was neatly combed to the side in a thick braid, falling in front of her shoulders and adding a classic aura to her appearance.
Anyone who saw her, looking at Miss Hanabira for the first time knew one thing for sure:
She was not just beautiful—she was danger wrapped in beauty
All eyes flicked her way, then politely away again.
Only Kiryuu didn't look aside.
She crossed to him at an unhurried pace—confidence of a woman who knows her own power, and beneath it, a fragility only someone who'd seen her drop the mask could notice.
Hanabira: "Sorry I'm a little late. Traffic was worse than I expected."
Kiryuu: "You realize people are going to look when you walk in dressed like that."
(She smiled.) "I didn't dress for them."
"For who, then?"
"For myself… and maybe for someone who needs to know how dangerous I can be."
She sat across from him.
For a few beats they only looked at each other. The world outside seemed to stop; rain became their only soundtrack.
They ordered light food and red wine.
The talk began safely—work, class, assignments, students.
Between the lines, something more personal filled the space.
Hanabira: "You know… I've never asked a student out to dinner. This is a first."
Kiryuu: "Maybe because you don't see me as a student."
"Oh?"
"You see me as something between a boyfriend, a cure for loneliness… or a secret partner you didn't expect to need."
She laughed softly; wine rippled in her glass.
"You're bold."
"Just honest."
"And that's why I can't tell if I should stay away or get closer."
Kiryuu leaned back, eyes steady.
"If you don't know, follow gravity."
"Gravity?"
"When something's strong enough, you don't have to decide whether to fall."
A few glasses later, color warmed Hanabira's cheeks.
Her tone lowered, gaze lingering longer.
"You know, Kiryuu… I think I'm drunk. But not from the wine."
"From what?"
"From you."
She laughed again, only for it to soften into a quiet confession.
"I shouldn't feel like this."
"You're not the only one."
Kiryuu set his hand on the table.
Their fingers met in the middle—light contact that carried more than words.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she laced her fingers with his, acknowledging the unspoken.
Minutes later they stepped into the drizzle.
Streetlights shimmered; their reflections merged on the wet road.
Hanabira walked a step ahead, glancing back with a knowing smile.
Kiryuu looked at Miss Hanabira's curves from behind as if she was deliberately luring Kiryuu— then Miss Hanabira stopped at the riverbank fence and turned to look at Kiryuu who was left behind in a slightly drunken state.
"Hurry up... come closer.." he muttered.
Kiryuu then walked towards Miss Hanabira, and before he could say anything, she continued to pull Kiryuu closer. Her big breasts that were clearly visible behind the tight fabric of her clothes touched Kiryuu's strong chest.
Miss Hanabira then hugged Kiryuu's shoulders and Kiryuu returned the hug by holding Miss Hanabira's waist tightly, they stared at each other. Miss Hanabira's gaze was full of temptation, warmth, and deep longing remembering the incident in the counseling room that had never escaped her mind.
"I want you again.." he said.
Before Kiryuu could answer, Miss's warm, sexy lips smelling of wine continued to grab Kiryuu's lips and Kiryuu replied, Moment by moment, Miss Hanabira's kiss became more naughty and aggressive, until they played with tongues and Kiryuu just responded back, and they continued kissing under the moonlight.
"Come.. follow me. . " said Miss Hanabira then pointed towards the flickering lights of the nearby hotel and Kiryuu just smiled while still hugging.
"You are really crazy"..
" Yes.. I think I have driven you crazy... "
A few hours after that, a hotel room lamp flicked on, then low with low yellow light glowed inside.
City glow traced the edge of half-closed curtains, leaving the suggestion of two figures in silhouette.
The hotel room door clicked shut behind Kiryuu, sealing them in a cocoon of soft lamplight and silence thick enough to taste.
Hanabira stood silhouetted against the muted city glow bleeding through the curtains, her dark-brown dress clinging like liquid shadow to every curve.
She didn't turn immediately, letting the tension coil tighter in the quiet. One stiletto slipped off with a soft thud, then the other, leaving her barefoot on the plush carpet.
Only then did she pivot, a slow, deliberate turn that made the fabric strain across her hips.
"You've been staring all night," she murmured, her voice low and smooth as the silk of her dress. Her fingers brushed the hair draped over her shoulder, a gesture both casual and deliberate.
Kiryuu stepped forward, the gold medallion at his chest catching the light. "I thought you liked that."
His gaze didn't waver, tracing the line of her collarbone exposed by the dress's open shoulder.
A smirk flickered at the corner of her mouth. "I like it more when you do something about it."
He closed the distance in two strides, his hands finding her waist, pulling her against him.
Their lips met—hungry, urgent—as he pressed her back into the wall. His fingers slid down the curve of her ass, gripping hard enough to make her gasp into his mouth.
The kiss deepened, messy and wet, while his other hand traced the seam of her thigh, inching higher.
Her breath hitched when he found the zipper at her side. He tugged it down slowly, metal teeth parting like a sigh.
The dress peeled away, pooling at her feet, revealing bare skin and the elegant slope of her back.
She stood before him in nothing but the lamplight, her breasts full, nipples tight, the heat between her legs already glistening.
Hanabira reached for him, fingers working the buttons of his shirt with practiced ease.
The fabric fell open, then she yanked his gray tee over his head, tossing both aside. Her palms smoothed over the planes of his chest, nails scraping lightly as she drank him in.
Her eyes—dark, hungry—held his, calm but blazing.
Without a word, she sank to her knees. Her hand wrapped around his cock, already hard and straining against his chinos. She leaned in, tongue flicking the tip before taking him deep into her mouth. Wet, hot suction.
A low groan rumbled in Kiryuu's throat as she worked him, her hair brushing his thigh. She moaned around him, vibrations humming against his skin, her gaze locked upward—watching, owning every shudder he couldn't suppress.
He hauled her up,
fingers digging into her hips, and carried her to the bed. Hanabira's back arched as he tore her panties away with his teeth, the fabric snapping. His tongue replaced it immediately—broad, slow circles over her clit, then plunging deep inside her. She gasped, thighs trembling, nails clawing the sheets as he devoured her. Her cries sharpened, breathless and high, until her hips jerked off the mattress.
Kiryuu flipped her onto all fours, gripping her hips as he slammed into her from behind. The bed rocked with each thrust, skin slapping slick and loud in the quiet room. Hanabira's moans echoed, raw and unfiltered, her braid whipping against her back.
Sweat glistened on her spine as he drove deeper, faster, her fingers twisting in the sheets.
He pulled out abruptly, spun her around, and pinned her against the fogged hotel window. Her palms smeared the glass as he lifted her leg, thrusting back inside her.
The city lights blurred below them. She cried out, her body trembling against the cold pane, his mouth hot on her neck.
"Look at you," he growled, fingers digging into her thigh.
"Taking every inch."
Her whimper dissolved into a shuddering gasp as he pounded her harder, steam rising where skin met glass.
Collapsing onto the bed, Kiryuu pushed her legs wide, his cock sinking deep into her wet heat.
Their eyes locked—raw, unguarded—as he moved slow and deep, kissing her swollen lips.
She arched, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Fuck," she breathed against his mouth, nails scoring his back. He felt her tighten around him, pulsing, and with a groan that ripped from his chest, he came deep inside her.
Warmth flooded her, her body milking him as she gasped, trembling.
Hanabira lay sprawled beneath him, flushed and glistening, cum leaking from her pussy onto the rumpled sheets.
Her hair had unraveled, dark hair fanned across the pillow. Kiryuu traced a thumb over her cheekbone, catching a bead of sweat. She turned her face into his palm, breathing ragged.
"You've been staring all night," she murmured again, voice raw. He smirked, kissing her temple.
"Because there nothing i can't avoided from staring."
Her soft laugh filled the quiet room.
They lay tangled in silence, skin cooling. Hanabira traced the sweat on his chest.
"I should be teaching you," she whispered, fingers lingering.
Kiryuu caught her wrist, pressed a kiss to her pulse point. "Let's keep doing both." Her sigh was contentment itself as she curled against him. Outside, the city hummed, distant and irrelevant.
Later, steam curled thick in the bathroom, hot droplets hitting tile.
Hanabira leaned over the sink, breath ragged.
Kiryuu pressed behind her, palms flat on the mirror.
"Still standing?" he growled against her ear.
She gasped as his fingers parted her folds—slick, swollen—then cried out when he slammed into her. Her reflection fogged instantly, palms sliding as he gripped her hips, driving hard and fast.
Water sprayed her breasts, her stomach, beading on flushed skin.
"Slow—" she begged, voice breaking. He didn't.
"Takeit," he snarled, biting her shoulder. "You wanted this." Her moans echoed, raw and desperate.
He spun her, pinned her against the wet tiles. Her thighs locked around his waist, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Kiryuu thrust upward, deep and relentless, bouncing her against the wall. He sucked her nipple hard, tongue circling as she arched.
"Please—" she gasped.
He dropped to his knees, hooked her leg over his shoulder. His mouth found her pussy—hot, hungry. Tongue flicking her clit then plunging inside.
She screamed, fingers tangled in his hair, hips jerking. "Oh god—"
Her thighs clamped his head as she came hard, squirting hot over his chin. He didn't stop. Licked her clean, slow, deliberate, until she trembled, collapsing against him.
Slumped under the shower spray, water sluicing cum and sweat from their skin. Kiryuu traced her hipbone, breathing hard. Hanabira rested her forehead on his chest, legs shaking.
"You're going to ruin me," she whispered, voice raw. Kiryuu smirked, thumb brushing her jaw.
"That's really what i want ." His hand slid lower, cupping her ass.
"You owe me one more."
Her laugh was breathless, exhausted. She leaned in, nipping his collarbone. "Then don't let me rest."
The water turned cold, but neither moved.
Back in the bedroom, damp towels discarded on the floor. Hanabira stood silhouetted against the lamplit curtains, robe loosely tied. Kiryuu watched from the rumpled bed, eyes dark.
She turned slowly, letting the robe fall open—revealing flushed skin, the curve of her waist, the damp patch between her thighs.
"Still breathing?" she murmured, stepping closer.
Kiryuu's gaze didn't waver. "Is that the right question?."
Her smile was slow, predatory.
"Good....because.."
She climbed onto him, straddling his hips. "I'm not finished."
Her hand slid down his chest, fingers wrapping his cock—
still half-hard, slick with pre-cum.
She guided him to her entrance, pausing just as the head pressed against her soaked folds.
"Tell me you want it," she breathed.
Kiryuu gripped her hips, thrusting upward sharply, burying himself inside her to the hilt. She gasped, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Fuck—yes," he growled. She began to ride him, slow at first, grinding deep, her wet heat clenching around him. Her wet hair swung with each rise and fall, breasts bouncing.
Kiryuu bit her nipple, making her cry out." She obeyed, eyes glazed, breath ragged as she leaned back, riding harder—
the scent of her musk, sweat, and sex thick in the air.
Her thighs trembled, slick skin sliding against his hips. Kiryuu flipped her suddenly, pinning her beneath him.
He drove into her, deep and relentless, kissing her neck, her jaw, her lips—each thrust punctuated by her choked moans. Her nails raked his back, drawing blood.
"Don't stop," she begged, legs locking around him.
"Keep pushing... there... deeper... "
"Never." He slammed harder, faster, the bed creaking beneath them.
She came first—body arching off the sheets, pussy pulsing around his cock.
Kiryuu followed, groaning her name as he emptied himself inside her, warmth flooding her core.
She shuddered, collapsing beneath him, breathless. Kiryuu rolled to his side, pulling her against him. Her head rested on his chest, fingers tracing the scratches she'd left.
"You're going to ruin mine," she whispered again, voice raw. Kiryuu kissed her damp hair, hand sliding possessively down her spine.
His cock softened inside her, still buried deep.
Warmth seeped between them—his cum leaking slowly from her swollen pussy, trickling down her thigh onto the tangled sheets.
Hanabira sighed, a soft, exhausted sound, nestling closer. Kiryuu traced the curve of her hip, fingers sticky with their mingled sweat and release.
The lamp cast long shadows, the room silent except for their slowing breaths. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Kiryuu pulled the sheet over them, tucking it around her shoulders.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, feeling her body relax completely against his. Outside, the city lights blurred into a distant haze. Kiryuu watched her sleep, her lips slightly parted, face peaceful.
His thumb brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. The warmth of her skin, the steady rise and fall of her chest against his—it anchored him.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, sex, and spent desire. Sleep pulled him under, her pussy still cradling him softly, his cum a warm claim between them.
Dawn arrived slowly.
The river's voice returned outside the window.
Kiryuu stood by the glass, looking out.
Hanabira lay on the bed, hair spilled across the pillow.
She turned, a small smile on her lips.
"You haven't slept?", sheasked.
"I did."
"Do you regret it?"
"No."
"Will you give me anot....? ".
" Who wouldn't if angel or demon naked in front them? ".
" You... maybe? "
They both make a small laughted.
She crossed the room and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"I know this is wrong… but I don't want to stop."
"Who said anything about wrong?"
They stood together in quiet.
Outside, the world kept moving.
Inside that room—time paused.
———————————————————
🎀 Character Profile — Sakura Meiyuu (桜 明優)
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📘 Basic Info
Class: 1-F
Age: 18
Status: Visual Arts Club Member & Official Academy Photographer
Origin: Japan
Symbolic Role: "The eyes that see beyond the surface."
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🩷 Appearance
Sakura's beauty carries the delicate contradiction of youth and quiet confidence.
Her long pastel-pink hair flows softly down to her waist, always slightly tousled by the wind — a color that seems to glow under sunlight.
Her lavender-violet eyes hold the kind of curiosity that feels like both invitation and mystery, as if she's constantly searching for something deeper in everyone she meets.
Her usual outfit: a white blouse that fits just enough to hint at shape, the top button often "accidentally" undone, paired with a navy pleated skirt and white lace thigh-high stockings — simple, but somehow magnetic.
Unlike others who try too hard, Sakura's allure feels unintended, the natural charm of a girl unaware of the effect she leaves behind.
> She doesn't dress to attract — but everything about her ends up doing exactly that.
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🎨 Personality
Bright, spontaneous, and full of quiet laughter, Sakura brings color to every room she walks into.
Yet beneath her cheerful tone lies a sharp perceptiveness — she notices moods, glances, and silences the way others notice headlines.
She's a watcher, not a talker; someone who prefers to understand before she reacts.
To Sakura, every face hides a story, and ever since Kiryuu Kizaki arrived, her lens has found only one story worth telling.
She doesn't chase attention — attention simply finds her.
In class, she's the mood-lifter, but behind her smile hides a question she never asks out loud:
> "Who is Kiryuu, really?"
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📷 Relationship with Kiryuu Kizaki
At first, Kiryuu was merely a subject — perfect composition, perfect lighting, the kind of beauty photographers dream of.
But as days passed, she started to see what her camera couldn't capture — the way his silence spoke, the way his eyes softened when Airi looked at him, the way his hand wrote like someone burdened with too many lifetimes.
What began as artistic fascination turned into quiet obsession.
She hides behind her lens, safe in her distance — until one day, his gaze met hers directly, without glass between them.
In that moment, Sakura realized she wasn't just documenting his story anymore.
She had become part of it.
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🪞 Symbolism
Sakura represents "the observer who becomes the participant."
Her evolution mirrors awakening — from curiosity to connection, from watching to feeling.
Her pink hair symbolizes warmth, affection, and danger disguised as beauty.
She is the eye of the story — the one who sees truths others overlook, and whose quiet heart begins to ripple against Kiryuu's gravity.
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🌸 Keywords
Observation · Innocence · Awakening · Quiet Desire
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🧩 Trivia
Sakura's camera is an old Nikon D3200, inherited from her mother, a former photojournalist.
She often speaks softly to her camera as if it were alive — her silent confidant.
In her sketchbook, one page stands out, written in delicate cursive:
> "Kiryuu's face — calm like water that hides a current beneath."
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💠 Narrative Function
Sakura Meiyuu serves as both witness and catalyst — her photos preserve Kiryuu's transformation, and eventually, reveal truths no one else can see.
Through her eyes, the story gains its quiet heartbeat —
a reminder that sometimes the one behind the lens sees the most.