La Corda D'Oro 1. Prologue

_disclaimer: I do not own Kin'iro no Corda_

**Situation: Compromised**

_Perils of the Dark_

First day of the second semester and already, Seiso Academy was abuzz with gaiety brought by the remnants of summer's spirits. Students, music and regular alike, socialized with each other for the first time since the end of the concours, past generation's animosity gone during the life-changing event. The enthusiastic cries of the females when they were reunited with their friends and the booming laughter of the males while they look on grew as they slowly milled through the school gates with rapidity.

Glancing here and there, one could not help overhearing the different story narrated by each students about their summer experiences. Some were full of adventures while some were just . . . sad. However, school seemed to invigorate their depressed souls.

These excitement, nonetheless, were nothing compared to the frenzied crowd slowly forming in the far corner of Seiso: the weekly school bulletin. Pinned on the first board were stolen shots of the concours participant's beach excursion in Kyoto under the heated sun, selected photos to be envied of**—**the majestic sight of the blue scenery, the male in loose tops or without any tops at all, and the female in colorful sundresses. With a trace of envy, they moved unto read the next entry: the test of courage trip.

This one was darker and ominous than the former report, taken in an abandoned shrine during night time, "participated by the competitors and their accompanists," it says. It held not an ounce of interest to the surrounding students yet one can't help glancing at the far right corner of the article and notice the miniscule image of two students in a very . . . compromising position. A _he_ on top of a _she_ pinned on the floor.

Every shade of black and brown eyes widened, their jaw literally dropping as the scandalous hint of the picture slowly processed in their shocked minds. That then sent the audience into incoherency.

"What does it say, what does it say?"

"Who are these guys?"

"I can't see the photo! Can you please move?"

"It's in jitters, can't you see? Hey, are there any names mentioned?"

"Yeah, Amou Nami."

"That's the reporter, idiot! Just read the article, will you . . . I mean, please?"

* * *

**.**

**Perils of the Dark**  
_by Amou Nami_

Danger always lurks in the dark . . . or shall we say, a lover's tryst?

A gorgeous rogue seducing his princess would possibly be the most romantic thing in the world. But one must be careful when planning a rendezvous; you never know who lay awaiting around the corner.

_Who are they and what exactly is their relationship?_

* * *

**.**

Author's Note  
_Sequel to our story Caught in the Act._  
_Sorry for the shortness :) Prologues are supposedly short anyway._  
_Okay, due to public demand [LOL], I finally decided to start writing the story._  
_Review? ;)_


	2. Chapter 1

_Perspectives_

"We have a big problem," Kanayan announced in a subdued voice the moment every requested students filed inside music room three. He was leaning on the mahogany desk behind him, his arms crossed on his chest. "The article published by Amou has caused quite havoc in the school that we fear for your lives."

"Please don't exaggerate sensei! You're scaring Fuyuumi-chan," yelled Hihara Kazuki from behind the room, who was seated beside the quivering Fuyuumi Shouko.

Kanayan uncrossed his arms and held up his hand in a gesture of apology. "Sorry . . . Headmaster's words. Anyway, I just want you to be careful now for, as I said, Amou's article had a rather chaotic effect on the student and your class might prod you on the matter. We're trying to settle it now but some might persevere in getting the information from you."

"Never fear, sensei. Our lips are sealed," Yunoki Azuma's assured in his kind tone. There was no hint of his usual dazzling sparkle; an anxious smile present.

"Considering the fact that we have no information to offer, I believe their efforts would be useless," Tsukimori Len's crisp voice sliced through the bleak barrier, his expression cross as always.

"I do wonder who the people in the picture are, though," Hino Kahoko loudly murmured, breaking the silence inside the room. "If we know them, we could help them through this predicament, don't you think?"

Shimizu Keiichi sent a surreptitious glance at Ryotaro's tensed shoulder, offhandedly remarking, "The photo was taken on the night of the shrine expedition. One might deduce that those involved are within our realm, this room in fact."

"It wouldn't be wise to assume, however," Shouji Megumi, who was Keiichi's partner during the event, commented meaningfully when Tsukasa Hasegawa's obsidian gaze riveted on her.

"Since I don't know anything, I don't think I'm much help," came the hesitant voice belonging to Ogatu Isamu. He had not participated during the concours' excursion as he had gone to Okinawa to spend the summer vacation; returning only the day before. He was the first to have been speculated in his class, his classmates believing that he had taken part of the concours' particpants' plans. Had it not been Keiichi's interception to inform him that Kanazawa-sensei had called a meeting, he would not have escaped the lion's den.

Kanayan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We don't have to speculate on the identity of the party involved and I advise you not to follow the mob. You are old enough for that childish act. Just behave and keep your observations to yourself. As Shouji had said, we must not assume."

And with his purposes said and done, the meeting was dismissed.

* * *

**.**

Tsuchiura Ryotaro was angry.

No, he was more than that—he was mad with fury, mad with outrage . . .

Mad enough to kill someone with his own bare hands.

But no, he would not do that, not even in his current state of rationality. Committing homicide within school premises would be like murdering someone in public; even if that someone is a sly, dishonest devil in the body of a school journalist.

All he could do was plant, grow, and savour an inspiration. In the privacy of his thoughts, that's what exactly he did.

He thought of clasping his sunkissed hands around the delicate, alabaster neck of the woman, so small and tiny that one hand could circle around it; he would feel the quivering swallow on her throat along his palm as she regarded him anxiously, frighteningly. Coolly, he would stare at her with blazing amber eyes. And just as coolly, he would tighten his hold on her, preventing her system from receiving a whit of air through her windpipe. He would smile, one almost feral and anticipating as she grew red with lack of oxygen and then purple.

Oh, but he wouldn't be as cruel as that. He would do it quickly, swiftly. She would not have known it was the end of her life until the last minute. He would spare her the suffering. She deserved that much after her conquests to be on top.

A rumble of disgusted laughter resonated from his chest. He tugged on a fistful of his green hair distractedly as his determined strides echoed along the hallways. He had never expected to feel this searing wrath again. The first time had been when Tsukimori had insulted him, in behalf of every regular student in Seiso Academy, and that was a pity for Ryotaro could never tolerate one-sided prejudice directed among his peers.

However, the current situation was worse than the confrontation with the violin prodigy. It was a matter of reputations.

Thinking about the possible outcomes of today's gossip made his empty hands clench into fists on his hands. Tainting his status was no problem to him; it was Mori's that he was worried about.

During his rather short interlude with her, he had deduced her to be soft-hearted, optimistically-driven and foolhardy romantic female whose knowledge includes the most difficult musical terminology that even he had no awareness about. She always wore an easy, genuine smile with her and produced a tinkling laughter that could set anyone to search for that sonorous sound in the crowd. Her cyan eyes twinkled with veiled amusement each time she perceived something whimsical like the black magic of musical notes.

Ryotaro could not envision breaking those qualities that shaped her being nor could he conceive the devastated look that would cross her serene features at the news that her friend had betrayed her for fame.

Amou Nami may very well have damaged her the moment she published the article.

He could never forgive her for that deliberate intrusion.

* * *

**.**

Amou Nami was staggered to speechlessness.

The minute the school journalist entered the school gate she was startlingly harassed by a couple of regular students. Their number steadfastly increased at each passing second when those within vicinity recognized the author of the reputed article _Perils of the Dark_, which contents had by now spread all over the school.

At first, Nami was flabbergasted by the uninhibited attention she was receiving, feeling herself a celebrity after living in the shadow of everyone during her growing years. Her shock abruptly materialized into puzzlement at the subject the crowd was discussing. She never got to ask them what they were talking about since everyone had endless questions in return, which went: _Who are they? ,_ _Could you give us a hint? _, _What really happened that night? _, _Did you set this up or was it . . ._ and on and on they went.

Her confusion soon cleared as she overheard snatches of conversations among the robust curiosity of her audience. Along her knowledge came extreme disbelief and undisguised injustice on the enormity of the situation.

_How?_

She stubbornly refused to answer for the sake of her friendship with Manami, evading their questions by ducking here and there and occasionally opening her mouth to release a shrilly laughter—a set down she had hoped they recognized. They were incorrigible!

And now she heaved a sigh of relief, having got away from their shifty eyes. To think that she would be in the same boat someday; it was enough to crush her dreams.

She sat up, slowly rubbing her face with a hand in frustration.

_Kami-sama, I hope Mori does not hear of this._

The thought of Manami with her optimistic overview of the world twisting into a cruel perspective due to Nami's own carelessness made her groan deep in her throat.

"I am so dead."

"Oh yes, you are."

Nami's hand fell limply on the desk, her lips agape in surprise as she met the angry, accusing amber eyes of Tsuchiura Ryotaro.

_Damn!_

* * *

**.**

Mori Manami was completely oblivious to the world.

Never been one to wake up early on the day after vacation, she was still wondrously asleep in her majestic bed. Blue sheets, which colour complimented her eyes, were wrapped around her comfortably, her pillow tucked in between her arms as she curled up on her side. Her golden brown hair billowed, dishevelled, on the counterpane, giving her an ethereal aspect while she slept on.

And in her fantasies, she dreamt of a white horse, a fair-head damsel trapped in a brick castle, and a green-head knight in shining armour.

Oh, how close her dreams were to reality!

* * *

**.**

Author's note  
_Woot! :D Finally got to write it._  
_Seriously, I don't know what to write for this chapter._  
_My mind went totally "Whoosh"... blank when I started thinking about it._  
_And so I settled with this -_- I feel it's very... lacking._  
_Even I think I've deprived myself and you, readers, something significant and memorable._

_Tell me what you think? ;)_


	3. Chapter 2

**The Pony's Tail**

Forcing her mouth shut, Nami remained seated on her cushioned swivel chair, regarding the pianist's searing gaze with closed expression, revealing nothing that was there to be guilty of.

The aspiring journalist had always prided herself for her self-control and persistent nonchalance. The moment she realized the extent of her ambition, she chose to remain on the side of dauntlessness and invulnerability, despite the many challenges and hardships she had encountered in her life. She was always the tenacious one with the overwhelming demeanour, a character sufficient to get the necessary information from her quarries. Masked intimidation was, after all, a vital requirement as a reporter. She was still seventeen-years-old and, therefore, has yet to undergo endless changes and numbing experiences in this field. But through observing people in the mass media, she learned the common basics and found herself improving by each passing months.

School was a start. Being part of the journalist's club was no trial; it was their sources and targets who proved to be difficult. There were two kinds of student body who continued brushing off the club's objectives: the soccer members and the music prodigies. The former and latter were unsurprisingly alike in a way that they often looked down at the club's meddlesome ways with the alibi that its members interfere with their training and practice. It was not entirely false, the group's people could testify to that.

Nami did not dislike the opposing ilk, who obviously despised the other as they were in different departments. On the contrary, it made her want to delve into their lives more. There was nothing more interesting than a worthy challenge and she regarded them as one.

Right now, however, she was unsure of that apathetic conviction as she was confronted by a soccer player _and_ piano prodigy in the robust build of Tsuchiura Ryotaro. One was definitely better than two in this situation.

_Damn_, indeed.

Releasing a heavy, deep sigh, she calmly leaned on the soft backrest of her seat, its creaking protest breaking the taut silence. "What brings you here, Tsuchiura-kun?" Stippling her index finger on its arm, she casually crossed her legs beneath the timber writing desk, half-dreading and half-anticipating his reply.

His response was curt and direct, striking straight through her heart. "You actually dared do it."

"I'm afraid I can't follow your thoughts. I have no idea what you are yapping about," she said disingenuously. Her lips almost curled, bitter and offended. So, like everybody else, he thought she had deliberately posted the article in the bulletin board, huh.

"Don't play games with me, Amou. You know what I am about," he remarked darkly, blazing eyes turning to slits. With fingers clenched into fists on his side, he moved away from the door, his stance rigid and controlled as he approached her with heavy footfall. "What kind of friend are you?"

She uncrossed her twined legs, feet firmly on the ground, ready to spring in case he would grab for her. "Look here, Tsuchiura. If this is about your stupid pride—"

"This isn't about me and you well know it!"

"Not you . . . ?!" She stared at him with wide-eyed surprise. She thought that she had wounded his masculine pride by writing the shocking article, thinking that he assumed she had bested him. The idea had eased her a bit, having come across the same scenario in the past. Knowing his current disposition was of different reason all-together did not sit well on her at all. Swallowing the nervous lump on her throat, she pronounced unsteadily, "Th—Then you came here because of—"

"Mori, damn you!" he practically yelled, banging his fist on the table. She flinched on her seat unperceptively. He now stood before her, his chest heaving, his head angled downwards to look at her. "I don't care what you people think of me, I don't mind them talking behind me, I don't even know half the words they're talking about." He laughed derisively before levelling her with a scorching gaze. "But did you think of Mori when you published that column?"

"I—"

He held up a hand. "Don't interrupt me, Amou. Did you think about what people would say when they found out who were in the photo? Did you pause to visualize what situation this would sentence us, to her especially?" His handsome face twisted. "Or did the prospect of fame blind your judgment?"

The scraping on the floor filled the buzzing silence which followed his sneering inquiry, then the brittle sound of skin hitting skin. Her palm stung from where she had slapped him. His head had tilted sideways but he made no notice of the smarting redness on his cheek.

"Would you listen to yourself, _Tsuchiura Ryotaro_," she said disdainfully, refusing to show how hurt she was, "yelling these accusations for all the school to hear. I think it's best that I take a microphone out and let you reveal to the whole campus who the unknown people in the article are."

His eyes widened for a moment, twisting his body to glance at the door left ajar. Turning back to her, he leaned closer, his hand resting on the wooden surface. "Don't sidetrack me from the issue at hand, Amou," came his harsh whisper. It was strange that she found his softly spoken words more threatening.

"What do you want to hear?" she demanded, glaring at him. She jabbed him on his chest as she loudly articulated, "That I hate Mori-san and wanted to ruin her, is that it? That I used you as the centre of gossip? That I wrote that article to increase my popularity?"

He regarded her with unfathomable expression. "I want to know how you got found us that night."

"You thought I set it up?" Her incredibility made her voice stronger and louder. Leaning away from him, her hand dropping from his torso, she fell back on her chair floppily, like an injured bird descending from the sky. "You thought I orchestrated everything to get a scoop?"

"Didn't you?"

"Has anyone told you what an idiot you are?" she retorted sharply, lifting her head condescendingly. She could see how astonished he was by her reply at the way he abruptly stood erect. "I even came to help, you idiot. Kanazawa-sensei was the one who placed those batteries, not me, and if you remember correctly, he too handed you your torches so don't go pointing your fingers at me. You can even ask sensei for confirmation."

Realization dawned in his eyes yet rays of suspicion still lurked beneath them. "That doesn't explain your knowledge of our location."

She rolled her eyes. "Weren't you listening? I was looking for you. I even came across Fuyuumi-chan and Yunoki-senpai to ask which direction you were heading to. Do you know how big that shrine is? It was a matter of error and trial. And then I heard something falling and reached for my camera instinctively." Her lips arched in a smirk. "Imagine my surprise when I saw you above Mori-san when my camera flashed." A flush swept his cheeks and she relished at his embarrassment. "Are you going to blame that to me as well? Or is that blush caused by indignation because I ruined your plan to seduce Mori-san?"

"That was an accident," he pointed out, glaring at her, his previous blush gone.

"So you say," she deliberately drawled while his scowl intensified. "But what can I argue? Men can't control their urges especially when they're with a beautiful woman like Mori-san."

Before Ryotaro could form an intelligent reply from the stuttering he was doing, the siren rang via the speaker overhead, signalling the start of the first period. With not so much as a gracious farewell but a growled "_This is not over_", he left the room, closing the door in his wake.

Nami was still sitting in her same spot after a minute or so since the siren went when she realized something: she forget to tell him that she didn't submit the article to the club.

That was another damn that day.

* * *

**.**

It did not take long for Ryotaro to distinguish Manami from the overflowing crowd in the cafeteria. It was recess and the place was fully packed with students from the two departments, buying their morning tea and shouting over their lungs as they yelled their orders. He had stayed in the corner along the entrance, lying in wait when her golden head popped out from the tight passage of numerous bodies. She emerged together with a shorter woman, dark hair tied in pigtails, eyes the colour of midnight. Two more women, in the same year and no doubt the same class, came to them, grinning as they teased the dark head, who blushed pink.

Because Manami was comfortable with everything, he thought that words about the article may not have reached her. He realized it was plausible since she was noticeably absent during the emergency meeting, the woman who was said to be an early bird. And had not Kanazawa-sensei said that the headmaster had asked the bulletin to be put down? He bobbed his head. Yes, Manami did not know anything . . . yet.

He watched the group head towards his direction, Manami situated on his side. _Perfect_. One hand on his pocket, he stepped back, his form shadowed by the canopy. A black shoe appeared on his vision, a soft chuckle his ears hearkened, and then his hand shot out, grabbing the woman by her arm as abruptly as a flash of lightning. He lead her behind a tree near the canteen, away from anyone's sight, before her friends knew and realized she was missing.

Manami blinked in rapid succession, taking in the new scenery in front of her. One moment she was listening to her fellow musicians talk about their summer exploits; the next she was being dragged to a close by tree, looking at a wide chest belonging to a regular student.

She cocked her head. There was something very familiar about this person. Her blue eyes travelled up from the blanketed torso to a tanned, sunkissed neck to a pursed, rather tantalizing lips (she stared at it for more than a second before proceeding) up to a pair of captivating hazel eyes, which sent her heart into flutters.

"Tsuchiura-kun!"

His tensed shoulders relaxed, mouth smiling. "Sorry about this, Mori-san. I just want to talk to you."

The way he said it, low and rumbling, made her already palpitating heart skip. "You didn't have to drag me around, you know. But if that's important, I'm all yours, all right," she said, unconsciously ending her words in a singsong tone that Ryotaro had once questioned. He grinned, as though remembering that episode.

"This won't take long, I promise." Leaning down in eye-level with hers, his body dangerously close to hers, he whispered in her ears, "Have you heard about _Perils of the Dark_?"

It took her a long time to reply, revelling in the warmth of his nearness. "_Perils of the Dark_? Everyone in class was talking about it so yes, I know of it. What about it?"

"Do you even know what it contains?"

"Well, of course. It's about you and me, isn't it? Without our names mentioned."

Stunned, Ryotaro moved back, trapping her between his arms flat on the trunk. "If you know about it, then why aren't you worried? Have you thought about the consequences if they ever know we're involved?"

She cocked her head inquisitively, meeting his gaze. "I did. But there is no way they will know, neh? No one from our team would talk, even if they recognize both of us."

"How about Amou? She might reveal it if necessary," he retorted hypothetically, anything to make her realize the direness of their situation. But Manami remained calm, staring at him with innocent cyan eyes.

"If by _necessary_ you meant that Amou-san would deliberately give us away for prominence then you don't know her at all," she said with a convinced nod.

He shook his head. _How thick can this woman get?_ he wondered. "What if that exact thing would happen?"

"It won't."

"Be reasonable, Mori. Don't you understand how this would affect your name, your reputation?"

Her fingers cupped her chin, her form in contemplation. A moment later, she said, "I wasn't aware that I have a reputation."

"Damn it, Mori. Was that what you were thinking the whole time?"

She snickered, bringing her hand down. "No. But it was interesting watching your reaction. Reminds me of our time in the shrine." While he looked at her in mixed stupefaction and astonishment, she stood on her tiptoe just like the last time in the shrine and pinched his nose. "Quit worrying, Tsuchiura-kun. Amou-san would never abandon me. That's what friends are for."

He stared down at her, debating whether to let it go or continue this argument. The words came from her own mouth that he should stop fretting. He might as well let the whole thing pass and go with the flow. He was still worried, of course, more for her than himself. But if that's what she wished . . .

Sighing, he let his arms fall away, giving her release from his close proximity. "If you say so but," he added before she could shower him with gratefulness, "if anything goes wrong, I won't think twice that Amou is to blame. And I forbid you to talk to her."

"You are not my boyfriend, Tsuchiura-kun~."

The side of his eye twitched, heat seeping through his cheeks. "Right. We'll see about that."

Manami was about to question his sure statement when they both heard a frantic "_Manami-chan!_" behind where they were situated. Ryotaro immediately stepped away from her, keeping himself concealed by the wide trunk of the tree.

She grinned at him impishly. "I guess this is my cue. See you around, Tsuchiura-kun." With that said, she casually turned and strolled towards her waiting, anxious friends, waving at them apologetically with the excuse that she greeted an acquaintance and had a little chat with _her_. They asked who this person might be but Manami wisely evaded their questions with one of her own.

Ryotaro remained beaneeth the shadow of the willow tree while their voices dwindled, their footsteps moving far away. His back abutted to the tree, he thought of how to salvage their names if worse comes to worst. And then he wondered why he had pronounced his offhanded avowal a while ago. What exactly had he meant by '_We'll see about that_'?

* * *

**.**

Adjacent to where Yunoki Azuma was practicing his piece, three figures were whispering amongst themselves, half an ear to the wondrous music echoing from within the occupied music room.

"It's Mori Manami of class 2-A and Tsuchiura Ryotaro of class 2-5."

Always eager for gossips, Towako Konoe inclined closer to the vice-president of the Yunoki bodyguards. "Is your source reliable? I do not tolerate fallacy."

Tsukasa Mai bobbed her head of light green hair. "Yes. I acquired the list of the pairs in the event which occurred in day 27 of July," she said, the back of her hand hovering on her lips as she sniggered maliciously. "It was quite easy to pick the right people."

"Can we see the list?" The greyish-haired senior, Ichiru Yuki, asked. Mai took out a folded paper from her pocket and handed it to Konoe, who was in between them. She read it aloud.

"Hino, Hasegawa. Takato, Tsukimori. Fuyuumi and . . . Yunoki-sama?! Why did they pair this—this girl with our Yunoki-sama?!"

"I believe it was a fair play, Towaku-san. They did the commoner's game: rolled papers, I think the term is."

"But this is an outrage! How dare they make our Yunoki-sama cooperate together with that incompetent, diffident imbecile?"

"They won. Now let us calm down, Towaku-chan. We are averting from our objectives."

Konoe pointedly ignored Yuki's comment but let the matter drop. "Hihara, Sasaki. Nozaki, Kobayashi. Tsukimori A and Yunoki A." She raised her brows. "What are these _A_s?"

"It is short for accompanist," Mai replied, suppressing a laugh.

"Hmph. Shouji, Shimizu . . . and Tsuchiura, Mori." A Chesire grin spread across Konoe's face. "Splendid work, Tsukasa-san. This says everything we need to know."

Yuki placed a finger in her chin, musing. "Mori, huh? How pitiful. She dishonours her family name with this shameful scandal. And she looks so pure when she is not."

But Mai was regarding Konoe with distressed eyes. "I do not like that look in your eyes, Towaku-san. What are you planning?"

Konoe's purple orbs when she turned to the other girl held a dangerous glint that promised ill luck on its prey. "What I am planning? To tell everyone the truth, of course."

* * *

**.**

Ryotaro saw the instant disaster struck—lightning flashed, thunders boomed, the soil cracked beneath his feet and then mouths began to move with resolute and giddy rapidity. But what signalled the destruction, the one which captured his attention, was a loud exclamation.

"What?! You mean Mori as in Mori Manami?"

He had known that the students of Seiso Academy were smart, keen even. It was one of the reasons why he had chosen the school, after all, and the facilities they provided were absolutely favourable to his education. However, he never realized until that moment how astute they were.

Never underestimate the gossip-hungry individuals of Seiso Academy.

He had to find Mori and fast! But before he could do anything else, the siren boomed and the third period began. Fervently, he hoped that the rumour—exposé—had not crossed the music department yet.

* * *

**Author's Note**: if you don't know half of what they're talking about especially the shrine part, you will need to read "Caught in the Act" by The Purple Scribblers. and if you like this pairing and/or ShouIchi, please like our facebook page (see my profile). review! :D

* * *

**.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Headlights**

Something was afoot.

Manami noticed the fervent commotion the second she entered their classroom. Everyone was speaking in sibilant undertones, talking to the other in giddy excitement as though relating the latest news. Even those who were sworn rivals as musicians were whispering to another. It was a rare occurrence. She slid the door closed behind her.

Upon noticing a new appearance in the room, her classmates ceased in their conversations and some craned their heads to look at the doorway. She smiled her salutation as she met their questioning eyes and made her way to her chair.

They were talking about her, she knew. She was neither slow nor dim-witted, after all. Their fleeting glances, wide with disbelief, in her direction and the decrease of the volume among the audience spoke a hundred surreptitious words. And the fact that Naomi, Rin, and Mitsu refused to meet her gaze said enough.

Calmly situated by the sealed window, she wondered who saw through their mask of ignorance. Who found them out? Who got the information and from whom? As far as she could tell, only Nami and Ryotaro knew everything about the photo, their faces adjusted and fuzzy. It seemed unreasonable to suspect Ryotaro for giving away the information but Nami . . . Nami was the likely suspect.

She mentally berated herself. The brunette had specifically told her, personally even, that she had not given the publisher's permission to print the article although she did write it for entertainment.

"_Promise to God, Mori-san. I did not even know until everyone came running to me to ask about the photo. It was never even to be publicize!"_

Manami had believed her. So who could have handed the details to the spreaders? Or was it a mere guess that resulted to this rumour? Either way, someone from the journalism club had started everything. She could hardly fault the person for scattering . . . such explicit discovery. It was a hard to keep something this big as a secret, she understood.

And then she found herself reflecting on how calm she was inside when she knew she should be ashamed, panicking at the fact that she—they—have been caught. But all she felt was stillness, indifferent tranquillity that was so unfamiliar to her. Was this her body's way of preparing for the imminent adversity in her status?

Not liking her pessimistic thoughts one bit, she shifted on her seat and turned to the person next to her, grinning.

"How was your summer holiday, Tsukimori-kun?"

The violin prodigy glanced at her, his eyes piercing. "I hardly think you would be interested, Mori-san," he muttered inaudibly before concentrating on the empty chalkboard.

_Well, so much for starting a conversation. _

The teacher, a man in his late thirties with mousy brown hair and dark eyes behind large spectacles, arrived precisely five seconds later, his arrival hushing the gossiping students. They all stood, bowing as they greeted him. With his curt permission, they all sat back with a loud scuffing along the floor. He reprimanded them for the unnecessary noise, frowning down at them for good measure, and then revisited their final lesson last term.

Her left elbow propped on her desk, her chin on the back of her fingers. On her other hand, she held her pen, silently tapping on the cover of her book. Her eyes held a far-away expression, gazing the teacher with lacklustre cyan eyes.

She was usually the attentive one when it came to school works, especially when the discussion was all about the history of renowned musicians, her favourite subject. This time was different, however. Her mind drifted off to the clouds, her sensei's voice a buzz behind her ears. The events today were so fast she could hardly believe it was the first day of school since summer vacation. And it was all thanks to a simple article.

The first catastrophe struck her on the nape, hitting her bare skin. She blinked a couple times before looking down at the side where a lone paper, crumpled and clenched to a ball, rested on the floor. Glancing upwards, she found the teacher had ceased speaking and was currently jotting down notes for them to copy. Whoever had thrown this had definitely waited for the right timing.

She bent down on her waist and made a move to fetch it when Len's brisk command stopped her. "Ignore it." He was eyeing at the paper with disgust in his hazel eyes. It was clearly bad news, she decided, but reached for it all the same.

Opening the torn sheet, she read its content and the pink tint of her cheeks left her face.

_So how does it feel losing your virginity?_

She twisted in her seat, her wary eyes riveted on her classmates behind her, believing she might distinguish the person who hurled the message at her. But they gave nothing away, busily scribbling on their notebooks.

Len was watching her through those cold, blank eyes of his, penetrating through her mind as though reading the very depths of her conscience. She looked away before he could do so, her mind concentrated one thing. Who could have sent it to her? What was it supposed to mean?

_Exactly as it said_, her ego chimed in a singsong tone. She gave it a good frown, wiping it clean of its cheeky grin.

The teacher moved away from the board and, satisfied that every student brought their pens down to mark that they have finished, began his habitual lecture on the topic of composing melody.

Manami forced to collect herself, the unaffected tilt on her lips belied by the trembling of her fingers still clutching the wrinkled paper. She had not expected that some of her peers may be as vulgar as this; they were always courteous and refined. She was not anticipating another criticism either.

The second catastrophe sailed past through her head, tossed at the exact moment the teacher faced about. It quietly landed on her table, another crumpled paper, a distorted circle, incongruous among her organized possessions.

Unsteady long fingers smoothed its edges; lips pursed in agitation; tear streaked eyes read one word.

_Whore._

She squeezed the paper on her clenched fist in a crushing grip, her nail biting into her closed palm. Her heart palpitated, slamming hard on her chest as she gasped for air, her breath coming into short, harsh pants. _Why?_ And then she felt something slide down her cheeks, tasted the salty hint of tears.

So she ran away.

She stood from her seat, the back of her knees striking painfully on the chair and its heels scraping on the floor loudly. Sprinting towards the door, she slid it open and escaped the room, her head down, concealing her tear-streaked eyes from the rest of the class. She was unaware of the deafening silence which resulted to her outburst or the cross teacher calling out her name behind her.

They were all drowned out by the wretched shattering of her soul.

* * *

**.**

Ryotaro was just coming back to his classroom after accomplishing his errand when he heard a soft sniffle. It was followed by a hiccup thereafter. He stopped in his tracks; his amber gaze fixated on the staircase adjacent the bridge that connected the music and regular department. He surmised that whoever was there was a Gen-Ed student for, as far he knew, no music prodigy had stepped foot on their department unless necessary.

_And whoever the person is was definitely crying_. The next round of sniffs and hiccups confirmed his thoughts. He deliberated what that someone could be weeping about then discarded the thought. It was none of his business.

But the dreadful noise had firm hold on him for he was unable to proceed to his destination, stuck on his spot. A pucker worked its way between his brows as he remembered his worry—Mori. He wondered what was happening to her right now.

Having eavesdropped on his indiscreet peers' conversation earlier, he had discovered that the woman was known yet the man remained unnamed. _Why did the rumours leave him out?_ He wondered if it was a deliberate attack, if someone was really trying to degrade Manami. It was a possible notion. Manami was talented, wealthy, and… very pretty. Anyone could envy her. And she has a lot of connection, he knew that without asking.

He was suddenly filled with trepidation. What if the latest gossip had reached her ears? What if someone had confronted her about it? What if it she who was here? What if . . .

Before he could think of any potential probability, he was already rounding the corner, finding himself looking down at the dishevelled tawny hair of Manami. She was sitting on the landing of the stairway, her arms circling her knees with her head upon it. And she was weeping, no matter how hard she tried muffling the sound.

"Mori," he called out plaintively, coming up to stand by her side. She did not acknowledge his presence although by the tightening of her hold, he knew she had heard him. He sighed, knowing there was no easy way out… or in. Making himself comfortable beside her—a rather difficult feat if one might consider his long legs—he reached for his pocket and handed her his unused navy handkerchief. "Here."

At his gruff tone, she inclined her head ever so slightly, peering at him through a narrow slit. Her gaze focused on the handkerchief. She shook her head, hiding her face again with a delicate hiccup.

Ryotaro was persistent. "Just take it, Mori." He placed the cottony fabric on her hand but she promptly gave it back without looking at him. Frowning, he prudently added, "A girl's not pretty when she cries, you know. Their eyes become puffy and their cheeks grow red. That's why we boys carry hankies with us in case we find a girl crying around the corner. Women always forget to bring one along."

That did the trick. Manami raised her head and gave him a weak glare before accepting his offering with a hint of a smile. "You say the most ridiculous things," she remarked not spitefully.

While she gently wiped her tears like a well-bred lady that she was, he took a good look at her and found her features presentable enough. Her eyes were bloodshot, the circles beneath those pale blue orbs visible due to its puffiness; her cheeks and nose were red, the ends of her brows rather pinkish in colour. The evidence of waterworks was noticeable but she did not look half-bad. He even thought she looked quite appealing with that soft smile.

The sound of her delicately blowing her nose drew him back from his scrutiny.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, holding up the blue cloth now soiled and folded. "I'll get this washed and returned tomorrow."

He shook his head. "It's yours. You can have it."

"Oh. Okay. Thank you, Tsuchiura-kun." After a minute of awkward silence with both parties tongue-tied, she decided to break it. "I guess you're wondering why I am here, what brought me here."

"You don't need to tell me if you don't want to, Mori-san."

"I want to." She glanced at him with a broken expression in her eyes. "They know about the article. About me."

"I thought as much. I was going to warn you but then the siren went and well . . . I stayed in place."

She didn't seem to hear him, staring at the bottom of the steps. "I thought they were going to forget about it. I thought they wouldn't find out. I thought they wouldn't speculate. But then this happened. Somehow, I wish I hadn't come to the excursion, else we wouldn't be in our current situation."

"Don't say that." She looked up at him, surprised by the vehemence in his voice. He was surprised himself. "It's hardly our fault we ended up this way. And Amou was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She got lucky, we didn't. She must be really happy to have acquired that scoop."

"I don't know," she said dubiously. "She was quite upset at you actually. She came to our house the very next day."

Ryotaro resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he asked with raised brows, "What is she upset about? That should be my line."

She suddenly grew uncomfortable, shifting on her position and drawing circles on his handkerchief. "As she had put it, she said you were making, uhm, sexual advances at me and she thanked Kami-sama that she walked it before you could, uhm . . ." she trailed off with a blush, unable to meet his gaze.

Incredulous, he combed his fingers through his green hair. He felt like laughing all of a sudden. "And? Was that all she said?"

She began fanning her heated cheeks. "She also said something about hot-blooded teenagers taking advantage of the innocence of the world."

Giving in to temptation, he chuckled and then she joined him, laughing like fools in the quietness of the halls. When they grew silent, he casted an obsolete glance at her and just had to smile. "You're looking better now," he observed, pleased by the change in her, the evidence of tears gone. "You were made to smile, Mori, not cry."

"Thank you. I feel all right now, except perhaps, for the ache in my heart."

"It's how one would feel after crying. You'll get used to it."

"Are you trying to say I'll be doing a lot of crying in the future?"

"You're a woman. They always cry more than men." Before she could form a reply, he noticed her clenched knuckle on the space between them and he thought he saw a hint of paper within when she relaxed her grip. "What's that in your hand?"

She followed his gaze and instinctively moved her hand away, bringing it close to her chest. "Nothing really."

When a woman says _nothing_, Ryotaro had learned from his sister's mood swings, it meant everything or something anyway. He leaned down on Manami and tried reaching for her hand. "I don't mean to pry, Mori, but I really just have to know."

"I told you it's nothing." She gasped as his handkerchief fell on the steps, then she felt his warm fingers twining with her vacant ones. It seemed far more intimate than a kiss, her skin prickling with awareness. Her back was now pinned on the wall and he began delving for her other hand, his priority. "It's not even of an import, Tsuchiura-kun. Let me go."

He tried catching her flapping hand, his voice heavy with amusement. "This is turning very childish. No harm would be done if you just surrender it to me."

"I'm afraid the harm has already been done," she murmured as he caught her and opened her clamped palm. One of the balled pieces fell and she hoped it wasn't the _second catastrophe_. Their fingers, his left hand and her right, were still wrapped around the other yet both seemed not to notice, their eyes upon the creased paper.

Unfolding it with excruciating slowness, Manami buried her face on her knees, unable to look.

Reading the single word, he saw red.

"Who gave this to you?"

She shook her head, not replying. He squeezed her hand in response.

"Who, Mori?"

Lifting her teary eyes, she said, "I don't know. Someone threw it at me while the teacher's back was turned."

Unsatisfied with her answer, he hauled them both to their feet, his right arm creeping around her waist to steady her on her feet. Supporting her although she has no use of it, he all but dragged her with him as they entered the music department, his forceful footfall echoing among the many shut doors.

The more she tried pushing him away, the more he pulled her to him; and the more he pulled her to him, the firmer he was holding him; and the firmer he was holding him, the closer their bodies touched. So Manami complied with him, unprotesting.

She was not even going to ask how he knew where her class was.

Ryotaro found the right room, slid the door open with a loud bang that she feared it would escape from its hinges, and with a thunderous glower, he addressed the room aplenty. "If any of you harm Manami or touch a single stand of her hair or spread any false rumours to sully her, you'll be answering to me. She's mine and you might as well know and remember that."

And with that, he turned away, leaving a dumbfounded audience. Even Manami was stupefied. _Did he just announce that she was his?_

No one was absolutely sure what surprised them the most: the fact that Ryotaro had just interrupted class 2-A's session, declared Mori Manami was his girlfriend and blatantly threatened anyone who would dare lay finger on her in the future, or the unimaginable scene that unfolded after the Gen-Ed left: Tsukimori Len taking out his phone—he has a phone?!—and saying in clipped monotone, "Everything is set."

**.**

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**Author's Note**:_ I tried limiting my wordiness but Author-san can't help it. I know some readers may not be familiar with half the words in the story but . . . I show, not tell. Should I even bother updating, or should I not? The plot is slowly unfolding. Review, onegai? :3_

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