Hunger and Love

by B3TT3RC4P

Summary:

Ryuuen tasted the bitter humiliation of true defeat at the hands of someone immeasurably stronger than himself. Yet instead of breaking him, that raw and absolute fear carved something new and monstrous into his psyche. Ryuuen refused to accept the role of prey. The humiliation ignited an obsession in him, a black, roaring vow in his veins: no matter how impossible it seemed, no matter how many times he had to crawl through the dirt to get there, he would one day surpass and crush Ayanokouji. He would defeat him— by any means necessary.

Notes:

All chapters will have at least 2K words.
New chapter in a week at most.

Chapter 1: The Start

That night, Ryuuen's mind dragged him back into the darkness of his childhood, to that moment, when he killed the snake. He saw again the writhing body, the glassy, pitiless eyes, the cold-blooded stillness that had dared to threaten him. If he had seized the snake in his hands and taught it fear, shown it the agony of helplessness, would he still have chosen to crush it in the end? 

"Fuckin' stupid." He muttered under his breath, a harsh, broken sound, as he inspected the rough bandages he had wrapped around himself the night before. The wounds still burned, every slight movement slicing him with pain. Each stab of agony dragged his mind back, unwillingly, to that face, calm, cold. Ayanokouji's face.

His line of thought was pathetic, even he could see that. You only got one life, and there was no reset, no comforting do-over button to fix your failures. Some days you clawed your way to victory; other days you were smashed into the dirt. Yesterday had just been one of those days. Realistically, he'd been beaten more times than he could count, the total had to be in the triple digits by now. Yesterday wasn't even the first time Ayanokouji had wiped the floor with him.

But something about this was different. It carved deeper than any humiliation he'd faced before.

Ayanokouji's stare: cold, dissecting, inhuman. Ayanokouji's words: measured, precise, sharp. Ayanokouji's touch: mechanical, unfeeling, as if handling a lifeless object. Ayanokouji's indifference: the most merciless cruelty of all, as if Ryuuen's existence barely registered in his world. Ayanokouji, Ayanokouji, Ayanokouji …

"Achoo!"

The sudden noise of another student shattered his obsessive spiral like a thrown rock through glass, yanking him back to reality. He blinked, disoriented, registering where he actually was. At some point he'd left his room, maybe around eight, though he hadn't bothered checking the time properly, and wandered toward the school building. Even in the dead of winter, club activities droned on, routine and pointless. Ryuuen hadn't bothered with the uniform.

The one who had snapped him out of his trance was Ibuki, standing there like a startled animal, shivering violently in the cold. "You finally came."

Ryuuen didn't break his stride. He had no intention of acknowledging her presence beyond the minimal necessity. But Ibuki, ever the nuisance in his eyes, would not let things slide so easily. Panic sparked in her movements as she stumbled after him, refusing to let herself be dismissed like some background bitch. "Hey, wait a minute!" she blurted out, catching up to him with hurried steps. She reached for him, grabbing at his shoulder.

His body stiffened instantly at the unwanted contact, still hurting from the fight, and he turned on her with a glare. His patience for being manhandled was nonexistent, especially by someone he considered subordinate. "What are you doing? Don't touch me like that," he growled.

Ibuki flinched at his hostility but still held her ground. She had never wanted to be tangled in Ryuuen's affairs in the first place. She braced herself and met his scorn with cold practicality. "I don't exactly want to touch you. You foisted your phone on me, remember? I'm just giving it back," she retorted, the redness on her nose from the winter chill only sharpening the irritation in her expression. She shoved the phone at him.

He took the phone. There was something irritating about someone lingering around on his account, it felt beneath him to owe anyone anything. "You could've done this at a better time. How long have you been waiting?" 

"Who knows?"

You know how the story goes. Ibuki, the voice of reason in Ryuuen's collapse, refused to let the former tyrant slip away without a fight. She had no patience for watching someone she once feared and begrudgingly respected spiral into such a pathetic shadow of himself. He had made up his mind. He would leave the school. Get expelled. Burn everything down. In his mind, there was nothing left worth salvaging; no shred of the ruthless king he used to be. Just a shell, a monument to his own crushed ambitions. And if Ibuki thought she could rebuild that with a half-panicked appeal, she was delusional.

Ibuki knew it too. Somewhere in her scowling expression was the glimmer of reluctant understanding: he was done. Maybe that was what made her so desperate. Because for all her hate and all her resentment, she couldn't stand watching him crumble into something so pitiful. It was too lame, too meaningless, and it made her furious that he was willing to just lie down and die.

"I tolerated your tyranny. I put up with it because we had the same ultimate goal. Even when Class C got our points docked the other day, and you wouldn't tell us why, no one complained. We all believed you'd get us to Class A someday. And now you're just going to drop out? That's lame. So, lame."

She took a harsh breath, clearly struggling to steady the emotions threatening to spill out, then pressed on with one last brutal accusation. "Is there anything more pathetic?"

Ryuuen felt the weight of those words in a place he thought had long gone numb. Yet he refused to bend to it, even if his pride felt cracked around the edges. "You really gonna spin this however's most convenient for you?" he shot back.

He stopped walking then, forced by the stabbing pain that rippled through his battered body. He had to move with more care, physically weaker than he'd ever allowed himself to be. 

"Yeah, I told you good-for-nothings that if you followed me, I'd get you to Class A. That was just me dangling a carrot before your noses while I used violence to sow the seeds of fear. You do know about my contract with Class A, don't you? That was all for me. Just me. I couldn't give a shit about the rest of you." 

Her brows tightened, unable to fully hide her disbelief. "You're saying you planned to make it to A Class alone?"

"Yup. There's really no way I'd try to take you lot with me. Don't you agree?"

He had expected that to be the end of it, sure that even someone as persistent as Ibuki would recognize the futility of pressing him further. But she wasn't so easily broken.

"Eight hundred million private points," she declared.

"Huh?"

The words caught him so off guard he nearly lost his composure. Ibuki didn't hesitate to explain.

"After you tossed your phone over to me yesterday, I agonized about whether I should transfer your points to my account. But then I decided to have a look at what else was on your phone."

With a swift, almost accusing motion, she turned the screen toward him, revealing the data he had buried there. It was his plan, the long, grueling blueprint of three years, every step, every gamble.

"If you were trying to make it to Class A alone, two million points would've been enough. So why come up with a strategy that includes this number? Eight hundred million is the number of points necessary to get all of Class C up to Class A, isn't it? Though I can't imagine how we'd ever save up that many points..." Her voice trailed off, but the challenge in her eyes was clear. She refused to let him bury the truth under a convenient lie. Even if he wouldn't admit it, she could see the trace of his old resolve there, the one that, despite everything, had tried to drag all of Class C to victory rather than just himself.

Again, you know how the story goes. Ryuuen visits his homeroom teacher, Sakagami, to report his actions and try to get ahead of the fallout. Sakagami asks him to explain his vandalism of the security camera and the violent fight with Ishizaki, Albert, and Ibuki, all of which Ryuuen admits to without hesitation. When Ishizaki tries to defend himself, Ryuuen violently shuts him down, refusing to let anyone else be blamed.

At the counselor's office, Sakagami reveals that another class, Class D, had already covered the costs for repairing the destroyed camera, making Ryuuen suspicious that Ayanokouji was behind it, trying to protect Ibuki and the others. Despite this, Ryuuen insists on withdrawing from school, convinced there's no point in staying. Sakagami, however, informs him that if he withdraws, Ishizaki and Albert would also quit out of misguided loyalty, destroying the meaning of his own sacrifice. 

Realizing this, Ryuuen reluctantly cancels his withdrawal and agrees to accept a minor punishment for the damage, handing back the withdrawal form.

 

Not long after, whispers began to weave through the first-year students— threads of rumor hinting that Ryuuen Kakeru had cast aside his throne as Class C's leader. Ishizaki and the others no longer circled him like loyal hounds. That he no longer spoke to anyone, choosing instead to sink into solitary silence.

Watching him from a distance was like confronting a distorted reflection of myself, the person I had once been at the start of this strange place. It left me wondering whether Ryuuen would ever reclaim what he had let slip through his fingers.

Yet one thing rang clear within me: he and I were cut from the same cloth.

And in that, I could still find a way to use him.

 

It happened on a random night. Ryuuen lay in bed, reading The Tale of the Heike. The flickering light from his desk lamp cast long, warped shadows across the pages, as if the ancient text itself sought to claw its way out of history and into his fractured mind. The Taira rise to power through ruthless dominance, but Minamoto cannot stand it, becoming consumed by the mission to destroy them.

The Minamoto were not righteous, not noble. They were merciless. They simply refused to tolerate an enemy who would stand above them. The Taira had ruled with iron, convinced no one could break them— until they were broken.

His fingers tightened against the thin page until he almost ripped it.

No, that wasn't quite it. Minamoto at least had passion. Anger, pride, ambition. Ayanokouji had none of those. He was a void. Ryuuen could still see his expression during that humiliating defeat, eyes like winter water, clear and cold. There had been no triumph in him, no sense of righteous conquest, no joy in putting down a rival. Just methodical annihilation.

That was what made it so unforgivable.

If Ayanokouji had crushed him with hate, Ryuuen could have accepted that. You kill a snake because it threatens you. You kill your enemy because you hate him. That was a language he could understand. That was the logic he'd grown up on. But to destroy another human being without even acknowledging their existence, that was monstrous. Worse, it was inhuman.

He forced himself to keep reading, but the words blurred. His mind kept dragging him back to that moment, being pinned, powerless, with Ayanokouji's fist connecting to his face. The surgical precision of it. The mechanical calm.

Ryuuen laughed bitterly, the sound catching in his throat, raw. If Minamoto had been reborn in that uniformed monster, then what did that make him? The Taira? An arrogant warlord, crushed by fate?

No.

He refused to be the Taira.

Maybe he was down now. Maybe his kingdom had burned to ashes. But that was fine. He would pick through those ashes, claw his way back up, find the right fangs, the right venom, and strike. The Tale of the Heike ended in ruin, but Ryuuen refused to end that way. He shut the book with a snap. The noise echoed through the cheap dorm room, loud and ugly, just the way he liked it.

"Next time," he muttered under his breath, voice low and venomous, "I'll teach you what it means to feel something, Ayanokouji." And even if that meant becoming worse than the Taira, worse than a monster, he would do it without hesitation.

Ryuuen had never been the type to lurk in the shadows. Stalking was for cowards, for worms that squirmed in the dirt, too weak to face their prey head-on. And yet, here he was. He watched from corners, from windows, from stairwells. He moved like a ghost through the facility, eyes fixed on Ayanokouji. At first, he thought he'd catch him slipping, maybe in the way he spoke, maybe in the way he moved. But no. Ayanokouji was the same in private as he was in public. The same blank mask. The same dispassionate gait. His body language gave away nothing.

But Ryuuen did notice something else.

Her.

Kei Karuizawa.

Clinging like ivy around a tree, always close, always watching. She thought she was subtle, but to Ryuuen, it was like watching a bad actor fumble through a role. When she thought no one was looking, her eyes would flick toward Ayanokouji with that desperate, cloying need. When Ayanokouji moved, she moved. When he stopped, she hovered.

The girl he'd used, broken, exposed. The girl whose helplessness had been the bait that should have drawn out a normal, bleeding-heart hero. Except Ayanokouji was no hero, and yet he had come for her. Saved her. And now she clung to him like a shadow, orbiting him with trembling devotion, pretending they were subtle while anyone with eyes could see the truth. She followed every casual glance, every faint twitch of his expression. If he so much as looked away, she panicked, scurrying to keep up.

Ryuuen watched them from behind a store once, letting the wind bite at his skin as Kei leaned close to Ayanokouji, trying to tease a smile out of him. It was like watching an insect bang against a glass window, desperate to reach something on the other side that could never acknowledge it.

Ayanokouji barely responded. Gave her a gentle nod, a brief word, a quiet tolerance. Like she was a pet that needed feeding.

There was a problem with monsters. They believed they were untouchable, that nothing could pierce them. But they always made one mistake: they underestimated how far a truly desperate human would go.

So Ryuuen watched. Waited. Studied.

He would find the rock— the perfect pressure, the perfect trigger— and smash Ayanokouji's box apart. He would make him bleed, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, whatever the fuck. And if that meant throwing Karuizawa back into the pit, forcing her to scream again, forcing her to tremble, then so be it.

Romance.

People liked to wrap it in ribbons and perfume, "love," "affection," "devotion." All that pitiful theater to distract from the raw transaction beneath. In the end, it was about weakness. A need to be seen. A craving to belong to someone who might protect you, or at least tolerate your existence. He had seen it in Karuizawa's eyes. The same rotting dependence that infected so many people. Love was the softest leash of them all.

Romance was a joke. A pathetic illusion for fragile people who couldn't stand the world's cruelty alone. He had no room for that, never had. The closest thing he'd felt was the predatory rush of domination, of seeing fear, of hearing obedience, of knowing he could break someone. That was the only kind of intimacy he could believe in. Anything gentler was just camouflage.

It was dependency.

He stood outside, breath ghosting in the winter air, the night closing around him like an iron vise. His mind kept clawing back, against his will, to Ayanokouji. Again and again, that face, calm, cold, surgically indifferent, kept crashing into his thoughts like a tidal wave, unstoppable. It disgusted him. Yet he couldn't look away.

What was this? Hatred, sure. Rage, definitely. But also... Something else. An obsession that burned under his skin, clawing at him with the kind of merciless fix that felt almost romantic. He choked on that word, his lip curling. Romance? Pathetic. He had no room for romance. Romance was a tool for controlling others, a leash. He'd never believed in it for himself.

But still, if he had to put a name to this feeling, the way every breath seemed to circle back to that monster, the way his blood pounded at the thought of someday tearing him down, the way he dreamed of that perfect, monstrous face— then it felt painfully close to what other idiots called a first love.

People lost themselves in their first love. They drowned in it, thought about nothing else, let it eat them alive. He'd seen it a thousand times in other people, and laughed at them for being weak. And now, here he was, circling Ayanokouji like a moth to a flame, unable to rest, unable to sleep, unable to even breathe without remembering how it felt to be crushed under that cold, indifferent hand.

He wanted to kill him. Break him. Burn him. And at the same time, he wanted to see him. Understand him. Own him. That was love, wasn't it? A sick, twisted kind of love. The only kind Ryuuen was capable of.

Hunger . Was that the word? It couldn't have been just fear— fear alone didn't pull you toward the flame that could burn you alive. Fear made you run. But this was different, something twisted, something horribly compelling. Ryuuen felt himself being dragged, emotionally shackled, toward Ayanokouji. There was no other way to describe it: obsession. Fear might paralyze a man, but obsession drove him to act, again and again, no matter how impossible it seemed. And Ryuuen could no longer deny it: he was obsessed.

"...Ryuuen." 

Chapter 2: Jealousy

Summary:

Karuizawa had it all.

"...Ryuuen."

A soft, feminine voice, like porcelain threatening to crack, reached him without warning. Instinctively, his body tensed, a surge of fight-or-flight igniting through his limbs. He despised being taken by surprise, hated the vulnerability of it, and for a split second nearly launched himself forward, ready to snarl or strike.

But then he pivoted, and the threat vanished as quickly as it had come. Standing there was Shiina Hiyori, her expression etched with a quiet worry.

He let out a scornful scoff, masking the note of reluctant relief in his voice. "Eh? What do you want?" he snapped, though his eyes betrayed him with a trace of uncharacteristic softness. Hiyori, after all, was one of the painfully few people he deemed genuinely competent— a rare strategic asset for their class, and he'd be damned if he risked driving her away with his usual venom.

Her gaze faltered only slightly before she straightened her posture, summoning an awkward but polite determination. "Can we... talk?" she asked, voice wavering but controlled.

Ryuuen narrowed his eyes on her. "Talk? About what? You gonna lecture me, too?"

Shiina didn't shrink away, though the chill in his voice might have gutted a weaker person on the spot. Instead, she stepped closer, resolute in a way that almost impressed him. Almost. "About you leaving us," she said plainly. "The rumors are spreading. People are confused. They need to hear it from you, not from me."

"Tch." Ryuuen clicked his tongue, shifting his weight so that the dull ache of his healing ribs made itself painfully known. "Since when do I owe them anything? I already told you worms to get to Class A without me. That's all."

Her expression darkened, a rare moment of disappointment seeping through her soft features. "That's not all, Ryuuen. You took on the role of leader. You made us follow you. Now you abandon it without a second thought, and you expect no consequences?" 

He laughed. "Consequences? I'm living them. You think this," he gestured at his bruised and bandaged body, "Doesn't count?" Shiina flinched but held her ground, voice trembling just slightly. "I didn't say that. But I am saying you still have a responsibility. Whether you think so or not."

He scowled, ready to spit venom, but she pressed on, fearless in the most infuriating way.

"You're reading The Tale of the Heike again, aren't you? I saw you take it from the library." she asked. He paused. That stopped him.

Shiina took a shallow breath, then continued, her voice almost too quiet for the moment. "Taira no Munemori tries to hold on to the Imperial Prince while the Minamoto are closing in. He knows they're finished, but he won't let go, even though he's dragging the boy down with him."

Ryuuen's eyes went flat, a predator's stare. "So what? You think I'm Munemori? I'm dragging my class down, ain't it?"

Shiina met his gaze without flinching, steady and lethal in her calm. "No," she said bluntly, "you're worse." The word punched the air out of the room.

"Worse?" Ryuuen echoed, a cold smile splitting his lips. "Say that again."

"You're worse," she repeated, scared, but not enough to stop. "At least Munemori tried to save something, even if it was twisted. You're so obsessed with destroying yourself that you'd rather burn the entire class to ashes than admit you care about their future. That's worse. That's cowardice."

His rage spiked so hard it nearly split him in two, but buried somewhere in it was a sick, grudging respect. Someone willing to call him a coward to his face? Hiyori had fangs after all. He laughed, a hoarse sound. "You think you've got me figured out because you read a fucking book? Don't put yourself on my level."

"I'm not on your level," Shiina answered, voice shaking but honest. "That's why I can see what you're becoming. You're obsessed, Ryuuen. You think you can stay close to the fire without getting burned, but you're already burning."

For a moment, the silence was unbearable.

He thought of Ayanokouji's calm, unfeeling eyes. The sense of being crushed, not out of hate, but out of sheer indifference, a crime beyond reason. Shiina's words struck closer than she could have known. Worst of all, she somehow knew what had happened between him and Kiyotaka. Hiyori was observant, a bit too much. 

She went on, picking up speed, her fear overridden by logic: "That chapter reminded me of you. Munemori refused to let go because he needed to believe he was still in control. You're doing the same with Ayanokouji. You're so fixated on beating him, on tearing him apart, that you're dragging all of us down into your personal war. Even if it means destroying yourself."

Ryuuen inhaled, his chest a collapsing minefield of pain. "Maybe that's the price," he spat. "You wouldn't understand."

Shiina's eyes sharpened. "No, Ryuuen. That's a weakness. That's exactly what you used to mock other people. You're no better than Karuizawa clinging to him, you're just clinging to hate instead of love."

The room felt like it was closing in around him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he genuinely could not find a retort that would crush her outright. Shiina took one last step forward, deadly calm. "If you truly want to be stronger than him, stronger than anyone, then stop letting your obsession control you. If you leave, then leave. If you stay, then lead. But don't sit here reading about doomed warlords while you rot."

He looked at her, raw and hateful, but something in her words had sunk a hook into his brain. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible bow, voice dropping to a whisper. "That's all I wanted to say."

Shiina turned to leave, letting the silence settle. Worse than Munemori.

Coward.

December 24th— Christmas Eve. Ayanokouji had requested a meeting with Ryuuen, the deposed leader of Class C. As Ryuuen approached, he spotted Ayanokouji seated on a bench. His eyes narrowed, cold and cutting. "It's rude to ask somebody to come out so early in the mornin'," Ryuuen snapped, giving him a look sharp enough to kill.

He wasn't Class C's leader anymore, but power doesn't vanish because some title is stripped away. Authority still clung to me. He knew it, too. Ayanokouji's voice was calm. "I needed to meet you when I was sure no one else would be around."

"That's your problem. Ain't got nothin' to do with me." If he wanted to talk, he'd do it on my terms. "I thought we could make small talk," he offered.

Ryuuen laughed in his face. "That's a real funny joke for a real shitty morning."

Kakeru and Kiyotaka discussed recent events, strategies, plans, and loose ends. Before long, Manabu Horikita showed up, adding to the already tense atmosphere. As the conversation dragged on, Ryuuen's patience began to wear thin. Once it finally wrapped up, he stood, ready to leave and clear his head with a walk.

But Ayanokouji seized his sleeve, halting him. "Ryuuen. We're not finished."

"Huh? You just sent that Horikita jerkoff packing, didn't ya'?"

"Yes. But you're staying."

Ryuuen stiffened, a coil of tension winding through his shoulders as the atmosphere thickened, almost suffocating. Ayanokouji's expression was as blank and impenetrable as a sheet of ice, which only worsened Ryuuen's agitation. There was no hint, no flicker, nothing to read, and that made him furious. Predicting people was his specialty, but right now, he was utterly blind.

"...The fuck do you want?" he spat, masking unease with irritation.

Ayanokouji's reply came calmly, without so much as a twitch in his tone. "Do you still have any business with Karuizawa, Kakeru?"

Ryuuen froze, his brain tripping over the deliberate use of his first name. That was his tactic, a psychological needle meant to unsettle others and throw them off balance. But this time the tables had turned, and the knife was squarely aimed at him. He could practically feel the chill gnawing at the edges of his confidence, and he hated it.

"Why the hell are you asking me that?" Ryuuen shot back, trying, and failing, to lace his voice with menace. His tone cracked, a slip he couldn't control, making his attempt at intimidation ring hollow.

"I saw you following us," Ayanokouji replied, utterly unfazed, his voice flat as concrete. "More than once."

He might as well have been talking about the weather. There was no accusation in his tone, no disgust, just a chilling apathy that made it somehow worse. Ryuuen bristled under it, feeling like a specimen pinned beneath a microscope, every excuse already stripped away.

"Who knows?" Ryuuen snapped, forcing a smirk that felt more like a grimace. "I'd do anything to beat your ass one day, Kiyotaka." He spat out the first name like a challenge, desperate to claw back some control of the conversation.

Ayanokouji's eyes seemed to sharpen, the temperature behind them dropping by another degree.

" Anything ?" he echoed, voice deceptively calm, but carrying a weight that made Ryuuen's skin crawl. 

"...Anything." 

Ayanokouji released his grip on Ryuuen's sleeve without another word. He stood, movements precise and effortless, then turned away and walked off, leaving behind an oppressive silence that seemed to stick to Ryuuen like tar.

Ryuuen laid on his bed. The mattress felt too soft, too clean, as if mocking the bruises rotting under his skin. The faint antiseptic smell of the dorm's cheap detergent made his stomach twist. He hated it. Hated how quiet the room was, how there was no one to break the stillness except himself.

Above him, the fluorescent light buzzed like a dying insect. It felt fitting. He held up his phone again, thumb hovering over the screen, that same pathetic picture staring back at him, Karuizawa and Ayanokouji, tangled together in that stupid, clumsy, pathetic imitation of normal teenage romance.

He should have deleted it days ago. But he couldn't. Ryuuen felt the rage bubble up again, sour and poisonous, but there was nowhere to put it. He was alone. No army. No soldiers. No throne.

She had Ayanokouji's attention. The one thing Ryuuen couldn't rip from him, couldn't crack open no matter how hard he tried. Ayanokouji had shielded her, protected her, made her matter in that cold, inhuman gaze. And Ryuuen, who had pushed harder than anyone, who had thrown every ounce of his sick ambition at him, had gotten nothing. Not a shred of acknowledgment beyond being crushed like a roach.

His throat burned with a rage so bitter it nearly choked him.

Why her?

She was nothing. A trembling, shallow puppet who'd crumbled the second he'd pressed a little pressure on her. She was weak. Disposable. Yet she had the power to pull that ice-bastard's eyes toward her, even if only for a moment.

Jealousy.

It festered under his skin, foul and humiliating. He wanted that attention. Wanted Ayanokouji to see him, really see him, not as some failed thug crushed under a boot, but as a worthy rival. Someone who deserved to stand on that same stage, to take a piece of that merciless, godlike focus and twist it back. But Karuizawa had stolen that place.

He could practically hear her pathetic laughter, fluttering after Ayanokouji, clinging like ivy to the trunk of an ancient tree. Look at me. Love me. Save me.

And he did.

He'd broken her once. Destroyed every illusion she'd built around herself. But she'd survived— not because she was strong, but because he had saved her. That worthless, blank-faced monster had pulled her from the pit, and now she was chained to him like a worshipful dog.

Ryuuen squeezed his eyes shut, nails biting deep into his palms, trying to force the ugly truth out of his skull. But it was no use.

He envied her. That was the lowest he'd ever sunk, and he knew it. Jealous of a girl whose only power was her ability to beg prettily for rescue. The bile rose in his throat. Pathetic.

He let out a choked, broken laugh that cracked in the back of his throat. If Karuizawa was strong enough to bind that monster to her side, then maybe he'd been the true fool all along. Maybe he should have begged instead of fought. Crawled instead of attacked.

 

Chapter 3: Belong

Summary:

Ryuuen doesn't belong anywhere.

Notes:

WARNING:
Mention of Masturbation

Every character in this fanfiction is depicted 18+.

Christmas Day. Students were heading back to the dorms after club activities. The chances of anyone, student or teacher, passing by were slim. Ryuuen trailed Ayanokouji, who had wandered into a secluded area with that bitch Karuizawa. Not long after, Kiriyama showed up. The entire conversation revolved around Nagumo. It was relevant, useful for class strategy and revealing cracks within the student council. But Ryuuen found himself fixated on Ayanokouji's face as he spoke, cold. Every word was deliberate. Even the student council was seeking his help. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him. Everyone wanted him. 

In his ear, the words of Ayanokouji when presenting Karuizawa rang: "She's my partner." 

For reasons he couldn't fully explain, a strange tightness gripped Ryuuen's chest. It wasn't something he was used to, this creeping, irrational frustration. He had never had a real girlfriend, not in any serious sense. Sure, he'd fooled around here and there, some casual touching, moments of flirtation meant more to assert dominance than to connect. But beyond the bravado and crude remarks, he lacked the real experience he pretended to have. The truth was, he didn't understand intimacy, not really—not the kind that came from letting someone in.

So seeing Ayanokouji, of all people, with someone, having someone, stirred something bitter in him. It gnawed at his pride. The idea that someone so cold, so ruthlessly detached, could find time for relationships felt insulting. It didn't make sense. How could a guy like that, who acted like emotions were beneath him, bother with something as trivial as romance? It had to be a tactic, a manipulation. That was the only explanation that made sense in Ryuuen's mind. He must be using her, Karuizawa, just like he used everyone else. And yet, the thought of Ayanokouji sharing something private with anyone at all clawed at him more than he was willing to admit.

As the conversation wrapped up, Ryuuen kept his distance, silently shadowing them as they made their way toward the dorms. Karuizawa was talking, something about relationships, her voice light and syrupy, laced with that irritating sweetness she always carried. Cute. Innocent. Fake. It made Ryuuen's skin crawl. The whole act was nauseating, like watching a child play house with someone far too dangerous.

Then Ayanokouji stopped. He didn't follow her inside. Instead, he told her to go on ahead, and said he had something to take care of. 

Ryuuen's body reacted before his mind did, shoulders tensing, feet moving in the opposite direction. He felt caught. But lost in the spiral of his own thoughts, frustration, confusion, whatever the hell it was, Ryuuen didn't notice what was right in front of him. His face slammed straight into a metal light pole. He stumbled back with a low, irritated groan, one hand flying to his forehead. The sting was immediate, sharp, grounding. Perfect. As if he didn't already feel like a fool.

"Are you hurt?" The voice came from behind, indifferent. It slid down Ryuuen's spine like ice water. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. That tone, that complete lack of concern masked as politeness, could only belong to Ayanokouji. Of course he'd seen it. Of course he'd say something now. Ryuuen clenched his jaw, still pressing his fingers against the spot on his forehead, humiliation flaring hotter than the pain.

"No, fuck off." He barked back. 

"...It's rude to follow me around, then tell me to leave." Kiyotaka's voice was flat as always, but there was something different this time, a faint glint behind his usually dead eyes. Amusement. Just enough to make Ryuuen's skin itch. He was leaning casually against the very pole Ryuuen had just smashed his face into.

"I already said it—I'll do anythin' to catch you off guard," Ryuuen shot back, his tone defensive. "I'm just keepin' up with your info, that's all." He reached out and gave Ayanokouji a light shove off the pole. The contact was instinctual, a territorial move. He needed distance, not just physically, but from the way Ayanokouji's presence crawled under his skin. 

"You're slipping," Ayanokouji said coolly. "You used to be more composed."

"Shut up." Ryuuen's voice cracked like a whip, sharp, but there was no real weight behind it. Not enough, anyway. It sounded like deflection, because it was. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, a twitch away from throwing one, from turning this into a fight. But what would be the point? He knew better by now. Physical dominance didn't work with this guy. You couldn't shake someone who didn't care if they bled.

Still, he needed to push something.

"You pretend like you don't give a shit," Ryuuen said, his tone dipping low. "But you're always in the middle of everything. Stirrin' up shit, makin' moves behind the scenes. Always one step ahead."

He stepped in close now, invading Ayanokouji's personal space. "So what's Karuizawa, huh? Just another pawn? Another piece in your perfect little strategy?"

Something flickered in Ayanokouji's eyes. Not surprise. Not guilt. Just a brief pause, like he was calculating whether it was even worth responding. Then, he tilted his head slightly. "Would it bother you if she wasn't?" The words hit like a gut punch, not because they were threatening, but because of the way they were delivered. He knew exactly where to cut. And more importantly, he knew that Ryuuen didn't have an answer.

"Don't get cocky," Ryuuen growled, jaw tight. "You think you've got me pegged?"

"I don't need to." Ayanokouji walked past Ryuuen without even brushing him. "You already showed your hand. You're not here to gather intel. You're here because you can't stand the idea of someone making me feel something before you do." 

"Go suck a dick, Ayanokouji." He scoffed and turned his back, striding off without a second glance.

Ryuuen's class had been officially demoted to Class D, a blow that stripped away the last remnants of respect he had clawed together over the year. Whatever fear or authority he once commanded had vanished. Now, students from other classes barely looked his way without suspicion or disdain, and even within his own class, trust was a currency he had long bankrupted. His reputation, built on manipulation and brute force, had finally caught up with him. Left with no allies and nothing to prove, Ryuuen kept to himself, drifting through the halls like a ghost, no longer the predator but the pariah. And in the silence, Hiyori's words echoed endlessly in his mind.

Every class had been sent on a grand trip, one of those school-wide "bonding experiences" masked as an educational excursion. The boys and girls were split into separate dorms, a standard precaution, but one that only added to Ryuuen's irritation. He hated the lack of control, the forced proximity. Sharing a room with others wasn't just inconvenient, it was insulting. He was used to leading, not cohabiting.

Worse still, the trip wasn't just about fun. Mandatory collaboration between classes was introduced as part of the "curriculum." That's when things truly started to grate. He couldn't just ignore the rest anymore. He was being pushed to play nice, and Ryuuen didn't do "nice."

"Ryuuen. Would you care to join our team?"

He looked up.

Hirata. Always the poster boy of morality and cooperation. The polished, diplomatic face of what was now Class C's leadership.

"Oh, ho, ain't you a big shot, Hirata? Takin' me in. But it doesn't look like people are on board," said Ryuuen.

And it was true, no one wanted to end up in a group with him. Ryuuen wasn't just unpopular; he was radioactive. A walking red flag. His reputation had been scorched into the minds of every student: manipulation, intimidation, violence. He didn't just cross lines, he erased them. People whispered behind his back, avoided eye contact, shuffled away when he approached. To them, Ryuuen wasn't a classmate; he was a liability. A sociopath in uniform. And while some feared him, most simply wanted distance. Ryuuen was dangerous. And people didn't like dangerous.

That's when it became a problem—who the hell was going to take Ryuuen in?

There was a beat of silence, awkward and heavy, as students glanced at one another, none willing to volunteer. 

"Ryuuen. Join our team." It was Ayanokouji.

Heads turned instantly. Even Albert and Ishizaki froze, unsure if they'd heard right. They looked at Ryuuen with thinly veiled hesitation, silently questioning whether they should follow Ayanokouji's lead. Across the group, expressions soured. Keisei opened his mouth to object, but Hashimoto beat him to it.

"Promise you won't be too much trouble, Ryuuen."

Ryuuen smirked faintly, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Whatever. I guess I won't." The truth? He wanted in. He wasn't about to say it out loud, but working with Ayanokouji surely was attractive to him. 

As fate, or perhaps someone 's twisted sense of humor, would have it, they'd all ended up in the same dorm. That alone was enough to make things awkward. Ishizaki, stuck between loyalty and discomfort, avoided eye contact more than usual. Yahiko looked like he wanted to file a complaint with the universe, visibly tense and clearly regretting every second. And then there was Koenji, loud, eccentric, impossible to ignore. His presence irritated everyone, like a constant itch nobody could scratch.

Surprisingly, Ryuuen behaved. No threats, no games. It was unsettling in its own way, like a predator pretending to sleep. A while before mealtime, the dorm emptied. Most of the guys had gone outside, finally able to breathe away from the powder keg inside. The air was lighter without the tension dragging it down. Everyone except Kiyotaka and Kakeru.

"So... why did you invite me in?" Ryuuen finally broke the silence, curiosity disguised as indifference.

Ayanokouji didn't even look up. "You seemed lonely."

Ryuuen scoffed, a short, humorless sound that barely masked the flicker of something else, annoyance? Amusement? "Is that so?" He muttered, a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "How graceful of you." There was no gratitude in his tone—only sarcasm, laced with pride. Ryuuen didn't like being pitied. 

"You seriously need to stop following me around, Ryuuen." 

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I am not above reminding you where you belong."

Ryuuen's heart jolted, faster than he liked to admit. The words were simple, plain, even—but laced with an authority that didn't need to shout. They hit harder than a threat because they weren't one. They were a fact, calmly spoken by someone who knew he could back it up. Ryuuen should've been angry. Should've barked back, lunged, done something to reassert the dominance he used to wield like a weapon. But instead, he stood frozen, his mind blanking for a few rare seconds. No comeback. No smirk. Just silence. Worse, he felt something stir in his pants, something primal, irrational, and humiliatingly real.

"I can't wait for the day I get to destroy that cocky attitude, Kiyotaka." 

"I also can't."

With that, Ayanokouji turned and walked off, calm and unbothered, disappearing down the hall toward the dining area. No dramatic exit, no final glance, just quiet, decisive dismissal.

And just like that, Ryuuen was left standing alone.

Still.

Silent.

The air felt heavier now, like something unspoken had passed between them that neither was ready to unpack. Ryuuen stared at the empty space Ayanokouji had left behind, jaw clenched, trying to slow his heartbeat.

He didn't know what bothered him more, that he had no control over the situation, or that he didn't want to regain it.

Alone again, but this time, it wasn't by choice.

Ryuuen stood there for a moment, unmoving, then quietly got up and walked to the door. He closed it with deliberate care, locking it with a soft click. The sound was final. Confirming he was alone. No eyes. No ears. Just silence.

Only then did he let out a breath, a slow, sharp exhale like pressure being released from a valve. His composure cracked, just slightly. He dropped onto the bed, staring at nothing. Ayanokouji, Ayanokouji, Ayanokouji ... The name echoed in his skull like a curse. A puzzle he still hadn't solved. A wall he couldn't scale. No matter how many times he ran simulations in his head, no matter how much he adapted his tactics, Ayanokouji always stayed one step ahead. 

It wasn't about pride anymore. It wasn't about reputation. It was an obsession.

He needed to defeat him. Not just outplay or humiliate, destroy. Break the myth. Shatter the illusion of control that Ayanokouji wrapped himself in like armor. Even if it cost Ryuuen everything, his class, his allies, his future. That was the point of all this. His reason for still breathing inside these walls. To end Kiyotaka Ayanokouji. Once and for all.

"I am not above reminding you where you belong."

Ryuuen's hand drifted down, hovering for a moment before resting on the fabric of his pants, and unzipped them. 

 

Chapter 4: Completely

Summary:

Ayanokouji is a liar.

Within the structure of the competition, each large group is composed of several smaller groups, ranked according to their performance. The small group occupying the lowest position within its respective large group, specifically, the one whose cumulative score falls below the minimum threshold established for small groups, will face mandatory expulsion of its leader.

In such a situation, the expelled leader is granted one limited option: they may designate another member from their own small group to share the penalty, thereby ensuring that both individuals are expelled simultaneously. This is a deliberate mechanism intended to enforce accountability and amplify the consequences of failure.

The repercussions of expulsion extend beyond the individuals themselves. For every person expelled, 100 points will be subtracted from the total points of that individual's class, directly impacting the standing of the entire cohort.

However, there exists a final, costly safeguard. As an emergency measure, it is possible to purchase a "Cancellation of Expulsion" in order to save a student from removal. This reprieve requires an extraordinary payment of 20 million private points combined with 300 class points, an amount so high that it can only be considered in the direst of circumstances.

At this time, Nagumo was determined to confront and decisively settle his conflict with Manabu Horikita before the latter's impending graduation. The intergroup rivalry had reached a point of acute tension, with each move carrying heavy consequences for both leadership and alliances.

...

The cafeteria was loud in that hollow, empty way, people talking, trays clattering, but none of it reached Ryuuen in any meaningful way. He sat at the far end of one of the long tables, shoveling food onto his tray without looking at what it was. Bread, eggs, some limp salad. It didn't matter. His appetite wasn't for food. He could feel the eyes on him before he even took a seat. Former classmates, now just classmates in name, clustered together at other tables, whispering behind their hands. Some stared openly. Others looked away quickly when he caught their gaze, as if contact alone might drag them into his orbit.

Every so often, a laugh would break out at a nearby table, and it was always too sharp to be coincidence. He didn't need to hear the words to know what they were about. His fall from Class C's leader to a barely tolerated presence was the perfect breakfast entertainment. Ryuuen didn't mind being feared. Being hated was fine too. But this? This half-curious, half-pitiful gawking? That was worse. It reeked of people thinking they'd finally seen the mighty fall and didn't need to bow anymore.

He tore into a piece of bread with deliberate slowness, jaw flexing, eyes narrowed, not at anyone in particular, just enough to remind them he still had teeth. Ishizaki was a few tables over, looking like he wanted to say something but didn't have the guts. Albert didn't even glance his way. Even Ibuki, who'd never had much patience for subtlety, kept her back turned. That was fine. Let them all think he was out of the game.

Movement caught his attention in the corner of his eye, Ayanokouji, carrying his tray with the same bland expression he always wore, weaving through the crowd without bothering to acknowledge anyone. He sat down alone, as if the room had been arranged to make it so. That empty space around him wasn't from avoidance, it was respect for his boundaries. Ryuuen's lip curled. The guy didn't even have to try.

Ryuuen swallowed his bite, set down his fork, and made his decision before his brain could talk him out of it. If they were all going to watch him anyway, he might as well give them something to really talk about. He stood, tray in hand, and strolled over to Ayanokouji's table. No hesitation, no announcement. Just the scrape of his tray hitting the surface as he slid onto the bench right beside him. Close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. Ayanokouji didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't even glance his way. He just speared a piece of his breakfast with his fork, as though this intrusion was beneath notice. That was fine. Ryuuen wasn't here for a reaction, well, not yet. He reached over without asking and plucked a sausage off Ayanokouji's plate, biting into it with exaggerated slowness. Chewed. Swallowed. "Eh. Not bad," he muttered, as if reviewing a restaurant menu.

The tiniest flicker of movement crossed Ayanokouji's eyes, gone before it could settle. "You couldn't get your own?" he asked, tone flat but pointed.

Ryuuen shrugged, taking a swig from the cup sitting by Ayanokouji's tray without hesitation. "Tastes better when it's yours," he said, setting it back exactly where it had been. He could feel the room's attention sharpening on them now, whispers building. Good. Let them wonder what the hell this was.

He kept eating his own breakfast between little intrusions, swiping a piece of toast, nudging Ayanokouji's plate closer to himself, switching their cups when Ayanokouji wasn't looking. Every movement was casual, lazy, like it wasn't worth thinking about. But each was deliberate. A slow drip of irritation, a way to invade that perfect personal bubble Ayanokouji kept around himself like armor. Halfway through, Ryuuen "accidentally" let a bit of scrambled egg fall from his fork onto Ayanokouji's sleeve. He didn't apologize. He didn't even acknowledge it beyond a faint, mocking smirk. Ayanokouji brushed it off without comment, but that same imperceptible flicker passed through his eyes again.

The more they sat there, the thicker the air seemed to get, not tense in the way of two guys about to fight, but in the way of something that didn't fit neatly into the usual school gossip. People expected Ryuuen to lash out, to start trouble. Instead, he was just... there. Sitting beside the one guy everyone thought was a loner, eating his food, drinking from his cup, letting the cafeteria watch them like it was the morning's main event.

Ryuuen leaned back, stretching his legs under the table so they brushed against Ayanokouji's. "Not much of a talker, huh?" he said, voice low enough for only them to hear. "That's fine. I can do all the talking." He grinned. 

By the time breakfast wound down, most of Ayanokouji's food was gone, some of it eaten by him, but more than a little claimed by Ryuuen. The stares had only intensified. Ryuuen stood, stretching lazily, and left without a word, not even looking back. He didn't need to see Ayanokouji's face to know that every small intrusion had been cataloged, filed away for later.

The path behind the supply shed was narrow, lined with uneven stones and half-hidden by overgrown shrubs. Out here, away from the campfires and the laughter of the other students, the mountain air felt heavier, cool, damp, and laced with the smell of pine. Ayanokouji stepped into the shade of the structure, scanning the area with the same detached calm he always wore.

Kei Karuizawa was already there, arms crossed, leaning against the rough wooden wall. Her foot tapped against the dirt, rapid and impatient. "You've got some explaining to do," she said.

Ayanokouji didn't answer immediately. He never did. Instead, he looked past her, toward the sliver of forest beyond, as though the scenery might be more pressing. "This is about the cafeteria."

"Of course it's about the cafeteria!" she hissed. "Everyone saw Ryuuen sit next to you. Everyone saw him eating your food like, like you're friends or something. And you just... let him. Do you know what that looks like?"

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, not from fear of Ryuuen, but from the frustration of not knowing what Ayanokouji was thinking. Kei hated that. She hated when he did things without telling her the reason, because it meant she was stuck defending him without knowing what she was defending.

Ayanokouji stepped closer, the faint crunch of gravel under his shoes the only sound for a moment. "It looks exactly what I wanted it to look like," he said.

Kei's eyes widened. "What, you wanted to give the whole camp something to gossip about? You wanted everyone to think you're teaming up with him? That's insane!"

"Is it?" His tone was calm, almost amused. "They're already talking, but not about anything that matters. Ryuuen's the distraction. Let them waste their energy wondering what we're doing together."

She shook her head, blond hair catching the last light of the setting sun filtering through the trees. "You think I don't get it, but I do. You're planning something. You're always planning something. But you don't care how it affects me, do you?"

He cut her off, not unkindly. "Kei, you're the only one I trust."

The words hit her like a sudden gust of wind, scattering the rest of her argument before it left her mouth. Her heartbeat stumbled. "You... trust me?"

He didn't smile, didn't soften his gaze. " Completely."

For a moment, the mountain silence pressed in on them, broken only by the distant call of some unseen bird. Kei looked away, cheeks warming, though she'd deny it if asked. "You'd better be right about this," she muttered.

"I usually am," he replied, already turning to leave.

She stayed behind, leaning against the shed again, listening to his footsteps fade into the forest path. The frustration hadn't gone away, but it was tangled now with something else, something that made her want to believe him, even if it meant stepping blind into whatever game he was playing.

Ryuuen didn't hear the rest. He didn't need to. His blood was already pounding too loud in his ears, hot and ugly. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. He turned away from the shed and stalked into the trees, each step harder than the last.

By the time he stopped, his breath was coming out in white bursts. He stared at the nearest tree, a thick cedar, its bark rough and ridged under the pale moonlight. His chest heaved once, twitch, then he drove his fist into it with a snarl.

The impact jolted all the way up his arm. Bark tore away in splinters, leaving a raw patch where his knuckles had hit. Pain flared, but it wasn't enough. He hit it again. And again. Each punch landed harder, as though he could grind the frustration out of himself through sheer force.

BAM, BAM, BAM!

The thought wouldn't leave him: Completely.

He pulled back for another blow, and froze.

"You're gonna break your hand before you break that tree," a voice drawled behind him.

Ryuuen turned his head just enough to see Hashimoto leaning against a trunk a few meters away, hands in his pockets, smirking in place. His eyes flicked from Ryuuen's bloody knuckles to the dent in the bark. "Not the kind of prep I expected for tomorrow's meditation training."

"Fuck off," Ryuuen snapped. He didn't care how much it bled. Hashimoto scoffed and sauntered off.

The next morning, the crisp mountain air did nothing to cool Ryuuen's temper.

The zazen training was set up in a wide wooden hall, open to the cold air on one side, with rows of round meditation cushions lined neatly on the polished floor. The instructor, a thin man with the kind of posture that came from decades of self-discipline, explained the basics: sit still, straighten your back, breathe evenly, empty your mind.

Ryuuen sat cross-legged on the cushion, back ramrod straight, eyes half-lidded. His hands rested in his lap like he'd been told, but his thoughts were nowhere near "empty."

Instead, they looped back to the shed. To the sound of Ayanokouji's voice. To Karuizawa's reaction. To Completely.

Each inhale was tight, each exhale hotter than it should've been. The faint creak of floorboards as other students shifted in their seats sounded like fingernails on glass. The instructor's voice was a distant drone.

He tried to focus on the breathing, inhale, exhale, but the images kept forcing themselves in. Ayanokouji's blank face. Karuizawa's flushed cheeks. Hashimoto's smug scoff in the dark.

A sharp throb pulsed in his knuckles, the skin still tender from last night. The pain was supposed to ground him. It didn't. It just reminded him that no matter how hard he hit, some things didn't break.

"Stillness," the instructor's voice floated over the hall. "Let go of unnecessary thoughts."

Ryuuen almost laughed out loud. Let go? He'd been holding on so tight for so long his fingers were locked.

The minutes dragged like hours. Every small sound, someone clearing their throat, a shoe shifting, jabbed at his frayed patience. A bead of sweat slid down his temple despite the cold.

When the instructor finally clapped his hands to signal the end, Ryuuen was on his feet before the echo faded. His legs were stiff, his jaw aching from how tightly he'd kept it clenched.

He didn't wait for the others to file out. He pushed past them, out into the biting morning air, the frustration sitting heavier than before. Meditation was supposed to clear the mind. All it had done was give him a sharper view of the thing that wouldn't leave it.

And the more he thought about it, the more certain he became, something had to give. And it sure as hell wasn't going to be him.

Chapter 5: Alan Turing

Summary:

Ryuuen might be gay.

The mountain lodge was dead quiet at night, too quiet. The wind rattled the windows now and then, but otherwise, the darkness pressed down in still, muffled layers. Ryuuen lay on the futon, staring at the ceiling, his mind a restless animal pacing in a cage. He wasn't asleep. He hadn't been trying to sleep. Every creak of the floorboards out in the hallway drew his attention like a hunter hearing the brush shift in the woods. It was close to two in the morning when he caught the sound, a door sliding open, soft footfalls, slow and deliberate. Not hurried. Just moving with purpose. His eyes narrowed.

Ayanokouji.

The bastard's shadow passed under the gap between the fusuma and the floor, heading toward the hall. No hesitation in his steps. Ryuuen was already pushing himself up before the sound faded, muscles moving on instinct. He didn't bother with subtlety when he slid the door open, letting the faint chill from the corridor seep in. The air smelled faintly of cedar and old tatami. Barefoot, he followed, silent despite his size, moving at just enough distance to stay out of Ayanokouji's periphery. The dim emergency lights along the corridor painted everything in washed-out shades of blue. Each step felt stretched, heavier than it should've been.

Ayanokouji made his way down to the far end of the hall, turned a corner, and slipped into the bathroom. Ryuuen slowed, listening.

The faint murmur of voices came next. Not many words, just low tones, steady.

Manabu Horikita.

Ryuuen recognized that voice immediately. Sharp, authoritative, but never rushed. The student council president didn't wander the halls at 2 a.m. without a damn good reason. And he sure as hell didn't meet people in bathrooms unless something important was going down.

He didn't get closer. Didn't want to risk being seen. Whatever they were talking about, he wasn't about to break cover just to eavesdrop on scraps. Instead, he leaned against the cold wall, arms folded, watching the door like a predator watching a rabbit hole.

Minutes passed. The voices stopped.

The bathroom door opened.

First out was Horikita, shoulders squared, his steps unhurried. He didn't glance at Ryuuen, probably hadn't noticed him in the shadows, or maybe he didn't care. Ayanokouji followed, the same unreadable mask in place, like nothing at all had been exchanged inside.

They turned to head back toward the sleeping quarters.

That's when Ayanokouji stopped.

And looked directly at him.

Ryuuen didn't flinch, didn't move. He kept his stance loose, like this was just some coincidence. But something in Ayanokouji's gaze said he wasn't buying it. Without a word, the other boy stepped forward, closing the distance between them with quiet, measured steps.

Then, in one smooth motion, Ayanokouji's hand shot out, gripping Ryuuen's collar and shoving him back against the wall.

It wasn't a hard slam, no violence in the force, but it was precise. Controlled. Enough to trap him without giving him the satisfaction of a fight. The wall was cold at his back, the air colder still, but Ayanokouji's presence radiated a heat that seemed to fill the narrow space between them.

"You've been following me again," he said, voice calm, low. No accusation, no raised tone, just stating a fact, like reading it off a page.

Ryuuen smirked, though his pulse had kicked up a notch. "And what if I have?"

Ayanokouji's hand didn't move. His grip wasn't crushing, but it was anchored, immovable. "Why?"

The simplicity of the question scraped at Ryuuen's patience. He leaned forward just slightly, so their faces were barely a foot apart. "You think I'm gonna spill just ‘cause you pin me to a wall? Please. You're not that charming."

Ayanokouji tilted his head the smallest fraction, studying him like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. "You had no interest in the conversation. You stayed outside. That means it wasn't information you were after. So I'll ask again—why?"

The steady gaze, the even tone, it was worse than a threat. Threats, Ryuuen could bite into. This was like being dissected alive.

He let out a low laugh. "Maybe I just wanted to see what you're up to at two in the morning. Can't a guy be curious?"

"Curiosity implies distance," Ayanokouji replied, still calm, still infuriatingly composed. "You're too close for that."

The words lodged under Ryuuen's skin like splinters. His smirk didn't waver, but something in his chest tightened. "You're overthinking it, for fuck's sake."

"I don't overthink," Ayanokouji said simply. "And you don't waste your time without a reason. Not with me."

Silence stretched between them, heavy enough to make the hum of the hallway lights sound like a drill in Ryuuen's skull.

Finally, Ryuuen shoved at Ayanokouji's arm, not with all his strength, but enough to make the point. "You really wanna know why?" His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "I'm making sure you don't get too comfortable. That's it. Can't have you thinking you're untouchable."

Ayanokouji's grip loosened, but he didn't step back. His eyes didn't leave Ryuuen's, scanning for something beneath the words. "If that were true, you wouldn't be watching. You'd be acting."

Ryuuen's smirk twitched, the smallest crack. "Careful. Sounds like you're accusing me of being dick-whipped for you."

The faintest flicker crossed Ayanokouji's face, gone so quickly Ryuuen couldn't decide if he'd imagined it. "If I thought you cared, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Then, just as suddenly as he'd pinned him, Ayanokouji stepped back, the space between them widening by inches but feeling like miles. "Go back to bed, Ryuuen."

The way he said it wasn't a suggestion. Ryuuen stayed still for a moment longer, watching him turn and start down the hall. No glance back. No confirmation that the conversation had meant anything to him at all. When Ayanokouji's footsteps finally faded, Ryuuen let out a slow breath, his fingers flexing at his sides. The wall behind him still felt cold.

It should have pissed him off. Should have made him storm after the guy and pick a fight just to take back some ground. But instead, he found himself smiling, sharp, humorless.

Because for all that calm, all that control, Ayanokouji had noticed him. And that meant something.

Something worth following up on.

He pushed off from the wall, hands sliding into his pockets, and made his way back to the dorm. Every step was slow, deliberate, his mind already replaying the grip on his collar, the unshakable gaze, the way his own heartbeat had spiked against his will.

This wasn't over. Not even close. Ryuuen went back to bed.

It started like one of those cheap romance dramas Ibuki used to watch in the lounge when she thought nobody was paying attention.

Except in this one, Ryuuen was standing at the front of a church.

Not just any church, this thing was massive, ridiculous. Stained glass windows throwing rainbows across the aisle, some choir humming in the background like a bunch of angels had nothing better to do. He was wearing a suit. A suit. Black, fitted, sharp. And, somehow, it didn't feel wrong. What felt wrong was the fact that Ishizaki was at the piano, banging out the wedding march like his life depended on it.

Then the doors swung open.

Ayanokouji walked in.

Not in a tux. In a white suit. Clean, flawless, like some kind of hitman who'd decided to moonlight as a groom. His hair was neat, his steps slow and deliberate, eyes locked on Ryuuen the whole way.

The guests, half the school, apparently, were staring. Kei was crying in the front row. Manabu Horikita was standing with his arms crossed, looking like he was personally offended to be there. Even Sakagami was there, sniffling into a handkerchief.

Ryuuen wanted to laugh, wanted to tell everyone to get the hell out, but his legs stayed planted. He didn't move until Ayanokouji was standing right in front of him.

The priest, who suspiciously looked like Chabashira, cleared her throat. "Do you, Ryuuen Kakeru, take this man—"

"Yeah, whatever," Ryuuen said immediately.

"—and do you, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka—"

"Yes," Ayanokouji replied, instantly, like he'd been expecting the question his entire life.

"...to be your lawfully wedded partner, in sickness and in health—"

Ryuuen was about to cut her off again when Ayanokouji reached up and adjusted his tie. Calm, unhurried, like he was fixing a crooked chess piece. "Don't fidget," he said.

The words hit harder than they should've.

Somehow, there were rings. Ishizaki handed them over while sobbing for reasons unknown. Ryuuen shoved one onto Ayanokouji's hand without ceremony. Ayanokouji slid the other onto his finger with that same precise, surgical touch.

"You may kiss—"

Ryuuen's brain short-circuited.

The crowd was leaning forward. Even Albert was holding his breath.

Ayanokouji didn't smile. Didn't blink. Just leaned in—

Ryuuen jerked awake, eyes flying open. The dorm ceiling loomed above him in the light, faint morning light spilling through the window. His heart was pounding way too fast for something that hadn't actually happened.

"...The fuck," he muttered under his breath.

His hand twitched, brushing over his chest, then up to his mouth before he realized what he was doing. Heat was crawling up his neck, pooling in his ears. Blushing. He was blushing. Over a dream.

He shoved a hand over his face and groaned into his palm.

...

The classroom was empty, the kind of dead quiet that made every little sound bounce off the walls. Ryuuen sat slouched in the back row, one leg stretched across the aisle, a thick library book spread open in front of him.

He didn't do this often, studying for no reason. Usually, if he read anything, it was tactical. Strategy guides. History of warfare. Stuff that could give him an edge. But this assignment had been dumped on them: pick a historical figure, write about their achievements.

Most people in class picked the usual suspects. Safe, boring names.

He picked Alan Turing.

He hadn't known much about the guy at first, just some vague memory about "breaking codes in World War II." But the more he read, the more it caught him, this one man, thinking faster than entire armies, dismantling the supposedly unbreakable Enigma machine. Without him, the war could've dragged on for years, maybe even ended differently. The dude was a genius. Not in the "get good grades" way. Real genius. Strategic, ruthless in his own way.

Ryuuen respected that.

What he hadn't expected, what the book slid in almost casually, was that Turing had been gay.

Ryuuen had read the line twice, brow furrowing. Not because it shocked him, he'd known plenty of guys at this school whispered about liking other guys, but because it didn't fit the lazy stereotypes people threw around.

Gay, in his head, had always been shoved into one box: weak, soft, easy to push over. Not the type of person who could outthink entire war machines and make the Nazis look like idiots. And yet, here was Turing, cool as hell, sharp as a blade, and gay.

He leaned back in the chair, eyes fixed on the page.

It wasn't just that Turing had been brilliant. It was that he'd been punished for it. For who he was. The chemical castration, the way the government threw him away after he'd saved their asses, that part sat like a lump in Ryuuen's gut. 

Ryuuen tapped the end of his pen against the desk, his thoughts starting to wander in directions he didn't usually let them.

If someone like Turing could be gay, then maybe all that crap people said, about it being some kind of weakness, was bullshit. Maybe it was just another trait, like being left-handed or liking coffee black.

He frowned, glancing toward the door as if someone might walk in and catch him thinking about this. It was ridiculous. No one cared what was in his head.

But the question stuck anyway.

What about me?

The idea had never seriously crossed his mind before. Girls? Sure. He'd hooked up a couple times, kissed a few for the hell of it, more out of boredom or to prove a point than any real pull. But guys? He couldn't remember ever letting himself think about it long enough to have an answer.

Except…

His jaw tightened. Except maybe he'd been thinking about it all along, just not in the way most people would. Ayanokouji's face drifted into his head uninvited. That cold, blank look. The way Ryuuen's blood always ran hotter when they were toe-to-toe. The way his stomach had dropped when Ayanokouji grabbed his collar the other night. That wasn't normal irritation, it was something sharper, stranger.

He shook his head, scoffing under his breath. "Pathetic."

And yet, the thought wouldn't leave. If someone asked him right now whether he liked guys, he wouldn't have a clean answer. He didn't like the idea of being labeled anything, didn't like giving people something to hold over him. But ignoring the question felt cowardly.

Maybe Turing hadn't cared about that part, maybe he'd just lived. Done what he wanted. Been who he was, even if the world punished him for it.

Ryuuen closed the book.

Chapter 6: Useful

Summary:

Ryuuen is useful.

The steam curled like a veil across the bathhouse, blurring the world into shifting silhouettes. Ayanokouji stepped inside quietly, the faint echo of water lapping against tile the only greeting. The warmth seeped into his skin, loosening the rigid lines of his body in a way that felt almost foreign. For once, there were no voices, no eyes watching, no constant hum of human chatter.

Except one.

Ryuuen.

He sat at the far end, his figure half-shrouded by steam, shoulders hunched like a beast crouched low in the underbrush. His back was broad, bruises visible even under the hazy light, his scars fresh reminders of his endless brawls. He hadn't noticed Ayanokouji yet, or maybe he had and was pretending not to. 

Ayanokouji lowered himself into the water without a word, the sound of the surface breaking quiet but sharp. Ripples spread across the pool, lapping gently against Ryuuen's side. They stayed like that. The silence didn't bother Ayanokouji. He had been born in silence, raised in it, molded by it. White walls, fluorescent light, the sterile hum of a world designed to strip a person of everything but survival. The White Room hadn't been built for noise. It had been built for results. Children broken down, rebuilt as tools, perfected until they couldn't remember what it was like to be human.

He remembered those long hours with his body submerged in freezing water, skin numb, breath shallow, forced to hold on until the edges of consciousness blurred. To falter was to fail. To fail was to be discarded. And so he endured, again and again, until the pain dulled into nothing. Until he no longer felt cold, or heat, or fear.

Now, sitting in this bathhouse, steam wrapping around him, the contrast was jarring. Warmth felt alien. Comfort was suspicious. His gaze shifted subtly to Ryuuen, who sat there like a coiled spring ready to snap. Obsession radiated off him in waves, visible even through the fog.

Why? Why him?

Ryuuen's fixation wasn't the usual hunger for power, or victory, or even revenge. It was personal. Twisted. The kind of obsession that ate at a man's insides until nothing else remained. Ayanokouji could feel the weight of Ryuuen's stare on his skin even when the other boy didn't look directly at him.

He thought back to Karuizawa. To how easily Ryuuen had broken her mask of confidence, dragging her screaming. And yet now, the same boy who had reveled in her terror circled him with the same kind of desperate need. Ryuuen wanted something from him, something even he couldn't name. Was it acknowledgment? Fear? Respect?

It didn't matter. In the end, it was just another lever to pull.

The silence stretched until it began to feel brittle, fragile enough to snap at the slightest touch. And snap it did.

Ryuuen moved suddenly, the water exploding around him as he lunged forward. His hand cut through the steam, aiming for Ayanokouji's throat.

But Ayanokouji had lived in a world where hesitation meant death. His body reacted before thought could form. He caught Ryuuen's wrist mid-swing, the force of it reverberating through the hot water, and twisted. In the same fluid motion, he drove him backward, pinning him hard against the smooth tile wall of the bathhouse.

The slap of wet skin against the stone echoed sharply.

Ayanokouji's grip was precise, not crushing but unyielding. His face hovered inches from Ryuuen's, the heat of the bath mingling with the warmth of their breath. Steam curled between them, distorting the air.

Ryuuen snarled, muscles straining, but there was no give in Ayanokouji's hold. The beast was caged, the venomous snake pressed to the floor. Ayanokouji felt it then, his heart, betraying him with the faintest acceleration. A stutter in its rhythm, quick, sharp. He registered it clinically, the way he would note a shift in temperature or the sound of footsteps approaching. Unusual. Unexpectedly. But they're all the same.

Ryuuen's eyes burned with that same hunger, the madness that had driven him to stalk, to obsess, to keep coming back no matter how many times he was crushed. It wasn't hate, not really. Not only hate. There was something else in it, something primal, messy, human.

And Ayanokouji understood.

Not because he felt it too, but because he could see it for what it was: utility. Obsession made people predictable. Predictability made them useful. A tool honed sharp enough could cut down anyone, even if the hand that wielded it wasn't the one it belonged to.

"Bitch." Ryuuen growled.

In the White Room, they had taught him that everything had value. Pain had value. Fear had value. Even broken things could be repurposed. And Ryuuen—obsessed, relentless, unwilling to stop no matter how many times he failed, wasn't broken. Not yet.

He was raw material.

Ayanokouji loosened his grip just slightly, enough to let Ryuuen breathe without freedom, enough to remind him who dictated the rhythm here. His heart slowed again, steadying back into its usual calm.

Ryuuen wasn't a rival. He wasn't an equal. He was a tool waiting to be sharpened.

Ayanokouji's gaze didn't waver as he finally spoke, voice calm, flat, almost gentle. "You'll keep coming back. That's what makes you useful."

Ryuuen's lips curled into a feral grin, even as his body trembled with frustration, or maybe something darker. "Ya' think you've got me on a leash, eh?"

"No," Ayanokouji replied, releasing him and stepping back into the steam. "I don't need a leash. You'll follow anyway."

He turned, water swirling around him as he walked away, leaving Ryuuen pinned not by his hands anymore, but by the weight of those words.

Behind him, the silence settled again. But it was no longer the silence of emptiness. It was the silence of inevitability.

And in that silence, Ayanokouji knew: Ryuuen Kakeru would keep clawing, keep chasing, keep burning himself alive on the flame he couldn't reach.

Which made him perfect.

A good tool.

The bus ride back from the mountain camp had been suffocating. Not because of the cramped seats or the dull chatter of exhausted classmates, but because silence weighed heavier on Ryuuen than anything else. Every so often, a laugh rippled through the rows, the sound stabbing at him like knives. He could feel their eyes flicking his way. A fallen tyrant wasn't invisible, he was a target, waiting for someone bold enough to pull the trigger.

By the time the dorm lights welcomed them back, Ryuuen's body felt like a husk dragged behind him. The others scattered, heading for showers, food, or cliques. He didn't linger. No reason to. No allies waiting for him, no lackeys trailing in his shadow. He pushed through the hallway without a word, ignoring the few stares that followed, and let himself into his room.

The door clicked shut. For a moment, the quiet almost felt like mercy. He kicked off his shoes, stripped off his jacket, and dropped onto the bed with a groan, muscles still tight from the sleepless nights of camp. The sheets smelled faintly of detergent, too clean, too sterile. He hated it. It reminded him of hospitals, of cages.

He lay there in the dark, eyes half-lidded, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the building pressed in. His knuckles still ached from the cedar tree he'd pummeled days earlier, scabs cracking when he flexed his fingers. He thought of the bathhouse, of Ayanokouji's grip on his collar, of that calm voice labeling him useful . The word echoed in his skull, sour and electric all at once.

Useful.
Like a tool .
Like a weapon .

Like an animal kept in the corner until its fangs were needed.

His lips twisted into a bitter grin. If Ayanokouji thought he could leash him with words, he was half right and half delusional. Ryuuen would follow, sure, but only until he found the perfect chance to sink his teeth in and flip the script.

The creak of floorboards snapped him out of the spiral. He turned his head sharply, instincts sparking, as the faintest knock rattled his door. Not enough to wake the whole hall. Just enough for him.

He sat up slowly, suspicion tightening his chest. Nobody visited him anymore. Not unless they had a death wish or a reason. He didn't answer immediately. The knock came again, firmer this time.

"Tch. What now?" he muttered, dragging himself to the door and yanking it open.

Ibuki stood there. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Her scowl deepened the second she saw him.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ryuuen asked flatly, blocking the doorway with his body.

"Move," she snapped, shoving past him without waiting for permission. He let her, if only because his ribs still protested against unnecessary fights. She stopped in the middle of the room, glaring at the mess, books tossed across the desk, clothes left crumpled, the faint stink of sweat clinging to the air.

"Still living like trash, I see," she muttered.

Ryuuen dropped back onto the bed, smirking up at her like she was some stray dog that wandered into his den. "If you came here to complain about my housekeeping, you can leave now."

She didn't leave. Instead, she planted her hands on her hips, tilting her head with that infuriatingly sharp look that had always cut closer than she deserved. "I came here to tell you something before it's too late."

That piqued him, though he didn't show it. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "Go on. Entertain me."

Her voice dropped, quieter now, though no less firm. "They're planning to get rid of you."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Ryuuen chuckled low in his throat, amused more than surprised. "Who's they ? Be specific. Half the school's been dreaming of that since day one."

"I'm not joking," Ibuki snapped. She stepped closer, jabbing a finger at him. "Our class. Class D now, thanks to you. They've had enough. You've got no followers, no authority, nothing. And after what happened during the camp, people realized they don't need you anymore. Some of them are already talking about pushing you out for good."

His eyes narrowed. Not furious. "So they think they can cut me loose and climb up the ladder without me? Cute."

"This isn't cute," Ibuki hissed. "If you don't do something, they'll vote you out at the next chance. You'll be expelled. Gone. End of story."

He smirked again, though the edge in his gaze sharpened. "Expelled, huh? That's their master plan? You think I haven't heard that threat before?"

Ibuki's frustration cracked into something closer to desperation. "You don't get it. They want you gone so they can rebuild without you dragging them down. And this time, no one's gonna stop them. Not Ishizaki, not Albert, not even me."

Her words hit harder than he'd admit. Not because he feared expulsion, he'd stared down that barrel before—but because the image of his own class turning on him carried a different sting. He'd ruled them once. Commanded them through fear, violence, manipulation. And now, they were ready to bite the hand that had dragged them through hell.

Ryuuen laughed suddenly, the sound harsh, cutting. He tilted his head back against the wall, eyes half-shut. "Let ‘em try. They don't got the guts."

"They do," Ibuki shot back, voice sharp as a blade. "Because you've lost yours."

The room went still.

His eyes snapped open, glare locking onto her with venom. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," she spat. "The old Ryuuen would've already crushed this. Would've shut them up before they even whispered. Now? You're just lying here in the dark, waiting for them to make the first move. That's not a leader. That's not even a threat. That's pathetic."

Her words echoed Shiina's from the camp. Coward. Worse than Munemori. They bit into him, jagged and raw, twisting in his chest like knives.

He rose from the bed, slow, deliberate, closing the distance between them. His shadow fell across her, heavy with the weight of his presence, the old menace flaring for the first time in weeks. "Careful, Ibuki," he growled. "You keep talking like that, I might remember why people used to shut up when I looked their way."

She didn't flinch. Didn't back down. Her eyes met his with the same cold fire as always. "Then remember. Because if you don't, you're finished. And don't expect me to save you when it happens."

For a moment, neither moved. Just silence, thick and electric.

Finally, Ryuuen leaned back, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. Still annoying as hell, though."

Ibuki rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply. "You can laugh all you want. Just don't say I didn't warn you." She turned on her heel, heading for the door.

As she slid it open, she glanced back one last time, her voice quieter but sharper than before. "Decide what you're gonna be, Ryuuen. Dead weight, or someone worth fearing again."

The door shut.

Ryuuen stood in the dim room, fists clenched at his sides. The silence pressed in again, heavier than before. His reflection in the dark window stared back at him, hollow-eyed, smirking faintly as if daring him to answer the question she'd left behind.

The night air outside the dorm was thick with humidity, the kind that clung to skin and turned every breath into a slow drag. Down the path, a boy and a girl walked side by side, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Their laughter carried through the quiet courtyard, light and cloying. The girl tilted her head up at him with shining eyes, and he leaned down, whispering something that made her giggle again.

Ryuuen sneered, the smoke curling from his lips.

Pathetic .

He'd seen it a hundred times, a thousand. Boys tripping over themselves for some girl who wasn't even worth the spit they wasted. All soft smiles and "cute" gestures, like lapdogs begging for scraps. Girls knew it, too—knew exactly how to pull the strings, get what they wanted, then toss the idiot aside when the next toy showed up.

Love? What a joke. Nothing but leverage disguised as sweetness. A leash tied with perfume instead of rope.

He ground his teeth, the sound of their voices scraping across his nerves.

And the flip side was no better. He'd seen the other kind of couple before—two guys clinging to each other like they had something to prove, like shoving their faces together in public made them rebels. As if being disgusting in a different way suddenly meant they weren't slaves to the same rotten game.

Weak.

The world was full of chains: girls tightening them around men's throats, boys willingly slipping them over their own heads, idiots convincing themselves it was freedom. No one saw it for what it was. No one except him.

Women, men, it didn't matter. They were distractions. Tools at best, liabilities at worst. Get too close and you are finished. You'd end up like those clowns giggling down the walkway, oblivious to the knife already hovering over their necks.

Ryuuen scoffed, flicking ash off the edge of the railing.

And yet—

The image slid into his head without warning, unwelcome as always. Not the girl's smile, not the boy's arm draped over her shoulder. But another face entirely. Calm eyes. Expression unreadable. A voice that cut through silence with a single word.

Ayanokouji.

The name itself had weight, an irritation that sank deep under his skin. He hated that it kept surfacing, hated that his mind returned there no matter how far he tried to push it. It wasn't a weakness, he told himself. It wasn't an obsession. It was a strategy. Fixating on an opponent, dissecting every move, every breath, that was survival. That was power.

Still, when the couple disappeared into the distance and their laughter finally died, it wasn't relief that lingered. It was that face. Those eyes. That voice, calling him useful.

"Useful, huh."

Chapter 7: Mean It

Summary:

He says his first name.

Notes:

WARNING !
MENTION OF PORN !

The announcement of the exam had turned the classroom into a coffin, silent except for the shuffle of pens and the faint buzz of the overhead lights. Sakagami stood at the front, his stiff posture betraying not an ounce of sympathy. He'd laid down the rules like they were commandments from above, not subject to argument, not softened by explanation.

Praise votes. Criticism votes. Protection point for the favorite. Expulsion for the least.

Four days.

The air was toxic.

Ryuuen slouched back in his seat, one arm thrown over the chair, his eyes half-lidded as though none of it mattered. Maybe it didn't. Not anymore. He could feel the stares, the weight of thirty knives pointed straight at him. Ishizaki wouldn't meet his eye. Albert, stone-faced as ever, sat stiff like a guard dog that had lost its master's leash. Ibuki, though, her glare was sharp as broken glass, not because she hated him but because she hated what he was becoming.

Sakagami's voice droned on about procedure, fairness, and penalties for fraud. None of it mattered. Ryuuen already knew how the numbers would fall. He'd been public enemy number one since the day he lost to Ayanokouji. Now, stripped of his throne, he wasn't just hated, he was useless. And a useless tyrant was a liability.

He smirked, letting his eyes drift shut. If the whole class wanted him gone, fine. Let them. But if this was going to be his last game, he'd play it his way.

Lunch break split the tension for a while. The classroom emptied in a rush of relief, students scattering into smaller groups where they could whisper without fear of being overheard. Ibuki didn't leave. Neither did Ishizaki. They lingered by the windows, voices low but not low enough.

"This is it," Ibuki said flatly. "They're all going to pile their votes on him. He'll be out before the week's over."

Ishizaki shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, but... If Ryuuen's gone, then what? You really think this class is gonna pull itself together? We'll be screwed. Even if he's an ass, he's still the only one who ever made us fight back."

"Fight back?" Ibuki snapped, crossing her arms. "Fight and lose. Over and over. He dragged us down more times than he pulled us up."

Her voice softened, barely. "But..."

She glanced toward the back row where Ryuuen lounged with his eyes closed, looking half asleep. "But it's worse watching him rot like this."

Ishizaki leaned closer, whispering now. "If he really doesn't care, we should at least get his points before he goes. No sense letting all those millions go to waste. With that much, at least someone could save themselves."

Ibuki didn't answer right away. She hated that he was right. Ryuuen's private account was a treasure chest, untouched, unreachable unless he willed it. If he went down without passing it on, Class D would lose more than just its former tyrant. They'd lose their one shot at a future.

She clenched her fists. "Then maybe we make him care."

...

The hallway was quiet when Ryuuen finally pulled out his phone. He leaned against the lockers, thumbing lazily through the screen until the message app blinked open. No hesitation. His fingers moved fast, deliberately.

Meet me tomorrow. Keyaki Mall. Back lot. 9 p.m.

He didn't bother with context. Didn't sign it. Ayanokouji would know who it was from.

For a second, Ryuuen stared at the message, his reflection faint in the dark glass of the screen. What was he even doing? Begging for attention like some lovesick idiot? No—this wasn't romance. This was war. His last chance to make that bastard feel something before the axe fell.

Still, his thumb hovered over the screen longer than it should have before he finally pocketed the phone.

...

That night, the dorm was suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that pressed in from every wall and ceiling, heavy enough to make the hum of the laptop fan sound deafening. He sat hunched at the edge of his bed, screen glow washing his face in cold blue light. His fingers moved without care, scrolling, clicking, cycling through one site after another. Flesh in motion. Curves bending. Voices spilling out in broken moans through cheap speakers that distorted every sound into static.

SEXY WOMEN IN YOUR AREA!

He waited for it. The rush. The familiar spark that used to burn fast and hot, simple, uncomplicated. It didn't come. His eyes followed the bodies, his ears took in the noises, but nothing lit up inside him. The more he searched for that flicker, the more it slipped further out of reach.

His jaw locked. He snapped the laptop shut, the crack of plastic against plastic cutting through the stillness like a gunshot. The silence that followed wasn't relief, it roared, filling the room, amplifying every shallow breath he dragged in. His chest felt constricted, like someone had tied a rope tight around his ribs and was pulling harder by the second.

He knew the reason. He hated that he knew. Hated it so much he wanted to smash the laptop against the wall, to destroy the evidence that he even bothered trying. Because every time he sought escape, every time he thought he could lose himself in easy, faceless pleasure, another face cut through it. Those eyes, void of warmth. That voice, flat as stone. That grip, fingers curled in his collar like chains he couldn't break.

" Pathetic ." The word tore out of him, low and raw, as he dragged a hand down his face.

He wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to stumble over something as basic as desire. Girls had never been a problem, he'd taken them, held them, proven himself through them. Their softness had been a weapon in his hand, and he wielded it. But wanting? That gnawing ache that kept him restless, that drove him now? No. Not for them. Never for them.

It made his stomach twist, sick with the thought. Was it an attraction? Hatred? Obsession? Whatever label fit, it didn't matter. The truth was simpler, crueler: porn didn't work anymore. Nothing did. Nothing, unless it was tied to that unshakable presence, unless it wore those unreadable eyes, that calculated silence. Unless it was him.

The mattress caught him when he let himself fall back, fists clenched at his sides, muscles tense like he was bracing for impact. The ceiling blurred above him, pale in the dim light, while the clock ticked steadily from across the room. Each second counted down toward the next test, the next trap, the next pull deeper into the pit.

Day one, and already the walls were shrinking.

But he had tomorrow. Tomorrow night, behind Keyaki Mall, where shadows were thick and masks could drop. Tomorrow he'd find out. He'd see if Ayanokouji could crack, just once, if he could force that monster into showing even the tiniest fracture.

...

The mall after hours was nothing like the noisy bustle of daylight. By nine, the shops had shuttered, their glass fronts throwing back warped reflections under the sterile glow of the streetlamps. The back lot was quieter still, the hum of vending machines and the occasional chirp of a distant insect the only sounds left.

Ryuuen stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, leaning against a wall as though he owned the place. His breath smoked faintly in the cool air. He wasn't nervous, not outwardly. Inside was another matter. His chest was tight, a slow burn eating at him from the inside out.

He'd sent the message without thinking it through. That was his style: reckless, immediate, consequences be damned. But now, with the minutes dragging, he couldn't stop the question from gnawing at him. What was he trying to prove? That he still mattered? That he could still get under Ayanokouji's skin? Or was it something worse—something he didn't want to admit, not even to himself?

Footsteps.

They were soft, measured, so quiet he almost thought he'd imagined them. But when he lifted his head, Ayanokouji was there. Just like that.

The bastard walked into the lamplight like he'd been there all along, the same deadpan expression plastered across his face, hands in his pockets, no rush, no hesitation.

"You came," Ryuuen said, a smirk curling his lips. "Didn't think you'd actually bother."

"You asked," Ayanokouji replied. His voice was flat, neutral. Not hostile, not curious—just... there.

That tone irritated Ryuuen more than any insult could. He wanted a spark, a reaction. Instead, Ayanokouji gave him nothing.

"Figures. You've got that look, like a guy who can't resist when someone pokes at him." Ryuuen pushed himself off the wall, swaggering forward with all the confidence he could muster. He circled, sizing him up the way he used to before a fight. "So? What do you think? About this whole exam bullshit. About me."

"I think," Ayanokouji said, eyes tracking him lazily, "that you're wasting your time."

That stung more than it should have. Ryuuen barked a laugh, covering it. "Hah. You always talk like you're two steps above the rest of us. Like nothing touches you."

"Does it bother you?"

The question landed like a sucker punch. Ryuuen's grin faltered for a second before he snapped it back in place. "Bother me? Please. I just like watching the cracks show. And you've got them, no matter how calm you act."

He closed the gap, just enough that their shoulders brushed when he leaned in. "Maybe I'll be the one to pull them open."

Ayanokouji didn't move away. His expression didn't even shift. "Is that what this is? Another attempt at intimidation? Or something else?"

The words twisted something deep in Ryuuen's gut. Something dangerous.

He grinned wider, reckless now. "Maybe I'm bored of intimidation. Maybe I wanted to see what else you respond to."

His hand shot out, quick and casual, gripping Ayanokouji's collar just like before. But this time, instead of dragging him into a fight, Ryuuen leaned closer, his breath brushing the other boy's cheek.

"You ever wonder, Ayanokouji? What would it be like if we weren't enemies? If I treated you a little... differently?"

It was a gamble. A stupid one. His heart was hammering like he was about to throw a punch, but his body was betraying him, moving closer instead of pulling back.

Ayanokouji's eyes met his, steady, unblinking. "You mean flirting?"

Ryuuen froze. Just for a heartbeat. The word was too sharp, too direct, cutting past his bravado. He recovered fast, forcing a laugh that came out rougher than intended. "Call it whatever you want. Guess I'm curious how the unshakable genius handles a little pressure that isn't from fists."

For the first time, Ayanokouji tilted his head, the faintest shadow of interest flickering across his otherwise blank mask. His lips quivered, not even close to a smile, but something close enough to make Ryuuen's throat dry.

"Interesting approach," Ayanokouji said softly. "You're not bad at it."

The words hit harder than any strike. Ryuuen felt heat rush to his face, sudden and uncontrollable. He let go of the collar instantly, stumbling back a step as though burned.

"The hell—" He cursed under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets again, trying to steady himself. He hadn't expected that. Not even close.

Ayanokouji's gaze followed him, calm, unreadable, but with that same faint trace of amusement, or was it curiosity? It was impossible to tell, and that uncertainty gnawed at Ryuuen worse than silence.

"You're running away," Ayanokouji observed.

"Shut the fuck up." Ryuuen snapped, harsher than he meant to. His smirk was gone now, his composure cracking in ways he couldn't stop. He turned on his heel, shoulders tight.

"Kakeru."

The sound of his first name stopped him cold. Ayanokouji never used it, and hearing it spoken like that, quiet, steady, sent another jolt through his chest.

Ryuuen didn't turn back. He couldn't. If he saw that face again, he'd lose what little grip he still had.

"Don't show up unless you mean it," Ayanokouji said. "Next time, decide what you're really after."

Chapter 8: Need You

Summary:

Ryuuen confesses something.

Notes:

Smut is planned for next chapter.
Reminder that they are being portrayed as 18+.

Ryuuen Kakeru woke later than usual, dragging himself out of a sleep that hadn't really been rest. Suspension was supposed to feel like freedom, a vacation from responsibility, an open stretch of time where he could do whatever the hell he wanted. But freedom without purpose was just a different kind of cage. No idiots to shout down, no weaklings to threaten into obedience, no buzzing classroom tension to gnaw on. Just silence. Silence, and the sound of his own thoughts hissing back at him like snakes in a pit.

"Ugh," he rasped, voice low and hoarse. He pushed himself upright, sheets clinging to his sweat-stained skin. "Three days in and you're still acting like some caged bitch."

The room stank faintly of old sweat and sour fabric, the air heavy and stale. Every time he blinked, the same face rose up: that damn snake-eyed bastard, Ayanokouji. The thought alone made Ryuuen snort. 

"You're sick," he muttered. "Rotten. What kind of man wastes his time dreamin' about another man like that?"

The next word he hurled at himself was sharp, ugly, a weaponized insult he'd used on others a hundred times before. Now he aimed it inward, beating it against his ribs like a hammer. Again, again, each repetition hitting like a punch he couldn't dodge. He thought maybe if he said it enough, he'd grind the weakness out of himself.

But the opposite happened. The more he said it, the more true it sounded.

Knuckles popped as he clenched his fists, shoulders trembling. "You ain't that. You ain't—" He choked on the denial, because behind his eyes Ayanokouji's face waited, calm and expressionless, gazing down at him like he wasn't even worth hating. Like he was just noise.

Ryuuen barked out a laugh, harsh and cracked. "What a joke. You're supposed to be king of the hill, and here you are sweatin' over some boy's stare. You're lower than dirt."

He staggered into the shower, twisting the knob until boiling water scorched his skin. Then he flipped it cold, shuddering as ice hit him like needles. He turned it back and forth, scald to freeze, trying to shock something out of himself. None of it worked. Behind his eyes he still saw the same scene: himself, sprawled on the ground, beaten bloody. Ayanokouji standing over him, not gloating, not even angry, just untouched. Indifferent.

Ryuuen pressed his forehead to the cold tile. "You're not gay. You're not twisted. You're just obsessed with revenge. That's all it is. Pure, clean revenge."

But the words were hollow, thin as smoke. Revenge was simple, sharp-edged. What he felt now wasn't. It was sticky, clinging, seeping into every corner of him. It made him restless, made his blood run hot, made him burn at night when he thought of things he couldn't name without spitting.

He whispered another curse at himself, harsher, filthier. Called himself disgusting. Weak. Unworthy. The kind of man people leave behind. And as the water turned ice-cold and his legs buckled beneath him, he let himself collapse onto the tiles. He stayed there until the chill seeped into his bones.

When he finally dragged himself out, towel clinging to his skin, he caught his reflection in the fogged mirror. He wiped it clean and stared. The face looking back wasn't ruined, sharp jaw, sharp eyes, a predator's face that once made freshmen flinch. But the ugliness was deeper. It showed in the slump of his shoulders, in the deadness dragging down his stare.

"This ain't me," he whispered. "I'm better than this. I'm a king. I'm—" The words withered in his mouth. He didn't believe them.

What gnawed hardest wasn't the shame. It was the ticking clock. In a year, in two, this school would spit him out. And then what? Back to the outside world where strength meant nothing, where guys like him washed dishes, fetched beers, or rotted in jail cells. Out there, nobody cared how loud he roared. Here, though, here he mattered. Even broken and suspended, he still had teeth. He could still walk into 1-D, slam a desk, and make the room jump.

He ground his teeth. "I ain't done. Not yet. This school still owes me. That bastard still owes me." But all he could do was sit. And wait. And think.

Ryuuen sat in the corner of the cafeteria, head tilted back against the wall, listening to the low chatter of the other students. They thought he wasn't paying attention. They always thought that. But his ears caught every whisper, every stray remark.

They all thought he was finished.

They weren't wrong. By all accounts, thirty censure votes from his own so-called allies, the rest of the school lining up to kick him down, he should've been dragged to the gallows. He should've been expelled. That's how the system worked.

And yet he was still here. Breathing. Eating. Existing.

He shoved a piece of bread into his mouth, chewing slow, tasting nothing.

When the exam ended and he heard the announcement, Manabe was expelled, not him, he'd almost thought it was a joke. Manabe? A petty bully who couldn't even control her own pawns? She was nothing. Disposable. But Ryuuen was supposed to be the one on the chopping block. He knew it. Hell, he'd welcomed it.

He wanted to laugh when the name echoed through the room, but something in his chest twisted instead. The relief didn't feel like victory. It felt like theft.

Because he hadn't earned it.

That night he hunted down Ayanokouji.

The bastard was waiting for him, calm as ever, leaning against the railing of the dorm balcony like he'd been expecting Ryuuen to show up. His eyes were the same as always, flat, watching without caring.

"You knew," Ryuuen growled.

"I knew," Ayanokouji said, voice even.

"Are you a saint now? You saved me."

"Not exactly."

Ryuuen slammed a hand against the railing, rattling it. "Don't play games. I was dead, and now I'm not. That doesn't happen unless someone pulls the strings."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Ayanokouji finally spoke, in that infuriatingly calm tone. "Ibuki and Ishizaki came to me before the exam."

Ryuuen blinked. "Those two?"

"They begged me to save you," Ayanokouji continued, ignoring the insult. "I told them it was impossible. That your own class hated you enough to bury you. That you'd be lucky to get three praise votes."

He let that sink in. Ryuuen clenched his fists, the words hitting harder than he wanted to admit. Three. Out of forty students. That was all he was worth.

"And yet," Ayanokouji went on, "they didn't give up."

Ryuuen clicked his tongue. "They, what?"

"Ibuki and Ishizaki were ready to drain you dry. All for the chance to keep you here."

The thought made Ryuuen's stomach lurch. He imagined Ishizaki, sweating and desperate, Ibuki with that flat stare, both of them bowing their heads. All to save him .

It didn't fit. He'd beaten them, mocked them, used them as tools. And still—

"Idiots," he muttered.

"They are," Ayanokouji said, almost agreeing. "But they weren't enough. Even with the points, you'd have lost. So I made a deal."

Ryuuen narrowed his eyes. "With who?"

Before Ayanokouji could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and Ryuuen caught the name: Ichinose Honami.

That name alone was enough to make Ryuuen's head snap back.

"Class B's princess?" He laughed, sharp and humorless. "You're telling me that goody-two-shoes burned her fortune to save me? When she can't even stand the sight of me?"

"She didn't do it for you," Ayanokouji said. "She did it for her class. For her image."

The calm way he said it made Ryuuen's chest tighten. Always him. Always Ayanokouji in the center, weaving webs no one else could see.

"So what? She just threw Class B's votes on me like candy?"

"Twenty million private points," Ayanokouji corrected. "And every praise vote she could muster. In exchange, Ibuki covered the gap in their own savings. A perfect trade. You stay. One of your enemies falls. And Ichinose gets to prove she's the kind of leader who would save even her rivals."

Ryuuen leaned against the railing, trying to steady his breath. His mind replayed it all: Ibuki arguing with Ishizaki, Ishizaki begging on his knees, Ichinose handing over her points, Ayanokouji standing in the middle of it all like a conductor.

And him? He hadn't done a damn thing.

He'd sat in his room, rotting, waiting for the axe. He hadn't fought. He hadn't planned. He hadn't even resisted.

Others had saved him.

It felt like poison in his throat.

Later, alone in his room, the truth gnawed at him. He wanted to smash the walls, to scream, to laugh until his throat bled. Ibuki. Ishizaki. Even Ichinose. They'd all played a part. And above them all, Ayanokouji pulled the strings, saving him without ever breaking a sweat.

It was unbearable.

And yet, he couldn't shake the other feeling.

That maybe, just maybe, he was grateful.

He hated himself for it.

The next day, he cornered Ibuki.

She glared at him, as if daring him to insult her. He almost did. The words were right there on his tongue: pathetic, useless, flat-chested bitch . But instead, what came out was:

"You're an idiot."

She didn't flinch. "Yeah, well. At least I'm not the idiot who almost got himself expelled."

That shut him up.

Ishizaki was worse. The fool looked at him with wet, hopeful eyes, like a dog waiting for approval. "Man, we couldn't just let you go. You're—you're important."

Important. The word stuck in Ryuuen's chest like a blade.

He wanted to scream at them, to tell them they'd ruined everything. But instead he just turned and walked away, because the alternative was letting them see the crack in his armor. At night, he dreamed of Ayanokouji again. Not the fight, not the humiliation. Just the stare. That flat, merciless stare that had seen everything inside him and left him hollow. He woke up sweating, cursing himself, calling himself every slur he could think of. But the truth didn't change.

He wanted more time.

Not to lead. Not to win. Not even to take revenge .

He just wanted to see what Ayanokouji would do next.

And that was the most humiliating thing of all.

...

Ryuuen didn't knock. He never knocked. Knocking meant respect, acknowledgment, submission, a tacit admission that the threshold belonged to someone else. That wasn't his style. If he wanted in, he went in.

His hand curled around the knob, twisting slowly, like he was daring the thing to resist him. Like he wanted it to be locked so he'd have an excuse to smash it in. But it wasn't.

A guy like Ayanokouji, cold, calculating, always ten steps ahead—should've had chains, alarms, hidden wires strung across the doorway like a spider's trap. Instead, the door swung open without a whisper, like it belonged to some cheap dorm in a run-down motel. Easy. Vulnerable.  Ryuuen shoved it wide and stepped inside, making no effort to close it..

Ayanokouji sat at his desk, posture perfect, a book open in his hands. He didn't turn. Didn't flinch. Didn't even offer the courtesy of surprise. The bastard had probably known it was him from the moment the knob shifted.

"Ryuuen," he said, voice flat, calm, like reciting a label. Like naming an object.

Ryuuen's grin cut sharp, all teeth and mockery. "Yeah. Me."

He slammed the door shut then, just to make the walls quake, the sound reverberating in the air like a shot. His boots hit the carpet heavy as he crossed the room, uninvited, unhesitating, and threw himself onto the bed.

The white sheets swallowed him, his dirty boots digging into fabric. He leaned back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling like he owned the place. "Nice bed. Softer than mine." He ground his heels down, leaving dark smudges across the pale cloth. "You keepin' this warm for someone?"

Ayanokouji didn't look up. Didn't twitch. Didn't acknowledge him. A page turned.

"You should leave."

The words weren't a threat. Not even annoyed. Just a statement, delivered with the same weightless tone one might use to say the day was Wednesday.

Ryuuen barked out a laugh, too loud for the quiet room. "Nah. Think I'll stay."

Time stretched. The clock ticked. Pages whispered as they turned.

Ryuuen sprawled wider, shifting onto his side, propping his head with one arm like he was lounging in his own quarters. The silence thickened, heavy as concrete, pressing down on him. He refused to crack first. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction.

Eventually, he chuckled, low and sharp. "You're real rude, y'know. Guy walks into your room, takes your bed, and you don't even offer him a drink."

"You're not a guest."

"Sure I am. Walked in, made myself comfortable. That's all it takes."

"You're trespassing."

Ryuuen smirked, fire flashing in his eyes. "Yeah? What're you gonna do about it?"

Nothing. No answer. The silence swallowed his words whole.

Heat crawled under his skin. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palm. Every instinct screamed at him to rip the book from Ayanokouji's hand, hurl it across the room, force a reaction. But he didn't. Couldn't. Something in him wanted to see how long this could last, how much emptiness he could choke down before it broke him.

"This is mine now," he muttered, sinking back fully into the mattress. "Your room. Your bed. You can take the desk. I'm settin' up camp here."

Ayanokouji finally spoke. "Why?"

He bared his teeth, forcing bravado into his voice. "'Cause I can. ‘Cause you won't stop me."

"You're looking for something."

That one landed deeper, too close to the truth. Ryuuen sat up, sharp and defensive, eyes burning. "The fuck do you know?"

Another page turned. "Enough, I guess."

Ryuuen shifted, restless, chewing on the quiet. "Most guys would lose their minds right now," he pressed. "Big bastard like me, boots on their sheets, sweat all over their pillow. But not you. You sit there, like none of it touches you. Like you're above it all."

Still nothing.

He rolled onto his stomach, chin on his arms, eyes locked on Ayanokouji's back. "Maybe you like it. Maybe you like havin' me here. That's why you didn't throw me out."

The silence pressed harder. It felt alive, pushing into him, making his chest tight. It scraped against his nerves, forcing his own words to echo too loud in his ears.

"You ever think about me?" The words slipped out low. "Late at night, when no one's around? You think about the look on my face when you crushed me? Bet you do. Bet it gets you hard."

That froze the air. Ayanokouji's hand stilled on the page. The atmosphere shifted, heavy as a storm front. Ryuuen felt it in his skull.

Then... "You're loud."

Two words. Nothing more. But they tore him raw.

Ryuuen snarled, half-rising. "You think I'm a joke?"

"Yes."

His blood roared. He wanted to drag Ayanokouji out of the chair, smash his face into the wall until the plaster cracked. Instead, he collapsed back onto the bed, laughter spilling out too loud, too sharp.

"Yeah. I'm a joke. And you're the punchline."

Time bled away. The sun slid down, painting the walls orange. Ryuuen stayed. He kicked off his boots eventually, not out of respect but because the heat made his socks damp and sour. He sprawled wider, stole the pillow, buried his face in it like he was staking a claim.

Ayanokouji kept reading. Chapter after chapter, breath steady, expression unshaken. It drove Ryuuen insane. At last, his control broke. He sat up, eyes blazing. "You wanna know why I'm here?"

He didn't wait for a response. The words poured out hot and reckless.

"'Cause I have no fuckin' clue on how to take revenge on you. So I'll just be a bother and rot in ya' room. You happy now? You won. I'm your dog."

Silence.

Then, at last: "No."

Ryuuen blinked. "What?"

"You're not my dog. You're nothing." The words gutted him, cold and final.

He laughed, jagged, wild. "You fucking suck."

He collapsed back, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, and for the first time in days, a strange calm slid through him. Because if he was nothing, then there was nowhere lower to fall. The night crept in. Shadows filled the corners. Neither of them moved. The silence stayed, heavy, alive, shared.

Ryuuen thought maybe he'd sleep here. Maybe he'd never leave. Maybe he'd haunt this room until Ayanokouji had no choice but to see him. And if not? Then fine. He'd stay anyway. Because outside this room was emptiness. Silence that belonged to no one. Here, at least, the silence was theirs. The silence finally broke, not with words, but movement.

Ayanokouji closed the book. Not loud, not abrupt. Just a quiet fold of paper and the soft snap of a spine, as though even this small act was deliberate. He set it aside, rising smoothly from the chair. Ryuuen's heart kicked hard in his chest. He didn't move. Not when Ayanokouji turned toward him. Not when he crossed the room. That calm, measured pace had no menace in it, yet it pinned him harder than a chokehold ever could.

When Ayanokouji stopped beside the bed, the air between them turned heavy.

"You don't understand yourself," Ayanokouji said, voice quiet, flat. "You think this obsession is hatred. That it's revenge. But it isn't."

Ryuuen's lip curled. "Don't tell me what the hell it is."

But the words lacked teeth, because Ayanokouji leaned down, not fast, not slow, just close enough that Ryuuen could feel his breath.

"You want me."

The world stopped.

"You're cracked, asshole. I want your head on a stick, that's all."

Ayanokouji didn't move back. His eyes didn't blink. "You want my attention. You want me to look at you, to acknowledge you. That's desire."

Ryuuen's fists clenched in the sheets. His pulse slammed hot and ugly in his veins. He wanted to shove the bastard back, wanted to tear him apart, but his body betrayed him, frozen under that stare.

"Say it," Ayanokouji pressed, leaning just a little closer. "Admit it, and I'll prove it's true."

"Go to hell."

Ayanokouji's hand moved, not toward Ryuuen's throat, not toward his chest, but above. His fingers caught the edge of the pillow, tugging it out from under Ryuuen's head with a quiet, deliberate pull. Then he tossed it aside. 

"You think strength is about control," Ayanokouji murmured. "But you've never been in control. Not of your class. Not of yourself. Not even here, in this room. You came to me because you wanted to lose. Again."

Ryuuen's breath came fast. His laugh cracked halfway through. "You're spoutin' psychobabble like some shrink. That's all this is, right? Another one of your games?"

"Maybe."

Ryuuen's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The bastard was too close, too calm, too sure. His words dug under the skin, not cutting, but burning slowly like acid. He wanted to rip the smugness out of Ayanokouji's mouth, but he knew fists wouldn't work here. Not with him.

So he did the next best thing. He grinned.

The kind of grin that showed teeth, sharp and dangerous, but this time he aimed it not like a weapon, but like a dare. He tilted his head, voice dropping into a lazy drawl. "So what, you think I'm droolin' over you? That I lie awake at night, touchin' myself to your cold-ass stare?"

He let the filth hang in the air, savoring the way it landed between them. His tone was mocking, dripping with false sweetness, the way he used to break weaklings in the cafeteria. "Maybe you're the one who wants me, huh? Standing here leanin' in close, whisperin' in my ear. You like this, don't ya? You like havin' me sprawled out on your bed, waitin' for you."

The words came easy, too easy, but behind them his chest pounded like a war drum. His grin widened anyway, pushing the knife deeper. 

For a long moment, nothing.

Then it happened.

The tiniest shift, so subtle most people would've missed it: Ayanokouji's eyes widened. Not much. Barely a flicker, like a shadow catching on glass. But it was there. And then, as if caught off guard by his own body, Ayanokouji leaned back. Just a fraction of an inch. But it was a retreat.

Ryuuen's heart jolted so hard it felt like his ribs cracked. His grin froze, then twisted, too sharp, almost desperate. "Heh. Got you." His voice was rougher than he wanted, not smooth, not victorious. "Didn't expect that, did ya? Cold bastard finally blinked."

He pushed himself upright, leaning forward now, his face close to Ayanokouji's, turning the tables. He braced his elbows against his knees, eyes burning, grin stretched thin. "What's wrong? Don't like bein' looked at the way you look at everyone else? Or maybe you do like it. Maybe you—"

" Enough ."

One word, clipped, sharper than glass. But it didn't erase what Ryuuen had seen. That flicker was real. The great Ayanokouji, the unshakable puppet master, had flinched.

And Ryuuen didn't know what the hell to do with it.

Heat surged under his skin, but it wasn't victory, it was messier, uglier. His chest felt tight, his throat dry. He tried to laugh, but it cracked halfway through, spilling out too raw. "Tch. Look at you. The second I turn it around, you run. Guess you ain't all ice after all."

Ayanokouji's gaze steadied again, unreadable, but Ryuuen swore he could still see the echo of that flicker in his eyes. That was worse than if he'd imagined it.

He shoved himself off the bed, pacing across the room like a caged animal, dragging a hand through his hair. His grin was gone now, replaced by a snarl he couldn't quite control. "You think you can just stand there, untouchable, but you're not. I saw it. You can break. You're not perfect. You—"

His words tangled, tripping over his own breath. He spun back, pointing at Ayanokouji, finger shaking with something that wasn't anger, not exactly. "Don't you ever look down on me again. You hear me? I'll tear you apart piece by piece. I'll make you—"

He stopped himself. Too close. Too raw. Ayanokouji just watched, silent, his calm back in place, but Ryuuen couldn't unsee that moment. That tiny crack. It stuck in his head like a splinter.

"Fuck," Ryuuen hissed, turning away, dragging a hand across his mouth. His throat felt dry, his skin hot, his chest tight. He hated this. Hated the way his body betrayed him. Hated the way he couldn't stop thinking about that flicker.

Ryuuen's voice came out ragged, somewhere between a laugh and a growl, like he was choking on glass. "Tch. Y'know what's funny, Ayanokouji? I keep tellin' myself it's revenge. That I wanna crush you, grind your face into the dirt and step on it. But the more I spit it, the more it tastes like bullshit. Truth is, I don't know what the hell this is. I can't stop thinkin' about you, ever. You're stuck in my skull like a parasite... 

I need you. Bad."

Notes:

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