Chapter 1: The Secret Routine of the Lone Ice Princess

Nestled in a provincial city ringed by mountains on three sides, its history stretching back further than anyone cares to remember.

At the edge of those mountains lies Misasagi Private Academy High School, and within it, the classroom of First Year, Class 3.

Through the classroom windows, the faint pink of cherry blossoms has given way to vibrant, fresh green leaves, a canopy of new growth.

It’s early May, and the students, once jittery with the nerves of a new school year, have settled into their routines. Friendships have started to solidify, cliques have formed, and the social hierarchy of the class is taking shape. Among them, one group stands out above the rest.

“Hey, hold up, is that a piercing on Nabacchi!?”

“Whoa, just one ear? That’s, like, super subtle and cute!”

“I’ve always wanted a piercing, but the thought of poking a hole in my ear? Kinda makes me hesitate~”

“Totally get that. Even if it’s for style, it’s a big step. Gotta hand it to Kotori-chan!”

At the center of the chatter is a girl with a cool, detached expression, her words sparse, almost curt.

Her hair, dyed a bright shade, is styled flawlessly, her makeup on point. Her uniform reveals just enough thigh and neckline to turn heads, and her perpetually aloof demeanor only adds to her mystique.

She’s Nabata Kotori, the girl who gives off an icy, untouchable vibe.

Surrounding her are girls just as glamorous, just as cute, buzzing with excitement over the piercing she’s sporting today.

The topic’s not just confined to their circle—it’s rippling through the classroom in hushed whispers.

They’re the undisputed queens of the class, the top-tier girls, the “A-listers.”

“…”

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Hashio Takumi props his cheek on his hand at the edge of the classroom, his naturally sharp gaze fixed on the group.

As Takumi watches Kotori with a faint scowl, someone breaks into the girls’ circle—a guy with light brown hair and a cocky, almost sleazy grin. He waves a hand, barging into their conversation without hesitation.

“Yo, Nabata, that piercing’s lookin’ good! But, like, don’t you think something a bit flashier would suit you better?”

“Think so?”

“If it’s you, Nabata, you could totally pull off something big and bold. Bet it’d pop. Hey, how ’bout I tag along next time and help you pick out something nice?”

“…Whatever.”

The guy’s all enthusiasm, but Kotori’s response is pure ice.

Her obvious disinterest draws snickers from the girls around her, who jump in to shut him down.

“C’mon, dude, take a hint. You’re not wanted here.”

“Kotori-chan doesn’t even give guys the time of day.”

“Pfft, read the room, man~”

“Tch, fine~”

The guy shrugs dramatically and slinks off, defeated.

Kotori lets out a loud, exaggerated “Hmph,” and soft giggles spill from the girls around her.

Her cold, standoffish attitude is blatant, but there’s something undeniably cool about how she carries it off.

From all corners of the classroom, admiring whispers float through the air: “Nabata-san’s as chilly as ever!” “She’s so blunt, but it totally works for her.” “Kinda wanna get shot down by her myself.” “Haha, yeah, I get that.”

Takumi catches these murmurs, his brow furrowing. He glances at Kotori, poised at the center of attention like some untouchable queen, and lets out a bored huff through his nose. Around him, there’s not a soul in sight.

Both of them might come off as aloof, but Kotori’s surrounded by people, a lofty, untouchable flower blooming high above the rest.

Takumi, meanwhile, lurks in the corner, practically invisible, holding his breath to avoid notice.

They’re polar opposites.

Like water and oil, never meant to mix.

Then, out of nowhere, Takumi’s phone pings with a message.

He checks it immediately—Kotori’s name lights up the screen, paired with a sticker of a cat stretching its front paws dramatically.

Kotori herself, though, hasn’t budged. She’s still there, cool and composed, reigning over her circle of admirers.

Takumi’s eyes narrow as he reads the message—a certain request from her.

That afternoon, after school.

Kotori’s room in the Nabata household is a chaotic mix of personality. The bookshelf brims with an impressive collection, some shelves adorned with shonen manga character merch. Scattered across the floor are fashion magazines and cosmetics, screaming I just got into this whole style thing! In that room, a pitiful voice echoes.

“T-Takumi… help me…”

Takumi, sitting across from her at a low table, arms crossed, lets out a heavy sigh, his face stern.

Kotori’s slumped on the floor in a classic girl’s squat, shoulders trembling, her back hunched. She peers up at him nervously, her eyes pleading.

She’s a completely different person from the Kotori in the classroom. Takumi rubs his temple, as if nursing a headache, and cuts to the chase.

“…What’s the deal this time?”

“W-Well, um, after school today… they invited me to Futaba…”

“Futaba? That coffee chain?”

“Y-Yeah, the one at Goldfish Mall. They’ve got this new… uh, Strawberry Mix Milk Something-or-Other…”

“Oh, that one. Saw it on some SNS promo or whatever. So why’re you back here?”

“I-I had some stuff to take care of first, and they’re waiting for me, and… uh…”

Kotori trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor, her words faltering.

It’s a simple enough story: the girls she usually hangs with—the A-listers—invited her to hit up Futaba after school.

For context, Goldfish Mall is the biggest shopping complex in the area, boasting over two hundred specialty stores and a cinema. Takumi and Kotori have been going there since they were kids.

Takumi lets out an exaggerated “Ugh” and snaps, “Just go already.”

Kotori’s eyes well up, and she blurts out in a rush, “N-N-No way! Those A-lister girls are so loud and pushy, I-I’d get eaten alive…!”

“They’re not gonna eat you. And aren’t you one of those A-lister girls now?”

“W-Well, yeah, but…”

Takumi glares at her, his eyes half-lidded with exasperation.

The real Kotori is painfully shy, her self-esteem in the gutter. Who’d ever guess that her cool, quiet vibe at school is just her being too awkward to talk? The guys secretly call her the “Ice Princess” and swoon over her, but if they saw this side of her, who knows what they’d think.

Kotori keeps fumbling for excuses.

“F-Futaba’s, like, all sparkly and fancy. I’ve never been! It’s scary… A-And don’t you have to, like, chant some spell to order there? I-I’ve been practicing, and I’ve barely memorized ‘Short White Mocha Nonfat Milk Decaf,’ but that’s it…!”

“Whoa, you said that without tripping over your tongue. Sounds like a legit spell. Nice work.”

“E-Eh? Really…?”

When Takumi tosses her a bit of praise, Kotori’s face lights up, and she scratches her cheek, bashful.

What a pushover. Takumi smirks wryly and says, “Yeah, yeah, if you can spit that out so smoothly, you’re golden. Go strut your stuff.”

“B-But today they’re after the new drink, so that spell’s useless…!”

“If it’s the new one, just order the basic version. No need for fancy chants, right?”

“Ugh… B-But Futaba’s still scary, and embarrassing, and… c-can you do the usual…?”

Her face flushes even reder, and she fidgets, sneaking a nervous glance up at him.

To anyone watching, it’s an adorable little plea. And Takumi knows exactly what she’s asking for.

“You need help with your routine?”

“Y-Yeah…”

In this context, a “routine” is like something athletes or professionals do—a set of repeated actions to calm nerves, ease anxiety, and stabilize the mind.

For someone as timid as Kotori, heading out with the A-lister girls or facing any situation that demands courage always calls for her special routine.

Takumi’s her partner in this. It’s not their first rodeo.

Still, he pulls a sour face, though his throat bobs with a hard swallow as he confirms, “You sure?”

“A-Absolutely!”

“…”

Their gazes lock, tingling with an awkward intensity.

Their cheeks grow hotter by the second.

The room suddenly feels like it’s jumped straight to midsummer.

Takumi abruptly looks away and grumbles, “Fine.”

“Mm!”

Kotori dips her head, clutching the hem of her skirt tightly before shifting to her knees and climbing onto the bed.

After a moment’s hesitation, she slides her hands under her skirt, up to her hips, and—whoosh—yanks her underwear down to her knees in one swift motion. In a barely audible whisper, she murmurs, “P-Please…”

“Alright.”

Kotori flops her upper body onto the bed, hugging a pillow to bury her face in it, her hips angled toward him. It’s their usual position.

She sways her hips impatiently, her short skirt swishing. Beneath it, she’s completely exposed, having stripped away her last defense herself.

It’s almost like she’s inviting him. And, well, that’s exactly what she’s doing.

His heart pounds so hard it hurts. Blood rushes to his head. It feels like Kotori’s eroding his self-control.

Trying to play it cool, Takumi mutters, “Still rocking the least sexy underwear, huh?”

“!? D-Don’t look at that…!”

“Your skirt’s so short now compared to before. It almost flashes everyone at school sometimes. Better watch it.”

“N-Now’s not the time for that!”

Kotori lifts her face from the pillow, glaring at him, her ears burning red.

Takumi raises both hands in mock surrender. “Condom?”

“Usual spot. Top drawer of the desk.”

With practiced ease, Takumi grabs the condom and slips it on. He moves behind Kotori, gripping her hips.

The sight of the beautiful girl before him, laid out like this, sends his excitement into overdrive.

Even through her uniform, Kotori’s killer figure is undeniable.

A faint sheen of sweat clings to her skin, her sweet scent teasing his nose. It’s distinctly her, a smell that screams femininity and sets his instincts on fire.

No matter how many times they do this, he’ll never get used to it.

Whoever said you get bored of a beauty after three days was full of shit.

His voice comes out tight, almost desperate. “Here I go.”

“Mm.”

In Kotori’s room, muffled gasps, ragged breaths, and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin fill the air.

They’re having sex. Getting it on. Doing the deed. The intimate act reserved for couples deeply entwined.

But this? It’s too mechanical, too routine to call it making love.

There’s no kissing. Never has been. Not even words.

It’s always like this—Kotori insists on keeping her clothes on and facing away, too shy to show her body or face.

It’s just a ritual to get it done, to let it out.

And yet, it’s insanely intoxicating.

Takumi’s drowning in the pleasure Kotori’s giving him, fighting tooth and nail to keep from losing control, his face twisted in a grimace.

He knows full well this is messed up by any normal moral standard.

No matter how many excuses he piles on, he’s only going along with this ritual because it feels good. He’s hooked on the pleasure. Can’t stop. He’s the worst.

When he saw that stretching cat sticker on his phone—the signal for this routine—he can’t lie and say he wasn’t hoping for it.

Eventually, they finish, the act carried out like a duty.

A sweet numbness lingers in his head, but there’s no time to savor it. Takumi pulls away wordlessly, starting the cleanup.

Kotori sits up, straightening her disheveled clothes.

“…”

An awkward silence hangs between them.

Of course, it’s only natural to feel ashamed after what they’d been doing.

Glancing at Kotori with a hint of reluctance, Takumi notices her cheeks flushed, her skin faintly slick with sweat—an unexpectedly sultry sight.

His blood starts pumping again, and he quickly looks away, flustered.

This is just Kotori’s necessary routine, he reminds himself. Not some lust-fueled romp.

He’s merely her partner in this. Nothing more.

They’re not lovers, after all. Just stating the obvious.

With a self-mocking huff, he lets out a sigh.

Then, hesitantly, Kotori whispers, “…Thanks again today. Guess I can handle Futaba now.”

“Anytime.”

“Um… Takumi, did it feel good?”

Answering too honestly feels oddly irritating, so he just shifts his gaze to the evidence.

“…See for yourself.”

“Whoa, for real. You let out a lot.”

Kotori’s eyes crinkle as she takes in the proof of his excitement, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

Today, like always, the amount was ridiculous—testament to her undeniable allure.

Feeling his cheeks heat up under her gaze, Takumi snorts dismissively and steers the conversation elsewhere.

“Tch, why the hell does this routine even exist?”

“…You know, right? That fake confession back in middle school. When they laughed in front of everyone, saying, ‘No one’d get hard for an ugly loser like her.’ Doing this, seeing you actually… finish, it makes me feel like I can do stuff…”

Her voice hardens as memories of that day flood back.

Once upon a time, Kotori was no different from Takumi—another background extra lurking in the classroom’s shadows before her high school debut transformed her. Now, she rolls with the A-listers, but inside, she hasn’t changed that fast.

That’s why she needs this routine for anything big.

Even the piercing she showed off in class this morning? Same deal. Though she’d planned for both ears, her nerves got the better of her, and she settled for one.

Same went for her first cosmetics haul, switching from glasses to contacts, shortening her skirt, even that first day of school when she panicked about her polished look and rushed through the routine before dawn.

What a bizarre relationship they’ve stumbled into.

Takumi chuckles darkly to himself, then forces a brighter tone. “Man, needing this as a routine? Kotori, you’re such a perv.”

“Sh-Shut up!”

“So, shouldn’t you haul ass to Futaba? They’re waiting, right? I’ll handle the cleanup.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, and… please?”

“Whatever. Now scram.”

“With this, I’ve ticked off another milestone. One step closer to conquering high school. Oh, the key’s in the usual spot.”

“…Got it.”

Conquering high school.

The phrase makes Takumi’s face twist into a wry grimace for a split second.

Kotori, meanwhile, pulls her underwear back up, snatches her bag, and bolts out of the room in a flurry.

Left behind, Takumi exhales a weary “Hah” and lets his mind drift to how this all started.

Last winter, when they were third-years in middle school, Kotori got a confession. The guy was a notorious class clown but decent-looking enough. Naturally, it threw her for a loop—her first taste of something so unexpected. She wrestled with the unfamiliar emotions, even tried to see it positively—until it turned out to be a cruel prank.

The details are fuzzy, but word was it got ugly, with insults hurled in front of everyone. Watching her spiral into despair was painful enough that even Takumi, a reclusive neighbor who barely mingled, couldn’t help but step in. That’s where it began.

“I bet a creepy loser like me isn’t worth touching, or getting hard for. You probably think I’m a joke too, Takumi!”

But her trust in people was shattered, and words couldn’t reach her. Plus, Takumi was still reeling from a forced retirement from track due to an injury. What followed was a heated argument, emotions spiraling out of control until, in a reckless frenzy, they both lost their virginity.

Looking back, it’s insane.

He wallowed in self-loathing for a while after.

Diving into exam prep like it was an escape, he even upped his target school by two ranks—ironic, really.

As high school loomed and things got awkward between them, Kotori ambushed him outside his house, face red to her ears, with a plea.

“H-Help me conquer my high school life!”

Her specific method? This routine.

He refused at first. Obviously. It’s way too against the rules.

Takumi had his principles—stuff like this shouldn’t happen between people who aren’t dating. That’s why he regretted crossing that line with her in the first place.

But when she guilt-tripped him, claiming he’d forced her, he couldn’t say no. Since then, he’s been her partner in this so-called “high school conquest.”

Finishing the cleanup, Takumi locks up the Nabata house, drops the key in the mailbox, and glances toward Goldfish Mall. Muttering to no one, he says, “Become popular, snag a cool boyfriend and friends, live a sparkling high school life…”

That’s her goal—to throw it back in the face of the jerk who pranked her.

She said she wanted to chat up a storm and liven things up, too…

She’s charging toward the version of herself she wants to be, but even making friends she can really talk to at school is proving tough.

He can easily picture her at Futaba in Goldfish Mall right now—too nervous to speak, silently sipping that new drink through a straw, oblivious to the taste.

With a faint, bittersweet smile, Takumi turns toward home.