Chapter 8
Friday. The minute hand on her watch clicked to 9:29 a.m., and Takahashi Mio had already been waiting under her parasol at the school gate for more than half an hour.
It was mid-October, supposedly almost autumn, yet the sun showed no rcy. She stood alone beneath a tree, parasol aloft, impossible to miss—especially today, when she'd gone to the trouble of perfect makeup. Passers-by kept glancing back for a second look.
Normally Mio would have pretended indifference while secretly basking in the attention, but not now.
Beads of sweat slid from her pale forehead, clumping her curled lashes until she had to blink hard to clear her vision. The golden bangs plastered to her cheeks were another problem; she dabbed them carefully with a tissue, terrified of turning into a streaky ss.
She kept her smile light and goddess-like, but in her head she'd already cursed Shiratori Seiya a few dozen tis. Any guy who couldn't show up early for a date was hopeless—utterly clueless about romance. A loveless loner for life, that jerk!
Unforgivable.
At last, when the minute hand reached six, a sedan rolled up beside her.
Beep!
The window glided down and Shiratori Seiya's face appeared.
"Get in."
He called out; Mio ducked her head and climbed into the passenger seat fast. Once inside, she stared at the immaculate interior, eyes flicking in surprise. She hadn't expected him to pick her up in a car. She swallowed the urge to ask, "Is this yours?" and instead angled her face toward him, unleashing the smile she'd rehearsed countless tis.
"Good morning, Shiratori-kun."
Seiya studied her, taking in the sweat on her temples and the damp tips of her hair. "You've been waiting long?"
"Not really."
She answered gently, shaking her head as though it were nothing. Inside she seethed: Yes, I've been waiting—if it weren't for the money I'd dump you on the spot! At least apologize, you tight-fisted...
Seiya held her gaze a mont longer. Frad by long curled lashes, her cheeks glowed pink; her eyes, pure yet gentle, seed to pull a person in. Any ordinary guy sitting this close to such a beauty would already be losing his mind. Mio had that kind of charm.
Shiratori Seiya, however, remained unmoved. He didn't buy the act for a second. Even the sweet-tempered Hojo Shione—his ex—would have sulked if kept waiting. She'd have said sothing like, "Sorry isn't enough; show you an it."
Still, since Mio's performance pleased him, he offered encouragent. "Good. Arriving early is a habit—keep it up."
"Of course~"
Mio's eyes curved into crescents, but her hands, hidden on her lap, clenched so hard her nails dug into her palms. In her head she cursed him another dozen tis.
"Fasten your seat belt."
"Um... where are we going?"
"To let you et a different version of yourself."
Seiya flashed a smile, and before she could puzzle out what he ant, he hit the gas.
———
"et a different version of yourself..."
Several hours later, Mio finally understood.
Seiya had driven straight to the largest mall in central Tokyo and led her—sure-footed as a local—up to the seventh-floor boutique. Before she even stepped inside, Mio instinctively stopped. Just standing outside, bathed in warm gold light and surrounded by understated elegance, she felt the difference.
The shops she usually visited with friends had mannequins lining the sidewalk and racks cramd with clothes. This place was the opposite: every display was painstakingly curated. Take the white sundress in front of her. To highlight its youthful charm, the designer had bathed the mannequin in soft light. Pale gold shimred over the skirt; sky-blue crystals sparkled like water drops. A faint breeze through the display window set the hem swaying, and the effect was pure, graceful youth.
One glance was enough to hook a passer-by, to make them wonder, "How would I look in that?" Etched into the crystal glass in gilt letters: Adorn your one-of-a-kind youth. The designer's signature sat in the corner.
I don't belong here.
The thought ca unbidden. She hadn't even seen the price tag, yet a wave of inferiority made her want to turn and run.
Before she could, Seiya seized her wrist and tugged her into the bright new world. A faint, crisp scent greeted them as the carved glass door swung shut. A neatly dressed saleswoman with above-average looks hurried over, smile radiant.
"Welco!"
Mio stared blankly as Seiya conversed with practiced ease. She had no idea what expression to wear; all the howork she'd done at ho was useless now. She trailed after him like a puppet, feeling the clerk's gaze sweep over her again and again. Even the saleswoman seed more refined than she was.
"May I ask your size?"
"Uh..."
Snapped out of her daze, Mio blinked. Before she could answer, Seiya spoke for her.
"Eighty-eight, sixty, eighty-eight."
The clerk flicked a glance at Seiya, then nodded and noted it down.
"Very good, thank you."
Mio's eyes widened. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she turned, trying to avoid the clerk's gaze. You jerk... when did you morize my asurents? How long have you been watching ? How much do you like , anyway?
She'd thought Haruno Reika's claim yesterday—that Seiya had a crush—was nonsense. Now she wasn't so sure. He might be a tad... obsessed.
Before she could think further, the clerk gestured toward the next display. "Right this way, sir. Miss, please try this style..."
A stream of technical praise followed: how the cut suited her, how the color complented her skin. One minute later Mio, dazzled, found herself in the fitting room.
When she erged and saw herself in the mirror, her lips curved upward so sharply an AK-47 couldn't have kept them flat. She was radiant.
Mio didn't actually enjoy changing outfits; what she loved was seeing a new version of herself. New clothes ant a new self—as simple as that.
Yet the thrill didn't last.
Before long her smile vanished, replaced by the sa dead-eyed, poker face she'd hated on Seiya two days ago. Her ankles ached, especially behind the knees. The novelty had worn off.
Seiya was insane.
From ten in the morning until one in the afternoon they'd gone store to store, trying outfit after outfit. She'd changed so many tis she was sick of it. And the worst part—he bought almost every pretty thing she tried. She'd peeked at the receipts; nothing cost less than a hundred thousand yen. The numbers made her head spin.
Takahashi Mio couldn't help thinking Shiratori Seiya had lost his mind. They'd t exactly twice, and he'd just spent the better part of a million yen on clothes—for her.
One quick ntal tally told her the morning's damage was well over a million. She winced. If he'd handed the cash straight over, she could've wiped out her debts entirely.
Still, she had to admit the man had an eye. Everything he picked fit her as if it had been cut to her asurents—casual knits, airy sundresses, even the slinky evening gowns that scread money and poise.
Youthful, sexy, gentle, regal... she tried on every possible version of herself.
In the mirror stood soone she barely recognised—so polished she startled herself. The scarlet rmaid gown clung to every curve, turning her 165-centitre fra into sothing statuesque once the stilettos were on. The dress might have been born for her.
Then her gaze snagged on the turquoise streak at the end of her blond hair. Ugly. Tacky. Even jet-black dye would've looked better than this highlight.
A wave of sha washed over her; she wanted to bolt to the restroom and hack the offending lock off with manicure scissors. Why hadn't she noticed how awful it looked before? Was her taste really that poor?
She pressed her lips together, eyes clouding.
"After lunch we'll stop by a salon," Seiya said quietly.
Mio blinked, pulled back from her spiral. She turned to find him leaning against the display wall—blue jeans, white shirt, cropped black hair. Not handso by any magazine standard, yet sohow easy to look at.
Could the guy read minds?
His face was calm, almost gentle, the sa steadiness that had bulldozed her earlier now wrapped around her like a blanket. Every worry she'd tried to hide, he'd already seen—and answered.
Had he ever had a girlfriend before? she wondered.
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