---
"Get lost!"
The words left Riku's mouth with the finality of a guillotine blade.
Yamashita Tōya scrambled away like a beaten stray dog, tail tucked firmly between his legs. The streetlamp overhead flickered once—casting his retreating figure in stuttering shadows until he disappeared around the corner of the convenience store.
Standing behind Riku, Yukigami Nahiro kept her head lowered.
Her eyes had gone hollow.
So that's what I am. Something to be sold.
The impact of Yamashita's words hadn't quite registered yet—or perhaps it had registered too completely, settling into her bones with the weight of familiar resignation. In Nahiro's experience, being despised was simply the natural order of things.
Not just at school.
At home, too.
But she could endure it.
She'd always endured it.
Numbness had become her closest companion.
This time, Stepmother and Father actually sold me to a man.
But what did it matter?
Nobody cares anyway.
Right?
"Yukigami Nahiro."
"Yukigami Nahiro."
Riku's voice—steady, warm, and insistent—cut through the fog clouding her mind. Reality reassembled itself piece by piece: the smell of late-spring blossoms mixing with exhaust fumes, the distant hum of traffic from the main road, the rough texture of the sidewalk beneath her school shoes.
Her gaze lifted.
And she saw him.
"Riku-kun."
The words came out soft. Barely a whisper.
『You notice that Yukigami Nahiro's mental state seems unstable. But it doesn't matter—you just need to pull her into the nearby bushes and—』
Riku pulled Nahiro into his arms.
He said nothing.
His hand simply moved to her back, patting gently—the way one might comfort a frightened animal, or a child waking from a nightmare. No demands. No expectations. Just steady, rhythmic reassurance transmitted through his palm against the thin fabric of her blazer.
He understood her well enough by now.
For a girl like Yukigami Nahiro—teetering perpetually on the edge of that particular darkness some called aku-ochi, that spiral into self-destruction—falling into a loop of self-doubt could trap her for weeks. Months. Maybe forever.
And if Nahiro fell into that abyss?
How was he supposed to raise her affection? Complete the ten-million-yen reward?
But more than that—
She doesn't deserve to feel this way.
The warmth radiating from Riku's chest seeped through Nahiro's uniform. Her body began to tremble. A soft hiccup escaped her lips.
Then the tears came.
Even crying, she tried to suppress it—tried to swallow the sounds back down, to make herself smaller, quieter, less burdensome. But the more she fought it, the harder the tears fell. Like a dam cracking, then crumbling, then washing away entirely.
I'm crying, she thought distantly. I haven't cried in so long.
Why does his chest feel so warm?
When her sobs finally quieted to occasional hitches of breath, Riku spoke.
"I'm hungry. How about you?"
Nahiro lifted her tear-streaked face, confusion flickering across her features.
Before she could answer, her stomach growled.
Grrrrrl.
The sound was almost comically loud in the evening quiet.
Riku reached up and ruffled her hair—his fingers threading through the silver-white strands with casual affection.
"Come on. Let's get something good to eat."
---
Yukigami Nahiro — Affection: 85
---
One hundred million, Riku calculated as they walked. If I max out Nahiro's affection and spend ten million yen directly on her—double reward. One hundred million yen.
Easy.
Yukigami Nahiro is mine now.
---
After dinner, Nahiro hadn't let go of Riku's hand.
Not once.
Her fingers remained intertwined with his—small, pale, slightly cold despite the warm evening air. The earlier emptiness in her eyes had receded, replaced by something fragile and newly-sprouted. A tendril of dependency, curling tentatively around the edges of her heart.
She found herself thinking about him.
Riku-kun.
Why does being near you make everything hurt less?
The streetlamp above the apartment entrance cast a warm amber glow across the concrete. Nahiro's gaze drifted upward, tracing the familiar silhouette of the building—the same one he'd brought her to before. She remembered every detail of that night: the elevator's mechanical hum, the smell of laundry detergent on his sheets, the way he'd covered her with his blanket even though she'd offered herself to him.
"Riku-kun, you're home."
She released his hand slowly. Finger by finger.
This is where he lives. Where I don't belong.
But Riku caught her hand before it could fall away entirely.
His grip was firm. Warm. Certain.
"I'm home. And so are you." His thumb brushed across her knuckles. "Where exactly were you planning to go?"
『Your smooth talking has reached maximum effect. Yukigami Nahiro has been struck by your words. All you need to do now is pull her into the apartment, into the bedroom, close the door, push her down onto the bed—』
Nahiro froze.
What did he just say?
Home?
This is... my home too?
"Let's go."
Her thoughts scattered like startled birds. The careful indifference she'd cultivated over years of rejection—nothing matters, nobody cares, I'm fine alone—crumbled into dust.
"Riku-kun..." Her voice trembled. "Thank you."
She let him lead her inside.
---
[Riku's Apartment — Interior, 9:24 PM]
Stepping into the apartment for the second time, Nahiro felt a strange awkwardness settle over her.
The space smelled like him—clean cotton, a hint of sandalwood, something faintly masculine that made her chest tighten. The kitchen light was on, casting soft shadows across the modest living area. Everything looked the same as before: the neat stack of magazines on the coffee table, the single jacket draped over a chair, the curtains half-drawn against the city lights outside.
I don't belong here, she thought reflexively.
But he said—
He said this is my home too.
Riku poured a glass of water and handed it to her.
"Thank you."
She accepted it with both hands—noticed how her fingers trembled slightly against the cool glass. Brought it to her lips. Took one small sip.
Then set it down on the table.
Her eyes kept drifting to him. Couldn't help it.
Riku-kun isn't looking at me like the others do.
He doesn't look disgusted.
He doesn't look hungry either—not like Yamashita did.
Then what does he want from me?
She walked toward him.
"Riku-kun."
I only know one way to be useful.
Nahiro's face flushed crimson as her fingers moved to her shirt.
The first button slipped free.
Then the second.
One by one.
Riku's eyes widened.
By the time all the buttons were undone, her blazer hung open—revealing the plain white bra beneath, the gentle curve of her D-cup breasts, the flat expanse of her stomach. Her uniform shirt framed her body like wrapping paper peeled back from a gift.
But she wasn't done.
Her hands moved lower.
Fingers curled beneath the hem of her skirt.
Slowly—so slowly—she lifted the pleated fabric.
Higher.
Higher.
Until the bear-print panties came into view.
Cotton. White with little brown teddy bears scattered across the front. Childish. Innocent. Somehow devastating in their simplicity.
Her thighs, Riku thought distantly. Soft. Pale. The fabric stretched tight across her—
"Riku-kun..."
Her voice wavered.
"Do you want to... do it?"
I want him to say yes, she realized.
Not because I think I'm only good for this.
But because—
Because if we do it, I'll have a reason to stay.
He won't throw me away if I'm useful.
Right?
But another thought surfaced beneath the first:
Riku-kun isn't like the others.
What if he refuses?
What if he's disgusted by me after all?
The conflicting emotions knotted themselves together in her chest. Fear. Hope. Shame. Desire. She couldn't untangle them anymore.
Nahiro closed her eyes.
Her body trembled.
She felt like a criminal awaiting sentencing—exposed, vulnerable, waiting for judgment to fall.
Please, she thought. Please don't hate me.
---
Riku stared.
His pants were uncomfortably tight.
Nahiro's body was pear-shaped—slim shoulders giving way to a narrow waist, then flaring into soft hips and thick thighs. The open shirt only enhanced the effect, teasing rather than revealing, making him want to reach out and—
『You realize bringing Yukigami Nahiro home was the right decision. She's initiated another request to fuck. You have no reason to refuse. You decide to take her into the bedroom—』
The system voice droned on.
Riku ignored it.
He stepped forward.
---
Nahiro held her breath.
Why isn't he doing anything?
Why isn't he—
A warm hand cupped her cheek.
Her whole body jolted.
Riku's palm was calloused in places—the pad of his thumb rough against her skin. She could feel his heartbeat through his fingertips, steady and strong. Both hands cradled her face now, tilting it upward.
She opened her eyes.
His face filled her vision.
He's so close.
He's—
His lips pressed against hers.
Just once.
Gentle. Brief. Chaste.
The kiss lasted maybe two seconds. Maybe three. No tongue, no pressure, no demand for more. Simply his mouth meeting hers—warm and soft and impossibly tender.
Then he pulled back.
Nahiro blinked.
That's... it?
She'd imagined a hundred scenarios. Being pushed down. Being used. Being told exactly what she was good for. She'd braced herself for all of them.
She hadn't prepared for this.
"Riku-kun..."
"That's the interest for staying here," he said. His voice was low, steady. "It's enough."
"Riku-kun..." She swallowed. "You don't want to... do it?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, his fingers moved to her shirt.
One button at a time, he fastened them closed.
Working his way up from the bottom—careful, methodical, covering each inch of exposed skin. When he reached the collar, he smoothed the fabric with his palms.
Then his hand settled on top of her head.
"The room's cold. You'll catch a cold again." He ruffled her hair gently. "Rest here tonight. I'll be around."
---
A pink heart materialized above Nahiro's head.
Yukigami Nahiro — Affection: 95
---
Riku exhaled heavily.
Fuck.
She's too tempting.
That took everything I had.
He'd stopped himself.
He'd actually stopped himself.
The tent in his pants was practically screaming at him, but he'd prioritized her affection points over his own gratification and—
Worth it, he reminded himself. Ninety-five affection. Almost maxed. Just a little more and—
Nahiro's gaze dropped.
Landed directly on the obvious bulge straining against his trousers.
Pfft.
A soft laugh escaped her lips—light and surprised and genuine. The first real laugh she'd made in who knew how long.
So Riku-kun was holding back.
He wanted to.
He just didn't.
For me.
Something warm blossomed in her chest.
Before she could second-guess herself, Nahiro reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were steadier now. Certain.
She lowered herself to her knees.
The carpet was thin beneath her—she could feel the hard floor underneath, slightly uncomfortable against her shins. The position put her face level with his hips. With the tent.
Her hands reached for his belt.
"Riku-kun."
She looked up at him through silver-white lashes, her cheeks flushed but her eyes clear.
"You've been holding back too. It must be hard." Her fingers worked at the buckle—metal clinking softly as she loosened it. "Let me do something for you."
The zipper came down with a long, slow zzzzip.
She pulled his waistband down—just enough—and his cock sprang free.
Oh.
Nahiro's breath caught.
It was... substantial. Flushed dark with blood, the head already glistening with a bead of precum. Thick enough that her small hand couldn't quite close around it. The musky scent of his arousal hit her nostrils—sharp, masculine, overwhelming.
He was really holding back this whole time.
Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips.
"I've never..." She swallowed. "I've never done this before. Not properly. But I'll try my best."
She leaned forward.
Pressed a tentative kiss to the tip.
His cock twitched against her mouth—hot and silky and alive. The taste of precum was salty-sweet on her tongue. Different from what she'd expected.
Not bad, she thought distantly.
Her lips parted.
She took the head into her mouth.
"Mmph—"
The stretch was immediate. Her jaw ached slightly as she accommodated his girth—he was wider than she'd anticipated. She pressed her tongue against the underside, exploring the ridge where the head met the shaft.
Thick, she noted. Veiny. I can feel it pulsing.
"Nnh—"
She took more of him.
Inch by inch, his length disappeared between her lips. The tip nudged the back of her throat and she gagged slightly—pulled back—tried again. Her hand wrapped around the base to steady herself, pumping what she couldn't fit.
I want to make him feel good, she thought. The way he made me feel when he held me.
Her head began to bob.
Slowly at first. Finding a rhythm.
Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.
Saliva dripped down his shaft, coating her fingers. The obscene sounds filled the quiet apartment—wet and messy and undeniably lewd. Her silver hair fell forward, brushing against his thighs with each movement.
"Mm... mmph... hnnn..."
She moaned around his cock. The vibrations traveled up his length.
This is okay, she told herself. This feels right.
Not because I'm being used.
But because I want to.
Because he's Riku-kun.
Her free hand found his thigh—gripped the fabric of his pants for support. She could feel the muscles tensing beneath her palm as she worked him. His breathing had grown ragged above her.
He's close, she realized.
She redoubled her efforts.
Took him deeper—ignored the burn in her throat—let her tongue swirl around the sensitive head every time she pulled back. Her small hand pumped faster at the base, twisting slightly on each stroke.
"Haa... haa... Riku-kun..."
She pulled off with a wet pop, looking up at him with glazed eyes and swollen lips.
"Please," she whispered. "Come. I want to taste it."
Then she swallowed him again.
All the way.
Her nose pressed against his pelvis. His cock lodged in her throat. She held there—fighting the gag reflex—and hummed.
---
Riku's hands found her hair.
His fingers tangled in the silver-white strands—not guiding, just holding on.
Fuck.
Fuck.
His hips bucked involuntarily.
The pressure built at the base of his spine—wound tighter and tighter until—
"Nahiro—"
He came.
Thick ropes of cum flooded her mouth. She swallowed desperately—gulp, gulp, gulp—but there was too much. It leaked from the corners of her lips, dripping down her chin, splattering onto her chest.
The taste was overwhelming. Salty. Bitter. Unmistakably him.
She swallowed everything she could.
When she finally pulled off, a string of saliva and cum connected her lips to his softening cock.
"Ha... haa..."
Nahiro panted heavily. Her uniform was a mess—shirt wrinkled and damp, face flushed, chin glazed with his release.
But she was smiling.
A small, tentative smile.
"Did that... feel good?"
Riku reached down and pulled her up—into his arms again.
"Yeah." His voice was rough. Spent. "It felt good."
Nahiro pressed her face into his chest, breathing in his scent.
This is enough, she thought.
For now, this is enough.
Her eyes drifted shut.
And for the first time in years, Yukigami Nahiro felt like she might actually belong somewhere.
---