Love is supposed to be simple. Two people, trust, and happiness like a rom-com without the third act breakup. But for Soji and Kyoko, their relationship had more twists than a heavyweight wrestler in a yoga class. Ever since that gravure photoshoot dropped, Kyoko strutted around now like she’d invented confidence, while Soji watched her like a pirate’s captain, low-key taking notes while seeking treasures. Then came the brilliant idea: invite his friend Segawa over under the guise of a “groupstudy session.” (He’s trying to figure out if these feelings of love are just coming from being cucked.)
Soji played it smooth too smooth. “Oh, dang, forgot my… uh… calculator at home. Be right back!” he lied, bouncing faster than a basketball at a H2 car convention. The door clicked shut, Kyoko flipped a switch. Her smile turned sultry, her gaze sharper than a open kitchen chef’s knife. Segawa, poor dude, never saw it coming.
“Study session’s over,” Kyoko murmured. “Segawa, dude was sweating more than a wrestlers ganged up by two gorilla .
Meanwhile, Soji, he’d turned Kyoko’s apartment into a low-budget spy flick, complete with hidden cameras. Peeping from his phone, he watched Kyoko and Segawa escalate from flirty to frisky.
But here’s the kicker. Soji wasn’t mad. Nope. Instead, he felt a twisted thrill, but not from jealousy, more like the rush of watching a car crash in slow motion… while eating popcorn.