Prologue

It was a lazy holiday afternoon when the incessant ringing of the doorbell and my smartphone’s notification tone jolted me awake. I checked the caller ID, leapt out of bed in a panic, and dashed to the front door.

“Good morning, Anno-kun,” greeted a voice as I opened the door. Standing there, with a radiant smile, was my classmate and desk neighbor, Shinomiya Rinoa—a girl so stunning she’s dubbed the “Saint” or “Princess” at school.

“…Morning, Shinomiya-san,” I mumbled, rubbing my sleep-crusted eyes. Trying my best to mask my irritation at having my slumber disturbed, I kept my voice flat and ushered her inside.

“It’s more like ‘good afternoon’ by now, don’t you think?” she teased. “Anno-kun, don’t tell me you just woke up?”

“Yeah, well, someone decided to ring the doorbell like a maniac and then call my phone, so here I am,” I shot back.

“So, my morning call worked its magic, then?” she said with a playful grin.

“If I hadn’t been up all night, I might’ve actually been grateful,” I quipped.

We bantered lightly, but I knew better than to let this scene linger. At Ginka High School, where we both studied, Shinomiya Rinoa had an actual fan club devoted to her. If those fanatics caught wind of her visiting my house, I’d be strung up and crucified in no time.

“Well then, starting Monday, I’ll be your personal alarm clock!” she declared cheerfully.

“I’ll politely pass on that,” I replied dryly.

Our unlikely closeness began about two months ago, back in the cherry-blossom-filled spring. It all started when I stumbled upon her in an empty classroom after school, her uniform disheveled as she frantically tried to take selfies in a rather… compromising state. Instinctively, I captured the surreal beauty of the moment through my camera lens, and that’s how our secret relationship began.

Now, two months later, the golden week of holidays was long over, and the rainy season had settled in with its oppressive humidity. True to form, Shinomiya-san showed up unannounced this morning, adding to the day’s sticky discomfort.

“Joking aside,” she said, her tone shifting to mock sternness, “it’s not commendable to sleep in and waste a day off, you know.”

“You sound like my mom,” I groaned, stifling a yawn. “Cut me some slack. I’ve got to finish editing photos for Yuzha-san’s photobook. With midterms and everything else, I’m behind, and it’s turning into a nightmare. I’ve got to crunch to make the deadline.”

“Are those the photos you took last weekend when you turned down my invitation?” she asked, a subtle edge in her voice.

I chose to ignore the slight sting in her words. “Come on in,” I said, gesturing her inside. I wasn’t heartless enough to turn her away without knowing why she’d come all this way.

I led her to the living room, then ducked back to my room to change. Bedhead aside, I couldn’t keep greeting her in pajamas—that’d be too embarrassing.

“Sorry for the wait—wait, Shinomiya-san, what are you doing?” I asked, freezing in the doorway. There she was, standing in my kitchen, cooking. In an apron, no less. She blended in so naturally I could’ve mistaken her for a live-in girlfriend.

“As you can see, I’m making lunch,” she said matter-of-factly. “You just woke up, so you haven’t eaten yet, right?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“There was some leftover pasta, so I’m whipping something up. Just sit and wait, okay?” she instructed.

“…Fine,” I muttered, reluctantly nodding and taking a seat as she suggested. I wasn’t about to complain about someone rummaging through my fridge to cook for me—especially since Shinomiya-san practically managed my kitchen at this point.

“You need to eat more nutritious food, Anno-kun!” she’d once scolded me.

Growing up with parents who were often away for work, I prided myself on my self-sufficiency, especially my cooking skills. But Shinomiya-san had mercilessly critiqued my diet, even though I wasn’t surviving on instant noodles or frozen meals. The result? Once a week, after school, we’d go grocery shopping together. It wasn’t like we were a cohabiting couple or anything, and I definitely didn’t secretly look forward to those trips. Nope, not at all.

Lost in thought, I watched her back as she cooked. Just recently, still half-asleep, I’d mistaken her silhouette for my mom’s and hugged her from behind—an embarrassing blunder. But now, fully awake, I couldn’t help but admire how natural she looked. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables with her knife carried an almost subtle allure.

I was used to being alone, so having someone else in the house felt rare and precious—especially when that someone was Shinomiya-san. It stirred an unfamiliar nervous flutter in my chest, different from the tension of our past photoshoots at my place.

“…” To calm my racing thoughts, I quietly pulled out my phone and aimed the camera at her. Sure, snapping candid shots felt a little sneaky, but this was just capturing a slice of everyday life—not like I was hiding in her closet or anything. Convincing myself, I focused on her serious expression as she tasted the food and snapped a photo.

“Fufu,” she chuckled, turning at the sound of the shutter. “You know, taking pictures like this isn’t exactly exciting, right?”

The natural, unguarded vibe was perfect. I snapped another shot. Click.

“Honestly…” she sighed, a wry smile on her face. “I don’t mind being photographed, but if you’re going to do it, why not make it a proper shoot? You’d get better pictures that way.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. “Maybe I should’ve grabbed my actual camera instead of just using my phone.”

“…Anno-kun, are you one of those guys who gets all excited over aprons?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, I’d wager there’s no guy alive who wouldn’t swoon over you in an apron,” I replied, snapping one more photo for good measure.

To be precise, it was the sight of Shinomiya-san, looking like a newlywed wife cooking lunch just for me, that made me want to capture the moment. But admitting that out loud? Far too embarrassing. So, I kept it to myself.

My creed as a photographer, passed down from my dad, was to seize fleeting moments of beauty and preserve them forever. And the first person who ever made me feel that urge so intensely was the classmate standing before me, her cheeks faintly flushed with embarrassment. Even something as mundane as cooking made her radiant.

“Is that how it works?” she asked, tilting her head. “Just wearing an apron and cooking makes guys go all weak in the knees?”

“That’s exactly how it works,” I said. “Guys can be pretty simple creatures sometimes.”

“I see…” she mused, then added with a sly smile, “Well, you’re the only one who gets to see me cooking in an apron, so feel free to snap as many pictures as you want.”

Just then, the timer went beep-beep-beep, signaling the pasta was done. Shinomiya-san turned back to her task, cutting the conversation short. I pressed a hand to my face and tilted my head back, letting out a silent groan.

“…That sneak attack was unfair,” I muttered under my breath. So, for now, I was the only one privy to Shinomiya-san’s “newlywed” look. Capturing it on my phone felt like a stroke of luck, but it also came with risks. One wrong move, and this could turn into a scandal.

Smartphones hold a treasure trove of personal info—lose it or let it fall into the wrong hands, and it’s game over. Even with a lock, if someone got in and saw these apron shots—or worse, the photos of Shinomiya-san in a disheveled uniform from that classroom incident—my life would be over in an instant.

“…Better transfer these to my computer,” I decided. Casually reviewing them at school could lead to someone peeking over my shoulder, or a “let me borrow your phone” situation could spell disaster. To be safe, I’d delete all Shinomiya-san-related photos from my phone.

“Sorry for the wait, Anno-kun,” she called, emerging from the kitchen with plates in both hands. The savory aroma of garlic and pepper hit me, making my stomach growl.

“I could’ve made something fancier with more time and ingredients, but I hope this’ll do for today,” she said apologetically.

“No, no, this is more than enough,” I assured her. “It looks delicious. Thanks for going out of your way, Shinomiya-san.”

She brushed it off with a small, wry smile, but I genuinely admired her ability to whip up something so appetizing on the fly.

“I’m the one who showed up unannounced,” she said. “This is the least I could do.”

“Oh, right,” I realized, “I forgot to ask why you came over in the first place.”

Her sudden dive into cooking had thrown me off, and I’d missed my chance to ask earlier. It was probably no big deal, so I figured we could talk it over while eating.

“There’s plenty to discuss, but let’s eat first,” she suggested. “You know what they say: you can’t fight a battle on an empty stomach.”

“Hold on,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You’re not saying you came here to pick a fight, are you?”

The conversation had taken a sharp turn. I didn’t need words like “battle” creeping into my everyday life—history class was enough.

“Oh, yes,” she said, her smile turning mischievous. “In a way, this is a battle for me.”

Her lovely expression belied the warlike intent behind her words, like a samurai steeling herself for combat.

“Why don’t we talk over lunch?” she proposed. “You’ll probably need time to come up with an excuse, right?”

Her tone was like an interrogator’s, and I swallowed hard. To think I’d ever feel terror from a beautiful girl’s smile. Still, I couldn’t recall doing anything to upset her, so I hoped for a quick release.

“So, Anno-kun,” she began, her voice calm but pointed, “care to explain what this is all about?”

She slid her phone onto the table, revealing a photo. It was her older sister, Alice Shinomiya, a successful model, lounging on a bed in fluffy pajamas, her top slightly undone, smiling seductively.

Shinomiya-san was mature for a high school girl, but Alice-san was on another level. As a professional model, she was used to being photographed, and her alluring presence practically leapt off the screen.

“Oh, that?” I stammered. “It’s, uh… like a portfolio thing for Alice-san. Totally innocent, I swear!”

“I trust you don’t have any ulterior motives,” she said coolly, though her words carried an unspoken weight, as if lies or evasions wouldn’t be tolerated. “What I want to know is why you’re taking photos of my sister.”

Her perfectly reasonable question left me at a loss for words. Yuzha Yuki, the wildly popular cosplayer I worked for exclusively, was a big deal—her events drew crowds, her doujinshi sold out instantly, and she’d even sung anime ending themes. She’d roped me into being her dedicated photographer, refusing to work with anyone else and forbidding me from shooting other cosplayers.

“Yuzha-san and Alice-san are apparently senpai-kohai from university,” I explained. “That’s how Alice-san ended up at last week’s shoot.”

“Last week,” Shinomiya-san repeated, her eyes narrowing, “as in the day I suggested we do a shoot together, and you turned me down?”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, wincing. “But I’d already promised Yuzha-san.”

Sure, photographing Alice-san hadn’t been part of the plan, but it just… happened.

“So, you ditched me to have fun with another woman—and my sister, of all people?” she said, her tone dripping with mock accusation. “You’re full of surprises, Anno-kun.”

“Fun? Come on, it’s not like that,” I protested, feeling a pang in my chest. “You’re making it sound malicious!”

It felt like I’d been caught cheating by my wife, even though Shinomiya-san and I weren’t anything like that. So why was I sweating like this?

“And Yuzha-san was okay with you photographing my sister?” she pressed.

“…Yes,” I admitted, wilting under her quiet intensity. In my head, I added, She even suggested it, saying, ‘Why not shoot Alice too?’

“You’re not lying, are you?” she asked, her gaze piercing.

“Why would I lie about this?” I said, exasperated. “You can call Yuzha-san and ask her yourself if you want.”

“If you’re that confident, I’ll believe you,” she relented. “But I’m curious what changed Yuzha-san’s mind.”

“Oh, she told me,” I said. “‘It’d be good for Takumi to broaden his horizons,’ she said. Apparently, since she’s an amateur cosplayer and Alice-san’s a pro model, shooting her would be a learning experience.” Yuzha-san had looked like she was chewing glass when she said it, though.

“Yuzha-san really cares about you, doesn’t she?” Shinomiya-san noted. “She wouldn’t talk about broadening your horizons otherwise.”

“Yeah, I’m grateful,” I said. “Though she still nags me not to shoot other cosplayers.”

Shinomiya-san and Alice-san were the exceptions. Yuzha-san still hadn’t greenlit me photographing anyone else, even if I wanted to for the sake of experience. But honestly, finding someone on her level wasn’t easy.

“So, are we good about the photos?” I asked cautiously.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m relieved to know you didn’t beg Yuzha-san on your knees to let you shoot my sister out of some… inappropriate desire.”

“Desire?” I sputtered. “Come on!”

“You’re not… desiring other women, are you? Besides me, I mean,” she said, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“I’m not desiring Alice-san, obviously!” I shot back. “Or you, for that matter! That’s a weird question, isn’t it?”

Her implication that I might have improper feelings for her made me protest vehemently. Not that I was entirely innocent—I’d be lying if I said I felt nothing looking through my lens at her. But I wasn’t some slave to my instincts.

“Hmph,” she pouted, puffing out her cheeks. “Being denied so forcefully kind of hurts my pride as a woman, you know.”

“What am I supposed to say to that?” I sighed, exasperated.

Her teasing, combined with the way her eyes seemed to test my resolve, kept me on edge. I’d never admit it—she’d get too smug—but her presence always felt like a battlefield.

“Oh, one last thing,” she said, her tone shifting. “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to ask anyway, so go ahead,” I said, bracing myself.

“Why do you call my sister ‘Alice-san’?” she asked, her smile icy enough to send a chill down my spine. “Care to explain, thoroughly and convincingly?”

I hadn’t seen that question coming. A bead of sweat trickled down my back as I scrambled for an excuse, my mind racing to recall the events leading up to that photo.