Yoru had just reviewed his lessons and finished the small amount of homework he had. He lay sprawled on his bed.
"Am I forgetting something?"
Staring at the white ceiling in a daze, Yoru felt like something unimportant was slipping his mind.
He couldn't recall it.
"Forget it…"
He rolled over, reached for the drawer in his bedside table, and rummaged inside without looking.
He pulled out two hentai books.
One was set in a school where the gender ratio favored girls. The lone male student was bullied by female students and teachers, extorted, until he obtained a magical item that let him impregnate them in revenge.
The other was about hypnotizing and impregnating a teacher, also from the perspective of a fat, bullied loser—just like him.
Every day, he struggled with dieting. He never ate enough, constantly tempted by food. Sitting through classes that made no sense, then coming home and studying until his brain hurt.
The torment wore him down mentally and physically.
"Sigh…"
He flipped through the books again, though he already knew every scene by heart, then placed them back in the drawer.
"If only I had some kind of magical tool or ability like that…"
Yoru murmured as he rolled onto his back.
Of course, he still considered himself a decent person. If he had such power, he'd try to restrain himself.
He couldn't use it on Hiratsuka-sensei, Yukino, Megumi, or Gabriel… right?
"But if it were Kasumigaoka Utaha or Shinomiya Kaguya…"
He imagined it and narrowed his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, a determined look settled on his face.
He'd show no mercy—decisive, ruthless, a river of blood.
A real-life hentai scenario.
"Heh… thinking like this, I kind of hate myself."
He went silent for a bit, then chuckled and thought of Megumi.
Time passed quietly.
Yoru lay on his bed for a while longer, then gave up on his fantasies and forced himself to get up.
As tempting as sleep was, he couldn't go to bed just yet.
He first went to the bathroom, turned on the heater, then headed to the kitchen to make his diet dinner.
He cooked his usual portion of rice.
Then he took out two eggs and half an onion, beat the eggs, diced the onion, and added a bit of oil to the pan.
He stir-fried some chicken, added the onion, and seasoned with soy sauce and salt.
He also grabbed a box of sugar-free yogurt from the fridge—good for digestion and supposedly helpful for dieting.
He tore off a small piece of leftover baguette from breakfast and soaked it in the yogurt.
"How should I deal with these two bags of cookies…" Yoru stared at the top shelf of the fridge and then closed it.
After setting his meal, he poured some cat food for San-san, then picked her up and sat down in front of the TV.
He had a habit—he always showered before eating. It felt more refreshing that way.
After exercising at night, he usually just rinsed off with water.
"San-san, I'm so jealous of you. You've got food and water, nothing to worry about, and you're even cute."
Yoru gently stroked San-san's head and turned on the TV.
Unfortunately, Japan had lost.
They had gone to a penalty shootout and completely blew it—no technique or quality at all.
The news showed netizens angrily ranting.
Yoru watched idly as he waited for the bathroom heater to warm the water so he could take a relaxing bath.
---
Meanwhile, downstairs at the apartment building—
Nanami was carrying a bulging cloth bag as she jogged upstairs, her body glistening with fragrant sweat.
She had rushed over after finishing her part-time job, bringing back Yoru's raincoat and towel.
Soon, it would be discount time at the supermarket. Meats and veggies that weren't fresh would be marked down.
She had to get there quickly or it'd all be gone.
She could buy discounted bentos, but she preferred saving money whenever possible and just couldn't bring herself to buy them.
Nanami soon reached Yoru's apartment door.
She wiped the sweat off her forehead, took a deep breath, and knocked lightly.
Knock knock knock—
"Who is it?"
Yoru stood up with San-san in his arms, surprised as he looked toward the door.
Clearly, he had forgotten about this.
Still, he went to the door with San-san in his arms and opened it.
"Kitakami-kun…"
Nanami forced a sincere smile, though it was a bit stiff and obvious.
"Oh, it's you."
Yoru opened the door with one hand, holding San-san in the other.
Seeing the Shuchiin-uniformed girl in front of him, he finally remembered.
"Thank you for lending me your raincoat and towel the other day," Nanami said, handing over the neatly folded items from her backpack.
"I washed and dried them properly. I'm really grateful."
Her eyes drifted from Yoru's face to the white towel.
Yoru took it and nodded slightly.
"Umm…"
Part of Nanami's gaze remained on the towel, and she hesitated, a little flustered.
That towel…
It was the one she had used to dry herself that day.
Soaking wet, she had wiped down from her hair to her toes.
Including, of course, the most private places—those embarrassing, unspeakable spots.
She bit her soft lip, debating whether she should ask for the towel back.
She could always buy a new one and return it instead.
She'd heard that guys usually only had one towel—for both face and body.
Imagining Yoru using that towel on his face or body, after she had wiped… there… with it…
Nanami couldn't help but feel uncomfortable.
That's just… not okay…
Lost in thought, her expression and eyes gave everything away.
Yoru had been about to close the door but paused when he noticed her reaction.
He realized her eyes kept drifting back to the towel.
He blinked, then finally understood.
"You want this towel back, don't you?" Yoru asked directly.
"Haha… I… I don't…" Nanami panicked, waving her hands in flustered denial.
"You already used it. I don't want it anymore," Yoru said, seeing right through her.
"Then… then I'll buy you a new one, or pay you for it," Nanami said quietly, tucking her head down in embarrassment as she quickly took the towel back.
Yoru was giving her a way out—she understood that.
"Phew… thank goodness."
Nanami felt relieved. If Yoru really had used a towel she wiped her private areas with, she would've felt extremely uncomfortable.
It had nothing to do with whether she liked him or not.
And besides, she didn't like anyone—not yet.