The smell of oil still clung to the food as the chopsticks shoved it straight into his mouth. Rough, unceremonious, that was exactly the kind of feeding Harutaki expected from Nogami.
But when he bit down, he froze in disbelief—
The batter, though sitting all morning, still carried a faint crunch. It locked in the flavor and juices of a plump shrimp, with just a trace of salt and sea as it cooled…
This wasn’t some prank bento.
This was restaurant-level cooking!
Next came chilled sashimi, fresh as though packed over dry ice, shoved in piece after piece without restraint. Even when the wasabi nearly scorched his nose, his taste buds were satisfied beyond belief.
Until her chopsticks suddenly stopped feeding him.
The piece of tuna pressed to his lips lingered. The chopsticks didn’t withdraw. Instead, they scraped slowly against his tongue.
Salty wood slid over the tip of his tongue like a fingernail. Then the sticks parted, trapping him in between. The sensation was obscene, like a girl sticking her fingers right into his mouth.
Several seconds of wordless teasing later, Nogami finally withdrew the chopsticks with maddening slowness.
Her playful tone brushed his ears, the chopstick tips now tapping at the groove above his lips.
Clueless how to answer, he mumbled,
“…Tasty. But I’m still hungry.”
“My, my… what a greedy little dog you are~.”
Suddenly, something pressed against the tip of his shoe. Before he could react, that softness slid up his leg—over shin, knee, until it rested beneath his chin.
The scrape of fabric, the firmness of a hidden bone beneath—
“It’s Izumi’s right foot, you know.”
Minako’s devilish whisper tickled his ear.
“And this time, she’s not wea-ring shoes~.”
In the darkness behind his blindfold, a vivid image burned into his mind: toes wrapped in navy-blue crew socks, the fabric stretched taut at each joint, the curved nail of her big toe already grazing his throat—
Damn his imagination.
“At least wash your feet first. They reek.”
He scowled, scooting backward on his palms as if fleeing.
Without PE that morning, her feet had no smell. If anything, they carried the faint fragrance of fabric softener.
And with his teenage body already primed with restless urges, if Nogami kept pushing , he really might crack and humiliate himself right here.
“Fufu… Minako, your method… actually worked.”
If Harutaki’s eyes weren’t bound, he would have seen Nogami herself struggling to hold her composure.
For an inexperienced girl, this sort of flirting was way too intense. Yet the rush of trying it, she couldn’t deny the thrill.
Nogami smirked, lips curled with arrogant delight.
“If you’re hungry, beg for it. Bark like a good doggy.”
“…I hereby authorize Nogami-san to use my likeness freely in tonight’s dreams. Knock yourself out.”
His retort was immediate, merciless.
“Easy, Izumi. Remember what we agreed on?”
Minako reined her in, leaning close to whisper something too soft for him to catch.
The unused classroom fell silent. Dead silent. Harutaki counted his heartbeats—seventy, maybe more—before the silence broke.
Something small hit the floor.
“If you won’t obey, fine. Pick up my chopsticks. Use them yourself.”
“Make sure to pick them up… hard. Really… firmly~.”
Minako’s words lilted with innuendo, twisting the simple act into something dirty.
What the hell kind of phrasing was that?
It was just chopsticks—so why did it sound so… dirty coming from her lips?
Fed up, he reached for his blindfold to rip it off and go eat in the cafeteria.
But Minako caught his wrists. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡✶𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚✶𝙣𝙚𝙩
“Nope. Keep it on. You have to find them blind.”
With no choice, he crouched down, palms sweeping the floor.
The silhouettes of the three girls faintly shifted through the cloth, but small things like chopsticks vanished in the blur of light.
From the sidelines, Sae chimed cheerfully:
“A bit further! Yeah, just ahead of Izumi’s seat. You’ve got this, lil’ bro!”
Curiosity piqued, appetite still whetted, he played along, stretching his hand outward, fumbling left and right.
“Oi, Hoshikawa, found my chopsticks yet?”
“Or maybe you ? Pretending not to find them so you can drag it out, pervy liar-boy?”
“Careful, Nogami-san. That’s slander.”
“Humph. Then lower your head and sniff. You might just smell them out.”
…Sniff the chopsticks?
Wait. What the hell am I even thinking!?
This was insane. Pure gaslighting nonsense!
Still, judging from the sound earlier, they couldn’t have fallen far. He reached further—
“You should’ve tossed them further, Izumi.” Sae’s voice came from his right.
Then Minako’s whisper brushed his ear again:
“That’s not Izumi’s chopsticks you picked up~.”
“Nope~ You’re holding… my chopsticks.”
Her coy, sultry voice made his chest jolt.
“You’ll have to find Izumi’s if you want to pass~.”
Oh, so they wanted to keep playing? Fine.
He inhaled deeply—the air heavy with food aromas, sharp vinegar, and…
There. That faint, familiar scent.
He reached straight toward it—
…and grabbed something soft.
It felt… right. Almost too right.
Then realization struck: in the middle of lunch break, in school, he was groping a girl’s foot.
That faint fragrance—it wasn’t soy sauce. It was the same fabric softener scent Nogami carried.
“Y-you… what the hell are you doing?! Take your hand off—!”
Her voice was tight, teeth clenched, trembling with restraint.
“…Thanks for the meal.”
Harutaki calmly withdrew his hand, though the lingering touch burned into his skin.
At this rate, even if it wasn’t her chest, he’d have enough to write a full essay for Asama-sensei’s moral corrections.
But before his shaken nerves could settle, Minako piled on with devilish timing:
“Oh? Looks like Izumi’s chopsticks fell under her skirt~.”