With a soft sigh, I stepped away from Shinji's desk, my attention shifting to the bookshelf standing silently in the corner of his room.
My curiosity tugged at me—it wasn't often I got the chance to explore the things that interested him, and I wasn't about to let this opportunity pass by.
Maybe, just maybe, I could uncover something about him—something that could help me bridge the distance between us.
If I could figure out the kind of person he admires, or even the type of girl he might like, then perhaps I could find a way to reach him.
"Let's take a look…" I muttered to myself, trailing my fingertips across the rows of books. They were neatly arranged, the spines well-worn, each one a glimpse into the worlds he'd immersed himself in.
It didn't take long to notice a pattern. Shinji had a clear preference for fantasy—grand, sprawling tales full of magic, adventure, and wonder. But there was a heavier undertone to his choices.
These weren't the kind of stories with triumphant endings or lighthearted resolutions. No, his collection was steeped in tragedy, the kind that lingered long after the last page.
As I picked up a book and skimmed through its contents, I noticed the recurring fates of the female protagonists. They were often caught in cruel twists of destiny.
Some met untimely deaths, others lost themselves to despair or madness, and many were forever separated from the ones they loved.
The male protagonists didn't fare much better. Time and time again, they were characters burdened by loss, forced to make impossible choices.
Some laid down their lives for causes greater than themselves, while others survived, but at a cost—condemned to a life of solitude, haunted by memories of what they couldn't save.
It was heartbreaking, really. And as I pieced together the themes in his favorite stories, I couldn't help but wonder what drew him to them.
Did he see himself reflected in these tragic characters?
Or was he simply captivated by the rawness of their struggles and the honesty in their pain?
Is he a masochist by any chance?
Pressing my index finger to my lips in thought, I kept browsing through the books, my curiosity urging me on. My fingers brushed past rows of fantasy novels before landing on something tucked away in the back of the shelf. It was nearly hidden, nestled behind the more prominent titles.
The book's cover caught my attention immediately—not because it was flashy, but because it was the exact opposite. Its design was so plain, so unremarkable, that it seemed almost suspicious. There was no elaborate artwork, no dramatic title, just a nondescript exterior that practically screamed for further inspection.
Unable to resist, I slid the book out and flipped it open. What greeted me was… far from what I expected. My cheeks grew hot as my eyes scanned the first page, then darted to the second, disbelief settling in.
This wasn't a simple romance novel. Not by a long shot. The plain cover was nothing more than a clever disguise. Hidden behind it was something extremely explicit—doujinshi, adult material.
"Gulp." I swallowed hard, the sound loud in my ears as I quickly shut the book and pressed it against my chest, as if the act could erase what I'd just seen. My gaze darted nervously toward Shinji.
He was still at his desk, completely absorbed in his work. His brow furrowed in concentration, and his fingers moved deftly over whatever task had his attention. He looked so composed, so serious. It was almost impossible to reconcile that image of him with what I'd just found.
"Someone like him… has that kind of interest too?" I whispered, my voice hardly audible.
A mix of emotions swirled inside me—surprise, embarrassment, and a faint hint of something I couldn't quite place.
Maybe it was amusement or curiosity, but whatever it was, it left me standing there, holding the book, my mind spinning as I stole another glance at Shinji.
My all-time serious hero is actually a degenerated?
I shouldn't do this. I knew I shouldn't. But the more I told myself not to, the more my curiosity grew, clawing at the edges of my resolve. With shaky hands and a hesitant breath, I carefully opened the book.
"..."
I froze, utterly paralyzed. My mind struggled to process what my eyes were seeing, the sheer intensity of it rendering me speechless.
The content before me was beyond anything I had imagined. It was raw. Brutal. Obscene. And so, so lewd.
I should have closed it immediately. I knew I should have.
But… I didn't. Somehow, I couldn't stop. Page after page, I found myself drawn in, unable to look away despite the chaos unfurling before me.
If I had to put it into words, it felt like watching a disaster in slow motion—a runaway garbage truck engulfed in flames, crashing into everything in sight before erupting in a spectacular explosion!
As I continued reading, I could feel my body betraying me.
My head felt light, my vision slightly blurred, and a strange heat began to creep through me, starting in my chest and spreading down to my core.
My heart pounded erratically, each beat a thunderous echo in my ears, and my breathing quickened, shallow and uneven.
Then came the worst part—the unmistakable, burning sensation of embarrassment mingled with something much more dangerous: lust.
A restless, pulsing discomfort settled low in my body, leaving me fidgeting awkwardly and completely flustered.
My cheeks burned as I snapped the book shut with trembling hands, holding it tightly as though that could erase what I'd just read.
My heart wouldn't slow down, and my thoughts wouldn't stop spinning. What on earth had I just uncovered? And worse… why couldn't I stop thinking about it?
No, no, I have to calm down.
Pressing my lips together tightly, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing the heat in my cheeks to subside. My heartbeat was still erratic, my body still unsteady, but I needed to collect myself.
Focus.
"Right," I whispered to myself, "let's try to analyze this instead." Maybe if I focused on breaking it down rationally, I could momentarily distract myself from the physiological chaos I was experiencing. It was worth a shot.
I turned my attention back to the book, this time observing it more critically.
First, the art style—it was stunning.
The lines were clean yet expressive, the characters drawn with a kind of elegance that felt almost lifelike.
Every detail, from the subtle shifts in their expressions to the way their bodies moved, exuded a sense of raw emotion. Now that I thought about it, Shinji had tried mimicking this style before.
He hadn't replicated it perfectly, but his attempts had still been remarkable in their own right. There was a familiar care in his strokes, a respect for the craft that was undeniable.
Second, the storyline… this was where things got tricky. It was far from something you'd call morally upright.
A husband cheating on his wife with a teacher, abandoning his family for his mistress—it was a web of betrayal and heartbreak. On paper, it was undeniably wrong, even cruel. No matter how I turned it over in my mind, I couldn't justify it.
And yet… I couldn't deny the intensity of the emotions between the two central characters. Their love, as twisted and destructive as it was, felt genuine.
Their longing, their desperation—it was all so raw, so painfully real that it was hard not to be moved by it, even as it clashed with every moral fiber in my being.
That realization sent a ripple of unease through me. Almost unconsciously, I began to reflect on myself, imagining what it would feel like to be in their shoes.
What if it were me and Shinji?
If I were in that situation—would I go that far? Would I be willing to ruin someone else's happiness, to shatter a family, just to be with him?
"..." I pressed my lips together, shutting out all other thoughts as I tried to focus.
I asked myself the questions I had been too afraid to answer.
Do I love Shinji? Of course, I do. I love every inch of him.
I love the way his stubbornness runs through his veins, how he never admits when he's wrong, how he pushes everyone away with that cold, gruff demeanor.
I love the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not looking. I love the small, quiet moments, like when he pats my head absentmindedly. I even love how he doesn't seem to notice how much I need him.
All of it—his flaws, his coldness, the weird distance he keeps—makes me love him more. No one else could have that effect on me.
Do I want to be with him? The answer was obvious, almost to the point of obsession.
Yes. I want him to belong to me, to no one else. I want him by my side every minute of every day, always within arm's reach.
I want him to cook for me, to touch me in that way that makes me feel like I'm the only one who matters. I want him to look at me the way he looks at no one else. I want him to pat my head, to kiss my forehead, to hold me when no one else is around. I want him to be mine, in every sense of the word.
And then, the question I couldn't avoid—what if he loves someone else?
The mere thought was enough to make my heart stop. I felt the sharp sting in my chest, the cold rage rising like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me.
No. The idea of him with someone else—laughing with another woman, touching her the way he touches me, being with her in ways that belong to me—was a betrayal I couldn't comprehend.
The ache in my chest burned hotter the more I thought about it. The thought of another woman sitting next to him, being in his arms, stealing him from me, made me dizzy with rage. I couldn't accept it.
"I won't accept it." I whispered through clenched teeth, my fists tightening until my nails bit into my palms.
In that moment, something inside me cracked, and I knew with an undeniable certainty: I would have him, and nothing—not a single thing—would stand in my way.
He was mine. And if anyone, even a glimpse of anyone, tried to take him from me, I would make sure they regretted it. I would erase them from his life. Shinji belonged to me, whether he realized it or not.
I clenched my fists so hard that my knuckles ached. I will take him. I will make him mine. He will never look at anyone else again.
It wasn't just a desire anymore; it was a need, a hunger that clawed at my insides. I needed him, and I would do whatever it took to make him see that he belonged to me.
So the answer was clear—yes, I would destroy whatever it took to get him. I will destroy anyone who stands in my way.
And why wouldn't I? He doesn't notice anyone else. He doesn't pay attention to anyone but me. He's already mine; he just doesn't know it yet.
"…Phew, luckily I'm the heroine." I whispered to myself, sighing in relief as I carefully put away the adult book. My heart was still racing from what I'd discovered, but at least I hadn't been caught.
Then I noticed Shinji had finished his work and was scrolling through his phone.
Thank goodness, I thought. He hadn't seen anything.
"Shinji, are you done with your work?" I called out, trying to sound casual, though I could feel the blush still creeping up my neck.
"Yeah, do you want to do something?" His voice was easy, light, and when he turned to face me, that smile—so genuine and unbothered.
It radiated warmth, friendliness, the kind of righteousness that made it hard to believe someone like him could be into... well, that kind of material.
But then again, I wasn't exactly pure either. I had my own… curiosities.
If I was being honest, I was pretty sure he had bought that book for the drawing style, but still, what I'd seen wasn't exactly something I could just forget.
I shook my head lightly, trying to push those thoughts away, refocusing on his question.
If he asked me what I wanted to do with him, then I wanted him to do me.
But how could I answer that? It was too embarrassing. The thought alone made my chest tighten.
"How about we play a game?" I said, the words tumbling out a little faster than I'd intended.
It was the safest choice, something simple, something I could control. I wasn't about to let my heart rush me into another awkward situation.
"Hmmm… a game?" Shinji paused, placing a hand thoughtfully on his chin. His gaze lingered on me for a moment, but then he nodded.
"It's really cramped in here, should we go outside?" He glanced toward the bookshelf, his gaze landing on the console and the game disk next to it.
I knew exactly what he was thinking—he loved to spoil himself with some co-op game; it was hard to argue with his taste.
But I didn't want to play outside, though. Not with the chance of being interrupted.
The house wasn't small, but if we were loud, Mom and Uncle Masanori would definitely hear us. The thought of being caught in a moment with Shinji, especially by my mom, made my stomach twist uncomfortably.
She'd tease me until my face was bright red, and I could already feel the heat rising just thinking about it.
"If we play outside, Mom and Dad will hear us. We can stay in here, it's fine." I said quickly, not wanting the moment to slip away, not wanting to deal with any embarrassment.
And he seemed to understand without further explanation.
Shinji scratched his head and squinted at me, almost as though he was thinking about something else. Then, without missing a beat, he stood up, waving me over with an inviting gesture.
"Sometimes I forget that Mom and Dad are home… hmmm, how about we watch a movie instead? Is that okay?"
"Yes, of course!" I replied, my voice a little too eager, a little too fast.
It wasn't that I didn't want to play the game, but something about the idea of watching a movie with him, just the two of us… It felt different. More intimate.
And I liked it.