Chương 184: 69. First Taste 4

I barely said a word on the way down. Not because I'd suddenly become a quiet person. Because I had just kissed Maki Kushima twice, the second time on my own initiative and for considerably longer, and any person who could make casual conversation immediately after that was either a prodigy or had something structurally wrong with their brain. I was clearly not the former. The latter was not something I was in a position to defend against right now.

Mountain air poured down the road, cold enough to clear your head—unfortunately it only cleared the air, not me. My hands were steady on the grips. The road was fine. The bike took the downhill curves even cleaner than the climb. But half my soul was still up at that overlook, frozen in the few seconds after I'd asked whether we were going back to No. 22 tonight. We'd decided to go back. Not because the moment had passed. The opposite—because it hadn't passed at all, and that was exactly why we had to leave.

Another twenty minutes up there and I was genuinely concerned about which branch of my life I'd end up riding into. Maki sat behind me, just as quiet. But different from the quiet on the way up—that had been let the driver focus. This was the quiet of two people who both know something has already happened, and neither of them is ready to put a name on it yet, so they're giving it to the wind instead. The wind wasn't doing much with it. Because the way she was holding on had changed.

Coming up, she'd rested her hands steadily at my sides. Through the ride, she'd settled in closer, naturally. Coming down— Coming down, her hands weren't staying at the this is just for safety line anymore. Still proper. Still not holding on too tight. Still something you could technically justify with two-up riding requires this for stability. But I knew. The pressure was different. The distance was different.

The way she shifted forward slightly with every deceleration—all of it was different from before we'd gone up. This was a problem. Because I had to ride the bike and pretend I wasn't cataloguing every single detail. Honestly, I deserved a commendation for tonight's performance. By the time we rolled back into the Platinum Bridge Street area, the city had gone mostly quiet. Streetlights cast clean light over the pavement, and the residential zone around No.

22 looked exactly as it always did—respectable, understated, expensive, with that particular brand of architectural hypocrisy that said no matter how chaotic the residents get, the exterior must never crack first. I eased the bike to a stop near the front door and cut the engine. The world went still. Still enough that I could hear my own heartbeat refusing to settle back to normal. I pulled off my helmet; Maki did the same.

She pushed her hair back with one hand—unhurried, composed, face showing almost none of what had happened up on that ridge. At least on the surface. Terrifying. How does someone reassemble themselves this completely in under thirty minutes? Wait—not completely. Her ears were still faintly red. Very faint, very brief. The kind you'd miss if you weren't specifically calibrated to detect it. Unfortunately, I was now hyper-attuned to exactly this kind of small variation, so I caught it immediately.

My mood lifted for no good reason. At least it's not just me still rattled.

"Come on." Maki held her helmet against her side, voice disturbingly steady.

"Act normal once we're inside." I looked at her.

"Shouldn't you be giving that speech to yourself first?"

"I am normal."

"Your definition of 'normal' might be broken." She glanced at me, didn't argue, but pressed her lips together very slightly. Right. Got it. She wasn't completely steady either. Just better at performing stability. So we walked toward the door like that—one helmet each, doing our best to look like two people who'd gone out to check on a bike, looked at a ship, taken a completely unremarkable mountain detour, and were now coming home in the most ordinary way possible.

Unfortunately, the universe had zero interest in letting us off that easily. Because just as we reached the front step, two people came around the corner. Not just anyone. Akari. And Aida. My first thought wasn't we're dead. It was: This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Of all the fucking people. Why these two. If it had been Jess, I could've gone on immediate offense. If it had been D, he'd have said "oh, you're back" and moved on.

If it had been Harvey, the worst I'd get was that knowing smirk that sees everything and says nothing. But Akari and Aida. One usually quiet as a ghost, right up until she opens her mouth and puts a blade exactly where it hurts most. The other was the type of upperclassman who smiled while watching you expose yourself, then moved in for the elegant finishing blow. Absolute nightmare combination. Every internal alarm I had went off simultaneously.

Aida spotted us, raised an eyebrow, and a very dangerous smile surfaced quickly. Not oh, you're home—more oh, I have new entertainment for the evening. As for Akari— She stopped walking. Just stopped. A few steps away. Fixed me with those flat, clinical eyes of hers—the kind that seem to pass straight through whatever you're trying to project on the surface—and said nothing. Even worse. I straightened instinctively, brain already running rapid diagnostics: Is something on my face? Is my hair a mess?

Any visible traces of— Wait. The mountain. The kissing. When was the last time the right side of my face was touched? My internal sirens were still screaming when Akari finally spoke. Completely serious. Zero humor.

"Hoshino."

"…What?" She was staring at the right side of my face with the focused attention of someone monitoring precision equipment for signs of imminent failure.

"There's something on your face. Right side." My entire body locked up.

"Wh—what?" Akari, expression unchanged, not even a blink:"Looks like a smudge. If you don't wipe it off before going in, it might look… unseemly." My brain went completely blank. Right side. Smudge. Unseemly. I was finished. The only possibility my short-circuiting brain could produce: lipstick. Or a lip print. Maki hadn't looked like she was wearing anything obvious today, but when you're guilty, logic is the first casualty.

I didn't even get to process did she actually have anything on before my hand shot up and started frantically scrubbing at my right cheek.

"Where?! Here?! Or here?! Wait, is it really—" I kept scrubbing, face burning hot enough to cook on, when I registered Maki going very still beside me. A short, barely audible intake of breath. I didn't dare look at her. Because if she was currently wearing a how are you this gullible expression, I was going to sink directly into the Platinum Bridge Street pavement and stay there. Then Aida broke. Not a polite laugh.

A real one—the kind you can't hold back, edged with the distinct satisfaction of someone whose trap had worked perfectly.

"My, my—" She crossed her arms, eyes curving with delight, voice dripping artificial sweetness.

"I'd say my hypothesis was completely correct." My hand froze against my face. I went rigid. Aida, wearing that refined, mature, thoroughly punchable smile, delivered the kill shot at a leisurely pace:"There was nothing there to begin with." She looked at me, visibly delighted.

"But the way you just attacked your own face like that means something definitely—" She paused. Savored it. Then finished, light as air, sharp as a blade:"—happened there, didn't it."

"…" Dead. Actually, genuinely dead this time. If the mountain had been emotional overheating, this was social annihilation. I lowered my hand in slow motion, feeling every degree of heat radiating from my skin, none of it dignified. A trap. It was a complete setup and I walked straight into it. I opened my mouth—some defense was forming, something about I just don't like dirt or it was a reflex—and then I heard a sound from beside me. Very quiet. Very brief. A laugh. I turned. Akari was laughing.

More precisely: the corners of her mouth had actually moved upward into something that technically qualified as a smile. The problem was her eyes—those perpetually flat, morgue-glass eyes that always looked like they were pre-writing everyone's obituary—hadn't changed at all. The result was deeply unsettling. Unsettling enough to be funny. Unsettling enough to be terrifying. She held that half-smile and delivered her assessment in perfect calm:"Mm. Very honest reaction." I wanted to protest.

"Akari, you—""And it was the right side," she continued with genuine analytical interest.

"You remembered exactly which one. That's not wind damage."

"…………" Stop analyzing. Please, I am begging you, stop doing forensic reconstruction in real time. Maki finally stepped in.

"Akari." Her voice was mostly steady, but I would bet my brand-new bike she was working for it.

"Do you have nothing better to do?" Akari looked at her.

"No." Perfectly calm.

"I was just passing by. Happened to see. Happened to confirm." This person was genuinely terrifying. And the worst part was she delivered it all completely deadpan, making the whole thing feel like a clinical report. Aida, having laughed herself out, stepped forward in a show of mediation—the kind that kicks you down the stairs first and then extends a hand. She looked between me and Maki, then settled into an expression that was simultaneously knowing, wicked, and don't worry, I won't let you actually die tonight.

"Alright, stop roasting yourselves on the doorstep." She clapped me on the shoulder, tone shifting to something that would've been comforting if it weren't coming from her.

"You two should go in together." Still running on pure guilt, I answered reflexively:"Wh—why together?" Aida's mouth curved.

"Because if you go in one after the other, Jess will react like someone just discovered an arms cache." She tilted her head.

"Together, it looks like you're not hiding anything. Just two people who happened to come home at the same time." … That was actually sound tactical advice. Maki clearly reached the same conclusion, because she went quiet for a moment and didn't argue. Akari added from the side:"She was complaining upstairs anyway."

"About what?" I asked before I could stop myself. Akari looked at me with complete absence of expression."'Why aren't they back yet.'" She recited it word for word, tone flat as a weather report.

"'It's not like they eloped.'""…" Perfect. Very Jess. Also very bad. Aida looked at both of us, clapped her hands together with the satisfaction of someone wrapping up a successful operation.

"Anyway, relax." She smiled like a senior about to cover for her juniors' minor crimes.

"Your love life—" She paused here. Deliberately. Watching me and Maki freeze in perfect synchronization. Then finished:"—will be under senior protection." I nearly combusted on the spot.

"Who's in a love—""No need to deny it right now." Aida's grin was complete and fully weaponized.

"That face-wiping reaction was more useful than a signed confession." I shut up. Not because I conceded. Because I realized every word I said from here was just handing them more ammunition. Maki stood beside me, still maintaining that over-composed exterior, but I knew she wasn't doing any better. Her ears had gone red again. Not faintly—obviously, stubbornly red, despite her efforts to stay neutral. Something about that made me want to laugh. Embarrassing. Dangerous. But genuinely funny.

Akari had already stepped aside, clearing a path with the air of someone performing a public service. She looked at the house, then at us, and delivered her final verdict in the flattest possible tone:"Go in quickly."

"Before Jess gets louder." She said it like filing a hazard report. I stood in front of No. 22 with my helmet in my arms, and the full absurdity hit me all at once— The kiss on the mountain was real. The ride back, thick with atmosphere that refused to dissipate, was real. And now this—standing on the doorstep while Akari ran crime scene analysis on my face and Aida announced she'd be personally safeguarding our romance—was also real. How does one evening contain this many completely different ways to die?

I took a breath and looked at Maki. She looked back. Just for a second. But there was something there—a very specific understanding that only exists between two people who've been caught together and have silently agreed: we've come this far, we're going in anyway. Accomplice energy. Unmistakable. I pushed the door open.

"Let's go." Maki answered, low. And we walked in—carrying the warmth of an evening that hadn't fully faded, the fresh embarrassment of being read so cleanly by two upperclassmen, and the guaranteed explosion of Jess waiting somewhere inside—straight through the front door of No. 22 Platinum Bridge Street.