"I'll take this apartment!"
The moment Kasumigaoka Utaha declared her decision, the real estate agent scrambled through her bag, practically yanking out the rental contract.
She had no intention of lingering in this suffocating atmosphere any longer than necessary.
"Alright! As per the agreement, rent is paid quarterly in advance, the deposit is one month's rent, and the brokerage fee is half a month's rent. Utility fees like water, electricity, gas, and large garbage disposal are to be settled between you two. All details are in the contract—please review, and if there are no issues, sign here!"
Her words came out in rapid-fire succession, a desperate attempt to speed things along.
"Let me know when it's done! I'll be waiting outside!"
Without another word, the agent bolted out of the apartment like a soldier retreating from the battlefield.
And just like that, silence descended again.
Kasumigaoka Utaha glanced over the contract, scanning the terms with her usual efficiency. Finding nothing questionable, she took out a pen and signed her name in smooth, elegant strokes.
Then, without looking up, she tossed the contract onto the table in front of Yukima Azuma.
The man who was once her boyfriend.
The name he left on the contract—Yukima Azuma—was written with effortless precision. The kanji in his name carried an artistic flair, yet the katakana… lacked the same refinement.
Her lips curled slightly.
"Eager to have me move into your apartment, are you, Yukima-kun? My dear ex-boyfriend?"
Her words were laced with sarcasm, meant to provoke.
But the man sitting across from her didn't even blink.
"That's right, Kasumigaoka-senpai," Yukima replied smoothly, his voice even, unshaken.
His effortless composure threw her off balance.
She had expected excuses, awkward fumbling—anything that indicated hesitation. But instead, his confidence left no openings.
Her next remark died in her throat.
Damn it.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Before she could think of a comeback, Yukima calmly called the real estate agent back into the apartment.
With practiced ease, he handed over the necessary paperwork and settled the brokerage fee on the spot. The agent, sensing the overwhelming tension still lingering between them, wasted no time in making her escape.
And then—once again—they were alone.
Yukima turned toward the entrance, where a large red suitcase sat near the door. Without a word, he bent down, grasped the handle, and lifted it with effortless ease.
Kasumigaoka Utaha stiffened.
It was heavy. She knew it was heavy. But he carried it like it weighed nothing.
"Come," he said, already moving toward the staircase. "Your room is on the second floor. I'll show you around."
She didn't respond immediately.
Her gaze lingered on his hand gripping the suitcase. The action was so natural, so matter-of-fact, that she felt no urge to stop him.
And that realization frustrated her.
Since when had she gotten so used to letting him take the lead?
Wordlessly, she followed him upstairs.
Yukima Azuma's two-story apartment had a simple, functional layout.
The ground floor featured a spacious living room and the only kitchen in the unit. The second floor, which they now entered, had an open space lined with tall bookshelves. Unlike the first floor, this level had a quieter, more personal atmosphere—almost like a private study.
As they walked past the bookshelves, Kasumigaoka Utaha's gaze flickered across the neatly arranged titles.
And then, she saw it.
Tucked into the corner of one shelf, sitting undisturbed yet obviously well-read—
The Metronome in Love.
Her breath hitched.
That book.
Her book.
And it wasn't just sitting there collecting dust. The shelf it rested on was noticeably cleaner than the others, as if someone had frequently reached for it.
Without meaning to, her eyes darted toward another familiar title—
Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World.
The first book she had ever given him.
Back then, he hadn't been passionate about literature. She had been the one to drag him into the world of books. The one to guide him.
And now…
She turned away sharply, as if burned.
A strange feeling settled in her chest, tight and unwelcome.
The traces I left on him are still here.
The thought unsettled her more than it should have.
"This is your room," Yukima announced, stopping at the end of the hall. He gestured toward the door. "The mattress and blankets are new. Use them as you like."
Kasumigaoka Utaha inhaled, steadying herself before glancing at him.
"Oh? And where's my ex-boyfriend-kun's room?" she asked, her tone deliberately teasing. "Right across from mine? How convenient—for a late-night raid."
The words came out before she could stop them—a reflexive attempt to mask her own unease.
But Yukima didn't even flinch.
"My room is on the first floor." He pointed downward.
"All room keys are in the drawer inside. You'll find a master key and a spare. I don't have a copy. That's stated in the contract, so you don't have to worry, Senpai."
His voice was level, serious.
She didn't know why that irritated her.
"You really don't seem like a high school boy at all," she muttered, arms crossing. "Could it be my ex-boyfriend has some unspeakable secret?"
Yukima only smiled.
Not just any smile—that smile.
The one that said, Senpai, didn't you already know the answer to that?
Her fingers twitched.
She grabbed her suitcase, stepped into the room, and slammed the door behind her.
Alone in her new space, Kasumigaoka Utaha let out a slow breath.
She dropped onto the bed, her long legs curling slightly as she hugged herself.
Her stocking-clad feet trembled.
Damn it…
Why was he like this?
In the past, just a little teasing would send him into a blushing mess. He used to be so easy to provoke.
But now?
Now, he was unreadable. Calm. Unshaken.
And that smug, confident attitude—!
Thud.
She flopped backward onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling.
What am I even thinking?
I sound like some ex-wife who can't move on from her past husband.
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
No.
She wasn't going to let him get to her.
Kasumigaoka Utaha reached for her tablet, opening the document she had been neglecting.
For days, she had been struggling to write. Her creative flow had completely stalled.
But now—
Now, words flooded her mind.
Her fingers moved on their own, typing without hesitation.
Somehow, suddenly, she had inspiration again.