My legs turned to jelly as his finger pressed against my forehead, pushing me back through my narrow apartment doorway. The touch sent ice through my veins. His hand gripped my shoulder, spinning me to face the damning evidence - photos and notes plastered across the wall opposite my bed.

"Care to explain?" His breath tickled my ear, making me shudder.

"It's... it's... not as it seems, I... I... I can explain." My voice came out as barely a whisper.

"You can, can you? I'm excited to hear it. Make it good, okay?"

He dragged my desk chair to block the only exit, positioning himself between me and the door. The small room felt even tinier with him looming there, leaving me backed against my cluttered study space.

"I was actually coming to your house to ask you something about school, but then you came back with Mayumi and I got scared and went in without thinking—"

"Let's say I buy that, even though I don't." His voice cut through mine like a blade. "Why did you stick around after we left?"

Shit, I'm done for. My fingers twisted anxiously in my sweater hem. "Well, you have such an amazing place, fancier than any I've seen myself, so I was baffled and I'm really sorry I stayed a bit longer to take it in."

"So you're admitting to breaking and entering." Each word fell precisely, methodically. "It's a serious crime, you know. On top of stalking, I'm pretty sure the school would have to involve the police, and since you're a minor, your family too."

Horror washed over me as my knees threatened to give out. "No... no... please, I can... I can make it up to you, please don't tell anyone. I'm so so sorry, I'm just a stupid Chūnibyō who never grew up, please forgive me, I'll do anything."

My legs shook as Louis towered over me, his shadow falling across my tear-streaked face. I tried to wipe my eyes with my sleeve, but fresh tears kept spilling out.

"I said stop crying." His voice cut through me like winter wind.

I bit my lip hard, forcing myself to hold back the sobs. My chest heaved with the effort of containing them. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth—I'd bitten too hard.

"Y-yes," I choked out, desperately trying to steady my breathing. My hands clutched at my skirt, knuckles white from gripping the fabric.

Louis stepped closer. The scent of his cologne—the same one I'd smelled in his apartment—made my head spin. Or maybe it was fear. I couldn't tell anymore. My vision blurred as I struggled to keep the tears at bay.

"Anything," he repeated, drawing out each syllable like he was savoring it. His voice had lost all its earlier warmth from the bookstore. That gentle Louis felt like a distant dream now.

I nodded frantically, unable to form words. My whole body trembled as he leaned down, his face inches from mine. His eyes were cold, calculating—nothing like the soft gaze I'd swooned over just hours ago.

"First of all, dry those tears, they're annoying."

I wiped frantically at my face with my sweater sleeves, the wool scratching against my skin. My whole body shook as I tried to get myself under control, but the tears wouldn't stop. They just kept coming, blurring my vision until Louis was nothing but a dark shape looming over me.

"I said dry those tears." His voice cut through my panic like a knife. "They're annoying."

I scrubbed harder at my eyes, desperate to obey. The fabric of my sweater grew damp and heavy. My breath came in hiccups as I fought to calm down, to stop the endless stream of tears. What was he going to do to me? The possibilities racing through my mind only made me cry harder.

"Second of all, sit down."

I collapsed onto the floor beside my low table, my knees hitting the tatami mat hard. My school skirt pooled around me as I huddled there, barely three feet from where he stood guard.

"Did you have to be so dramatic about it?" Louis's voice dripped with annoyance, though his face remained a perfect mask.

"I want you to tell me what you saw in my apartment, and keep in mind I already know exactly what it is you did. Then I want you to use all that brain power of yours and tell me what it is I'm doing and why."

My mouth went dry. "But... I... how would I know exactly what it is? All I saw were some manga and some student files—"

"I don't care," he cut me off, his voice sharp as a blade. "This is your only chance to use whatever info you gathered and show me if you're worth anything."

I sat there, feeling utterly hopeless as my mind raced. My heart slammed against my chest so hard I thought it might burst. What could it be? The manga collection, all centered around transfer students. Twilight Blossom as his main source. Those student files, arranged like some twisted casting call...

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I'm useless, I thought. This is just like those impossible math problems I can never solve.

Then it hit me.

My racing thoughts screeched to a halt. No—this wasn't like math at all. This was about manga. Romance manga. If there was one thing in this world I actually understood, this was it. How many hours had I spent analyzing plots on forums? How many theories had I crafted about character motivations and story arcs?

My hands stopped shaking. For the first time since he'd cornered me, I felt a spark of confidence.

I can do this. Let's break this down like one of my forum deep-dives.

I drew in a shaky breath, my mind racing through all the manga analysis I'd done. The pieces were falling into place, even if they painted a terrifying picture. That cold stare, the calculated movements, the way he'd been orchestrating everything...

Hypothesis number one: he's a rich otaku here to live out his fantasy. But something wasn't right. This drastic personality change—it didn't fit. Villains got these kinds of reveals, not losing heroes. And why would he choose to play the transfer student who loses? In Twilight Blossom, the childhood friend always had the highest chance of winning the protagonist's heart.

I glanced up at his face. Those eyes—cold, detached, clinical—bore into mine without wavering. A shiver ran down my spine. Those are totally villain eyes.

But what kind of villain? A creep targeting teenage girls? No—he'd had plenty of chances with Mayumi and hadn't taken them. His gaze stayed locked on my eyes, analytical rather than predatory.

Then it hit me. The answer was in Twilight Blossom all along. The protagonist wasn't even in his class—she was a freshman. The class only had two rival characters: the mean girl (obviously Mayumi) and... the pathetic, introverted geek. Oh god, that's me. I'm the losing heroine. Way to self-own, Shizuka.

But wait—if I'm the losing heroine, and Mayumi's the mean girl... where's the actual protagonist? Of all the roles he'd cast in his twisted play, that was the only one missing.

I've got it!

"Eh, Devereux-kun... I'm... ready now," I managed, my voice steadier despite my trembling hands.

"That Devereux-kun nonsense is annoying. Since you insist on not using my first name call me Sir or Master. I don't care which."

M... Ma... Master? WTF?

"Anyway, go on with your answer. Don't make me regret giving you this chance."

"My heart thundered in my chest as I laid out my analysis, each word gaining strength despite my trembling hands. The manga volumes I'd discovered, the meticulous character matches, the missing pieces of the canceled Twilight Blossoms—it all spilled from my lips in a rush of understanding."

"Well, Dever... I mean, Sir," I corrected myself quickly, watching his face for any reaction. "I'll start with what I know for now. Your whole persona at school is based on multiple transfer student characters from manga, but especially TW, a manga that has been canceled mid-run with no resolution."

As I delved deeper into my explanation, describing the collection of similar manga and his detailed character files, something shifted inside me. My back straightened unconsciously, and my voice grew steadier. This was my territory—manga analysis was the one thing I truly understood.

"For some reason, it's like you're trying to reenact TW in real life, and as far as I'm concerned, you're succeeding."

Looking directly into his cold eyes, I laid out my theories about his motivations. "Maybe you're a rich otaku trying to give his favorite manga closure in real life, or maybe you're into teenage Japanese girls—that is a lot of guys' fetishes."

My confidence surged as I reached my final conclusion. "As for why you're here in my apartment right now... I don't think it's because you're actually scared that I would tell anyone. Who would believe me? I didn't take any proof, and you have proof of me stalking you and breaking into your house. You would win this case no matter what. The only thing I can think of is that you need me."

"Huh..." he said, his eyes remaining empty. "I... Need... YOU?"

I stood up, my voice clear despite my lingering fear. "Yes, I saw your casting. I must say it's pretty on point, even mine—or especially mine. But you are missing the core of your story: the main character of TW, Kaguya Takahashi. You haven't cast her yet, and without its protagonist, there's no story to tell. And since you didn't cast her yet, it can only mean one thing—that you are having trouble deciding and you need my expertise in manga to help you."

"That's quite the theory," he drawled, his voice dripping with contempt. His eyes remained fixed on mine, unblinking, like a snake studying its prey. "For all intents and purposes, let's say you're right—that my objective is to reenact Twilight Blossoms in real life. And yes, I've yet to decide on the role of Kaguya Takahashi."

I felt a flicker of pride at getting it right, even if just partially.

"As for my reasons—they're irrelevant to your task. But let's make one thing perfectly clear."

He leaned in slightly, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. "I do not need you. I do not need anyone. I want you."

My heart skipped several beats at his words. I want you. The phrase echoed in my head, making me dizzy. His cold eyes bore into mine, and I felt my face heating up despite the terror coursing through my veins.

"W-want me?" I stammered, hating how my voice squeaked.

"Why are you blushing?" he asked, his tone sharp and his expression edged with annoyance as he stood up and started walking toward me.

I froze for a moment, my heart pounding, before instinctively scrambling backward. My palms scraped against the rough floor as I tried to put space between us, but his steady, deliberate steps closed the gap all too quickly.

In three swift steps, he crossed the cramped space between us. I scrambled backward until I hit the wall beside my manga shelf. He crouched down, one leg sliding between mine as his hands slammed against the wall on either side of my head, the impact rattling my collection of figures on the nearby shelf.

How can someone so cold feel so warm? His face hovered inches from mine, those empty eyes boring into me. No warmth, no emotion, nothing like the gentle Louis I thought I knew. This was someone else entirely.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," he commanded. "This isn't one of your dark romance fantasies."

His breath tickled my ear as he whispered, "You're nothing but a tool to me. And when I'm done with you..." A cruel smirk played at his lips. "...you'll be discarded."

That word—discarded—hit me like a physical blow. My chest tightened painfully. But even as fear coursed through me, one rebellious thought flickered through my mind: If this isn't a dark romance, why the hell is he slamming me against the wall and whispering in my ear?