⚡ Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Date which hasn't been released in EN yet!⚡
[Released Date: Feb 2026]
[Section 1]
Ding—
The lingering chime of the bell under the antique shop’s eaves slowly faded away. I lay sprawled over the coffee table, my pen tip scratching nonstop across the notebook.
Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, yet I was still troubled over our date itinerary.
Footsteps approached from afar. After seeing the customer out, Shaw returned, casually sinking into a soft chair.
Shaw: You’ve been at it for ages—still not done?
MC: It’s not that it’s not done… it’s just that there are too many places I want to go with you, no matter how I arrange the time, it’s never enough.
A shadow carrying a hint of mint fell over me. He took my notebook and scanned it carefully.
Shaw: Boating on the lake, doing some knitting crafts, and then browsing the market… Since when did a single day become 48 hours long?
Shaw: Just remove the few I suggested first. We can find time to go later.
Seeing him lift the pen to cross things out, I hurriedly snatched the notebook back.
MC: Wait! Those plans are pretty interesting too—you can’t just remove them!
He neither agreed nor disagreed, only tugged lightly at the corner of his mouth, then tapped directly on a line I had crossed out.
Shaw: Then what’s with this amusement park?
Shaw: Weren’t you the one who said you absolutely had to go there after filming that promo video for them before?
Looking at the note that had been almost scratched beyond recognition, I pressed my lips together, feeling a little regretful myself.
MC: …Of course I want to go there too.
MC: But Valentine’s Day is their opening day. It’ll definitely be packed with people everywhere.
MC: Anyway, the tickets the park gave me don’t have an expiration date, so we can just go another day.
Hearing this, he shrugged indifferently and leaned back into the chair, reaching for the bass guitar standing nearby and casually plucking the strings.
I buried my head again and sighed at the notebook in frustration.
MC: …So where exactly should we go?
The smooth bass line by my ear suddenly took a turn, as if he were pinching his throat to imitate my tone from earlier.
Bass: Where~ should~ we~ go~?
I froze for half a second, then immediately glared at the person across from me who couldn’t hide the curve of his lips.
MC: Shaw!
Bass: Shaw~~
This guy! I lunged at him angrily, fists clenched, about to give his arm a couple of hits.
Shaw [surrenders]: Alright, alright, I won’t tease you anymore.
Shaw: If you’re this torn, want to try the method I suggested to that customer earlier?
Thinking of how that customer, after hesitating for a long time, had left happily clutching an incense burner, I nodded thoughtfully.
MC: What method?
He took out his phone and sent a digital dice into our chat.
Shaw: We each pick one plan. If it rolls an even number, we go to your choice; if it’s odd, we go to mine.
MC: …That’s it?
Shaw: The greatest truth is simplicity, returning to basics.
Shaw: Alright then. Tomorrow’s first stop—I choose a clay pot congee hotpot. What about you?
Seeing that he didn’t look like he was joking, I blinked.
MC: Then… I’ll choose morning tea.
Following his gaze, I tapped the screen. The dice spun a few times before slowly coming to a stop—
An odd number.
—
[Section 2]
In the private room decorated in a modern Chinese style, the dark sandalwood window lattice was half closed. Strands of morning light spilled in, making the ink painting on the wall look even more elegant and refined.
The thick seafood congee bubbled away in a clay pot. I scooped up a spoonful and brought it to my mouth; the rich aroma spread instantly, drawing a soft sigh from me.
MC: So fresh. No wonder you chose this place~
Shaw: Of course. When has my taste ever been bad?
He lifted his hand and tipped a plate of prawns into the pot, when the private room door behind him suddenly sounded with two light knocks.
We both turned around to see a server walking in, carrying a tall stack of bamboo steamers.
Waiter: All your dim sum is ready.
MC: Huh? So you can have dim sum here too?
Shaw: Congee alone won’t fill you up, so I picked a place that has everything.
I vaguely understood his intention, and a sweet, warm feeling spread through my chest as I smiled and lifted the steamer lid.
Steaming-hot dim sum came into view. Just as I was about to pick up my chopsticks, something occurred to me.
MC: By the way, I once saw a psychological test about dim sum~
MC: Just follow your instincts first—pick the snack you want to eat the most!
As I spoke, I unlocked my phone and pulled up a post I had saved earlier. He gave a soft chuckle and casually popped a piece of barbecued pork pastry into his mouth.
Before I could even find the section about it, he spoke first, his cheeks still full.
Shaw: Let me guess. It says I have a clear-cut personality, with a bit of sharpness?
MC [dumbfounded]: …How did you know?
Shaw: Isn’t this kind of thing easy to guess? If you pick something soft and sweet, they say you’re gentle and easygoing. If it’s crispy and firm, they say you’re distinctive and stubborn.
I glanced down. What the post said matched his words almost exactly.
Seeing the smug look on his face, a mischievous thought suddenly crossed my mind, and I curved my lips into a smile.
MC: No no no~
MC: It also says that people who like barbecued pork pastry may seem hard to approach, but are actually using sharp edges to hide their inner thoughtfulness.
He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, looking suspicious.
Shaw: You’re making that up. There’s no way it says that.
MC: But some people really are quite considerate. Taking me out for morning tea, peeling crab legs for me…
Shaw [in a slightly threatening tone]: …..See through it, but don’t say it out loud. Got it?
He snorted softly and spooned the prepared crab meat into my bowl.
The clinking of porcelain mixed with quiet laughter. After eating and drinking our fill, we walked out of the restaurant side by side.
Across the street, a familiar piece of music suddenly played. I followed the sound and saw my promotional video for the amusement park playing on the outdoor screen opposite us.
On the screen, mascots bounced around with their round bodies, and exciting rides appeared one after another..
If only opening day weren’t today…
I tucked away the trace of regret rising in my heart and turned to Shaw with a smile in my eyes.
MC: Time to roll the dice again. This round, I chose the dome cinema!
He folded his arms and slowly shifted his gaze from the screen back to my face.
Shaw: Sure. Then I chose that amusement park.
MC: …You’re serious? If we go now, just getting in will probably mean lining up forever.
Shaw: Silly. It’s exactly at this time that there’ll be fewer people.
Shaw: There’s an opening-day performance today, so most visitors will rush there early.
Shaw: If we go now, we might be able to avoid the crowds and play for a while.
MC: Hmm… when you put it that way, it does make sense.
I nodded, eyes fixed on the dice he had rolled.
As it spun rapidly, I silently prayed in my heart: please let it be an odd number…
Under our gaze, the dice on the screen came to a steady stop — four.
MC: ………
I shrugged regretfully and took his hand, and was about to cross the street. Just as I stepped forward, he pulled me back.
Shaw: …Going to sit in a cinema for two hours straight right after eating would be uncomfortable. Let’s walk around somewhere more open.
He looked at me steadily for two seconds, the curve of his lips finally turning into a playful smile.
MC: What do you mean…?
Shaw: It means I’m cheating.
Shaw: I just want to go to the amusement park with you.
—
[Section 3]
The sweet scent of cotton candy drifted through the air. In the distance, the drop tower suddenly plunged downward, followed by bursts of screams.
My gaze swept across couples holding hands and laughing together, then I turned and curiously poked Shaw beside me.
MC: Shaw, why did you go back on your word this time? Going back on your word doesn’t seem like your style.
At my question, he withdrew his gaze from the surroundings and tossed out a seemingly unrelated topic.
Shaw: Do you know what the result of yesterday’s customer’s dice roll was?
MC: Hmm… it made him buy the incense burner?
Shaw: Wrong. If he had followed the dice, he should have bought the tall-footed bowl. But the moment the dice settled, he understood what he truly wanted.
He tilted his head and gave me a meaningful glance.
Shaw: So when people hesitate, it’s not because there are too many choices. It’s because they can’t see which one is truly the best choice in their heart.
I froze for a moment, realizing he had seen through my earlier hesitation. I coughed lightly and looped my arm through his.
MC: Heh, you noticed~
Shaw: I’m not stupid.
Shaw: Alright, since we’re here, don’t just stand around. Where should we go first?
I looked around excitedly. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a red panda mascot shuffling out from the entrance, and my eyes lit up.
MC: Let’s take photos with it first!
Seeing us approach, the red panda mascot waved its paw adorably.
I handed my phone to a staff member to take some photos for us and quickly straightened my clothes.
Next, I stood on tiptoe, trying to form little panda ears above Shaw’s head.
But just as my hand was halfway up, another palm came down on my head like a ‘Mount Tai pressing down,’ stopping me in place.
Shaw: Behave yourself.
MC: Just cooperate a little!
The red panda, half a head taller than Shaw, quietly raised its paw and copied him, placing its paw on his head.
Shaw: ……
MC: Ha!
I couldn’t help laughing.
He clicked his tongue lightly, then suddenly reached out and pinched my cheek instead.
MC: You’re taking “revenge” on the wrong person!
I snorted, though the corners of my lips couldn’t help curving upward, letting the camera capture the little commotion.
Under the teasing gaze of the staff member, we tilted our heads in sync before the camera, letting the happiness spread freely.
Staff member: Last one. Try a different pose~
As the staff member lifted the camera again, I blinked, thinking about what pose we hadn’t tried yet.
Instinctively, I glanced at Shaw beside me and saw him curl his lips knowingly.
My hand, still suspended in midair, was suddenly grabbed. My balance shifted, and I fell solidly into his cool, refreshing embrace.
His hand around my shoulder tightened slightly. At the very last second, his bright, bold smile brushed against my cheek.
Shaw: You’ve been cute enough. Time for something different.
Click—the heavy beat of my heartbeat overlapped with the shutter sound. The lively surroundings blurred into background noise.
Warmth spread slowly across my cheek. Even without looking at the photo, I knew this moment would be the most perfect capture.
After waving goodbye to the red panda, I was led out of the photo area by Shaw.
Staff member: Today our park is holding a special couples’ event. Complete the challenges and you can win a mysterious grand prize. If you’re interested, you can join~
The staff member returned my phone and handed me a colorful flyer.
I scanned the words on it, my eyes lighting up as I turned to Shaw.
MC: Want to check it out? The closest one to us seems to be…. the disco spinning ride over there!
He tilted one corner of his mouth upward, lightly gripping my wrist, eagerness clear in his tone.
Shaw: Let’s go have a look.
—
[Section 4]
Pushing through the bustling crowd, Shaw and I finally stepped onto the disco spinning ride and found seats right next to each other.
The machine started up slowly. The laughter of the couples around us tangled with the upbeat music, lifting my mood along with it.
The amusement park decorations that had been hidden by the crowd now sprang vividly into view. Swaying with the rhythm, I tugged at his sleeve.
MC: This ride feels pretty relaxing, kind of like sitting on a boat.
MC: Looks like that mysterious grand prize is as good as ours~
Buzz—
The platform beneath us suddenly jolted. I was caught off guard and thrown up from my seat, only to be pressed back down quickly by Shaw’s fast reflexes.
Shaw: Hold on tight. This is just the warm-up. I don’t want to see you launched straight out of here.
Amused by his tone, I wrapped my arms around the one he had placed protectively in front of me.
MC: Hehe, then I’ll hold onto you tightly. Even if we get launched away, I’m getting launched out together with you~
Shaw: Sure. Then hold on tighter.
As he spoke, he gently pried my hands off his arm. Before I could feel confused, he guided them around his waist instead.
Shaw: You’ve got to grab the right place.
My heartbeat seemed to hit the fast-forward button. The warmth beneath my palms felt like a subtle current, brushing lightly through my whole body.
The flowing music and cheerful laughter filled my ears. Amid the swaying, I gradually sank into his presence, letting the person beside me become the warmest support in that moment.
But the ride’s jolts grew more intense. The out-of-control shaking nearly threw people off.
The open platform seemed to magnify every vibration. Waves of weightlessness surged up again and again. I finally shut my eyes and buried my face in his chest.
The couples around us gradually gave up. In the blink of an eye, only two or three pairs were still holding on.
The arm around my waist tightened a little more.
Shaw [concerned]: We’ve had about enough fun. Maybe we should—
MC: ….no!!
I cut him off decisively, instinctively tightening my arms around him.
Shaw: Tsk, stubborn again. Then don’t close your eyes. Fix your gaze on something far away.
I forced my eyes open just a crack. In my line of sight, we were being tilted high into the air at a frightening angle.
My heart jolted violently. I squeezed my eyes shut again and burrowed further into his embrace.
MC: I’d rather stay dizzy like this. I don’t dare look….
Shaw: Then you’re going to miss the message I left for you on the electronic screen.
Shaw: Not going to look? It’ll switch to the next one in a few seconds.
Curiosity overpowered fear at that moment. I snapped my eyes open, and almost at the same instant, rows of colorful daytime fireworks burst in the distance with a loud bang.
It was as if the entire romance of spring had been splashed across the sky—soft pink wrapped in pearly white, tender green streaked with flowing gold—each color racing to leave its mark.
I stretched my neck, swaying left and right, trying to make out the words through the drifting smoke.
Shaw: What are you shaking for? You’ll only get dizzier.
MC: Didn’t you say you left me a message…
Shaw: …….
Our eyes met. The way his lips parted was clearly reflected in my pupils. I paused, then suddenly realized.
MC [angrily]: You tricked me again, didn’t you? You didn’t post anything on the confession wall at all!
Seeing me huff and turn my head away, he chuckled softly and rested his chin on top of my head.
Shaw [in a sweet whisper x1]: I did want to upload something while we were in line.
Shaw [x2]: But some things aren’t meaningful unless you say them in person.
MC: …Then what were you going to say?
Shaw [x3]: A lot of things. For example… Happy Valentine’s Day.
Shaw [whelp- he's so lovesick]: And it’s you who keeps my world interesting.
—
After we stepped off the ride, a staff member approached us with a smile.
Staff member: Congratulations! Please accept your prize — a single ice cream voucher!
Shaw: …..So this is the “grand prize”?
I couldn’t help laughing. Shaw let out a short scoff and immediately pulled me toward the nearest ice cream cart.
His gaze swept across the options behind the glass. Before I could say anything, he decisively ordered one.
And he picked my favorite flavor.
This person today…
I took the scoop of ice cream from the staff member. Thinking about all of today’s plans, I pressed my lips together slightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly caught a faint glint of reflected light.
Following it, I saw a little boy on a nearby bench playing with some park badges in his hand.
One of them clearly bore the image of the red panda we had just taken photos with.
An idea flashed through my mind. Under Shaw’s puzzled gaze, I held up the ice cream and quickly walked toward the child.
MC: Hi there. Can I trade this for your red panda badge?
Child: Wow~ ice cream~ I have several red panda ones anyway~
Taking the cool badge into my hand, I smiled and ran back to Shaw, carefully pinning it onto him.
Shaw: You traded for it yourself. Why give it to me?
MC: Hehe. Today is our holiday. Of course you need a little gift too.
Shaw: Me?
MC: Mm-hmm~ But it’s not just this badge. Next is your turn! Let’s go do something exciting—something you want to play.
He paused, rubbing the badge on his chest, then smiled at me.
Shaw: You’re such a fool. Haven’t I been doing exactly what I wanted all along?
MC: Huh…
Shaw: What, you think I was deliberately giving in to you today, choosing whatever you chose?
MC: Wasn’t that the case?
Shaw: That’s because the one I chose was you.
Shaw: So whatever choice you make is fine. It’s what I want.
Shaw: No matter what it is, I’ll experience it with you.
My heart stirred. I blinked in sudden understanding.
MC: You mean I’m your “optimal choice”?
Shaw: Tsk. Do you really need to confirm that?
MC: Of course. Say it again properly~
Shaw: I don’t repeat nice words. But I can confirm it in another way.
He leaned slightly toward me. In his eyes, shimmering like flowing gold, my reflection was clear.
Even the sunlight seemed to favor this moment, falling softly over our intertwined hands and casting our joined shadows on the ground.
My heart filled with a gentle sweetness, warm and enveloping. I couldn’t help smiling as I rose onto my toes—
Until his breath blended quietly with mine.
And just like that, it became another perfect Valentine’s Day.
🌸 Note: This post contains details for the “DROP THE BEAT” event releasing on 3 July 2026! 🌸
“I'll become the sun of this world.”
“You're the one I want to see most after I've stripped away every last disguise.”
Translator: @cheesy09
🌟 Mind's Quest: Brilliance Upon the World
Hide your imperfect side. Stay gentle, stay polished, never make a mistake...
These tired old "rules" are something that Kiro has long since abandoned!
That dazzling silver radiance is a brilliance born from love.
It is meant to draw the eyes of the whole world, and, more than anything, make you fall head-over-heels in love with every side of him.
🌟 Mind's Quest Preview:
Recently, a world-renowned record label launched a major new project—bringing together legendary bands from music scenes around the globe to remaster their greatest hits and release brand-new singles.
As the representative band for France, Kiro's former group, Solstice, reunites for a limited time to take part in the project…
The sunlight spills freely around us, gently urging me to reach out my hand towards him.
The moment the bouquet settles into my palms, Helios suddenly slips an arm around my waist and draws me lightly into his embrace.
In the next instant, a kiss carrying the warmth of midsummer lands at the corner of my lips.
It is as effortlessly charming as he is debonair, yet it arrives without the slightest warning.
"...?!"
My eyes widen in stunned surprise.
Behind him, the sun blazes into a dazzling white. Brilliant rays stream through his hair, so bright they almost make me dizzy.
Gold and silver seem to shimmer and overlap, flickering back and forth, like countless fireworks igniting before my eyes.
The cheers and whistles around us feel as though they're muffled beneath a layer of seawater, drifting from somewhere far away.
By the time he lets me go, I'm still completely dazed, and even my breathing falls a bit short.
Helios lets out a soft chuckle and leans close, his lips brushing against the edge of my ear.
"Hold on to the flowers. I'll see you later."
With that, he turns and disappears back into the crowd just as effortlessly as he arrived.
I clutch the bouquet, my mind still reeling, and turn around, almost instinctively—
Penn and the others are standing not far away, staring at me in perfect unison, utterly dumbfounded.
🌸 Note: This post contains details for the “DROP THE BEAT” event releasing on 3 July 2026! 🌸
“Measure me—measure every inch of me.”
“Your brilliance deserves the admiration of the entire world.”
Translator: @cheesy09
🌟 Fashion Date Blurb:
As a genius, he'll never be content staying within his comfort zone.
Whether on the concert stage or the fashion runway, he is a natural-born headliner.
Since there's no escaping the gaze of the ordinary, he chooses to meet it head-on.
Every part of himself that refuses to compromise—every difference that sets him apart—is a treasure unlike any other.
🌟 Date Preview:
A fashion gala curated by a world-renowned fashion designer comes under intense criticism and public scrutiny. And, as the only media outlet to praise his designs, we find ourselves swept into a storm of public opinion.
“I didn't, actually.”
Seeing the surprise on my face, he quickly starts explaining from the beginning.
“Back then, I was still new to the industry. Then all of a sudden, one of the world's top luxury brands wanted to discuss a collaboration with me. I was terrified.”
“...So I told my agency that maybe we should wait at least two years before I endorsed such luxury brands like this. I didn't want people criticizing it and affecting the brand's image or reputation.”
“But the representative who came to meet me dialed Mr. Wilmore's number right in front of me and had us speak directly.”
“Mr. Wilmore laid it out to me straight and said—”
“‘If you turn down this collaboration, perhaps many people will praise you for being a humble and cautious artist.’”
“‘But at the same time, they'll also know this—this young man doesn't have any ambition or confidence.’”
Watching Kiro imitate Mr. Wilmore's calm, assured tone so perfectly, I can't help but smile.
“Don't tell me you simply accepted your fate after that?”
“Of course not. After that, he asked me another question: ‘Kiro... what do you think fashion is?’”
He deliberately trails off, making no move to answer right away.
Giving Kiro 'Hamlet' is the best, smartest decision Papergames has ever made. God forbid, the devs give him Shakespeare's other less well-known works because I would be flipping tables, breaking dinnerware, and setting my house on fire. Also, that evolved karma of Kiro biting MC's lip as he's kissing her!?!?👀🥵 Definitely wasn't on my bingo card.
ASDFGHJKL @keliosyfan!!!! You read my mind, girl 😂 Of course, Kiro would be given Shakespeare's OG emo boy! He was practically made for the role!! “To be or not to be” is such poetic phrasing for a character like Kiro who capitalises on duality.
However, the writers were really cooking when they made MC Gertrude and not Ophelia. They took a risk there, but I'm glad they went for it. Kiro getting Hamlet wouldn't have been as impactful if they had made MC Ophelia instead. Especially with the recent exploration on the theme of “possessiveness” that the writers have been exploring with these two. (Bro, I was NOT expecting that kiss either!! Had me going bugeyed-internally screaming at my screen when I saw it, let me tell ya 😩🔥). I was actually surprised by how many CN fans were taken aback by the change, but I guess that's to be expected if you're not well acquainted with the nuances of the text or the relationship between the characters.
Speaking of which, I'll be posting the date tonight cuz it has been sitting in my drafts for over a month now. I had wanted to translate the event story as well, but I just don't have the time for that. I will however put a couple of notes on the post since it does act as a sort of prologue to the date. I've tried to format the date in a way that can, to some degree, let you experience the choice-based endings that they had for this particular set of dates. Hopefully it isn't all over the place 🤞
🌸 Note: This date “命运之约” was translated from Chinese with help of Google Translate! 🌸
[This date was released in CN on 22 March 2026 :>]
A few things to keep in mind before reading the date:
This date has two different endings, which depends on the choices you make. As such, I have assigned two different colours depending on what choices lead to which ending: red and orange. How the story unfolds is up to you to decide! :>
Some of the dialogue within the date have links that lead to video clippings from the date that will let you hear the way Kiro delivers his Hamlet lines in Chinese!
There is an event story that comes with this set of cards that works as a prologue to the date, however it isn't necessary to read for the date itself. Basically, in the prologue, Kiro and MC join a theatre troupe for a live action roleplaying event where they'll be allotted random characters from Shakespeare's Hamlet. And so, Kiro is given the role of Hamlet while (to their mutual surprise) MC gets Gertrude.
The whole event covers them acting out various scenes from the play while also discussing the scenes and their characters as well. Once the event comes to an end, they both head to check out the British Library where they come across a book that sucks them into it's magical pages, which then leads to the events of the date:
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
[Introduction]
Hamlet
After the King of Denmark dies, his brother ascends the throne and marries Queen Gertrude. Prince Hamlet is at once filled with grief and turmoil over his father’s death and his mother’s remarriage.
One day, the ghost of the late king appears and reveals the truth of his death—that he was murdered by his brother, who poisoned him to seize the throne.
Having learned the truth, Hamlet vows to avenge his father.
—
*All artifacts, exhibitions, and related content mentioned in this text are fictional settings within the game and are used solely for narrative purposes. They do not reflect real-world situations.*
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
[Chapter 1]
The night is dense, and a thin mist shrouds the ancient castle in the distance. Tall spires pierce the night sky, and towers of dark stone rise in uneven layers, steeped in the weight of time. Their ink-dark outlines seem to grow out of the night itself, exuding a sense of composed solemnity.
I move my stiff fingers and touch the rough, cold stone beneath me. The chill gradually dispels my dizziness, and only then am I surprised to find myself sitting on a terrace.
…What is this place?
I look around in confusion. Through the misty rain, rows of low buildings stretch along the coastline. Several old, solid watchtowers stand in the corners, and I can just make out the faint outline of a harbor.
The sea breeze lifts strands of my hair, the sensation so real that my heart jolts.
…Wasn’t I just with Kiro, looking at the Shakespeare exhibition? How did I suddenly end up here?
Wait—where is Kiro?!
With no one beside me, confusion and unease wrap around me like the night fog. Then, in the next instant, a faint rustling sound comes from behind.
A figure suddenly rises from behind a nearby stone wall. He looks ashen and disheveled under the moonlight, his eyes scanning the surroundings in confusion.
The moment he sees me clearly, he strides over in a rush.
Kiro: Are you okay? Did you get hurt anywhere?
He checks me inch by inch—my arms, my shoulders—his eyes filled with undisguised lingering fear, making my heart soften all at once.
MC: I’m fine. I’m not hurt. What about you?
He pauses for a moment, as if only just remembering himself. Then he lifts his arms, gives them a shake, and moves his legs as well.
Kiro: I… I think I’m fine too.
But I’m still not reassured. Only after carefully checking him over and confirming that he’s truly unharmed do I finally begin to calm down.
MC: Where are we, exactly? Could this be part of the exhibition…?
Perhaps now that he has the space to think, he cautiously—and curiously—looks around the empty terrace.
Kiro: We’ll know if we check.
Kiro: If it’s part of the exhibition, there should be other visitors here too.
He blinks, then cups his hands around his mouth like a megaphone.
Kiro: Is anyone there—!!
But the endless night offers no reply. We exchange a glance, seeing the same doubts reflected in each other’s eyes.
Just as we’re about to make our way toward the castle, a sluggish, eerie sound suddenly breaks through the silence.
In the next second, Kiro shields me behind him. I carefully peek out from over his shoulder.
At the far end of the terrace, a translucent figure slowly appears. He is clad in heavy armor, his lips tightly pressed, his presence dignified and imposing, even in stillness.
Though some distance away, the lingering resentment radiating from him is unmistakable.
Ghost: Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand—of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched—
Ghost: Cut off, even in the blossoms of my sin, unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled—
Ghost: No reck’ning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.
His voice is low and hoarse, steeped in blood-deep resentment, and then, I hear Kiro murmur under his breath.
Kiro: This… isn't this Act 1, Scene 5 of Hamlet?
Kiro: Those are lines recited by the murdered old king…!
A flame seems to burn in his eyes, igniting his whole being with vibrant intensity.
Looking at the castle once more, everything seems to take on a strange, almost magical quality—and I find myself forming a rather crazy hypothesis.
MC: So what happens next?
Kiro: According to the story, Hamlet is supposed to show up here.
But even after the ghost finishes speaking, the air falls back into silence. No one appears.
I wait for quite some time before softly tugging at Kiro's sleeve—only to find that the air around him has suddenly grown inexplicably heavy.
It’s as if he doesn’t feel my touch at all. He simply stares at the solitary ghost in shock, then slowly begins to walk toward it.
MC: …Kiro?
He doesn’t respond. He keeps moving forward, as if something deep within him is pulling him ahead, until he stops before the old king.
As though he has finally confirmed something, his breathing softens—becoming almost respectful in it's gentleness.
The old king raises his translucent hand, as if trying to pat Kiro on the shoulder—yet it leaves behind nothing but the faintest trace of wind.
As though suppressing overwhelming grief, Kiro's shoulders tremble uncontrollably, as though bearing an emotion that does not belong to him.
Everything grows stranger and stranger. A chilling sense of unease grips me, and I run toward him, wanting to ask what’s wrong—
But after only a few steps, I crash into something solid. Like… an invisible barrier.
Is this Evol? Why can’t I get close to him? What’s happening to him? What is this place?
Countless questions flood my mind, but none are answered.
Kiro sinks deeper into the emotions, raising his arms toward the heavens—
Kiro: O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? Shall I couple hell as well—?
It is clearly his voice, yet it speaks of a sorrow and bewilderment that do not belong to him.
Every word and phrase carries heart-wrenching grief, uncontrollable fury—and beneath it all, a restless confusion that has nowhere to settle.
…That is not Kiro.
The moment this thought forms, a cold white light flashes across the sky—Act I, Scene V.
MC: Act 1, Scene 5…?
I recall what Kiro just said, and am momentarily stunned.
But the time I come back to my senses, the ghost has vanished without a trace, leaving no one but Kiro, standing there in a daze, like someone who just struggled to wake up from a heavy dream.
Seeing me walk towards him, he slowly comes back to his senses.
Kiro: MC, pinch me.
Not understanding, I lightly pinch his arm and watch him slowly let it a sigh of relief.
Kiro: I’m back?
MC: D-Don’t scare me like that.
Perhaps sensing my panic, he takes my hand and gently explains what just happened.
Kiro: Don’t worry. While it did feel like a soul temporarily “borrowed” my body just now, it didn’t hurt me.
Kiro: Even so, just experiencing it for that short moment… I could barely breathe.
Kiro: His emotions were so complex and heavy…
His voice seems to trigger some kind of response. From the depths of the universe comes the sound of pages turning—loud and immense.
And in the sky where those mysterious words appeared earlier, new text emerges.
“Welcome to the world of Hamlet.”
“Before the story ends, you will not be able to leave.”
“Special exemption: You will not face true death in this world.”
Kiro: So it really is the world of Hamlet…
His voice is soft, yet filled with a reverent excitement.
MC: Sounds like we’re about to start a new adventure?
Kiro: Mm. But there might be danger, so we have to keep holding onto each other tightly.
He threads his fingers through mine, gripping them firmly, then seems to remember something important.
Kiro: But if I’m Hamlet, then you're…
Kiro: Just now, did you feel any emotions that weren’t your own?
Meeting his expectant gaze, I shake my head.
Kiro: It’s okay. It just means that your role hasn’t appeared yet.
Kiro: There’s no story in this world where I exist without you.
He says it with complete certainty, then directly stops a passing attendant.
He clears his throat deliberately, making the attendant visibly nervous.
Attendant: Prince Hamlet, Your Majesty Queen Gertrude—how may I serve you?
MC: …?!
…The Queen? Hamlet’s mother?!
Our eyes meet, and shock spreads silently between us.
For a long moment, we both remain quiet, trying to process this completely unexpected development.
Choices:
1. <<Protest>>
2. <<Let nature take its course>>
—
1. <<Protest>>
If someone can set the rules of this world, then shouldn’t I be able to get a role with more scenes opposite Hamlet?
Thinking this, I look up at the sky where the words had appeared earlier, with a sense of anticipation, and call out loudly—
MC: Excuse me—! I’d like to change my role—
No response comes. Just as I start to feel a little disappointed, I hear Kiro's soft laugh.
Kiro: It’s okay. This is fine too.
Kiro: No matter what role you have, it won’t affect our story.
—
2. <<Let nature take its course>>
MC: Forget it. This storybook world must have its own reasons for this.
MC: Who knows, maybe a role like this will let us encounter all kinds of strange and wonderful things?
Seeing me shrug it off nonchalantly, he thinks for a moment, then nods in agreement.
But a moment later, as if something else comes to mind, he lowers his head and presses a kiss to my lips.
Kiro: No matter the reason, to me, you’ll always be my MC.
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
[Chapter 2]
Very quickly, we figure out the rules of this world—
Whenever we step into a scene written by Shakespeare, we take on the roles of its characters. And when the words that mark the end of a scene appear, the invisible restraints quietly fade away.
Neither of us can quite put the feeling into words yet. It’s as if we’ve truly entered the world of Hamlet, quietly experiencing the joys, sorrows, and fate of its characters.
On the marble steps of Elsinore Castle, we see the wicked Claudius whispering schemes with his confidant Polonius.
We also see the noble youth Laertes bend down to pick up a stone by the garden pond, flicking it across the water in a neat series of skips.
Right now, Kiro and I are sitting on the grass in the garden, basking in sunlight from centuries past.
Perhaps it’s because everything is so peaceful that I turn to look at Kiro, only to follow his gaze and notice a young man.
Bathed in warm sunlight, the young man flips through a parchment scroll as he hurries toward the library.
MC: Is that Hamlet’s friend?
Kiro: Mhm. Horatio.
Kiro: The person who will stand alongside Hamlet to the very end—and also the one who will carry the truth and tell it to the world.
The boy in our line of sight suddenly stops, as if something has occurred to him.
Then, without minding the grass, he sits cross-legged on the lawn and begins scribbling something onto the scroll with a quill pen.
MC: This is amazing… I never imagined that we’d get to see their lives outside the story like this.
Kiro: Feels like they’re no different from us, doesn’t it?
Kiro: They get lost in thought, feel confused, cry, and laugh... Everyone truly has their own story.
MC: Now that you mention it… I suddenly feel like this is a rare opportunity.
MC: I should take this chance to experience a bit more of Queen Gertrude’s life.
Seeing my unusually serious expression, Kiro can’t help but laugh.
Kiro: Then let’s work together and open our hearts to them a little more.
Kiro: That way, we might hear their innermost thoughts more clearly.
As if in response, the familiar sound of pages turning echoes from the sky. We instinctively look up and see the words “Act III, Scene I” quietly appear across the heavens.
—
In the next instant, an irresistible force sweeps over me, and the surroundings shift abruptly—
The gentle greenery of the garden vanishes from sight, replaced by the pale gray stone walls of the castle corridor. Heavy wooden beams press down from above, their aged grain dark and cracked, while a few hanging chandeliers cast a cold and indifferent light.
Beside me stands a man wearing a crown. His brows are furrowed, yet the sinister intent in his expression cannot be hidden.
My heart begins to pound uncontrollably.
This is Claudius—the one who poisoned the king, and the one the queen chose to rely on.
Across from us stand two ministers, their expressions respectful and composed.
Claudius: And can you by no drift of conference get from him why he puts on this confusion, grating so harshly all his days of quiet with turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
My heart clenches sharply, a heavy, dull ache spreading through me.
I don’t understand what these emotions are, and yet I am instinctively swept up in them.
It feels as if a heavy boulder is dragging my heart endlessly downward, making it hard for me to breathe.
Then, blurred images begin to surface before my eyes: a stretched out red carpet, music and ceremony filling the air. I—dressed in regal attire, standing beside Claudius.
Below the wedding platform, Hamlet arrives late, silent and brooding, as though the entire world has turned its back on him.
When I come back to my senses, the three people beside me are still quietly plotting—to lure Hamlet into revealing the truth beneath his madness.
A sharp pain spreads through my palm, and I suddenly realize how tightly my fingers are clenched.
Almost instinctively, I want to speak up—to tell them to stop hurting a child who has just lost someone dear to him.
But when the words reach my lips, the moment I meet Claudius’s gaze, I swallow them back down.
Claudius: Sweet Gertrude, leave us.
Claudius: We have closely sent for Hamlet hither.
There is not the slightest hint of negotiation in his tone—only a declaration of what has been decided.
Choices:
1. <<Leave>>
2. <<Don't want to leave>>
—
1. <<Leave>>
I know that this is the only way the story can continue as it should.
So I let cowardice take hold of my mind, and word by word speak the lines that have long been set in stone—
—
2. <<Don't want to leave>>
A strong resistance surges within me, and I instinctively fall silent.
I gaze toward the end of the corridor, as if I can already see that familiar figure walking out from the light and shadow.
I want to go to him. I want to stand by his side—just as I have done countless times before.
In my daze, I even sense that this same urgency isn't coming from my heart alone.
My legs tremble slightly, yet even as the soles of my shoes scrape harshly against the floor, I still cannot take a single step forward.
In the next second, I hear my own voice speak in submission—
—
MC: I shall obey you.
I deliver my lines mechanically, like a puppet being controlled, and move step by step to the side of the corridor.
Only when the invisible pressure lifts do I flex my arm slightly, realizing my body is finally back under my control.
The next moment, as the doors are pushed open, Kiro steps into my sight.
Dressed in a dark robe, his figure appears even taller. The liveliness that once filled his features has faded, replaced by a profound melancholy that cannot be dissolved.
I instinctively move toward him—only to collide once more into that familiar invisible barrier.
So all I can do is stand there, watching him from a distance, as he is gradually pulled into emotions that do not belong to him—violent and overwhelming.
Kiro: To be or not to be—that is the question…
Those questions that are constantly posed toward fate echo hollowly through the corridor, receiving no answer.
And those eyes, once always filled with starlight, are now veiled by a thin mist—as if he is lost in Hamlet’s confusion, struggling with the same struggle Hamlet is.
An indescribable bitter ache rises in my chest. I cannot bear to watch any longer—and yet I cannot seem to look away.
When the scene ends, the corridor falls back into silence, and I stand there, stunned for a moment.
Not far away, Kiro braces his arms against his knees, head slightly lowered, his chest heaving as he catches his breath.
I finally run towards him and gently pull him into my arms.
MC: Are you okay?
Kiro: [slightly out of breath] …I’m fine.
Kiro: It’s just that… experiencing it firsthand like this, I'm starting to realize that Hamlet’s emotions are far more complex than I had imagined.
He slowly steadies his breathing, then lifts his hand to gently rub between my brows.
Kiro: Don’t worry. I’m a seasoned actor, after all. I have plenty of experience when it comes to stepping into a role.
Kiro: Or rather, what about you? Do you feel uneasy about becoming Queen Gertrude?
I freeze for a moment, only then realizing that the heavy weight from earlier is still slowly echoing in my chest.
MC: Mm… I can sense that she seems to feel very guilty towards Hamlet, but also very afraid.
MC: It’s like every second, there are two forces pulling at her soul…
Those deep blue eyes flicker softly as he cups my face with gentle hands.
Kiro: That’s my fault. I didn’t tell you an important acting principle in advance…
MC: Hm? What principle?
Seeing how mysteriously he’s acting, my curiosity is instantly piqued.
Kiro: You can empathize with her with all your heart—but you must return the pain back to her.
Kiro: Only then can you truly see her—and get closer to her.
Perhaps noticing my half-understanding nod, he reaches out his hand toward me.
Kiro: But even if you do get affected, it’s okay—
Kiro: As long as you hold onto my hand tightly, I’ll help you find yourself again.
The warmth in his eyes completely dispels the gloom in my heart, and I instinctively tighten my grip on his hand.
MC: Then… if you had the chance, would you tell Hamlet that his mother has always harboured guilt towards him?
Kiro: I think he’s always known that.
Perhaps noticing my surprised silence, he slowly smiles.
Kiro: I’ve always felt that what kept him trapped in the night his father died wasn’t anyone else, but himself.
Kiro: He was the one who abandoned this hypocritical and conspiratorial world, choosing to let that flame burn his own heart.
Kiro: Choosing, instead, to stand on the side of justice and conscience.
MC: …He was a brave person too.
A beam of sunlight slips through the window lattice, scattering softly into his eyes—warm and gentle.
Kiro: Yeah, it’s just a pity that he wasn’t very lucky.
Kiro: So in this wonderful encounter, if we can let him touch something beautiful, even just a little bit, within the cracks of his fate… that would be enough.
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
[Chapter 3]
Therefore, in the warmest hours of the afternoon, Kiro would invite Horatio to a small hall for hot ale.
A clay jug simmers over the fire. The scent of grain and alcohol, wrapped in gentle heat, seems to drive away Denmark’s ever-present damp cold.
The two young men sit across from each other, drinking lightly, chatting about the absurd rumors drifting through the streets—as if they’ve momentarily forgotten the weight of their country and their obsession with revenge.
And when dusk seeps into the hall, he pulls out old books from Hamlet’s time studying in Wittenberg.
Moonlight filters through the window lattice, falling across the parchment pages—illuminating passages of classical philosophy and handwritten translations of ancient Greek tragedies…
His fingertips brush over the annotations, as if also tracing the thoughts of the young prince—pure and unguarded, before fate had shattered him.
Time slips by quietly, and inevitably, I begin to worry about what is to unfold next in the story—Hamlet accidentally killing Polonius by Gertrude's bedside.
Though the mysterious message said death will not befall us, it does not seem to extend that mercy to the people of this world.
And Kiro, who will have to carry out this act himself, must be enduring unimaginable struggle and guilt.
Thinking of this, I look at Kiro with concern—only to meet a pair of knowing eyes.
Kiro: Worried about the next scene, Miss Chips?
I pause for a moment, then nod honestly.
MC: Are you scared?
Kiro: I am.
He doesn’t hesitate at all, simply meeting my gaze with even greater candor.
Kiro: I’m scared of making an irreparable mistake with my own hands… scared of the loss of life.
Kiro: I’ve even thought that if Claudius had never killed the old king in the first place—
Kiro: Then Hamlet wouldn’t have been trapped in this spiral of revenge, and none of these tragedies would have happened.
His voice is calm and light, yet for some reason, my chaotic thoughts begin to settle.
MC: If—and I mean if—you had a choice, would you let all of that happen?
Kiro: I'd leave the choice to Hamlet in that moment.
Kiro: That’s his fate. It wouldn’t be fair for me to decide it for him.
His lashes lower slightly, and when he looks up again, his gaze is unwavering.
Kiro: But if I could—
Kiro: I would cover your eyes before that moment arrives.
—
A few days later, as the sound of turning pages echoes once more, that inescapable tragedy arrives as scheduled.
The curtain stirs slightly and the dagger in Kiro's hand drives straight towards Polonius’s chest.
Choices:
1. <<Instinctively close your eyes>>
2. <<Subconsciously try to stop him>>
—
1. <<Instinctively close your eyes>>
As “intruders,” we always have to bear the weight of fate alongside Hamlet.
But the struggle Kiro keeps buried deep inside him constantly tugs at my heart.
So I close my eyes, and in the next instant, I hear the dull sound of something being pierced, thick and heavy.
—
2. <<Subconsciously try to stop him>>
Perhaps, deep down, I could never bear to let Kiro face that kind of guilt and helplessness. Nor could I bear to see his hands be stained with blood.
Even though I know rationally that this is an unavoidable part of the story, my body reacts before my mind can catch up.
Instinctively, I reach out, trying to seize the dagger.
But in the very next moment, it’s as if the blade has a will of its own and drives straight into Polonius’s heart.
—
Everything happens much too quickly.
Polonius collapses to the ground in disbelief, falling silent forever.
Thick, warm blood gushes along the blade, splashing onto the backs of our hands—binding Kiro and I together as accomplices.
Blood rushes to my head in an instant. It feels like I'm being strangled by an invisible hand, every gasp tinged with the metallic scent of blood.
My heart nearly leaps out of my throat, and for a moment, I can’t even tell whose fear this is anymore. Only vaguely, can I sense that Gertrude’s fear goes far beyond than what lies before us.
And every time Hamlet looks over, that fear seems to claw its way out from deep within my bones.
MC: What a rash and bloody deed is this!
In the very next moment, an irresistible force lashes out at me and I’m shoved hard against the bedside.
His presence presses in from all sides. His eyes, so close to mine, burn with restless fire, yet are veiled with a layer of disdain.
Kiro: [laughing scornfully] A bloody deed? Indeed—almost as bad, good mother, as kill a king and marry with his brother.
MC: …!
The ugliness I tried so hard to conceal is easily exposed. The fear and shame buried deep within Gertrude’s very bones spreads inch by inch along my spine, throughout my whole body.
Almost instinctively, I try to escape, but a tight grip seizes my wrist and I’m forced back into place.
As he leans down, a heavy shadow falls over me, swallowing me whole.
Kiro: Peace, sit you down.
Perhaps it's because we are so close that I can finally see his eyes clearly—
That obsessive, burning gaze seems to wrap around me, carrying a probing intent that trespasses boundaries.
His eyes sweep lightly over my disheveled clothes, and something dark and complex flickers beneath them—resentment, jealousy, and a scorching desire on the verge of breaking free.
Kiro: And let me wring your heart; for so I shall.
Instinctively, I raise my hand to cover his mouth, trying to stop him from saying anything inappropriate.
But as soon as my fingertips touch his lips, I flinch back as if burned.
Shock, shame, and a hidden, restless stir spread through my limbs; the surging, heavy emotions swallowing me whole.
In a daze, I feel as if I have truly become Gertrude.
It isn't until I come back to my senses that I realize I’ve collapsed onto the ground, as if all the strength has been drained from my body.
I look around blankly. Everything before my eyes seems veiled in mist, the sounds around me distant and muffled. Even my own breathing feels unreal.
Before I can react, my trembling fingertips are suddenly enclosed in a firm, warm grip. Kiro takes my hand and pulls me forward, running out of the chamber.
We run through the courtyard, and out of the castle… slowly leaving the entire world behind us.
MC: Where are you taking me—?
Kiro: I don’t know either.
Kiro: Let fate take us wherever.
I freeze for a moment, feeling the real warmth of his hand as it tightly holds mine.
And the surging emotions inside me seem to be carried away by the wind rushing toward us.
In that instant, I realise that perhaps after losing control like that, we both need some way to let it all out.
So we keep running—running for a long, long time; until neither of us can take another step, and we finally stumble and collapse onto the beach.
We look at each other, our fingers still tightly intertwined.
Our heartbeats mingle, as if soothing the tremors left by the storm, letting me slowly sink into a state of tranquility.
Then, a sky full of stars comes into view—countless constellations stretching into a flowing galaxy.
The ebb and flow of the tides, the rotating of the stars… it feels as though everything in the world is following its own destiny.
Even if we can’t escape fate, at least I have this moment—and someone who will stand with me within it.
—
Following Polonius’s death, it seems that the gears of fate have begun to turn faster.
Like an inescapable cycle, Laertes, son of Polonius, returns with a heart full of vengeance, taking Hamlet as his sworn enemy.
And this hatred is exactly what the guilt-ridden Claudius needs most—
Another’s hand to secretly eliminate Hamlet at last, and cover up his own crime of regicide.
A storm powerful enough to devour everything is quietly brewing beneath the surface of calm.
And yet, our lives seem untouched. For before dawn one day, Kiro brings me to a chapel deep within the castle—
A pastor stands beside the altar, holding a thick Bible. Members of the royal court stand with heads bowed, their expressions solemn.
Amid the scent of beeswax candles, the quiet prayers echo beneath the domed ceiling, carrying an indescribable sense of sanctity.
MC: What are they doing…?
Kiro: Celebrating mass for the late king.
I suddenly recall the day we first arrived in this world—the old king’s sorrowful words still seem to echo in my ears.
And now, under the silent gaze of the divine, that lingering regret seems to grow lighter and lighter.
The next second, however, a thought strikes me.
MC: But the script never mentioned this…
Kiro: Hamlet asked for it.
He says it as if it’s only natural, then solemnly performs a gesture of prayer towards the front.
Kiro: As his son, he would want to make up for the regret that his father carried.
I pause for a moment, then place my hand over my chest as well and bow towards the altar.
As the prayer draws to a close, the sorrow and regret also seems to properly settle.
Soft daylight filters through the stained-glass windows—and a new day begins.
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
[Chapter 4]
Fate stretches ahead like a path already carved, silently leading toward its end.
But it isn't until I sit in the arena that I realize that I’m not as calm as I thought I would be.
Even though, in the earlier parts of the story, we’ve confirmed again and again that this world won’t bring us real harm—
At this moment, as I watch Kiro stand across from Laertes with a longsword in hand, calm and composed, my heart still tightens into a knot.
Beside me, Claudius keeps glancing at Laertes, as if some pre-arranged conspiracy lies hidden between them.
A louder, more restless unease spreads through my limbs, as if that other soul already senses the misfortune about to arrive.
Before I can think further, the sharp clash of blades slices through the silence.
Kiro: Strike one.
My entire body tenses instinctively, but Kiro only lowers his sword with an easy flourish, its tip angled toward the ground, his expression sharp and brilliant.
At Claudius’s signal, a servant brings forward the wine that had long been prepared, and a false sense of festivity rises across the arena.
But a cold instinct keeps drawing my gaze back to that cup of wine, and my heart sinks deeper and deeper.
I pause for a moment, struck by a thought that feels almost impossible.
Could it be… that Gertrude knows that the wine is poisoned? If so, why would she still drink it?
Clang—!
The blades collide once more, locking tightly together, cold sparks frozen in midair. Both sides push with all their strength, neither willing to yield an inch.
They remain in a stalemate for a long moment. Then, as if catching Claudius’s subtle cough of instruction, Laertes glances nervously at the tip of his sword.
In that instant of distraction, Kiro's eyes sharpen, and with a turn of his wrist, he presses his blade down.
Although every movement of the blade carries an unfamiliar court fencing technique—within it, I keep catching glimpses of a familiar shadow.
In those eyes burns a fire I’ve never known—solitary, fierce, as if it could burn the entire world to ashes.
But a gentler, stronger force quietly surrounds that flame, keeping it from consuming itself.
…In that moment, they seem no longer separate.
And in the next second, the sword—carrying the will of two souls—pierces this treacherous world once again.
I'm unable to tear my gaze away, feeling two nearly identical emotions slowly intertwine within my heart—
I want to stand beside him, to declare war on this damned fate together with him.
And so, I lift the cup filled with deadly poison, and pour it down in a single go.
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
If you have chosen to go with the options in red, then proceed with the Ending of Your Choice: Here
If you have chosen to go with the options in orange, then proceed with the Ending of Your Choice: Here
♱⋅── about: Zayne has curated a perfectly polished reputation. He’s a renowned surgeon, the youngest of his graduating class, has a plethora of research papers in his name, and is well-liked and respected amongst his peers. And he would throw it all away to have you like this again, whining and desperate as he fucks you over a billiard table. It’s not fair, really, how easily you manage to get Zayne riled up. Especially when you call him sir.
♱⋅── word count: 8.2K
♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, light bondage, teasing, semi-public sex, praise kink, pwp, dom!zayne, sir kink, pool & billiards, oh he has pretty hands, exclusive tutorial card
Your negroni is fifty percent water by now.
The flock of past classmates, professors, and adorning fans has been relentless, swarming the bar where you and Zayne currently sit— or perhaps more accurately, swarming where the distinguished Dr. Zayne sits.
You sigh under your breath, fussing with the cocktail dress slit against your thigh before taking another sip of your drink, the melted ice dulling the burn of the gin. It has only been an hour since you arrived, and yet you can already feel your social battery reach its limits, tired of going through the same motions for every other person who bothers to acknowledge your presence: a smile, what’s your name, are you a surgeon as well, what’s your connection to Zayne, no we’re not together.
It’s not that you haven’t met fascinating individuals— your first round of drinks was shared with two sisters, old classmates of Zayne’s who were now Linkon’s top OB/GYN doctors and genuinely the sweetest women you’ve talked to today.
But everyone has limits. And with the relentless swarm sucking up to Zayne, it hardly gives you a moment of peace, let alone an opportunity to talk with your date for the evening.
Thinking about the stipulations of your relationship and what this night even means for the two of you sends your mind reeling further, and you finish the rest of your negroni in a shot, wincing.
As if sensing your frustration, the doctor in question looks up from his conversation with a classmate. Zayne gives a knowing, apologetic smile before returning to his conversation, the gesture leaving you with a fluttering in your chest.
Calling the bartender over, you place another drink on the tab before tuning in to the conversation next to you as you hear the echo of laughter.
“No, no, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen it myself!” An older man laughs again, his drink nearly sloshing over the rim as he smacks Zayne’s shoulder. You snort at the way he stiffens. “Our Dr. Zayne isn’t just a professional at work, you should see him play billiards. Let me tell you, he’s amazing at both the operating table and the pool table”
A deep sigh. “You drank too much…”
“Nonsense!” The man pats Zayne again before recounting a story from their residency days to the crowd of onlookers.
You yourself are rather engrossed too, more than happy to learn more about your elusive doctor, especially these hidden talents he seems set on keeping from you. Zayne, on the other hand, is far from impressed. Brows furrowed, he turns from where he sits against the bar counter to scan your face.
Leaning in closer, you inhale sharply at the feel of his cool breath against your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
His thoughtfulness would be sweet if it weren’t for the way Zayne had whispered it, lips brushing against your sensitive skin as you shudder at the slow, deep cadence of his voice.
Noticing your hesitation, Zayne’s hand comes up to rest on your knee, thumb slipping under your dress’ slit. He cocks his head, waiting for your response, drawing soothing circles against your bare skin, which is having quite the opposite effect.
Panicking, you shake your head. “I’m alright. Plus, I’d feel bad stealing you away from all your adoring fans so soon, Dr. Zayne.”
He scoffs under his breath, but you see the slight curl in the corner of his lips. Still, he has yet to let go of your thigh, and you decide to shift closer, turning in your seat so your knees brush against Zayne’s, his hand involuntarily sliding higher.
His fingers are calloused and worn, a testament to his many years spent in the medical field, and his grip is firm against your thigh. It feels familiar, and the memories of his hands on you in many different places sends heat rushing to your cheeks.
The thought doesn't seem to have left his mind either, judging by the way his eyes dart down to your parted lips.
Clearing his throat, Zayne looks away. He is about to say something when you decide to interrupt instead.
“Besides,” you hum, taking a sip of wine. “If the rumors are to be believed, then I’m missing quite a show. Is our Dr. Zayne really that skilled at pool?”
“Ah.” Zayne retracts his hand, clearing his throat as he straightens up in his seat. ”You’re trying to gang up on me.”
You know him well enough to recognize the hint of embarrassment in the way he avoids your gaze. But before you can tease him further, another cheery voice interrupts.
“We meet again, sir!” A young man practically bounces over to the bar, caught between a bow and a handshake as he stumbles into both, flashing a gummy smile at Zayne.
You raise a brow at his overwhelming enthusiasm, glancing at Zayne as you watch recognition flash across his face.
“Good evening. It’s Steven, yes? You don’t need to address me as “sir”.” Zayne nearly grimaces as he says the word, and you take a sip from your drink to hide your growing smile.
“Yes! I’m honored you remembered.” Steven nods vigorously. “But anything less would be inappropriate. After all, you taught me so much with your hands-on instruction, I owe my knowledge and successful residency so far to you, sir.”
Still, Zayne shuts him down. “I was only doing what I should have done. Any credit beyond that is your own.”
It’s almost like he’s allergic to praise.
“Humble and smart,” Steven laughs, winking all-too-obviously at you. “Regardless, I just wanted to thank you for everything formally, sir. You two have a wonderful rest of your night!”
“Yes.” Zayne frowns, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. ”To you as well.”
Quickly feigning ignorance, you pretend to be absorbed in the powerpoint some professor is giving on the opposite side of the venue, immediately lost in a diagram of a heart valve. You’re about to take another sip of your drink when something pinches your ear. Yelping at the sting, you jump in your seat, whirling around to face the culprit.
Zayne scoffs. “I could see you eavesdropping a mile away. Did you find anything interesting?”
“Oh, aside from learning that you are extremely humble, smart, handsome, and rather adept at hands-on instruction, nothing much,” you lean against the counter, blinking up at Zayne through your lashes as you sing the last word, “Sir.”
You watch his jaw clench, a rigid movement that makes your heart skip. Zayne laughs, a harsh, sharp sound. He shakes his head before his hand grips your jaw, tugging you gently but firmly towards him. His eyes narrow, and your heart stutters.
“Clever girl. What is it you want this time?”
This time. As if Zayne could refuse you anything, as if the mere sight of you isn't enough to make him go mad.
But you're not the only one who knows how to play. And he rather likes watching just how far you’ll go.
Smiling innocently, you rest a hand on Zayne’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin seeps through the silky material of his suit. You can't help but slide your hand further up, tracing the curve of his neck with your thumb. “Well…” You lick your lips, tasting the waxy remnants of your lipstick as you fight to keep your voice even under Zayne’s piercing gaze. ”You never did any hands-on training with me, and everyone says what an honor it’s been to be taught by you, sir. I wonder what I’ll have to do to experience it finally.”
Zayne sighs, and for a moment, he appears disappointed.
“It seems like you truly want to learn about surgeries.” A scoff, and Zayne’s face seems to fall back to its stoic facade. But he pulls you closer, tilting your head so his lips graze your earlobe once more. “Who knew my little hunter was so skilled at acting?”
You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in faux surprise. “What accusations, doctor. Besides, I was thinking about something with a… less steep learning curve.”
Zayne hums thoughtfully, thumb venturing from your jaw as it brushes across your lips. Once. Twice. Three times before he stands up, hand finally dropping from your face as he grabs your wrist instead.
“Then allow me to take our first lesson elsewhere.”
You don’t offer any sort of resistance as Zayne leads you through the crowd, opting to let go of your wrist and guide you away from prying eyes, hand instead lingering against the small of your back as he walks beside you. He opens the door for you, directing the two of you down one of the main venue halls, echoes of conversation muffled by the soft ding of an elevator. Zayne flashes his medical ID before clicking the top floor, the sensor buzzing green as it carries you up with the smooth flow of elevator jazz.
Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your waist. His thumb goes back to tracing soft circles against the divots in your back as though from habit, nearly touching bare skin due to the sweeping backless design of your dress. You fight the urge to lean further into him, already fidgeting in your heels at the thought of his touch, slow and careful and calculated, elsewhere.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the elevator.
Oh, god, snap out of it. You rush out of the elevator, hoping Zayne didn’t notice the furious heat you can feel rising from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.
Smoothing some loose hair back behind your ear, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, as if it’ll push all these obscene scenarios of Zayne’s large, perfect hands doing unspeakable things out of your mind.
It works for a moment, expelling all these potential scenarios and instead reminding you of every time Zayne has taken action. Memories of him after hours at the clinic, during movie nights when neither of you paid attention to the TV, and even the drive here where he decided to—
“Does the sight of a billiard table scare you that much?”
The heat from earlier is back in full force. Your eyes snap open, and you are greeted with Zayne’s signature eyebrow raise, feigning concern despite his amused smile that only grows more prominent when he notices the flush creeping across your skin.
“Hardly.” You force a smile, turning your head as you refuse to let him gloat. “I’m just so ecstatic that I’ll finally receive hands-on training from the Dr. Zayne.”
A low hum, “Yes, at least until you feel well enough to go back and socialize.”
He says this, yet you know Zayne is just as happy as you are to finally escape from the crowds below.
“Well,” you purr, “take care of me until then, sir.”
You giggle as he frowns at the title, waltzing past him to a corner pool table in the billiard hall. The floor is dedicated to different tabletop games, all lined up against numerous floor-to-ceiling windows aglow with a gorgeous view of Linkon City. The city lights bleed in since the entire room was rather dim, no doubt an artistic choice, adorned sensually with faux candlelight chandeliers and the low timber of jazz.
“Have you played before?”
“Once or twice– some call me a natural genius.” You brush imaginary hair from your shoulders as Zayne scoffs before handing you a cue stick. Lacing his hand into your own, you pull the stick and thus him closer. “Why? Are you going to be strict with me, sir?”
Seeing through your jab, Zayne responds without hesitation. “Strict teachers make outstanding students. Let’s start.”
You pout, about to walk to the other side of the pool table to observe his shot, when Zayne’s arm laces around your waist, holding you against him for a second longer.
“And no more distractions.”
Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching as he bends to aim the cue, muscles beneath his sleeves flexing with each calculated movement. You hear the sound of a cue stick colliding with its target, but your attention is too focused on his fingers to process any of the actual movements.
Another sharp click breaks the silence. You watch as the cue ball collides with a red striped one, sending the former skittering off the sides while the other sinks into the pocket with a dull thud.
“You’re unfairly good at this.”
Zayne raises a brow, “Maybe it’s because a surgeon requires steady hands.”
And the moment you glance down, any chance of salvation is lost.
You’re not a fool. You’ve noticed Zayne’s hands before, on more occasions than you’d care to admit. But it’s as he says and more.
Lining up for another shot, you watch him stretch forward, forearms exposed from his deliciously rolled-up sleeves and discarded blazer, your eyes tracing every prominent vein down to his hands, spread wide against the table, tense as the stick rests against his pointer finger and thumb. Even in the dim lighting you can see pale silver scars littering his forearms, and you swear you’ve never seen something so beautiful, like traces of frost against marble.
Again, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a surgeon must take good care of their hands, but it’s nearly unfair how gorgeous Zayne’s are. Not only that, but you remember how comforting his hands feel against your own, how they caressed your thigh earlier tonight, and just how attentive and precise they can be.
“You’re not focusing on my lesson.”
Shit.
With a single strike, Zayne tries to sink another ball, but the angle is just off, and the striped ball hits the corner of the pocket, ricocheting against the wood with a dull thud.
Zayne leans against the pool table, cue stick resting against his shoulder.
"Your turn."
Copying Zayne’s movements as best you can, you clumsily position your cue stick between your knuckles, aiming for what seemed to be a fairly easy shot. Only for the ball to ricochet far left as the white ball knocks into it. Even your cue stick wobbles after, as if shaking in laughter at your poor shot.
Frowning, you look up to see Zayne’s disapproving gaze locked onto the pool table.
“Is there not an easier way to do this? One more suitable for beginners?”
“There is.” Zayne leans in, his expression betraying nothing. “First, try adjusting your posture. You’ll see better results.”
Another sigh, and you halfheartedly drape yourself over the table again. “Like this? I’m not sure I fully understand, I think I need your help identifying my weak spots via more hands-on learning, sir.”
“Allow me to guide you, then.”
For a moment you think you’ll have to bait Zayne more, yet before you can figure out how to push the stubborn doctor any further, you feel the weight of his hands, heavy against your shoulder and hip.
Zayne shifts forward, and you can feel the fabric of his suit vest graze the bare skin of your back, his hands unnaturally cool against the dips in your waist as he nudges your back into an arch. You comply, Zayne’s body nearly folding atop yours as his chest brushes your back.
He takes the cue stick from your hand.
“You’re too tense,” Zayne pats your back two times. Your waist immediately bends, and you hear him laugh under his breath. “And now you’re too relaxed.”
With his hands still pressed against your waist, Zayne repositions himself and thus you as well, and you can feel the chill of each exhale against the crook of your neck.
He guides your aim, lining it up to the cue ball. The tip brushes ever so gently against the felt surface as it pushes, slowly and deliberately, practicing the gentle back-and-forth motion as you struggle to keep pace.
“Drop your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally.” He taps your elbow and waist. “Your head, dominant arm, and the cue stick should all form a straight line.”
You begin to shuffle according to Zayne’s instructions, hinging your hips backward before you realize what a wonderfully compromising position he’s placed you in. As discreetly as possible, you allow your right leg to step backward, movement forcing you further against Zayne as you press the curve of your ass into his hips. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a sharp inhale next to your ear.
But instead of pulling away or reprimanding you Zayne merely continues with the lesson, almost frustratingly unaffected if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel his reaction grow between your thighs.
Still, he is nothing if not a professional as he whispers against your jaw, "Behave.”
"I am," you reply, and one of Zayne’s hands comes up to guide your cue stick. “...It just hurts a little.”
You don’t have to see his face to know that Zayne is giving you a smug smile.
“That means it’s correct.”
You take a deep breath. You practice the same back-and-forth motions, thrusting the stick forward on the third, watching as your cue stick strikes the white ball, sending a solid orange one rolling.
Another click and a thud, and you successfully land a pocket.
Just when you feel like you’re finally getting the hang of it, you make the fatal mistake of looking down to where Zayne's fingers guide yours against the cue stick, and your brain turns to scramble once more. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, fleeting sensation.
And you miss.
Zayne is quiet for a long moment, tilting his head, letting the warmth of his cheek press against your neck. “Snap out of it. Are you even paying attention?”
Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Of course,” you retort, skin feeling uncomfortably hot even when Zayne finally steps back from you, your body searing the memory of his touch into every nerve. “I’ll score the next one myself.”
He hums and cocks an eyebrow as if telling you to go on, prove him wrong.
“Remember, move the cue stick to gauge the shot two or three times, then stop at the position closest to the ball.”
You do, gauging the weight of the cue stick, bending down over the table so your chest nearly brushes with the felt, narrowing in on the solid green ball.
“Stop and pull back the cue stick in three, two, one.”
On Zayne’s command, you strike, a satisfying click followed by the thump of the ball falling into the corner pocket. You scored. All on your own.
“It went in!” You jolt up, spinning as you laugh.
“So it did. Seems like your pool skills are less about precision and more… passion.” Zayne’s lips twitch into a smile, and you’re not foolish enough to ignore his double meaning. “Granted, you might need a little more than passion to come back and win this round.”
You scoff, attempting to change the subject without drawing attention to how red your face has gotten. “Well then, perhaps if you’re not too committed to this doctor thing there’s still a chance for you in the professional billiard space.”
“No, thank you. Now, think you can make another shot by yourself?”
“Wait a moment. When a student does well, shouldn’t they get a reward?”
“Very well,” Zayne relents, tone even despite the searing gaze he practically strips down your body. “What do you want?”
“There are a few balls blocking my next shot. Help me?”
A beat, and he blinks at you incredulously. “That is all?”
“What’s wrong, Dr. Zayne? Scared that if you give me too much help, I’ll steal this victory from you?”
“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”
“Then come here.”
God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pliant he is for you, obeying your command without so much as a moment of hesitation. His larger frame now towers above you, close enough that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. And you can’t help but tease him a bit more. It’s not your fault his obedience gives you a rush.
“Closer,” you whisper, teasing your fingers against his vest buttons. “Or else I can’t reach it.”
Still, Zayne complies. Although this time his brows furrow, shuffling closer so his knee slips between yours and your chest presses against his. “What exactly are you…”
You yank his tie, pushing him down atop the felt tabletop before he can finish his sentence.
There’s a dull thud, Zayne’s vest ruffled as you pin him to the table. He still looks frustratingly composed, not a hair out of place, but you feel his chest rise and fall uncharacteristically fast under your palm.
Smiling in victory, your other hand brings up your cue stick, making a show of tapping it on his broad shoulders. “Ah, look, the ball is so far away. I think I’ll need a cue rest.”
“Using cue rests would be overkill,” Zayne retorts, propping himself onto his elbows as you pout. You’ve been teasing him all night; surely just one more push, and he’ll finally give in?
Before he can escape from your hold, you lift the cue stick off his shoulder, letting the tip slip under his tie. Zayne watches with a tight frown as you tug his tie loose. “And this is inappropriate.”
“But are you not enjoying it too?” Your leg slides out from the slit in your dress, allowing you to straddle Zayne’s thigh as your arms cage him further against the pool table. “Sir?”
His brows furrow, almost surprised at your brazenness before he looks down with a huff, and you see the smirk he’s fighting to keep at bay. “I shouldn’t have taught you so much.”
Getting revenge for before, it’s your turn to grip his jaw, brushing kisses against his beautifully hooked nose and down his jaw, leaving smears of cherry red in your wake as you purposefully neglect his waiting lips. “What can I say? I have a very attentive teacher.”
Zayne is about to say something sarcastic back, no doubt, so you roll your hips forward, cutting off his words as you’re rewarded with a groan instead. The angle allows you to grind atop the rough seams in his trousers, nearly catching against his zipper and the heavy bulge you can already feel straining underneath.
His hand shoots out, gripping your thigh as you gasp. There’s a warning look in his eyes, but he makes no move to stop you.
Encouraged, you repeat the motion, rocking forward against him as you give an exaggerated moan. Zayne quickly cuts it off with his other hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip as he muffles your noises. You open your lips further, allowing the digit to slide against your lipstick and push against your tongue.
Zayne tsks, shaking his head.
You gently nip at his finger before beginning to suck the offending digit, flicking your tongue against the rough pad of his thumb. You watch his eyes narrow, the grip on your waist tightening. Zayne is holding himself back. Again.
You release his thumb with a pop. "Don't worry, sir, no one will hear." As if to prove your point, you stop grinding, instead bringing your hand up to cup at the bulge straining against his pants. “Besides, you’re too pretty like this. I'm the only one who gets to hear all the sounds you make.”
You smile so sweetly despite the way you torture him with every rough drag of your palm against his clothed cock. But it’s only when your smile breaks into something more genuine that Zayne feels himself flush, gazing up at you adoringly before he tries to play it off with a chuckle and a pinch at your hips.
"The things you say..." His expression changes to something unreadable, stone-cold and conflicted. The chances of losing you again are greater than he once thought. He doesn't deserve this, and he doesn't deserve you. Zayne is reminded of that every time he dares get too close.
But he can't help it. He’d eternally become a fool, a martyr, just for you.
Zayne’s jaw clenches, and a stuttered moan slips through his teeth as your hand squeezes his clothed cock. "Do you think I'm that weak to flattery?"
"No. I just think you deserve it sometimes." You smirk. "Plus, I'm not flattering you, I'm complimenting."
"And what's the difference?"
"The intent," you whisper, grinding your hips forward again.
This time, you catch him by surprise, and Zayne moans, the sound low and rough and so fucking addicting. Zayne grunts, head tilting back as he shuts his eyes, lips parting ever so slightly as more soft sighs and moans slip out, spurring you on.
You lean in, breath warm against his ear as you whisper, "What's wrong, sir? I thought you had a lesson to teach me."
Zayne’s grip tightens, and he yanks you down so your palms skid across the smooth felt of the pool table you’ve pinned him against, pulling your hips flush against his as his palm cups your ass.
“If you actually want to learn, there's another way I can teach you…” Zayne leans up on his forearms until his lips brush with yours, and right as his eyes begin to flutter closed, you shove him backward. Denying his kiss. Again.
“Sir, this seems to be highly unprofessional.”
And Zayne finally snaps.
“First you use your teacher as a cue rest, then you try to talk about professionalism?” He lets out a curt laugh, and you can practically feel his patience wearing thin. It’s terrifying, and your stomach flutters in anticipation.
“ Unprofessional ,” he spits, and your thighs clench at the growl undercutting his words. “Unprofessional, like that time you were screaming my name in the back of my car while we were still at the hospital parking lot? Or unprofessional, like that time you interrupted me during work hours, begging me to eat your cunt out in my office? Or perhaps it’s like when you decided to turn this lesson into an opportunity to tease me since you’re clearly so desperate?”
You can practically feel yourself drip at Zayne’s blunt words, each one harsh and true— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in to kiss you instead of pushing him away months ago.
Using this moment of weakness, Zayne lifts you up, flipping the two of you around so you’re the one pinned against the pool table as he reaches for his abandoned cue stick. And he finally- finally - claims your lips with his.
Zayne always kisses like he operates, slow and methodical, as if he could spend hours learning every inch of your body, and it never fails to leave you breathless. But today, the urgency in the way he licks into your mouth is palpable, and it has you whining and clutching his suit, legs wrapping around his waist as you try to bring him closer, the oak rim of the table forcing your back into a deeper arch as you whine.
A firm hand against your hip stops your movement, pinning you down. You feel so small, caged in between his much longer legs, his superior height much too obvious. The difference in size is almost laughable as he bends down to lick deeper into your mouth. You gasp against Zayne’s lips as his other hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles against the column of your throat and your fluttering heartbeat underneath.
You whimper into his mouth, futilely attempting to push him away even though your hips grind insistently against his thigh. “Zayne,” his name tapers off into a moan as he kisses you again, addicted. “We can’t–” another kiss. “Anyone could walk in.” Another.
When he does give you space to breathe, a thin string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. He pants heavily, lips shaded a hue of cherry red from your lipstick and teeth as the corner of his mouth tugs into a frown. “Hm, I suppose that’s true. But that didn’t stop you before, did it? So I see no reason why it should stop me now.”
And you realize your fate has long since been sealed.
Zayne returns to peppering your neck with kisses, teeth nipping the soft skin at your collarbone, and you yelp as he leaves a particularly harsh bite. Your hands come up to fist into his hair, and Zayne groans against your chest.
"Do not think I have forgotten our lesson," He whispers.
"Who, me?" You bat your eyelashes. "I would never. Sir."
His gaze darkens. "Then watch closely, I’m only doing this once.”
Leaning over you, Zayne positions the cue stick against your shoulder, not unlike you did to him before. But unlike you, he forces your hips up against his thigh, watching your eyes roll back from the delicious friction of his expensive trousers. “There are two striped balls left. As punishment for your attitude during my lesson, I want you to come on my thigh before I pocket both of them.”
Dumbstruck, you can only stare up at him, stammering at his demand as you feel your pussy flutter. “I- I don’t think…”
Zayne scoffs, silencing you by roughly thumbing at your lips again. “Don’t act so shocked. You’ve been humping me like a desperate brat all evening, so go on and come like one. Come for me.”
His words are demeaning, each one cold and seemingly emotionless as he stares down at you. But you can see the truth in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, their gentle green filled with an adoration so tender it terrifies you. You feel the truth in his touch, only moving with your consent, already having memorized your body to learn the way you tick and acting upon your every whim, only pushing you just as far as you wish to be.
Zayne has never told you he loves you, but he has shown you that he does in a thousand countless ways.
And he’ll prove it to you in a thousand more.
”Unless, you want more punishment?” Zayne twists his head towards you with his next statement, and he feels the way it makes you flinch— it makes him throb at the same time. You shake your head.
You can barely form sentences when he’s deliberately tensing the muscles in his thigh, each movement in time with every needy twitch of your hips like it’s a means to emphasize his point.
“Use. Your. Words.”
“No.”
His grip tightens, fingers tensing against your neck, and you stammer back out the correction. “No, sir.”
“Good girl.”
Your heart flutters at the praise, a quiet whimper escaping you as you buck against him. Your lips are pouty from being bitten between your teeth, and you still hear muffled sobs and moans slip past your lips as you begin chasing the friction against his thigh, the upward angle punishing your clit.
Despite how much Zayne likes to front that he’s in complete control, something tells you he’s having a harder time holding back than he’ll ever admit. You think maybe the bulge in his slacks and his low moans against your ear is proof enough of that.
Zayne’s not sure which is more distracting, the sight of your pretty pussy grinding against him, only just covered by the thin silk of your dress, or the sounds falling from your mouth. The room is filled with the wet sounds of your cunt, your whimpers, and Zayne's own groans.
Pressing his forehead against yours, Zayne leans in for another kiss, the tips of your noses barely touching. But the proximity makes you slow, and he clicks his tongue, reaching above you to line up his cue stick for the next shot. But he pauses, instead fully tugging off the tie you had loosed.
"Since you were so insistent on taking my tie off earlier, here. Keep it for me." Zayne grabs both your wrists with one hand, looping his tie tightly against your skin, skillfully making a knot without ever releasing your wrists.
“Maybe this will help you behave properly,” Zayne whispers, voice low as he mouths your pulse point, a fresh surge of arousal rushing to your core as you feel his length pressing further into you.
With a broken whimper, you hook an ankle around Zayne’s back as you begin to grind harder against his thigh, moaning at the new angle. It hardly compared to the feeling of his fingers or cock fucking into you, but you barely cared, arousal and lust spurred on by Zayne’s voice.
You soon fall into a rhythm, painfully slow, the mere friction sending jolts of heat through you until you’re certain Zayne’s trousers must be stained. You nearly beg for something to hold onto, hands writhing helplessly against his tie as your sobs are muffled into your red-bitten lips.
But just as soon as the pleasure builds, you feel it plateau, hips beginning to stutter as the dull friction becomes too little, the coiling heat inside you desperate to be properly filled up by something, anything.
Zayne, on the other hand, is faring no better.
He’s thoroughly distracted with the pretty little thing desperately fucking herself against his thigh, caging you down to the table as his hands clench against the cue stick, nearly enough to make it snap.
You continue to push yourself in desperation to fulfill Zayne’s order for you to come, his continuous praises mingling with the lewd squelch of your cunt, and your eyes roll back with a cry. Zayne’s voice is intoxicating, his steady tone rough with lust sending tremors down your spine, infecting you like an aphrodisiac. You were building further and further, mounting pressure in your core dizzying, desperation for release seeping through you, mind lust-drunk as you willed yourself to fall off the peak.
But the familiar sound of the billiard balls clicks somewhere above you, followed by two distinct thuds.
A hum, and Zayne pries himself away as you whine at the loss, cold air rushing in.
You failed.
“How disappointing.” Zayne scolds as if he wasn’t the one who nearly came from your grinding instead. ”But you know what happens to students who fail to follow clear instructions, don’t you?”
Standing back, Zayne discards the cue stick entirely as one hand readjusts his trousers, and you whimper at the sight of him cupping his bulge, stroking and coaxing it against his thigh just so he can stand straight.
“Turn around and lift your dress.”
You obey, propping yourself up on shaking arms before you flip around so the rough edge of the billiard table now presses against your stomach, the felt hot beneath your bound wrists.
Zayne hums in approval, almost apathetically observing the way you squirm before he nods at you to continue. Lowering your eyes from his, you allow your leg to slip out from the slit in your dress, spreading your legs back and to the side as the silk falls off the curve of your ass, Zayne’s piercing gaze following every movement.
“Didn’t think a game of pool would turn you on this much,” he muses, leaning against the rim of the table as he crosses his arms.
Unable to meet his stare any longer, your head falls between your still tied-up hands, every inch of your body burning in shame and lust as Zayne continues to wordlessly observe you. You swear you’ll burn up with the way he fucks you with his eyes.
Still, Zayne doesn’t move.
You nearly scream against the table, eyes scrunched as you snap. “Fuck! Zayne, I swear to god, if you don’t finally fuck me I’ll do it myself or find someone else who will.”
The words barely leave your mouth when a hand fists into your hair, pulling you backward until you arch back, and you gasp, mouth falling open at the sensation. Zayne's breath is cold against the shell of your ear, the growl undercutting his words sending tremors down your spine.
"Needy little brat," his fingers curl into your hair, pulling until your jaw goes slack. Zayne's other hand finds its way back to your underwear, the material so damp that it almost feels sticky beneath his touch, and you moan at the sensation, unable to formulate a retort as your eyes flutter closed. “I think you’re forgetting this is meant to be your punishment.”
He snaps the band of your panties, and you choke, knees wobbling.
"Remember to count, or we start over.”
Placing the flat of his palm in the space between your shoulder blades, Zayne pushes you down against the billiard table, the side of your face pressed against the felt.
You hear the sharp crack of his hand meeting your ass before you feel it, the burn returning with a vengeance as you scream into the table. The sting of his palm leaves a searing heat across the curve of your ass, and you bite down on the tie binding your hands to muffle the cries that escape you.
Then you remember his order, lips quivering as you say, "One."
Another smack. This time harder. The strike is so precise it nearly sends you toppling over, the sting and ache following pushing you further against the wood. You let out a sob, eyes beginning to water as you clench around nothing, the throbbing of your cunt only worsened by Zayne's firm grip on the base of your neck.
"Two."
The third strike comes down even harder than the last, the resounding echo of his slap followed by a strangled scream from you, the heat and pain making your knees give out, forcing you to rest fully atop the pool table. “Three.”
You feel tears running down your face, undoubtedly ruining your makeup. But before you can process the fourth smack, you feel the familiar sting against your ass and the paradoxically gentle rub of Zayne's hand against the aching spot, soothing the pain as you count.
"F-Four." You shutter as you feel sheer cold bloom against your skin, his Evol numbing your ass as you whimper from the pleasure-pain.
Zayne’s thumb dips past the seam of your panties, gathering the slick that has been dripping out of you for the entire night. You feel the heat of his stare on you and the weight of his hand heavy on the small of your back, his other hand still gripping your neck with his thumb tracing soft circles against your pulse.
"So wet. Is this what you were hoping for, hm? Testing me until I finally snapped and ruined you?”
You don't dare look him in the eye. "Please, sir. I can't—"
"Can't what? Take anymore? Can't take any more punishment like the disobedient brat you are?" Zayne's voice is low, and you shiver at his words, unable to respond as the tears continue to flow, the mixture of pain and arousal leaving your vision blurred and cloudy. He spanks you again, this time hard enough to leave a mark, and you keen, legs spreading even wider in desperation.
"I can't— ah shit — please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, just fuck me already.” you plead, voice trembling as you beg, desperate to be filled by anything other than the emptiness.
“Language.” Zayne reprimands, and the sting of his strike follows shortly after. “And you forgot to count.”
“Five! It’s f-five.” Your knees buckle with a sob, and Zayne has to hold your waist so you don't slide onto the floor, his touch paradoxically gentle compared to everything else he’s done.
“Shh, you’re far too noisy. It’s almost as though you want someone walking in to find us like this.”
Your dress is only noticeably bunched up from the back and Zayne is still fully clothed. Anyone walking by the billiard hall would just see a couple talking by the tables, but if they were to enter the room it would hardly take a brain surgeon to figure out what was happening. The realization has your walls clench around nothing.
Zayne hoists your wrists up, forcing you into a deeper arch before untying your restraints. You then watch him fist the purple silk into a ball before pushing it into your mouth, gagging you with it. “Don’t worry, this will help.”
It doesn't.
You moan against his tie, saliva pooling against the silky fabric as Zayne pushes the soaked garment deeper into your throat, his chest pressed against your bare back. You look up at him through watery eyes, sniffling, the tingling sensation of being punished in such a way overwhelming you completely. Zayne uses this opportunity to soothe you like he always does— never failing to find the perfect balance between rough and gentle.
"It's alright, I know, my little darling can’t make up her mind. I’ll help you, I’ll show you what you want." Zayne soothes, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his gaze gentle despite his steady and strict voice. Then, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “If anything hurts or becomes too much, tap the table twice."
You wouldn’t dare, not after finally getting what you wanted.
Zayne slips his hands under the backs of your thighs, easily lifting your weight against his chest as you whimper, the toes of your heels just barely grazing the tiled floor. The position is beyond embarrassing, ass up, face down, completely exposed and at his mercy.
He withdraws one hand, and you cry out, a garbled mess of pleas. The absence of his touch is torturous, the throbbing of your pussy and the soreness of your ass a painful reminder of the punishment you received.
The tent in his pants was tantalizingly obvious, even more pronounced once he pushed his pants down, taking out his length. He spits on his fingers, the slick sounds of him stroking himself making you whine in anticipation. It was oozing with precum, head red and flushed as he jerks himself off with sharp movements between your thighs. You grind your hips back, trying to tempt him, but all Zayne does is coo at your pitiful attempts.
"Look at you, so desperate. All that childish stubbornness just because you want my cock." He lines himself up, the head of his cock catching against your entrance as you shiver. The stretch burns, and you groan, eyes screwing shut at the feeling. "My beautiful, filthy girl."
Zayne whispers, curling an arm between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to finally alleviate the needy throbbing against your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues to fuck into you, torturously slow, allowing the blunt head of his cock to bully its way deeper and deeper still.
The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch of Zayne's cock combined with the sting of his earlier punishment leaves you a mess, fluttering around him as he finally bottoms out.
He lets out a long moan, a low rumble that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You're so full, the head of his cock pressing insistently against the bundle of nerves inside you.
Some distant part of you is mortified of every lewd squelch and moan that echos over the jazz in the public hall, but feeling Zayne gently cup your ass while the other brutally pins you down, hearing him come apart against the back of your neck, knowing that your stoic lover was pushed to such extremes has you keening.
You want to feel every inch of him, so you clench down, and Zayne bites the back of your neck in retaliation, his hips stuttering.
"You’re perfect." Zayne praises, and his breathless voice sends shivers down your spine. "So good for me, taking me so well."
Zayne finally starts moving, letting the tip of his cock pull back until the head catches on the rim of your cunt, trying desperately to keep him inside, until he thrusts back into you in a single harsh motion, watching you fall apart just as he knew you would.
Your scream muffles into the gag, and Zayne reaches down to push the tie deeper into your mouth, the knot catching on the back of your tongue as he sets a steady pace.
The hand against your lower stomach shifts, still pressing hard enough so Zayne can feel his cock throb through you, and yet now positioned perfectly to thumb against your clit too. He needs to make you come, to feel it around him.
Zayne knows your body better than his own, knows exactly what angle he needs to hit, knows exactly where to touch to send your hips jerking back, and knows exactly where to tease to have you clenching down and sobbing into his tie.
It doesn't take long until you're coming, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves until you're screaming, thighs shaking, and he has to hold them open as you fall apart around him, cunt gushing as you squirt over his suit and trousers.
Your orgasm has your walls fluttering, clenching around his cock as it nearly begs for him to be buried deeper inside, and Zayne grunts, a broken moan ripped from his throat as his grip on your thigh tightens.
The pace of his thrusts grows sloppier, and you can tell he's close, the wet squelch of his cock inside your cunt driving you mad as his rhythm becomes inconsistent. You can feel his breath fan against your neck, labored and shaky, with the way he chases his high.
Your cunt aches with how full you feel, overstimulated and sensitive, but you push your hips back anyway, meeting Zayne halfway as you both chase the release that's been building up all night.
With one final thrust, Zayne finally comes inside you, a choked gasp followed by a low moan as his hips stutter, almost fucking his cum back into you as a sloppy mixture of your release drip down his cock and your thighs.
Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your second orgasm takes you by surprise, your body convulsing at the overstimulation and the warm soothing sensation of being filled to the brim.
"Fuck." Zayne whispers, his hands holding your hips as his thumbs trace circles against the dimples at the small of your back. The chill and comfort of his hands is almost enough to distract you from the ache, and you groan, legs finally giving out beneath you as you fall forward onto the pool table, the hard surface unforgiving as the wood rubs against your bruised knees.
Ever so gently, Zayne removes his tie from your mouth, turning you around so you’re pressed tight against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and the way his hands tremble, and you smile, the familiar tenderness of his touch calming the both of you.
He slowly runs a hand down the curve of your back and you hum against the top of his head, your own hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. “I think I love you, Zayne.”
He doesn’t say a word, instead, you feel his other arm wrap around your waist, tucking you further into his embrace.
The two of you remain like this, tangled in each other until your breathing finally evens out and the fever that inflected you begins to cool. When Zayne finally speaks, his voice is muffled against your skin, and you shiver at the mere brush of his lips. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Hmm, not any more than I’d want to be.”
You mean it as a joke, but Zayne immediately stiffens in your hold, pulling back just enough to inspect your neck, then your wrists and hips as he kisses each bruise and remaining mark with hushed apologies.
"Did you mean it?"
You look down at him, his brows furrowed as you thumb at the stubborn crease that appears between them. You’re not sure why, but something in the way he stares up at you, waiting, longing, makes tears prick in the back of your eyes.
"Zayne," your voice is gentle, and you cup his cheek. "I do. I love you."
The tension in his jaw melts, his expression softening into something unnameable. His hand comes up to cup yours, scarred thumb tracing circles against your palm. " Say it again."
"I love you," you repeat, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "I love you. I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Zayne–"
The last syllable of his name is cut off by his lips against yours, and you smile into the kiss, pulling him up until his forehead finally rests on your again.
"As do I," Zayne whispers, voice thick as he holds you close.
🌸 Note: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date “燃沙之约” releasing on 3rd June 2026! 🌸
“I want to show you every wonder you've heard of but never seen.”
“Hold me. Claim me.”
Translator: @cheesy09
In the heart of this barren wasteland, we revel without end, pouring spheres of melody into the sea of sand and watching beautiful ripples spread across its surface.
🌟 Burning Sands Date Blurb:
The coarse sting of the desert lashes against his skin, yet only makes his eyes shine brighter—like stars at the edge of the desert, sending you a passionate invite.
—“Hold me. Claim me.”
🌟 Date Preview:
At Kiro's invitation, I set off with him on an impromptu trip deep into the desert to take part in the mysterious "Burning Festival", only to end up organizing with him a DJ performance that belonged to us alone.
The bonfire burns fiercely, orange-gold flames dancing against the night.
Nearby, someone idly strums a guitar. The notes are off-key, scattering into the wind, yet somehow moving all the same.
In the distance, pillars of light sway through the darkness. The unfinished construction continues; metal and plaster, wood and machinery, paint and glass—all of it is gradually being assembled into this barren land.
Suddenly, a streak of light flashes past. A bicycle wrapped in LED strips glides by like a fish swimming through water.
This place feels less like a campsite and more like a construction site built from the dreams of countless people.
The two of us are wrapped in the same blanket, shoulder to shoulder.
A pale golden glow rests upon his ever-smiling eyes. Together, we quietly watch everything around us. Then, we each pick up the small cups before us and gently clink them together.
"Some of these artworks look so fragile. How are they supposed to take them away?"
"They won't. Everything here—just like that Burning Festival icon and those sunflowers—will be burned."
He raises a hand and points toward a massive, indistinct structure at the center of the grounds, his voice as light as the music drifting through the air.
"Perhaps some things can become whatever they want to be precisely because they're destined to disappear."
I don't answer. Instead, I gently squeeze his fingertips and bring my ear as close to his heart as possible.
Closing my eyes, I listen, and immerse myself in the most beautiful work of art I possess in this moment.
🌸 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date that hasn't been released on the EN server yet! 🌸
[Note: This date was translated with the help of Google Translate :>]
PART 1: Here
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
[Chapter 4]
After confirming the setlist, what follows is endless practice—session after session, rehearsal after rehearsal....
From the music room at home to the rehearsal stage across the ocean, every time I finish up a full run-through with him, I feel my heart race just a little faster.
And in what feels like the blink of an eye, it's the day of the actual performance.
Kiro stands beside me in a dazzling stage outfit. The lights seem to favor him, tracing the edges of his silhouette, making him look radiant and almost unreal.
He leans down and carefully adjusts the mask on my face, his voice low and gentle.
Kiro: Ready?
MC: Ready.
The moment we step onto the stage together, the lights snap on in perfect unison above us.
In front of us stretches a vast sea of people, layer upon layer, so dense it feels almost endless.
Screams and cheers surge in from every direction, vibrating through my chest until it almost goes numb.
I place my hands on the keyboard, and for a split second, my fingertips tremble.
Just then, Kiro begins to speak, effortlessly drawing all attention to himself.
Kiro: Hello, everybody! Kiro here!
Kiro: I'm really happy to be here at Cosmos tonight, and even happier to be collaborating with the band TwinkLe on this stage.
Kiro: I've been following them since their debut.
Kiro: Their music has a really fresh, natural feel to it, and I can feel the vitality that connects them in their performances.
Kiro: Unfortunately, their lead vocalist couldn't make it today, but I'm still honored to be performing alongside the other member of the band.
Kiro: She's TwinkLe's keyboardist—and my most important partner tonight.
Kiro: Please give her a warm round of applause, everybody!
As the applause erupts, I smile and answer with a cascade of arpeggios from the keyboard.
Kiro: And now—let the music take you away.
The instant the music starts, I tense up, pressing all five fingers firmly onto the keys.
I can't believe it—my racing heartbeat is drawn to you ♪
I pour myself into the rhythm, tuck my breathing into the chords, doing everything I can to keep my fingers aligned with the quickening tempo and melody.
But when we reach the chorus, I still end up making a mistake.
Two notes.
Just two notes—like ripples flashing across the surface of the water, swallowed almost instantly by the beat of the drums.
Yet my heart jolts. Even though my hands keep playing, my eyes unconsciously drift towards Kiro.
The moment I look up, he's already caught on.
Kiro: [singing "Gravity" lol] Through your eyes, through your body ♪
Kiro: All my burning sweetness belongs to you ♪
He sings and dances at the same time, his steps precise as he makes his way towards me.
He stops right in front of me, and the lights fall on him, outlining him in gold.
He flashes me a smile, then lifts his hand and taps out a short improvised phrase across my keyboard.
And just like that, my fleeting mistake transforms into a part of the improvisation.
Audience: AHHHHHHHHHH!!!
I take a deep breath and follow the emotion he hands back to me, letting my fingers fall onto the keys again.
In that instant, I realize that I needn't keep focusing on my "mistake".
Not when Kiro is standing in front of me, his smile bright and certain.
The tight string inside my chest loosens, replaced by a growing, unmistakable joy—
I hear his voice flowing past my ears, and I hear my own playing turn light again beneath my fingertips.
I start to enjoy myself.
I enjoy the feeling of us sprinting forward within the same melody. I even lean into it, bolder this time, meeting him with another improvised exchange during the interlude.
The cheers below surge like a rising tide. Flashing lights rain down on us like a storm.
And suddenly, a thought flickers through me—
It's as if, when the world was first composed, we were notes written into the same line of music from the very beginning, destined to share the same tempo, the same frequency.
When the song ends, Kiro stands center stage, breathing hard, his smile still immensely dazzling.
Kiro: This next song...
He pauses deliberately, teasing the crowd.
Kiro: ...is a brand-new track composed by TwinkLe.
Kiro: I only received the sheet music last week.
Kiro: This song was written by the lead vocalist for his keyboardist.
Kiro: When he handed me the score, he asked me to make sure I told everyone the story behind it—the story of them.
The audience grows unusually quiet. I hold my breath, and through my in-ear monitor I can clearly hear my heart pounding wildly.
Kiro: You see, the lead singer... has a girl that he's liked since he was a kid.
Kiro: Every time he saw her, he didn't know why, but it felt like seeing spring. It made him happy, made him smile, and made his heart race.
Kiro: And the best part of this is that... this girl likes him too.
Kiro: There's not a word in this world that can describe how happy that makes him.
Kiro: Happiness—
He repeats the word with deliberate weight.
Kiro: As it turns out, "happiness" isn't some illusory concept that merely exists in the world of poetry; It's very much real.
Kiro: Like the urge to pull her into his arms the minute she shows up.
Kiro: Or when she resolves herself to stand by his side, even when she's nervous beyond measure.
Kiro: Emotions that he once had to digest alone they could now share with each other, half and half.
Kiro: He's certain that... having her here made him the happiest person in the world.
Kiro: And so he wants her to have a happiness that will never yield—a happiness that he'll defend, for as long as he lives.
As he says this, his gaze naturally settles on me.
Under the stage lights, that shade of blue in his eyes is impossibly clear-bright, unshadowed, without the slightest trace of darkness.
The look lasts only a second, but to me, it stretches longer than eternity.
The cameras are close—close enough to carve this moment into memory.
Kiro: I'm honored to be singing this song.
Kiro: And be a witness to this happiness.
Just then, a staff member hurries onto the stage and hands him a pen.
None of the previous performers had this segment, so it occurs to me that this must be the "surprise" that Mr. Andy mentioned he was going to prepare just for the two of us.
Kiro takes the pen with practiced ease. He turns toward the camera and writes the first stroke directly onto the lens.
KIRO.
The letters sweep boldly across the glass, fluid and decisive, completed in a single breath.
Then, he holds the pen out to me.
—
[OPTIONS]
1. Sign as TwinkLe
When I take it, my fingers are still trembling a bit.
Countless flashes glitter below the stage like a sky full of restless stars, blinking without pause. I lift my hand toward the camera and write the name of the band we chose together, right beside his.
In that moment, it feels less like a signature, and more like an unbreakable circle that I'm drawing around our souls—his and mine—binding and sealing them together.
As the final stroke is made, there is a heartbeat of silence across the entire venue.
And then the cheers erupt, crashing down like a tidal wave, overwhelming and thunderous.
Kiro turns to me with a smile and softly mouths a "Well done" at me.
And the music surges back in the very next second.
—
2. Don't sign
I gently shake my head at him, and instead of taking it, I let my fingers fall back onto the keyboard.
I answer what he just said—not with words, but with a variation of the new song's intro.
A response that only Kiro can understand.
The light in his eyes instantly flares, and without hesitation, he tosses the pen aside and turns back to the microphone.
—
Following the cue of the melody, he begins to sing, and the instant his voice falls into place, the crowd explodes again.
Before the universe was born
We were one
Drifting through the vacuum,
Missing each other, splitting apart—
Until the sun rose
And the city roared to life.
My throat tightens. Without thinking, I open my mouth and sing with him, loud and unrestrained.
MC: When our gazes met in the chaos, I finally realized—Even the deep sea can breathe ♪
We run along the path of meteors, from reality into the virtual.
Our heartbeats thunder, fueling our courage to love—and be loved.
The stage lights blaze against our skin; every inch of me feels like it's on fire.
In my in-ear monitor, all I can hear is my own quickened breathing and his voice, so close it feels almost tangible.
No matter what the tens of thousands of people in the crowd are screaming and cheering for in this enormous festival, I could care for none of it.
All I can see is him.
And those brilliant, burning blue eyes that belong only to me.
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
[Memory Silhouette]
As Kiro moves quickly through the backstage corridor, the lingering swell of emotions still surge within his chest.
Once he reaches a quiet, secluded corner, he pulls out his phone and makes a call.
Two rings later, the line connects. A lazy voice comes through, layered over noisy background sounds.
Hephaestus: Hello? All wrapped up? You sounded great just now.
Kiro: You're at the festival?
Hephaestus: Mm-hmm~ Since I'm on vacation, figured I'd come take in the fun.
Hephaestus: It's total chaos outside right now though. Just heaps upon heaps of people piling up to ambush you two.
Hearing the unmistakable glee in his tone, Kiro arches a brow.
Kiro: I know. That's why I'm calling you.
Hephaestus: I'm technically on leave. Handling the Boss's personal affairs isn't included.
Kiro: I'll send you the intel on those 'big fish' we've been tracking. Consider that payment.
Hephaestus: Now that's more like it. What do you need?
Kiro: Find me an Evolver that can teleport me and her someplace else.
Kiro: I've already sent you the location.
Hephaestus: [after checking it] Wait... what? Didn't you two sing enough just now?
Hephaestus: Count me in. I sing pretty well too, you know.
His teasing voice crackles through the receiver.
Kiro: If you want to sing so bad, go find a karaoke bar yourself. We're in no need of any backup vocals.
Hephaestus: .....
Hephaestus: You're no fun. But that stunt you pulled just now? It left half the organization staring in shock.
Kiro: If they don't like it, they can stop looking. You just do what you're supposed to.
After exchanging a few more words, Kiro ends the call.
No matter what Black Swan thinks of him, Kiro couldn't care less. If anything, he smiles.
He hadn't planned on saying so much on stage. But for some reason, the joy in his heart just wouldn't stop surging.
He wanted everyone to know that he was hers. That he belonged to her completely.
Like a dragon in a game guarding its treasure, ostentatiously staking its claim over it.
His phone keeps lighting up with new notifications; friends who watched the concert flooding him with praise and congratulations.
For a long time now, he has wanted to share this happiness—vast enough to rival that of the whole world.
He slips his phone back into his pocket and heads back towards the lounge. The music surges in waves from the front stage. Even through the wall, it remains clear, the floor beneath his feet vibrating softly.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that things must already be blowing up on social media right about now.
Outside the venue, countless people are probably eagerly awaiting him to make an appearance, to say something, to respond.
But right now, all Kiro wants is to be with her. To savor this lingering exhilarating joy a little longer.
The image of her on stage flashes before his eyes again—the way she played so freely, so passionately.
And driven by the memory, he increases the pace of his steps, pushing faster and faster, not wanting her to wait even a second longer.
Finally, after turning the last corner, he steps into the lounge.
Warm light spills across the room, outlining that familiar figure, and, as if sensing his footsteps, the girl turns around.
The moment she sees him, her smile blooms.
Warmer than sunlight. Brighter than the stars.
She lifts her phone, smiling as she shows him all the messages their friends just sent.
The screen full of blessings feels like a shower of flowers at the most important ceremony—falling around them as they walk forward hand in hand.
And holding on to her hand, he will keep leading her towards even more beautiful horizons ahead.
T/n: By drawing parallels to "the most important ceremony", Kiro is likely referencing a wedding ceremony here!
Noticing that he's gone quiet, she waves a hand in front of him.
He smiles, catches that hand, and presses a gentle kiss to it.
Kiro: Let me be yours, forever and ever.
——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——
[Chapter 5]
The moment we step offstage, Savin is already jogging towards us, speaking in a rush.
Savin: There are too many reporters outside. The hallway is completely blocked.
Savin: Don’t stop and don’t answer anyone. Let’s get back to the lounge first—I’ll handle the rest.
As he talks, he parts the crowd and ushers us forward quickly.
—
The door shuts behind us, sealing off the noise outside in an instant.
Kiro and I let out long sighs at almost the same time and collapse backward onto the sofa together.
I stare at the glaring white light above me for a long time, until my vision begins to blur and double. Only then do I slowly come back from that surreal, weightless haze.
The dampness in my palms and the fine layer of sweat at the back of my neck cling to my skin—proof that the grand performance just now wasn’t a dream.
Once my breathing steadies, I turn to look at Kiro.
At the same time, he happens to turn to look at me.
We lock eyes for two seconds—and then, simultaneously, burst into a fit of laughter.
It's silly and goofy—like that of two kindergarten children.
But it seems that aside from this silly laughter, I don’t know how else to express how I feel right now.
Only when our laughter starts to grow soft and listless, does Kiro prop himself up and lean in closer to me.
His slightly damp bangs brush against the tip of my nose, his breath burning hot against my skin.
Kiro: [breathlessly] What do I do… It's ridiculous how much I love you right now.
MC: What do I do? It's ridiculous how much I've always loved you.
I mimic the helplessness in his tone.
Kiro: If you love me, then kiss me.
I tilt my face up and kiss him without hesitation.
Our breaths—which were only just starting to calm down—start to grow chaotic again during the kiss.
The hand he had braced beside my face drifts unconsciously to my neck and the back of my head, fingers sliding gently into my hair.
Our moist lips and teeth meet in trembling exchange as our fingers mindlessly tangle and comb through each other's damp hair.
Kiro: Tell me—what did it feel like, performing with Superstar Kiro?
Perhaps due to the effort he’d put in on stage, or perhaps due to the heat of the moment, his voice turns husky, carrying with it a languid, teasing allure.
MC: ...I can’t really describe it.
MC: Felt like I was just moving on instinct.
I realize, as I say it, that I truly can’t put it into words.
Even now, when I try to recall those short dozens of minutes, my mind still comes out blank—like it’s been washed clean by a roaring tide.
The only thing I clearly remember is Kiro's singing voice beside me.
Kiro next to me, and me—performing on the same stage as him.
He pauses for a second at my answer, then lets out a soft laugh.
Kiro: All instinct, huh?
Kiro: Then your instincts are incredible. And so brave too.
He praises me lavishly, pulling me into another tight embrace, the rapid rise and fall of his chest echoing against my own.
I can’t help letting out a quiet, breathless laugh as well. It feels like every cell, every nerve in my body is urging me to release the excess rush of dopamine—
And then simply revel in the steady flood of endorphins born from this hug.
We stay wrapped around each other, relaxed and content, savoring this brief moment of respite.
However, the phone on the coffee table keeps chiming insistently, dragging us back to reality.
MC: Are you going to check it?
MC: I have a feeling there are gonna be a lot of trending topics blowing up tonight…
He turns his head to glance at his phone, but instead of reaching for it, he just watches the screen light up again and again.
Kiro: Let them blow up. I’ve imagined this day so many times.
Kiro: I've imagined our performance, being recorded by the whole world.
Kiro: And us, side by side, in everyone’s eyes—for a long, long time to come.
Those words hit my chest and leave it aching. I can barely respond, yet I can’t help wanting to say more.
MC: Actually… I still feel a little regret.
MC: During the first song, I was too nervous. I wasn't able to play the song perfectly.
The whole show went unbelievably smoothly, yet I can’t stop thinking about those two small wrong notes that were saved during the performance.
The thought that those two performances will forever remain on the internet and be watched on repeat makes me want to make them even more perfect.
Kiro: Hahaha! And since when did you catch my perfectionist syndrome, huh Miss Chips?
He grins mischievously. I swat him lightly, but he catches my wrist and gently pulls me closer into his arms.
MC: It’s not perfectionism. I'm just... not quite there yet.
MC: Standing on that stage, I suddenly get why you're always able to sing at concerts for so long.
MC: Turns out that the stage really is addictive.
As I say those words, the image of that glittering sea of lights flashes through my mind again.
Kiro smiles and gently pinches my cheek.
Kiro: If you're still not done with it, then how about we continue somewhere else?
MC: Continue?
Kiro: Mhm. I haven’t heard enough of your voice from the performance just now.
Kiro: And I haven’t seen enough, either.
Kiro: So let’s change locations and keep our performance going.
—
I had assumed we would need to fight our way past the media and crowds just to leave the festival.
But somehow, after Kiro makes a quick phone call outside, a portal suddenly appears right inside the lounge.
…Right. I forget sometimes that he’s actually the omnipotent Boss of Black Swan.
—
The place looks like a band rehearsal studio—small in size, but packed with instruments of every kind.
Kiro glances around, clearly pleased, and nods to himself.
Kiro: Alright. Now we can sing what we want to sing, and play what we want to play.
MC: Pfft… That sounds more like karaoke.
Kiro: No, no, no. I said a performance.
He raises his index finger and shakes it, looking quite serious.
As he speaks, he pulls out a prepared phone stand, sets it up facing the small platform in the corner of the studio, and hits record.
Then he casually picks up an electric guitar, pulls me to the center of our "stage," and clears his throat.
Kiro: Good evening, everyone. Welcome to the Kiro and Miss Chips' Sweetheart Special Concert.
MC: Wait—who exactly are the audience members?
Kiro: Hey, no interrupting me. As for our audience members, well, there are plenty.
Kiro: Savin, Apple Box, Cello, Madam Seidel, Key, Hephaestus, Caleb, Mr. Andy…
He starts rattling off names like he’s reading from a grocery list. By the end of it, he’s even counted Apple Box and Cello’s cat and dog friends.
I laugh so hard I can barely breathe and quickly wave my hands.
MC: Enough, enough! There’s no way this place can fit that many people!
Kiro: Hmph. Anyway, since our dear audience members can’t attend in person, we’ll be presenting tonight’s concert in recorded format instead.
Kiro: I’m the guitarist—and one of the lead vocalists for tonight.
As he says that, he hands the mic to me.
MC: And I’m the keyboardist—and also one of tonight's lead vocalists.
MC: Please enjoy our first song…
I turn to look at the anticipation in his eyes, and suddenly a mischievous idea pops into my head.
MC: “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
Kiro: …?
He freezes for a split second, as expected—and then laughs.
Kiro: I have to admit, as an opening number, that’s a brilliant choice, Miss Chips.
While speaking, he strums the strings of his instrument, and his clear singing voice fills the otherwise empty room.
Kiro: Twinkle, twinkle, little star… How I wonder what you are…
I press down on the keys and join him in harmony.
MC: Up above the world so high… Like a diamond in the sky…
The simple melody plays note after note, light and carefree. Before long, we finish, and neither of us can hold back our laughter.
Kiro: Now for the second song.
He shifts his stance, and his whole presence changes in an instant.
The moment the melody begins, I recognize it—it’s his breakout hit.
The guitar and his singing flow out instinctively, naturally, pouring from his fingertips and throat without pause.
I hear the weight of every note as it falls, as well as the surging, overflowing emotions in his voice.
And later, we sing TwinkLe’s songs.
When we reach familiar sections, he deliberately leans in closer to me, prolonging certain notes, as if teasing me to keep up.
And I answer him with brighter chords, drawing peals of laughter out of him.
By the end, my throat is a little hoarse and my fingertips ache.
But I don’t want to stop. Not in the slightest.
Finally, we sing that not-quite-perfect song again, and this time, I don’t make a mistake.
Or perhaps, I no longer care if I do.
When the chorus rises once more, I lift my face and kiss his lips, with an urgent, desperate need.
Fragments of lyrics dissolve into breath, leaving only his fingers still plucking at the strings.
The phone on its stand stays lit, faithfully recording our childish yet fearless performance.
The stars outside the window flicker. Compared to them, this vast world is but a tiny speck among them.
Yet even they are not nearly as important as a single kiss from the one I love.
So let the rest of it be.
All I want is to sing a little longer tonight, and play a little longer.
Pour out all of my excitement, my nerves, and the happiness that I still can’t quite process into the music.
He draws me closer to him, his forehead resting against mine, and speaks softly, one word at a time.
Kiro: This is the most beautiful performance of my life. I will never let it end.
—
After Cosmos ends, we stay overseas for a few more days, traveling properly before finally boarding a flight back to Loveland City.
When we get off the plane and see each other in our heavy disguises, we both can’t help but laugh—but neither of us lets go of the other’s hand.
Maybe something will change because of this music festival. But at the same time, maybe nothing really will. Work will still be work, and life will still be life.
Apple Box: Woof! Woof!
The moment we push open the door, Apple Box barrels into Kiro's legs so hard he nearly stumbles. Cello refuses to be outdone, weaving excitedly around our feet.
Kiro: I missed you guys so much!
We crouch down and smother the pets with hugs and affection for a long while before it finally feels like we’re truly home.
Kiro lazily scratches Cello under the chin, then suddenly straightens up as if he’s remembered something incredibly important.
Kiro: Miss Chips! I just remembered—the game updated today, didn’t it? Time for another battle!
MC: Oh right! But we haven’t even unpacked our luggage yet.
Kiro: Between luggage and the game, the game obviously wins!
Kiro: We’ve been working nonstop lately. Nothing like a good ole' gaming session to tide us over~
MC: Okay, okay, let me log in first—
—
Dragging our pets along with us, we return to our long-missed Sweet & Cozy Gaming Room and click open the game icon like it’s a ritual.
Ding.
A new message pops up in my chat window.
Stranger: So are you Kiro's girlfriend or not?
It’s that same Level 1 account.
I check the timestamp. The message was sent while Kiro and I were still overseas, enjoying our trip.
—
[OPTIONS]
1. Block
I raise an eyebrow and toss the ID straight into the blacklist.
As casually as wiping dust off a table.
—
2. Reply
I type a line of my own, light and unhurried, and hit send.
