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To Leo Vance, Kato Megumi wasn't just "quiet." She was a statistical anomaly.
Her lack of presence was pathological. It wasn't the supernatural invisibility of Mai Sakurajima from Bunny Girl Senpai, where the world literally forgot you existed. It was something more grounded but infinitely more dangerous. It was like she was a walking blind spot in the universe's peripheral vision.
Leo watched her over the rim of his coffee cup. She was safe now, sitting in the warm, amber glow of the café, but the incident on the street proved just how lethal her condition could be. A car doesn't brake for a ghost.
"So, let me get this straight," Leo said, setting his cup down with a soft clink. "Is this... 'stealth mode' of yours getting worse? Or has it always been at this level?"
He needed data. If she was fading away like the protagonist in a bad sci-fi novel, his plans would need to accelerate.
Megumi looked up from her fruit tart. "It's been like this since I was a kid. I'm pretty used to it by now. It hasn't really changed—it doesn't get better, but it doesn't get worse. It's just... my baseline."
Leo nodded, leaning back in the plush leather booth. "Steady state. Good. That gives us options."
"Options?"
"Yeah. If Japanese shrines and doctors couldn't fix it, maybe we look outside the box," Leo said, offering a confident, reassuring smile. "There are methods back in the States—behavioral therapy, presence training, maybe even some obscure esoteric stuff. I'm not saying I have a magic wand, but it's always good to have a Plan B."
"Thank you, Leo-kun," Megumi said softly. Her voice was flat, devoid of the usual dramatic fluctuations of high school girls. "Whether it works or not... I appreciate you trying."
The waiter arrived with the rest of their order.
Megumi ate with a precision that bordered on mechanical. She held her small spoon like a surgical instrument, taking tiny, perfectly measured bites of the custard. She chewed slowly, her expression unreadable. It was elegant, sure, but it was also incredibly... boring. It lacked passion. It was the way someone ate when they didn't want to draw attention to the act of existing.
Leo, on the other hand, dug into his chocolate lava cake with gusto.
Before his arrival in this world, Leo had been a calorie-counter. Back in his old life, a dessert like this would have meant two hours of cardio to work off. He'd hated the feeling of being soft, of letting his body go. But now?
Now, he was something else.
The System and the Qi cultivation had turned his metabolism into a nuclear furnace. He could eat a mountain of sugar and fat, and his body would just break it down into raw energy. He felt like a Planeswalker from Dungeons & Dragons—traversing worlds, gathering power, and completely unbound by the petty limitations of mortal biology.
Planeswalker, Leo thought, savoring the rich, dark chocolate. I like that title. Hopping dimensions, looting skills, becoming a god. It beats 'Exchange Student' any day.
He wasn't just here to sightsee. He was here to conquer. But even a conqueror needed to pace himself. He was currently in the "grinding" phase—building his base, securing resources, and establishing dominance in this relatively safe world before he even thought about jumping to a more dangerous one.
"I know it sounds like a long shot," Leo said, wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth. "But don't give up on it. Different cultures view 'presence' differently. We might just need to find the right frequency."
Megumi looked at him, and for the first time, a genuine, albeit small, smile touched her lips. "You talk like you've been everywhere, Leo-kun."
"Let's just say I read a lot," he winked.
"Well... thank you. If it ever works, I'll thank you properly. But for now... this cake is really good."
She didn't get her hopes up. Hope was dangerous when you'd spent sixteen years being the background character in your own life. But sitting here with Leo—this large, vibrant American who seemed to take up enough space for both of them—she felt a little less invisible.
After the sugar rush subsided, Leo insisted on walking her home. He played the gentleman perfectly, ensuring she got to her front gate without any more surprise Yakuza encounters.
Once he saw her safely inside, he turned back toward the station, his expression shifting from "friendly classmate" to "calculating predator." Step one was complete. Megumi was safe, and she trusted him. The hook was set.
Meanwhile, at Toyonosaki Academy.
The Literature Clubroom was bathed in the dying light of the sunset. Dust motes danced in the orange beams that cut through the windows, highlighting the solitary figure in the corner.
Kasumigaoka Utaha was typing, but there was no rhythm to it. It was a staccato, angry sound—bang, bang, bang—punctuated by long, frustrated silences.
"Why isn't he here?" she muttered under her breath, her wine-red eyes glaring at the empty chair near the door where Leo had sat the day before.
If anyone from the fan club saw her now, they'd be shocked. The "Ice Queen," the untouchable beauty who looked down on the entire male population of the school, looked... resentful. She looked like a girl who had been stood up.
"Utaha-chan, it's closing time," Takashiro Rin called out from the doorway. She was holding her bag, looking sympathetic. "The janitors are coming around."
Utaha froze. She let out a long, shaky exhale through her nose.
"Fine. I'm shutting down."
She hit Save and closed the laptop with a snap that echoed in the empty room.
She was stuck. She had hit a wall in her writing that felt miles high. Koisuru Metronome was successful, yes, but it was safe. It was a romance. It was fluff. She wanted more. She wanted to write something visceral, something that grabbed the reader by the throat and didn't let go—something like the dark, epic prose she had read on Leo's screen yesterday.
She needed him.
Not for a date, not for romance—though she wouldn't deny he was easy on the eyes—but for guidance. The seniors at the publishing house were too busy to mentor her. Her editors just wanted more of the same selling points. But Leo? Leo wrote like he didn't give a damn about the rules.
"I hope he comes tomorrow," Utaha whispered to herself as she packed her bag.
She remembered the chilling, beautiful description of the villain in his draft. It had made her shiver. That was the level she wanted to reach. She wanted to leave a scar on the industry, not just a kiss mark.
"I'm not going to be just another romance author," she vowed, stepping out into the cool evening air. "I'm going to figure out his secret. Even if I have to drag it out of him."
She walked toward the school gates, her mind already racing with questions she planned to ambush him with the next time he dared to show his face.
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