"Inori, what are you thinking about? You look so absorbed!" Kurumi tugged gently at her sleeve. Inori blinked, snapping out of her daze. They were inside a music store—one that sold all sorts of instruments, records, and everything related to music.
Then she remembered—she and Kurumi were out shopping. After spending an entire month locked indoors under strict training, Inori had finally come to understand the concept of being a woman. So Kurumi had brought her out today, planning to buy her a gift.
"Inori! Do you like music? How about I give you this music robot?" Kurumi said with a grin, placing a silver-white robot in Inori's arms. The robot, equipped with basic intelligence, activated its display screen and projected the image of a songstress singing.
I come from chance...
Like a speck of dust...
Who can see my fragility...
Kurumi instantly turned red—because that song was hers.
"This song! It played six years ago, during the Lost Christmas. It resonated directly in everyone's hearts. That song protected us from the virus—it saved us all! It was the voice of an angel!" the shop owner exclaimed passionately, recommending it fervently to Inori.
Kurumi listened beside them, her face turning even redder. You're talking about me!
"Later, this video spread across the internet and was revered as a sacred hymn! Everyone said the angel lived among us!" The shopkeeper clasped his hands together and began to pray fervently, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"You're still talking about me! I'm standing right in front of you—and yet you have no idea." Kurumi narrowed her eyes with a smile, her tone filled with playful malice.
"Inori!" Out on the street, Gai Tsutsugami happened to pass by—and in an instant, he saw the figure he'd been searching for day and night. Losing all composure, he rushed madly into the music store. By coincidence, Kurumi was at the counter, paying for her purchase, and momentarily away from Inori.
Gai sprinted straight toward her and, without a word, grabbed her arm. "Mana! Come with me!"
Slap! The moment Inori heard that name, something deep within her surged. She yanked her hand free with unexpected strength and, almost instinctively, slapped Gai across the face.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped, pulling her hands to her chest, her voice trembling. "I don't know why, but when I heard that name, I just felt so angry... I hit you without thinking."
After apologizing, she hugged the music robot close and said softly, "Also, my name is Inori—not Mana."
Touching his cheek, Gai looked at her in utter confusion. What's going on...?
Tap tap tap... Armed soldiers rushed toward the store from the street. Their movements made it clear—Inori was their target.
"Run! They're here for you!" Gai shouted, grabbing her arm again. Even though none of it made sense, he chose to protect her—this girl who might be Mana.
"Let go! Kurumi-chan said I mustn't touch boys!" Inori struggled desperately, but this time, she couldn't break free. The first time had been pure coincidence.
"Hurry! They're GHQ! If you don't want your friend Kurumi-chan dragged into this, you must escape!" Gai yelled, shattering a window as he pulled Inori through it. She was dazed, her mind echoing only one thought: Don't get Kurumi-chan in trouble... I have to run...
Bullets rained around them in a storm of bangs and clatters, but strangely, not one struck them. It was as though the soldiers weren't truly trying to hit them—only to drive them away.
Tap... tap... Kurumi stepped gracefully out of the wrecked music store, a faint smile on her lips. "Inori, now isn't the time to cling together. I'll wait for you to grow stronger."
At the shop entrance stood a pale man—Major Shuichiro Keido. He was infamous for having wiped out every delinquent in Tokyo after one of them had dared to offend Kurumi. Without a doubt, he was one of her most devoted followers.
"Haruka Ouma has already injected Shu Ouma with the Void Genome. GHQ will strategically leak information about Project Crown during the pursuit of Gai Tsutsugami. Everything proceeds according to plan," Major Keido reported respectfully.
"The Crown matures, the King awakens... Humanity's fate will be decided three years from now." Kurumi's fingers brushed her twin tails as she murmured softly.
Under GHQ's pursuit, Gai would soon uncover a shocking truth—the Project Crown.
Inori was a clone of Mana Ouma—created for the sole purpose of destroying her. To protect Inori from being captured, and to reclaim the real Mana from GHQ's control, Gai Tsutsugami founded an organization: Funeral Parlor.
Over three long years of struggle, Funeral Parlor gradually grew in strength, eventually becoming so formidable that even GHQ could no longer eliminate them with ease.
Most of its members disguised themselves as students in daily life. No one knew their true identities, and this secrecy allowed Funeral Parlor to thrive in the shadows.
...
Spring, 2039—the new semester began at Tennozu First High School. Kurumi Tokisaki, too, was a student there.
On a nearly empty train, Kurumi sat quietly on a bench, watching the multifunction communicator in her hand. Her graceful, refined expression held a calm, elegant charm that drew people in.
She wore the crimson school uniform of Tennozu First High, where she had already studied for a year—and shared a class with Shu Ouma.
"Last night, Inori stole a set of Void Genome." GHQ's report flashed across her screen. Kurumi dismissed the message and instead opened a video feed of Inori's latest online performance.
Inori had become a net idol—a singer. Listening to her songs during free time had become one of Kurumi's small but cherished pleasures.
"Hey Shu, did you hear? There was a riot in District 24 last night!" came a lively voice. Kurumi glanced up slightly. Wearing the same red uniform, Ayase Shinomiya was chatting with Shu Ouma, who responded with his usual calm demeanor.
Serves him right to stay single forever. In the early days of the story, Shu's timid personality made him too agreeable, too easily swayed by others, lacking initiative. Lost in a crowd, unnoticed. Even when a girl approached him, he'd respond with cold indifference. His emotional intelligence must've been donated to the gods.
As students gathered and entered through the school gates, Kurumi's elegant face softened with a gentle smile. Being part of this vibrant campus life—attending classes punctually, studying diligently, acting as the model honor student—always filled her with a rare sense of calm joy.
Her steps were light, her shapely legs wrapped in sheer black pantyhose that shaped every line. The thin material hugged her thighs and calves, a simple part of her uniform that still drew quiet attention wherever she walked.
At the shoe lockers, countless male students cast subtle glances her way. When she opened her locker, a pile of envelopes slid out. The surrounding stares intensified. Since only Kurumi had the key, those letters must have been slipped in through the top slot, creating a puffy mound. As she opened it, a shower of heart-stickered envelopes tumbled to the floor.
"Today's Kurumi-chan is as dazzling as ever," Kurumi said to herself with a smile, quietly praising her own charm. She crouched down to gather the letters and placed them neatly into her bag.
In truth, she never read them. She simply took them home to collect—her private trophies, reminders of her own beauty and excellence. The world of a narcissist is something ordinary people will never understand.
Ding... The bell rang for class. The teacher began the daily lecture, imparting knowledge as routine. Kurumi sat gracefully at her desk, listening and taking notes.
Though the lessons were mundane, she enjoyed them nonetheless. For Kurumi, being an honor student was yet another way to showcase her charm. To her, studying itself was an act of self-admiration.
"Hey, Yahiro! The goddess is as radiant as ever today. We're so lucky to study in the same room as her!" During class, Souta excitedly messaged his friend Yahiro Samukawa through the school network.
Ever since discovering Kurumi, Souta had worshipped her as his personal goddess. Attending school punctually every day had become his greatest joy.
"Keep dreaming. You two aren't even from the same world. Kurumi's the type who walks her own path—someone completely absorbed in her own world, who never notices anyone else," Yahiro replied, probably rolling his eyes as he sent the message.
"Hey, don't ruin my mood! You're just jealous—jealous of the goddess's perfection!" Souta shot back, adding an angry emoji.
"Well, I'm not insulting her," Yahiro responded, adding an apologetic symbol. "In fact, someone that focused and self-driven is admirable. People like that naturally attract attention. I'd bet every guy in class has at least a little crush on her. Ask Shu if you don't believe me."
"Hey Shu, you like the goddess, right?"
"Idiot! Don't text me during class!" Shu blushed furiously, scribbling a reply: "Of course not!"
He paused, then scratched that out and rewrote: "It's only natural, isn't it? No one could not like Kurumi."
After sending it, Shu closed his eyes, feeling as though he had just used up all his courage. Nervously, he hid his communicator under his desk.
Shu was naive—always lost in his dreams. In them, plenty of girls liked him. But in reality, his awkward restraint always ruined things. When Ayase spoke to him, he was delighted inside—but tried to act distant and composed. He wanted to talk more, but feared she'd find him annoying. So he'd end up aloof, half pleased, half embarrassed, deluding himself that his awkwardness was charm.
Ding dong... Before long, classes ended. This time, however, Kurumi didn't go straight home. Carrying her bag, she quietly walked toward the city's abandoned quarantine zone.
Shu, having stayed behind to prepare dinner, left later—just a little too late. One step behind at the start often means a lifetime of difference in love.
Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Inori, who had never truly escaped Kurumi's gaze, would never have the chance to develop feelings for anyone else. That was the possessive dominance born from Miyu Shirase's soul—and Kurumi had accepted it completely.