Volume 3 Episode 04

 I don’t know whether Miyagi chose or refused.

All I know is that she didn’t run away.

Even after I let go of her hand, she’s still standing in front of me.

I called Miyagi to the music prep room because I just wanted to talk to her a little—after seeing her enjoy the cultural festival without me. It wasn’t because I wanted to kiss her. I only planned to complain a bit and let her go. What I felt was frustration, but harmless enough.

And yet—

During the two days of the festival, she’d been waiting for me.

Not exactly, but the way Miyagi phrased it made it sound that way, and what was supposed to be a short talk turned into this.

It’s all Miyagi’s fault for saying things I didn’t expect.

I never thought she’d remember my half-joking words, nor did I expect her to call me out on them. It’s enough to make me act impulsively.

“Miyagi.”

I call her softly and touch her cheek, but she doesn’t pull away. She looks dissatisfied, but she doesn’t move. That means she’s not rejecting what I’m about to do, so I slowly lean in. She doesn’t move, though her expression says she’s ready to complain.

“Close your eyes.”

She keeps staring at me.

“I’ll close them without you telling me.”

Her voice drips with irritation, making it clear she has no intention of obediently doing what I say. That’s typical of her, so I press my hand more firmly against her cheek. Still, she keeps staring at me, looking nothing like someone about to be kissed.

Not that we’re the kind of relationship that cares about setting a mood.

I close my eyes first and press my lips to hers.

The sensation is just like the kisses from summer break.

The softness, the warmth—they’re familiar. But my heartbeat is different this time. Maybe it’s because we’re at school, but my heart is pounding louder than I’d expect. Unable to bear the sound echoing through my body, I pull away after only a brief touch—only for her hand to grab my arm tightly.

It’s not strong enough to hurt, but it’s firm enough to stop me. I look down at her hand, then follow it up to Miyagi’s face. Her eyes look fierce, almost like she might bite—but she doesn’t. They’re not exactly accepting, but not rejecting either. If Miyagi wanted to bite, she would’ve done it already.

So what does this grip mean?

I glance again at her hand on my arm.

“Miyagi, that hurts.”

No response.

She must hear me, but her hand doesn’t let go. If anything, her nails dig in a little deeper.

When I look back at her, she’s glaring—clearly displeased.

I lean in a little closer.

Miyagi says nothing and doesn’t move.

When I pull back without getting closer, she tugs my arm.

I don’t dislike this side of her—the Miyagi who tries to keep me close with small gestures like this.

“Can I do it again?”

I ask, even though I already know the answer. She doesn’t reply or nod; she just tugs my arm again, as if urging me on.

I won’t tell her—since I don’t want her to run—but I find this reaction cute.

I lean in slowly.

This time, Miyagi closes her eyes first, and our lips meet.

My heart is still loud and fast.

I’ve kissed Miyagi plenty of times.

Enough to be used to it.

But I’m still nervous.

Our lips only touch lightly—not pressing hard, not licking—but the contact feels searingly hot. When I grab her shoulders, my hands feel hot too. The more we touch, the more my heart loses its rhythm, and it’s almost painful.

I don’t want to pull away, but when I do, Miyagi’s hand is still holding me. It’s not tight enough to hurt anymore.

I hesitate for a moment, then press my lips to hers again—more firmly this time.

Miyagi doesn’t run.

My heart settles a little.

Not wanting to part from her, I kiss her longer than the first or second time.

She’s closer to me than anyone else has ever been.

Our body heat blends where we touch.

It feels good.

Wanting to feel more of her warmth, I brush my tongue against her lips. As expected, she pushes at my shoulders. I obediently step back three paces, and Miyagi speaks.

“I didn’t say you could kiss like that.”

“What kind of kiss is ‘like that’?”

“You know—like just now.”

“If you don’t explain clearly, I won’t understand.”

“If you don’t get it, then don’t kiss me at all.”

In moments like this, Miyagi is vague. It’s a reaction I like, but I can’t help saying unnecessary things just to see how she’ll respond. Her mood always sours, and her voice drops lower.

Normally, I’d brush it off—but today, I don’t want to upset her. Still, I can’t resist wanting to see more of her reactions.

“So, if it’s not like that, then it’s fine?”

Knowing I’ll probably get scolded, I take two steps closer and lean in, only to hear her irritated voice.

“It’s only been about a month since then. Have some restraint.”

“‘Then,’ meaning the last day of summer break?”

Since that day, our lips haven’t met like this.

“So, you’re saying you’ve been holding back and wanted to kiss me. That’s what you meant right?”

It’s a mean question, I know, but I’m curious about her answer.

“Don’t twist my words. Is it fun to say stuff like that?”

“It’s fun.”

“You’re the worst, Sendai-san.”

'I wanted to kiss you. '

Miyagi would never say that—but part of me wishes she would.

I thought continuing what happened during summer break would be trouble.

I thought we shouldn’t keep doing it.

But now that I’ve kissed her again, I don’t know why I ever thought that. Even the rules we set when she paid me five thousand yen at the bookstore feel meaningless now.

“A kiss isn’t a big deal, right? It’s not even against the rules anymore.”

“It’s not okay.”

Miyagi says it firmly.

“Then make it okay.”

“I won’t.”

I’ve been following Miyagi’s orders in exchange for five thousand yen.

It started as a way to pass the time, but it’s gone beyond that now. The promises we made before just feel restrictive, and Miyagi’s stubbornness about the rules is infuriatingly rigid.

There’s a convenient word for that—adaptability.

If no one finds out, it’s fine to talk at school or to kiss. As long as our relationship stays secret, loosening the rules shouldn’t be a problem.

“Don’t you want to kiss that badly, Miyagi?”

“That’s an unfair way to ask.”

“So you do want to. Just give in.”

“…Even if we keep doing this, you’re just going to leave me behind anyway.”

“Then go to the same university as me.”

“You stay here, Sendai-san.”

“Huh?”

Her unexpected words make me stare at her face. Her lips are pressed tightly together.

“Miyagi?”

I call her, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks away. Wanting her to look at me, I touch her cheek, and she says coldly, “Don’t touch me.”

Ignoring her, I press my palm against her cheek. Normally, she’d swat my hand away, but today she doesn’t.

“Sendai-san, give me back my tie.”

Her words are calculated—to get my hand off her cheek. I have no reason to refuse, so I untie the tie and hand it to her. She returns mine.

Before she can say anything, I bring up what still needs to be returned.

“I’ll give you my blouse. I won’t have a chance to wear it anymore, so keep it. Want me to return yours?”

I told her I brought a blouse, but there’s nothing in my bag to give back. Even if she asked, I couldn’t return it—but I doubt that’ll be a problem.

“It doesn’t have to be today.”

Her vague answer leaves the blouse with me. Then, as if changing the subject, she adds, “Why did you call me here today?”

“I told you—to enjoy the festival together.”

“Answer properly.”

“I hadn’t seen you in a while, so I wanted to talk a bit.”

Before the cultural festival, Miyagi didn’t seem all that interested in the event. But today, when I saw her, she looked like she was having a lot of fun.

In the end, Miyagi seems to have fun without me. Even if I had gone to see her, she probably would’ve just given me a grumpy look. Besides, I can’t talk to her at school. On top of that, the festival that felt fun last year didn’t feel as enjoyable this time. I spent it the same way as before, but something was missing.

So, I sent Miyagi a message.

I didn’t want the festival to end with that unsatisfied feeling. That’s basically the reason.

“Talk? That wasn’t talking,” Miyagi says in a low voice.

“It got a bit out of hand, but we did talk, didn’t we?”

I did more than talk, sure, but we talked too.

Broadly speaking, calling it a conversation shouldn’t be wrong.

“We didn’t.”

“We did. But if it wasn’t enough, I don’t mind talking more.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t enough.”

Miyagi adds, “You’re annoying,” wearing a dissatisfied expression, but she doesn’t seem eager to throw more complaints at me.

“Shall we head out?”

I say it more like a statement than a question, and Miyagi nods. We haven’t been here long, but quite some time has passed since the festival ended. The days are getting shorter, and it’s already dark outside.

“Want to go first?”

I ask, figuring she probably doesn’t want to be seen walking together.

“…You go first, Sendai-san. I’ll follow you to the shoe lockers.”

“Follow me? What if someone sees us?”

“I’ll keep enough distance so it won’t be a problem, and besides—”

“Besides?”

I can already guess what she’s about to say.

Even so, I ask, and an irritated voice answers.

“The old building’s creepy.”

“Want me to hold your hand?”

“You don’t need to do anything extra. Just go already—it’s getting dark.”

“It’s already dark. Why not walk beside me?”

“No way. Just get out into the hallway.”

Miyagi, frowning, opens the door and pushes my back. Reluctantly, I start walking.

The faint sound of my footsteps echoes, followed by another set chasing after me. When I turn around, I see Miyagi there, and my mood lifts a little—more than it had during the festival.

✧✧✧✧✧

Miyagi told me to stop, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I don’t need calm reflection to know—I was completely out of line today.

I sit on my bed in the room Miyagi once called “ordinary” during summer break, letting out a small sigh.

Calling her out at school and pushing for a kiss—was insane. And yet, I actually kissed her.

But I don’t regret it.

Miyagi didn’t run away, so she’s just as guilty. She’s no different from me. She wanted it too, and that’s why we kissed. That’s how I justify it—at least, that’s what I tell myself.

—But that’s a lie.

Miyagi allowed the kiss, but I was the one who forced it to happen. If I hadn’t acted, it wouldn’t have. I know I’m only deceiving myself. And even knowing that, I still find myself wanting to kiss her again. I probably deserve to go to hell.

I sigh hard enough to empty my brain. Then, with a breath that feels like it empties my lungs, I flop onto the bed. On the wall, a blouse hangs from a hanger. The short-sleeved one is Miyagi’s. I never returned it, so it’s stayed there, as if it belongs.

“Time to tidy up.”

I stand, fold the blouse, and place it in the chest beside the long-sleeved one Miyagi forced on me. Her things are slowly piling up, invading my room. The five thousand yen in my piggy bank is from her too. Even after graduation, her traces will still be here. I could spend the five thousand yen or throw out the clothes.

I know that, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t even hold myself back from kissing her—so of course, I can’t do something that simple. Anything related to Miyagi feels impossibly difficult.

Letting out a heavy breath instead of a sigh, I hear my phone buzz on the desk.

Assuming it’s Umina, I check the screen. Sure enough, it’s her—sending excited messages about how fun today was and suggesting we go to another school’s festival next time. Too lazy to reply properly, I just send a quick “Yeah” and toss the phone onto the bed before turning to my desk.

It’s not great timing right after the festival, but midterms are less than two weeks away. My grades have been good enough for my chosen university, but nothing’s guaranteed, so I can’t afford to slack off.

I have no intention of changing my university choice now. But Miyagi’s words linger in my mind.

“Stay here, Sendai-san.”

She seemed serious, but it’s not something she’d normally say. Still, it felt too heavy to be a passing thought.

Stay here—and change my university choice.

I’ve never considered that. It feels impossible. If I can’t leave this house, there’s no point in going to university. My parents already said they’d support me until graduation, no matter where I go. So of course, I’d rather choose a school that lets me leave.

If I stayed, maybe my relationship with Miyagi wouldn’t end after graduation. I can’t help thinking that—but it’s probably not true. Even if I stayed, Miyagi wouldn’t walk beside me in the future.

She’d stick to our “until graduation” promise. And even if she didn’t, she’d still say, “No way,” like she did today, and keep her distance.

I raise my right hand to the light, staring at it.

When I said, “Want me to hold your hand?” as we left, I was half-serious.

If she was scared, I would’ve held her hand. More than that, I just wanted to take the hand of the silent Miyagi following behind me and walk together.

I clench the hand raised toward the ceiling, then open it again. During summer break, I didn’t want to hold Miyagi’s hand.

When we bumped into each other at school, I didn’t want to either. I wanted to touch her, but that was it. But today, I wanted to hold her hand.

Since meeting Miyagi, I’ve been living in denial of my old self. Because of that, I don’t even know what I want anymore, and it’s depressing.

The hand I see is just a hand—not much different from Miyagi’s. Mine might be slightly bigger because of our height difference, but that’s all. It’s the same hand I had during summer break—unchanged. And yet, I want to hold hers. It feels like if this hand ever fell off, it would crawl straight toward Miyagi.

If it were just about holding hands, I could do that with Umina or Mariko. With them, I could hold hands anytime. I could even hold hands with someone else entirely. It’s something I could do with anyone—but the person I want to hold hands with is only her.

Limited-edition things feel rare and exciting, but a “Miyagi-only edition” is a problem. If everything about me becomes limited to her, I can’t move freely. It feels suffocating.

My actions are supposed to be limited to Miyagi only after school. We’ve already kissed and gone further. Wanting to hold hands now feels completely out of order.

I lower my hand with a sigh.

I don’t need to hold hands.

That much, I can restrain myself from.

But I can’t say the same about kissing her.

Another sigh escapes—who knows how many today.

“…It’s Miyagi’s fault.”

Today, I learned that if I say I want to kiss her, Miyagi will reluctantly agree. And if I say it again, she’ll probably agree again. Knowing that, I can’t promise I won’t do it again.

If everything’s going to end after graduation anyway, there’s no reason to hold back so much.

I know we’re not friends, and there are limits to what we can do, but still—

I probably left one of the screws holding my rationality together back in the music prep room. And the worst part is, I have no intention of going back to look for it or replace it.

“Ugh, for now, I’ll just study for the test.”

Thinking about Miyagi won’t clarify anything between us. Studying for midterms, where there are definite answers, feels much easier right now. 

Plus, doing something helps distract me.

I open my textbook and notebook on the desk.

My phone buzzes on the bed again, but I keep my eyes on the textbook.

✧✧✧✧✧

About a week has passed since the cultural festival ended. The school is now completely consumed by midterm exams. Not too long, not too short.

But today feels too long to call “soon.”

A message from Miyagi arrived, as usual.

If she had contacted me right after that day, I wouldn’t have known how to respond, so maybe this time that felt long to me was actually just right. I imagine Miyagi might have found it hard to meet me too, and that distance let me sit beside her calmly now, without losing my composure.

We kept missing each other, so I haven’t been able to come often, but this room still feels as comfortable as ever. I can feel Miyagi’s gaze on me—almost piercing—but maybe that’s just because it’s autumn yet still feels like summer, and I’ve taken off my vest from the transitional uniform. My blouse has the top two buttons undone, so she has no right to complain about anything being different.

“How are midterms looking?”

I flip a page in my textbook and ask about the exams that are just around the corner.

“No idea.”

Miyagi looks away from me.

“I taught you during summer break.”

“Sure, but just because you taught me doesn’t mean I’ll ace the tests.”

“I think your grades will go up.”

During summer break, we did some unspeakable things—but we also studied a lot more. It’d be strange if her grades didn’t improve, and honestly, it’d be a problem if they didn’t. But Miyagi doesn’t say, “They’ll probably go up” or “It’ll be fine.”

“Show me your results when midterms are over.”

I poke her arm with my pen, urging her.

“Why do I have to show you?”

“Because I tutored you during summer break. I want to see how it turned out.”

“I guess, but…”

“I’ll show you mine too.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Then I won’t show mine, but you show me yours.”

“My grades don’t matter.”

Miyagi says it indifferently, but if they really didn’t matter, I wouldn’t be asking to see them.

If I knew her scores, I could tell which universities she might get into. More than that, I’d know if there was a chance we could go to the same one. I don’t have the right to make her change her choice, nor do I intend to force her. But I still want to know.

“They do matter. I’m thinking about tutoring as a part-time job in college, so it’ll be a good reference.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s true.”

I do plan to get some kind of job in college, though I haven’t decided on tutoring yet. Still, it’s not an impossible idea—so it’s not entirely a lie.

“Show me,” I say again.

Miyagi lets out a small sigh, her tone reluctant.

“…If you don’t say anything about it, I’ll show you.”

“Like what?”

“Like saying my scores are low or pointing out what I got wrong.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then I guess it’s fine.”

She says it with a look that clearly shows she doesn’t want to, and her voice is full of doubt. Still, I decide to take her at her word. If I pressed further—said, “Promise?” or “Really?”—she’d probably retract her reluctant agreement and refuse outright.

“I’ll just look and won’t say anything,” I promise, returning to my textbook.

After solving a few problems, I glance at Miyagi. She’s looking down—but not at her textbook or workbook. In the quiet room, a soft, rhythmic tapping echoes.

It’s the sound of Miyagi’s fingers against the table. It isn’t loud, but it’s distracting enough to break my focus. She doesn’t seem focused either.

What’s with her?

Lately—or rather, even before the festival—she’d been studying seriously. But today, she looks unmotivated.

Midterms are close.

I need her to take this seriously.

I’m about to say something to Miyagi, who keeps tapping the table, but she speaks first.

“Sendai-san.”

“What?”

The tapping stops.

And Miyagi falls silent.

Even though she called my name, she doesn’t say anything after.

“Miyagi?”

I look at her, knowing she wouldn’t call me for no reason. After a short pause, she finally speaks in a small voice.

“…When’s your birthday, Sendai-san?”

“Huh? Mine? Why all of a sudden?”

I can’t help but ask back at the unexpected question.

“No reason.”

“When’s yours?”

“September. It already passed. Never mind me—just tell me yours.”

I half-expected her to complain with something like, “Why should I say?” or “I’m the one asking,” but she answers easily. She doesn’t even sound like she has the energy to argue, so I just answer honestly.

“Hazuki.”

“That’s a name.”

“No, I mean—Satsuki, Minazuki, Fumizuki.”

As I list the old lunar month names starting from May, Miyagi seems to catch the meaning behind “Hazuki.”

[T/N- it's old Japanese calendar, it was used in Japan until 1873 when the Gregorian calendar was adopted. It was based on the Chinese lunisolar calendar and combined lunar and solar cycles to track time. Shows a month was almost 29.5 days long]

“—August?”

“Yeah. Born in August, so Hazuki. Simple, right?”

August is “Hazuki” in the lunar calendar.

Since I was born in August, that’s how I got my name. It’s not a particularly meaningful naming, but I like the sound of it.

“So, what’s up?”

I ask, unsure why she suddenly cares about my birthday. But Miyagi doesn’t comment on the connection between my name and birth month, nor does she ask for the exact date—she just stays quiet. For someone who asked about my birthday, her reaction is oddly lukewarm.

What situation calls for just knowing the month?

Miyagi’s been looking down since she said “August,” so I’m even more clueless about her reason.

“If there’s no point to asking, then study.”

Miyagi says odd things sometimes, but she rarely says something truly meaningless. I doubt this was pointless—but since she won’t explain, I can’t do anything about it.

I look back at my textbook.

But instead of studying, Miyagi suddenly stands up and pulls a small box from a desk drawer.

“Here.”

In an emotionless tone, she places the box on my textbook.

“You’re giving this to me? What is it?”

I look at the small box in front of me.

“…It’s something for you.”

“I get that, but why are you suddenly giving me a present?”

“Just take it. I’m giving it to you.”

I already know what it is without her saying it, but I want her to confirm.

“Is this… a birthday present?”

I ask the question myself, knowing she won’t give a straight answer.

“If you think it is, then it’s a birthday present.”

She’s so stubborn.

The small box is neatly wrapped, clearly prepared with care. When she asked about my birthday and pulled this out, it was obvious it was a birthday present. I just don’t get why she won’t admit it—or why she even prepared one for me in the first place.

We didn’t even know each other’s birthdays, and we’re not the kind of friends who exchange gifts.

“If my birthday hadn’t come yet, what were you going to do?”

“Nothing. Even if it’s a birthday present, there’s no rule saying I have to give it on the exact day.”

“There’s got to be a reason you went this far to give me a birthday present.”

“If you don’t want it, give it back.”

Miyagi snaps back roughly. Before I can respond, she grabs the box off my textbook, so I instinctively catch her hand.

“Wait. What happens if I give it back?”

“I’ll throw it out.”

“You always say that. You don’t need to throw it away.”

“I won’t use it, and there’s no one else to give it to.”

The mystery of why she got me a birthday present remains unsolved. But I don’t have time to figure it out—if I hesitate, Miyagi might really toss it in the trash, box and all.

“I’ll take it, then. Let me have it.”

I gently rescue the box from her hand and ask, “Can I open it?”

“There’s no point giving it to you if you don’t.”

She tosses the words out carelessly, and judging by her snappy tone, she’s clearly not in a good mood.

She looks at the neatly wrapped box with a face like she’s chewing on 99% cacao chocolate. I’ve never seen anyone give a birthday present with such a sour expression. Miyagi’s probably the first and last. It’s hard to open it like this.

Under her sharp gaze, I let out a quiet sigh, carefully peel off the wrapping, and open the box. Inside is a silver necklace—or maybe a pendant, technically, but either way, an accessory.

A small moon-shaped charm dangles from it, delicate and a bit too cute for me. It seems like something that would suit Miyagi better. I pick it up, letting the charm sway, then inspect the chain. Worried it might be expensive, I check for a brand—but it doesn’t seem to be anything fancy.

I’ve already received five thousand yen from Miyagi. Whether this accessory is a birthday present or not, I’m not shameless enough to accept more from her without giving something in return.

“I’ll give you something back. What do you want?”

I ask while placing the pendant back into the box.

“I don’t want anything.”

“Anything’s fine, then?”

“You don’t need to give me anything in return,” Miyagi says in an unexpectedly firm tone.

“That’s kind of hurtful, you know.”

It’s normal to exchange small things—snacks in return for a favor, or a notebook when you borrow one. A birthday present practically calls for a return gift; it’s just basic courtesy. Miyagi’s strong refusal makes her seem oblivious to that. Or maybe she’d accept a gift if it were from someone else.

Like Utsunomiya, for example.

I shouldn’t dwell on that thought, so I close the box lid.

“I’m giving you something, and you don’t have to give anything back. More importantly, put it on right now. It’s an order.”

As she says this, Miyagi opens the lid I just closed.

“Fine. But usually, the giver puts it on for you, right?”

“You can put it on yourself.”

“Normally, you’d offer to put it on, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not doing that.”

I expected that, but Miyagi’s answer is as blunt as ever. She’s not cute in moments like this.

“Whatever.”

I don’t particularly want her to put it on me, but her tone annoys me. Still, saying anything now would be pointless. If I say something trivial, she’ll just tack on another unreasonable order.

I take the pendant out of the box.

I unclasp it and slowly put it on.

“Done.”

I lightly touch the pendant resting against my chest and look at Miyagi. I don’t dislike accessories, but I don’t wear them with my uniform, so it feels strange and a little unsettling.

“I can see that.”

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Can I touch it?”

“I meant say something about it.”

I didn’t ask her about touching it—I asked for her thoughts. But Miyagi’s hand reaches out as if it’s only natural. I didn’t expect her to say something flattering like “It suits you,” but I also didn’t expect her to touch it. I instinctively pull back, but her hand reaches me first.

Her fingertips trace the chain.

The faint touch against my skin tickles.

“The chain’s a bit long, don’t you think? I’d prefer it shorter.”

I catch her fingers mid-movement and voice a complaint about something I don’t actually care about.

“If it’s shorter, it’ll show at school,” Miyagi says, tugging and releasing the chain as if checking its length.

“Are you asking me to wear it at school?”

“Wear it until graduation.”

“The whole time until we graduate high school?”

“Yeah, all the time. At school, at home, everywhere.”

“Is that an order too?”

“An order,” Miyagi says in a voice neither strong nor weak.

The pendant is just a pendant—nothing more. It looks like a simple accessory, and wearing it all the time shouldn’t be strange.

But her words make it clear.

This isn’t just an accessory.

Miyagi isn’t the type to give a present without a reason. I don’t say it aloud because she’d probably agree matter-of-factly, but the pendant feels like a collar—a mark of ownership. Otherwise, she wouldn’t set a deadline like “until graduation.”

“School’s outside the scope of orders.”

It’s only an accessory, but knowing it’s from Miyagi makes it feel like it’s gently choking me—a little suffocating.

There have been similar things before.

Hickeys. Bite marks.

But those fade with time, unlike an accessory that stays. This gift, which should weigh almost nothing, feels oddly heavy. I want to take it off at school.

“Then make it a rule that it’s okay to wear it. Come on, Sendai-san, compromise for once.”

Miyagi echoes something I said in the music prep room.

I didn’t expect my own words to come back and stab me like this.

“Compromise, huh… Alright, if you beg me to wear it, I’ll listen.”

I set a condition I know she’ll never meet.

“Then fine. Wear it or don’t—do whatever you want.”

“Miyagi, why not just beg nicely?”

“No way.”

As expected, Miyagi retracts her order.

Now, I’m free to wear or not wear the pendant.

When I look at her, she’s sitting next to me, silently sulking.

Tap. Her fingertip hits the table.

Another tap follows, and she picks up the box the pendant came in.

She’s probably regretting giving me the present.

I get it.

There’s no need to compromise.

Miyagi didn’t beg me.

So the order doesn’t hold.

I know that, but my mouth moves on its own.

“…If it’s just about wearing it, I’ll keep it on until graduation. But if it gets confiscated at school, don’t blame me.”

I take the small box from her hand.

I know I’m soft when it comes to Miyagi—and it’s happened countless times before. I accept an order outside the rules and choose to keep wearing the pendant.

“If you don’t unbutton the second button, it won’t show,” Miyagi says quietly, looking at my blouse.

“I feel like it still might.”

“Try buttoning the second one.”

With my blouse’s top two buttons undone, I do as she says and button it. Then, with only the top button undone—like at school—I ask, “Is it visible?”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t show.”

“Alright, then.”

“…Sendai-san, don’t let anyone else see it from now on.”

“Huh? Not letting anyone see it is tough. There’s gym class and changing.”

“Make sure no one but me sees it.”

Miyagi’s order is practically impossible.

I can try to hide it, but with gym and changing classes, it’s hard to keep it unseen. Plus, her words include “no one but me,” meaning she’s an exception. That leads me to one conclusion.

“So, I have to show it to you?”

“You always unbutton the second button here, so it’s visible. And show it to me when I order you to.”

“If it’s already visible, I don’t need an order, right?”

“I mean show it clearly.”

“…Isn’t that kind of a perverted order?”

It’s not like she’s telling me to take off my uniform, so technically it’s within the rules. But “it’s visible because I unbuttoned it myself” and “show it clearly because I ordered you to” might look the same—but they feel completely different. Having to show it because Miyagi ordered me feels deeply improper.

“It’s not perverted. Show it now.”

The same mouth that told me to button up moments ago now demands I unbutton.

“It’s totally perverted.”

“Not as much as you. You always unbutton two buttons, so just do it quietly.”

“You really want me to unbutton again?”

“It won’t be visible otherwise.”

As Miyagi says, I usually unbutton the second button here, but with the condition of showing the pendant, it feels harder to do. As I hesitate, she adds, “It’s an order.”

“Fine, I’ll unbutton it.”

If I make a big deal out of something trivial, it’ll just become a big deal, so I quietly undo the button I just fastened.

“This okay?”

I feel Miyagi’s gaze fixed on my chest.

I know she’s looking at the pendant, but the area around my collarbone feels restless.

“You don’t need to stare that hard.”

“I’m just looking at what I gave you. I can look however I want, right?”

“Did you prepare this present just to do this?”

Unbuttoning to show my chest—it wouldn’t be surprising if that was part of her reason, beyond it being a collar.

“You don’t need to know why I prepared it,” Miyagi says quietly, then continues, “And unbutton one more.”

“It’s visible enough like this.”

“I can’t see it clearly.”

“You’ve been staring at it.”

“I want to see it better. It’s an order, so listen.”

I generally don’t unbutton the third button.

But Miyagi doesn’t seem like she’ll back down today.

Rules are rules, but they always seem to come with variations—or exceptions. So, I guess I can unbutton the third button just for today. I doubt Miyagi only wants to see the pendant, but arguing about it here would be a hassle.

“Fine, fine.”

I answer half-heartedly and take off my tie. I unbutton the third button, and Miyagi’s hand reaches out. Her fingertips touch my blouse but don’t open it wide—just enough for her to see the pendant.

She’s seen my underwear and skin plenty of times, so I shouldn’t feel embarrassed now. Yet something in my chest feels unsettled, like it’s floating without anchor.

Miyagi’s fingers trace the chain. Her hand moves slowly, as if counting each tiny link, tickling me as it goes. Her touch, brushing lightly over the chain, starts to press down.

What began as a casual touch against my skin while reaching for the pendant suddenly gains weight, throwing me off balance. Her body leans into me, and I’m pushed down onto the floor.

“Hey, Miyagi. That hurts.”

It wasn’t a hard push, but the momentum makes my back and shoulders ache. Miyagi says nothing, just lowers her face toward my chest. Then she kisses the top of the pendant.

The charm is small, so it’s practically like kissing my chest—but her lips press deliberately, making it clear it’s meant for the pendant.

Her lips aren’t heavy in themselves.

But it feels heavy.

Suffocating.

The spot where her lips touch burns unnecessarily hot.

Miyagi does it with a calm expression, as if she’s unaware—or unconcerned—about how it affects me.

I inhale and exhale.

Even breathing feels difficult, and when I lightly tug at her hair resting against my chest, she finally looks up.

Her fingers stroke the chain again.

Watching her, I’m sure of it. Before and after that kiss, she hasn’t said a word, but this feels like a declaration of ownership more than anything we’ve done before. Absolutely—definitely—no, certainly—this pendant means Sendai Hazuki belongs to Miyagi until graduation.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t want to admit it out loud, but I accepted this gift. It’s suffocating and troublesome, yet it doesn’t feel bad.

“Miyagi, that’s enough, right?”

Unable to find better words, I pat her back with a safe phrase. But she doesn’t move. Instead, she kisses the pendant again. Her fingertips trace the small charm, inevitably brushing against my skin.

It’s ticklish.

Not enough to make me laugh, but enough for my skin to prickle. Her fingers press lightly against the pendant and my skin. The cold metal of the moon-shaped charm mingles with Miyagi’s warmth, seeping into me.

It reminds me of the last day of summer break.

Her fingertips bring not only ticklishness but also the emotions tied to that day’s memories. Then Miyagi starts unbuttoning the fourth button without permission.

This is bad.

An emotion I shouldn’t direct toward her rises within me, and I grab her hand.

“Miyagi, stop. Any further is dangerous.”

“Because it’s against the rules?”

“That too. But mostly because my rationality might fly out the window.”

I can brush off things up to this point, but if she doesn’t stop, something bad will happen—to both of us. I don’t trust my own rationality right now. If Miyagi doesn’t understand that, it won’t end well for either of us.

“What’s with your rationality, Sendai-san? Don’t let it fly off irresponsibly—tie it down.”

“That’s pretty hard to do.”

“…Why do you sound so unsure?”

Miyagi sounds exasperated.

I don’t understand either. I don’t know why, at this point, she’s choosing to trust my rationality. So my answer comes out vague.

“I don’t even know myself, so you should be the one to hold back, Miyagi.”

When I push the responsibility onto her, she goes silent. Her brow furrows as if she’s thinking deeply. After about ten seconds of serious thought, she speaks quietly.

“What if I said you could kiss me if you unbuttoning another button?”

Her conclusion is so unlike her that I fall silent.

I replay her words in my head.

To make sure I heard correctly, I ask, “You’re saying I can kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

I didn’t expect that kind of trade-off.

I’ve unbuttoned the fourth button in front of her before.

It’s not the sort of condition that should make me hesitate.

“Fine. Go ahead and unbutton it.”

I shouldn’t be saying this—not after just telling her something bad might happen. My rationality really can’t be trusted.

“You unbutton it, Sendai-san.”

“Got it.”

I unbutton the fourth button as told.

Miyagi’s fingers touch my stomach, and my body stiffens slightly.

Her palm presses against me.

It’s warm, but not the kind of warmth that calms me—it catches my breath instead. It feels like her heat reaches deep inside me, and I grab her wrist. But I can tell she doesn’t mean to go further. Her hand slides to my side and then pulls away.

“You can kiss me.”

Miyagi says softly.

I sit up slightly, my hand brushing against her neck. My fingers slide to the back of her neck, and I pull her closer as I lean in. It hasn’t been long since our last kiss, but I want to feel her again. I press my lips to hers a little forcefully.

I savor the soft sensation I’ve missed and lightly bite her lip. Normally, Miyagi would push me away to end it quickly, but this time she’s unusually compliant. It feels like I could get away with unbuttoning one more button. I pull back and loosen her tie.

She doesn’t resist.

Unbuttoning one button goes unnoticed, and I bring my lips to her neck. But before I can kiss her, she pushes my shoulders firmly, and I end up flat on my back again.

“That’s enough.”

She says decisively, sitting up straight.

“Too soon?”

“Then can I do more than I just did? It’s a trade-off—if you kiss me again, I get to do something too.”

“You didn’t say it was just one kiss.”

“I didn’t need to—it was one kiss.”

“That’s unfair.”

“I only touched you a little, so it’s about equal to one kiss.”

Miyagi says, not hiding her displeasure, and buttons up her blouse.

“Fine, that’s enough.”

If I keep dragging this out, she’ll probably come up with another troublesome condition. I didn’t want to do anything more—just touch her a bit longer, since it felt like I could.

I slowly sit up.

As I start buttoning my open blouse, Miyagi reaches over and does it for me—one button, then another, all the way to the top.

“It’s tight,” I complain.

“Keep it that way,” she replies curtly.

“An order?”

“Not really.”

Miyagi answers in an annoyed tone and turns toward the table. Feeling suffocated, I undo just one button and retie my tie.