[Shibuya Library, Soundproof Booth 7]
"Take me out."
Hirose Yoru kept her head lowered, avoiding Riku's gaze as much as possible. Her voice came out small, barely above a whisper.
"Take you out? Why?" Riku feigned ignorance.
Yoru's head snapped up. Frustration and anger warred across her features—brows pinched, lips pressed thin, cheeks still flushed from exertion.
"I... I can't walk properly..."
The words came out stuttered, humiliated.
Riku leaned down beside her, close enough that she could smell the faint musk still clinging to his skin mixed with the artificial lavender of the booth's air freshener.
"I could help. But I'll need a little interest first."
Yoru's mind immediately flashed to what Riku had called "interest" the previous two times.
All color drained from her face.
"No... Absolutely not!"
Riku slowly pried her fingers from his sleeve, one by one.
"Then you'll have to walk out on your own."
He straightened up, adjusting his collar.
"Your boyfriend already left, after all. Hard to say whether he's looking for you right now. How would you explain yourself to him, I wonder?"
[Even without any actual leverage over her, you can still manipulate Hirose Yoru effortlessly. Step by step, you guide her into taking action herself. You decide to continue breaking down her dignity. This is the first step toward completely possessing her.]
The system notification flickered.
[Hirose Yoru — Affection: -70 (Deep-seated hatred. Would devour his flesh if given the chance.)]
This was essentially the kind of affection rating reserved for blood feuds. Impressive, really.
Yoru swallowed hard.
"What... what do you want me to do?"
Please, not something worse than before. Please.
Her voice trembled—equal parts fear and barely-restrained fury.
Riku brought his face close to hers. Close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his dark irises.
"Use your mouth again."
"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"
Yoru released his arm instantly, stumbling backward until her shoulder blades hit the soundproof glass with a dull thud. Her knees buckled slightly, thighs still weak and quivering.
Riku shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
He turned and reached for the booth's lock mechanism.
Click.
The metallic sound of the latch rotating echoed in the small space.
Yoru watched him actually prepare to leave.
Panic seized her chest.
If he leaves me here—if someone finds me like this—if Shirou comes back—
Her teeth ground together. Her gaze bore into Riku's back with murderous intensity.
Click.
The lock turned further.
Two seconds passed.
Three.
Yoru's fists clenched so tight her nails bit crescents into her palms.
"This is ABSOLUTELY the last time!"
The words tore out of her like shrapnel.
Riku paused. The lock clicked again—this time, sealing them back inside.
Click.
"You should be more practiced now." He turned to face her, expression infuriatingly calm. "Take some initiative this time."
"You're a demon."
Riku's lips curved upward.
She's adorable when she's furious.
The more Yoru cursed at him, the more he wanted to tease her. And her vocabulary for insults was remarkably limited—she cycled through "scum," "trash," and now "demon" like a broken playlist. The worst word she could apparently conceive of was demon.
Genuinely cute.
---
Yoru lowered herself slowly.
Her stockinged knees touched the thin carpet. The synthetic fibers scratched against her skin through the sheer fabric.
[Hirose Yoru has reached Affection -80. Raising her affection to 100% will reward 50,000,000 yen. Special conditions now active.]
[Unique Character Trait: Training from the Vile Antagonist.]
[All expenditures on Hirose Yoru will return TWENTY TIMES the amount.]
Twenty times?
That was double Yukigami Nahiro's ten-times multiplier.
One system—the Antagonistic Narrator—constantly pushed him toward creating negative affection through threats and degradation.
The other system—the Hedonist—rewarded him for raising affection and spending money.
One was essentially an NTR villain cultivation system.
The other was a pure-love protagonist development system.
Completely contradictory.
And yet somehow... perfectly complementary.
---
Yoru's hands trembled as she reached for his belt.
The leather was warm from his body heat. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle—deliberately slow, buying herself seconds of denial before the inevitable.
"Faster."
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
The mantra played on loop behind her eyes as she finally freed him.
He was already half-hard. The musk hit her immediately—male and heavy, mixing with the lingering artificial lavender until she couldn't separate the two anymore. Her stomach turned. Her face burned.
This is the last time. This is the LAST time.
Yoru opened her mouth.
---
Thirty-seven minutes later.
Riku supported Yoru as they exited the soundproof booth.
A thin strand of white still clung to the corner of her lips—she wiped it away immediately with the back of her hand, the motion frantic, disgusted. Her tongue felt thick and foreign in her mouth. The taste wouldn't fade no matter how many times she swallowed.
Both her hands gripped Riku's arm like a lifeline.
Her head hung low—so low her chin nearly touched her chest.
"Faster," she whispered urgently. "Walk faster."
Being seen in the library clinging to Riku's arm—if word reached Satou Shirou—
She couldn't even imagine how she'd explain it.
Today was, without question, the darkest day of Hirose Yoru's entire existence.
---
They exited through the library's side entrance.
"Where to next?"
"Just... send me home."
Her voice came out hollow. Defeated.
Riku nodded. "Alright."
Today's performance was excellent. Being a proper villain... actually feels pretty good.
---
Yoru leaned heavily against Riku as they walked.
Her legs still trembled with every step. She had to press her entire body weight against his side just to stay upright. To any passerby, they looked exactly like an intimate couple taking a leisurely afternoon stroll.
I want to die.
Just let me die.
They passed a small music shop—its weathered wooden sign read "Melodia Antiques" in faded gold leaf. Through the open door drifted the rich, layered strains of orchestral music.
"Soscia's Fourth Symphony."
The words left Yoru's mouth before she could stop them.
This shop was her favorite.
Her family's debt meant she could never actually enter—could never afford anything inside. But she'd spent countless hours standing outside, letting the music wash over her through the open doorway.
It was the only luxury she could still enjoy.
Riku's footsteps stopped.
"You like it?"
Yoru shot him a look of pure disgust.
"Like you would understand something like this. Can we just hurry up and get to my house?"
She added, almost as an afterthought:
"Scum."
Riku smiled.
Then, without warning, his body pivoted. His right arm hooked beneath her shoulders. His left scooped under her knees.
He lifted her in a single fluid motion—a textbook princess carry.
"Wh—What are you DOING?! Put me DOWN!"
"Scum!"
Riku's voice dropped low. Flat. Bored.
"Keep screaming and I'll leave you right here on the sidewalk."
Yoru froze.
Like a rabbit caught in headlights, she clamped her mouth shut instantly.
He would. He absolutely would.
Her face flushed crimson—but this time from embarrassment rather than exertion. Being carried like this, in broad daylight, on a public street—
Riku strode directly into the music shop.
---
The interior smelled of aged wood, lemon polish, and something faintly metallic—old brass fixtures, perhaps. Dust motes drifted through the amber light filtering through stained-glass panels.
Riku set Yoru down on a cushioned bench near the entrance.
She sat there, stiff and uncomfortable.
I've never actually been inside before.
Her gaze kept drifting—unbidden—toward a vintage gramophone displayed on a lacquered pedestal nearby. Polished mahogany. Brass horn. A black vinyl record spinning slowly beneath the needle, producing those gorgeous orchestral swells.
Riku caught the direction of her eyes immediately.
A shop attendant approached—a woman in her thirties with wire-rimmed glasses and a practiced smile.
"Good afternoon. May I help you find something?"
Riku pointed at the gramophone currently playing Soscia's Fourth.
"How much for that one?"
The attendant glanced at Riku's student uniform—then at Yoru's disheveled state on the bench. Her smile remained professional, but something shifted behind her eyes.
"That's one of our most popular vintage reproduction pieces. Approximately 300,000 yen. It currently comes with a set of classical vinyl pressings as a promotional bonus."
Riku leaned down beside Yoru.
"You like it?"
What?
Yoru blinked. The question caught her completely off-guard.
"I... like..."
The words came out before she could censor them.
Riku immediately produced a bank card from his wallet.
Between the previous cashback returns and his part-time earnings, he still had roughly two million yen available. More than enough for this purchase.
And spending on Hirose Yoru meant twenty-times returns.
300,000 yen spent would become 6,000,000 yen received.
Absolutely zero hesitation required.
But from Yoru's perspective—
The man who threatened me, who violated me, who forced me to... is now spending 300,000 yen on a gramophone for me?
Her expression shuttered.
He must have ulterior motives. There's no other explanation.
She forced her features back into a mask of contempt.
"Don't think you can buy your way out of anything just because you have money!"
"It's all from part-time work over the years. Don't worry—I'm not some rich kid who can do whatever he wants."
Riku smiled and stepped toward the counter. He began filling out the delivery form.
Halfway through, his pen paused.
He turned back to Yoru.
"What's your phone number?"
My... phone number?
Yoru hesitated.
She didn't want to accept anything from Riku. Didn't want any further connection to him whatsoever.
But several shop attendants had now gathered nearby, watching the transaction with obvious curiosity. A 300,000-yen purchase by a high school student—apparently buying a gift for the flustered girl on the bench—was evidently unusual enough to draw attention.
Their gazes prickled against Yoru's skin.
If I refuse now—if I make a scene—
"...17391..."
Her voice came out small. Halting.
She recited the remaining digits one by one, each number feeling like another link in a chain wrapping around her throat.