Asato Hitomi noticed the change immediately. The previously languid, heat-struck Kuroha Akira had suddenly sharpened. His eyes, once dull with exhaustion, now held a glint she recognized—the precise, appraising gaze of an opportunistic businessman she'd seen in her mother's world. It was a look that could coldly quantify the worth of anything, even people.
It reminded her of her mother, but unlike that chilling assessment, Kuroha Akira's gaze didn't spark fear. She understood he was signaling for a 're-quotation,' a renegotiation of terms, but she chose to play ignorant.
"Didn't I just outline the rewards?" she said, tilting her head with feigned innocence. "For Kuroha-kun, joining the Literary Club is a fantastic opportunity! You might even experience some truly heart-pounding developments~"
"Class Monitor," he countered flatly, "I'm a realist. I don't confuse reality with a dating sim."
And even if this were a galgame, the phrase 'heart-pounding' attached to the Literary Club sounded less like romance and more like a prelude to cardiac arrest.
"That's true," she conceded with a light laugh. "After all, Kuroha-kun doesn't even blush around me. You seem… quite accustomed to interacting with girls."
"Blush?"
"It's not that I'm boasting," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise, "but very few boys can talk to me without getting flustered. And the ones who aren't nervous… usually look at me in ways that make my skin crawl."
"That's because you're very beautiful, Class Monitor."
High school boys were walking bundles of hormones. A girl of the Class Monitor's caliber was a visual feast they'd never tire of.
"Thank you for the compliment. But Kuroha-kun's gaze doesn't make me feel that way."
"Are you indirectly calling my eyes 'dead fish eyes,' Class Monitor?"
"Hehe. Actually, I really like Kuroha-kun's gaze. It feels like I'm being… appreciated. That's not flattery; it's sincere."
"I'm honored. So, Class Monitor," he pressed, slicing through the verbal sparring, "what's your offer? What are you planning to use to buy me?"
The directness of the question landed like a guillotine. Seeing the evasion tactic fail, a look of resolute determination settled on Asato Hitomi's face.
"I understand… Please wait a moment."
With that, she turned and jogged away, her uniform skirt fluttering.
Kuroha Akira stared at her retreating back, utterly baffled. Where was she going? Then, recalling his own blunt 'buy me' comment, a horrifying thought dawned. Money. Was she going to get cash? This was veering dangerously close to extortion!
"Wait, Class Monitor! I didn't mean—"
She was already gone, vanished around a corner.
Should he chase her? No… he'd just clarify when she returned.
Soon, she reappeared. But her return was nothing like her departure. She wasn't jogging. Both hands were clutching the hem of her skirt—one in front, one behind—as she shuffled forward with agonizing slowness, her steps tiny and hesitant, as if sliding across the scorching concrete.
When she finally made it back to the vending machine, Kuroha Akira noticed her face was flushed a deep crimson. From the heat? Or from… something else?
Just watching her walk was answer enough. The conclusion was so absurd his brain refused to accept it. Yet, the Class Monitor proceeded to demonstrate that a genius's thought process truly operated on a different wavelength.
With immense care, she pulled something from her pocket—a small bundle wrapped in a white handkerchief—and held it out to him. She even provided thoughtful product notes in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Um… It's very hot today, so… it might have a bit of a scent… If Kuroha-kun prefers a clean one, I can wash it and bring it tomorrow… But I've heard boys often prefer the… original fragrance…"
"Huh? Class Monitor, what are you talking about?" Kuroha Akira opted for full tactical ignorance.
She tilted her head, genuine confusion in her eyes. "Kuroha-kun… isn't 'this' what you wanted?"
...
To take, or not to take?
Was it okay to take?
This felt like a far greater crime than simple monetary extortion.
But he hadn't demanded it! This was a voluntary offering!
Had their earlier, utterly degenerate conversation about styles and settings led her to this catastrophic misunderstanding? If this got out, his status would evolve from 'gloomy weirdo' to 'legendary panty-thief pervert.'
No, wait. If it got out that these were the summer-limited, authentic, lightly-scented panties of the beautiful Class Monitor and top student Asato Hitomi… there might actually be a lucrative underground market…
"NO! Wait! Let's just forget the whole thing!"
While he was lost in this internal market analysis, Asato Hitomi had already withdrawn the handkerchief bundle, tucking it safely away.
"Why give up now? Has your maidenly shame finally made a comeback?"
"Because Kuroha-kun… you were thinking about selling them, weren't you?"
"Uh…" She'd seen right through him. Her skill in reading micro-expressions was terrifying.
"If Kuroha-kun were to… use them personally, that would be one thing. But to sell them… I'd feel too violated. So, let's forget it."
"And where exactly would you have me 'use' them…?"
"Hmm… Brew tea? Use as a face mask? A ritual component for spells?"
"Class Monitor… you're far more 'experienced' than you let on, aren't you? Sounds like you've been secretly consuming some very 'educational' materials."
"I have no idea what Kuroha-kun is implying."
"Sure, sure. If you say so."
She let out a small sigh, the flush on her cheeks finally receding a little. "It seems the heat is getting to me too, to think I could 'buy' you with something like that… Why don't you name your price instead? Anything but… that."
"Class Monitor, you've seen my situation. Don't you know what I need most right now?"
Kuroha Akira made a universal gesture—rubbing his thumb against his fingertips.
Money. Cash. Liquid assets.
I'm a student! Give me an allowance!
"Of course I know what Kuroha-kun needs."
Asato Hitomi picked up the 1000-yen note that had timed out of the vending machine and held it up between them, like a presenter showcasing a prize.
"It's just… I don't think a single thousand-yen note is enough to 'buy' someone like Kuroha-kun."
"My market value is negotiable. The higher the bid, the happier the seller."
"While I have access to more money," she said, her tone shifting, "I'd prefer to 'purchase' Kuroha-kun with something that is mine, not with funds provided by my parents."
There was a firm principle in her words. Kuroha Akira regarded her for a moment, then shrugged.
"Alright. Then no cash transactions."
His easy acceptance surprised her. She blinked. "You agreed? Just like that? I thought you'd be terribly disappointed and call off the deal."
"Can't be helped. A matter of principle, right?" It was a respectable stance. Using parental money for such transactions did feel vaguely wrong.
"I see…"
A flicker of genuine happiness crossed Asato Hitomi's face, and she smiled—a softer, less calculated one.
"Then, Kuroha-kun, what do you want? Whatever I can offer, I'm willing to trade."
As the words left her mouth, a silent, deeper question echoed in her own heart:
What else do I have to offer?
This was the quiet doubt, the persistent self-negation that had always lingered within Asato Hitomi. Stripped of her family's resources, her inherited social standing, and even her innate physical appeal… what intrinsic value did she, Asato Hitomi, truly possess?
She couldn't find the answer herself.
So, she turned to him. To the one with the same discerning, quantifying gaze as her mother, yet without the coldness.
If it's you… you should be able to see it, right?
Please, tell me.
Where does my own value lie?