Walking back to the library alongside the Class Monitor, Kuroha Akira was filled with a profound sense of closure. Starting tomorrow, he could finally bid farewell to this place. The grueling, exam-cram-style days of vocabulary grinding were over.
"Kuroha-kun looks… relieved."
"Yeah. Because I don't have to come here anymore."
"Huh? You won't be using the library?"
"I will if I need to. But not almost daily like before."
"So… Kuroha-kun isn't going to continue writing your novel?"
"Uh! How did you know…? Ah, you saw it…" Of course she had. She'd been managing the library all summer, and he was often the only patron. Besides language drills, Kuroha Akira had engaged in another, more clandestine activity in the quiet corners: writing.
Or more accurately, transcribing.
Plagiarism! The time-honored transmigrator's side hustle!
Indeed, another driving force behind his linguistic boot camp was this very plan. While Granny Kobayashi provided a roof for now, her moods were unpredictable. Securing an income stream was prudent.
As a fresh transmigrator, his options for seed capital were limited. Plagiarism was the most realistic path. He'd discovered this world's Japan had subtle divergences; many iconic works from his memory simply didn't exist. The Monogatari-series gag he'd referenced earlier? She'd genuinely never heard of it.
Though now, with his 'Talent Insight' cheat, this plagiarism plan was rapidly being relegated to 'Plan B.'
"May I read Kuroha-kun's work sometime?"
"Not yet. Maybe another time."
"Okay…" She didn't press. She understood the vulnerability of sharing one's writing.
After returning the library key to the now-empty faculty office, they found themselves back at the fateful vending machine.
"Anyway," Asato Hitomi mused, a thoughtful finger to her chin, "I think I understand how to get along with Kuroha-kun now. If I want a favor, I must prepare the corresponding 'reward' in advance. It's more… transactional than I imagined."
"Exactly. I'm the type who won't lift a finger without clear incentive. No tangible reward, no motivation." Kuroha Akira laced his fingers behind his head, watching as she fed another bill into the machine.
"But," he added, a note of genuine reflection in his voice, "talking with you today, Class Monitor, was actually enjoyable. I haven't spoken this much to anyone in ages. It was… satisfying."
"Yes, Kuroha-kun said more today than in the entire previous semester combined. After all that talking, you must be thirsty, right?" A sly glint entered her eyes. "I knew you were just waiting for this from the start."
"Hehe! Long live the Class Monitor!"
Seeing his triumphant, almost childlike grin, Asato Hitomi felt a sudden, petty surge of reluctance. Other boys would be overjoyed just to converse with her, never daring to ask for more. He only wanted to extort a drink…!
Seriously! Am I not even worth as much as a canned beverage?!
Indignation sparked within her. In a fit of pique, her finger jabbed the button for a hot drink.
Clunk!
Kuroha Akira happily crouched to retrieve his prize. The moment his fingers touched the can, his smile solidified.
He pulled it out, stared at the label, and said with deadpan disbelief, "Class Monitor… this is hot milk."
"I know."
"Did you… press the wrong button?" Who in their right mind bought a hot drink on a day like this? It was practically a heating element.
The Class Monitor pouted, a surprisingly childish expression. "Since I'm treating, shouldn't I decide what to drink?"
"…Right. The payer decides." Why is she suddenly sulking? So hard to understand… Women truly are enigmatic creatures. "What about you, Class Monitor?"
"I'm not having anything."
"Then… shall I give this to you?"
"It was bought for you."
"I don't want to drink it…"
"Since Kuroha-kun doesn't want the drink," she said, her tone shifting, "I'll compensate you with something else instead."
"Hmm?"
Without warning, Asato Hitomi closed the distance between them, leaning in so close it seemed she might embrace him. This time, Kuroha Akira didn't retreat. Past experience suggested this was another tease, not a genuine advance.
Their faces didn't touch, but their bodies did. For a fleeting second, he felt the soft, distinct pressure of her chest against him.
But before he could even process that sensation, something far more electrifying happened: the Class Monitor slid her hand directly into the pocket of his trousers.
The pockets were deep, perilously close to strategic territory. A little exploration, and she could have seized his 'Achilles' heel.' It was a blatantly suggestive maneuver.
Yet, Asato Hitomi wasn't aiming for anatomical exploration. She simply deposited something into the depths of his pocket, then withdrew her hand as quickly as she'd inserted it, her own cheeks now tinged with a faint, telltale pink.
Kuroha Akira stared at her, bewildered, then slowly reached into his own pocket to investigate.
His fingers closed around the object.
He froze.
This texture… this shape… Could it be?!
Asato Hitomi's face was now fully flushed. She fanned herself with a hand, her voice striving for a composure she clearly didn't feel. "D-Don't take it out here. I'd be… embarrassed."
"This… you really took them off?"
"Did you think my awkward walk was an act? The… emptiness was genuinely disorienting…"
"But, Class Monitor… when we walked upstairs to return the key, I was behind you. You weren't holding your skirt especially tight. If I'd lagged just a step behind, wouldn't I have…"
Seen everything?
"Yes." Her admission was a soft, breathless whisper. "The thought that Kuroha-kun might have seen… it was surprisingly thrilling. And after a while, the… ventilation is quite comfortable. There's a sense of… liberation."
Good heavens. Not only had she awakened to a deeply questionable interest with alarming speed, she was already enjoying it! Was this the terrifying adaptability of a genius? Corrupted at terminal velocity!
"This kind of secret game is terribly stimulating," she mused, a hand to her flushed cheek. "I feel like I'm becoming spoiled."
"So, handing this over is also part of some bizarre play?"
"No. This is your 'collateral,' Kuroha-kun."
"Collateral?"
"Mm. You could also call it… 'insurance.' After all, if I suddenly decided to stop bringing you bento, you'd have no recourse, would you?"
"Ah." He saw her point. Their transaction was a verbal pact, binding only on honor. She could renege at any time.
"So, as long as Kuroha-kun possesses this, I won't unilaterally break our contract. But," her eyes narrowed playfully, "you absolutely must not sell it. If you do, the bento I bring will instantly transform into dark cuisine, and I will make you eat every last bite."
"What kind of psychological warfare is that?! I won't sell it! Frankly, if anyone found out I had this, my social life would end. This is also leverage against me, isn't it?"
"Which is precisely why I'm entrusting it to you."
"Alright… it seems I have no choice but to accept custody."
"Please take good care of it. If you lose it… I won't take off another pair for you."
"Understood. I shall guard this treasure with my life."
Satisfied, Asato Hitomi smiled and nodded. Then, with deliberate slowness, she bent down to retrieve her change from the vending machine's coin return. From Kuroha Akira's vantage point, the motion offered a heart-stopping, vertiginous glimpse toward the promised land… that ultimately revealed nothing.
Damn it! She calculated the angle! She'd planned this entire teasing maneuver!
"Well then, Kuroha-kun. See you tomorrow." She straightened up, her composure magically restored. "Next time, I'll show you my casual wear."
"R-right…"
"Oh, and Kuroha-kun," she added, dropping her change into her coin purse with a soft clink. She clasped her hands behind her back and stuck out her tongue in a mischievous, girlish gesture. "I do like black… but I still prefer white."
"Huh?"
"So, unfortunately… you only got the color wrong." With a final, graceful wave, she turned and walked away, her stride confident and steady—betraying no hint of the daring situation beneath her skirt.
Long after her figure had vanished, Kuroha Akira finally pulled the still-warm fabric from his pocket. The warmth wasn't that kind of warmth; it was simply the residual heat from being held in her hand. But it was enough to set his imagination ablaze.
Because the style was exactly as he'd 'ordered': sheer, lace-trimmed, with a delicate bow…
But it was white.
"…The Class Monitor really is a contrasting character," he muttered to himself, a wry smile touching his lips.
Thus, Kuroha Akira's haul from this encounter included: four months of gourmet lunch, one piping-hot bottle of milk tea, and one pair of warm, lace-trimmed JK panties.
****
Watching Kuroha Akira's retreating back from her hiding spot around the corner, Asato Hitomi let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She pulled the handkerchief—the one she'd used to wipe his sweat—from her pocket.
After a furtive, guilty glance around to confirm she was utterly alone, she brought the cloth to her face.
She inhaled deeply, then, after a moment's hesitation, darted her tongue out for a quick, tentative taste.
A soft, satisfied sigh escaped her lips, a private smile blooming in the shadows.
"Just as I thought… my tears are less salty."