The "love bento" incident hit Toyogasaki Academy like a category twelve typhoon, sweeping across the forums and every chat group during lunch break.
[The school's ice queen, Utaha Kasumigaoka, personally delivered a homade bento to a mysterious upperclassman!]
[Photo proof! The second-year goddess served Class 3-A's Seiji Fujiwara, acting as ek as a newlywed wife!]
[Shocking! What's their relationship? Who on earth is this Seiji Fujiwara!?]
Sneaky candid shots, paired with sensational headlines, ignited every student's appetite for gossip.
Most were thrilled, stunned, or just nosy.
But for Utaha's admirers, the news was nothing short of a lightning strike.
Among them—student council president Kenta Igarashi stared at his phone, his face twisted in fury.
On-screen was the photo of Utaha quietly following behind Seiji, graceful and demure like a devoted young bride.
And Seiji's nonchalant, entitled expression burned his eyes like acid.
"Bastard!"
He slamd his phone against the desk, chest heaving.
"No way! That's impossible!"
"Kasumigaoka-san isn't the kind of woman who would fawn over a man!"
"She must have been threatened—forced by Fujiwara Seiji's dirty tricks!"
Kenta shot to his feet, eyes blazing with what he called "justice"… but was really jealousy.
"Yes! That's the only explanation!"
"I can't just stand by! I'll save her!!"
The other council officers exchanged uneasy looks.
Of course, they thought his theory was nonsense—real life wasn't so eroge plot.
But seeing their president fuming, none dared contradict him.
Instead, they echoed his outrage.
"That's right, President! We'll go with you!"
"We'll rescue Kasumigaoka-san from that demon!"
"Fujiwara's nothing compared to you, President!"
Hearing their agreent, Kenta puffed up, convinced he was the chosen hero.
"Good. I'll go see Kasumigaoka right now!"
He strode out dramatically, and his officers trailed after him with weary sighs.
…
anwhile, in the courtyard—
Utaha Kasumigaoka sat stiffly beside Seiji Fujiwara, having just finished lunch.
Though Seiji hadn't done anything too indecent in public, he spent the al bossing her around, nitpicking her cooking, and ordering her like a spoiled young master.
The whole ordeal soured her mood for the rest of the day.
Not that it had started out well.
When she woke that morning, just seeing Seiji's face had irritated her so badly she'd gone to brush her teeth twice, then hid under the covers pretending she hadn't heard him until she was forced to act as his alarm clock.
And now—her irritation had only piled higher.
Sotis she really wanted to fling the lunchbox at his face.
"Go wash the bento boxes," Seiji said lazily after finishing, lounging back on the bench and waving a hand like a lord dismissing a servant.
A vein throbbed on Utaha's forehead.
"…Fine."
She forced down her anger and picked up the boxes with a practiced smile.
This was the role she had to play.
As far as the school was concerned, she wasn't a kept woman—she was Seiji's girlfriend.
So she had to endure.
…
"Damn bastard!"
At the outdoor sinks, Utaha furiously scrubbed the lunchboxes as though she were scouring Seiji himself away.
Only after she was done did she take a deep breath, smooth her expression into a polite smile, and head back.
Her "girlfriend duty" was over for now. At least she could rest.
But ahead of her, a group of boys stepped nervously into her path.
Her expression darkened imdiately. More trouble.
"Kasumigaoka-san!"
Kenta Igarashi, flanked by his "allies," marched up like a self-proclaid hero.
Utaha didn't even bother to lift her eyelids. Her silence and indifference crushed his rehearsed speech before it left his mouth.
He choked, face reddening, then raised his voice to push through.
"Kasumigaoka-san! I've admired you for a long ti! Don't let Fujiwara deceive you! He must have done sothing to you, right? Tell , don't be afraid—we'll protect you!"
His lackeys quickly chid in.
"That's right, Kasumigaoka-san! We'll help you!"
The crowd around them erupted.
"The president's making a move?!"
"Wait, does that an she was forced?!"
"This is huge!"
"I need to call my friends—this is live!"
Students buzzed with excitent, watching eagerly.
Here we go again.
Utaha pressed her lips together, brow twitching.
She didn't even know this guy, and he was confessing in public?
And even if she really was being coerced—yes, she was, by Seiji—what then?
Would shouting about it here help her? Would it fix anything? No.
It would only ruin her reputation.
Besides, what was happening between her and Seiji was, in a twisted sense… "voluntary."
No outsider had the right to interfere.
"Excuse ."
She cut him a frosty glance, then brushed past him without hesitation.
Kenta and his friends froze in shock as she walked away—heading straight toward the bench.
Toward Seiji.
Seiji didn't even look up from his phone.
"Done washing?" he asked casually.
"Mm."
Utaha answered softly, then sat down beside him.
She gently patted her thigh. An invitation.
Seiji lay back without hesitation, resting his head against her lap. Utaha's pale, silk-clad legs beca his pillow as she steadied him with a careful hand.
Sunlight filtered through the trees, painting dappled shadows across them.
Seiji shifted comfortably, still scrolling his phone.
Utaha smiled faintly, one hand brushing his hair and collar into place, the other holding his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
They looked like a couple who had done this a thousand tis before.
"…"
"…"
Kenta Igarashi and his entourage stood frozen, their brains short-circuited.
A lap pillow?
And not forced—but offered?
Watching Utaha, the goddess they had placed on a pedestal, cradle that man so tenderly… Kenta felt blood rush to his head until the world went black.
"President!?"
"Are you okay?!"
"Get him to the infirmary!"
As he collapsed, the last thing he sensed was his own officers dragging him away.
The spectators whispered among themselves.
"He really fainted…"
"Seriously, boys are so weak."
"And he said she was coerced? Please. What girl offers her lap if she's being forced?"
"Exactly. Look at them—they're clearly a real couple."
"Yeah, no outsider should butt in."
By the end of lunch, the story of the president's failed confession—and dramatic fainting—was everywhere.
The school forums roasted him rcilessly.
The great student council president had beco the clown.
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