Rewrite Our Love? Too Late

Yukima Azuma and Jabami Yumeko strolled side by side along the sun-dappled streets of Chiyoda.

The purpose of their meeting had originally been business—a formal negotiation between Laplace Corporation and Hyakubami Daily.

Yet, by pure coincidence, they'd bumped into each other before reaching the arranged café. And since then, not a single word had been spoken about business.

Instead, their conversation had meandered through school life, favorite sweets, shared memories of childhood field trips, and the eccentricities of Tokyo's seasonal festivals.

For Jabami Yumeko, Yukima Azuma was simply a stranger she'd met on the street—an ordinary young man who'd stepped in to help a crying little girl at a crosswalk.

She had no idea who he truly was.

There was no calculation behind her kindness. No façade. No scheming.

Her sweetness was real.

And yet—

If a girl were only sweet and kind, she would've long been torn apart by the Hyakubami Ichizoku, devoured without a trace.

But Jabami Yumeko was no ordinary girl.

She had lost her parents at a young age, risen to become the representative of the Jabami family, and even before graduating middle school, had seized control of Hyakubami Daily, one of the zaibatsu's most vital assets.

She held the throat of a media empire in her slender hands.

No one could achieve such power in that clan unless they had the will—and the madness—to survive it.

Beneath her soft voice and radiant smile lurked something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

"Come to think of it," Yukima said casually as they passed a quiet intersection, "weren't we supposed to be meeting today to discuss a partnership?"

His tone was light, but his gaze was direct. "Jabami-san, what do you think?"

Yumeko slowed her steps. Her crimson eyes narrowed, then softened as she smiled politely.

"Regarding that… I've already reviewed the proposal sent by Laplace Corporation," she replied. "And I must apologize, but the terms offered by Hyakubami Daily are non-negotiable."

Her tone remained courteous, humble even—but her words were final.

There was no room for adjustment. No crack to pry open.

It was the kind of refusal that would end most negotiations.

Yukima, however, didn't seem bothered. His expression didn't shift.

He simply turned to look into the distance and said—

"Jabami-san… would you like to place a bet?"

Yumeko stopped.

She turned her head.

In that moment, something shifted in her eyes.

The sweet light behind her smile remained—but deep within those crimson irises, a glint like obsidian flame flickered to life.

Just one word. That was all it took.

The gentle schoolgirl from before… was now trembling with excitement.

"Ehh~? Really?" she said, her voice growing sharper with anticipation. "What's the game? What are we wagering—?"

She caught herself.

Mid-sentence, she stopped.

Yumeko blinked, then gave a sheepish chuckle and gently touched her lips with her finger.

"Oh dear… I got a little carried away, didn't I?"

Her small tongue peeked out to lick the corner of her lips.

She looked up at Yukima, all coyness and expectation.

"I don't usually carry cards or dice… and I'm not very good with numbers, either," she teased, clearly lying.

Yukima grinned faintly. "Then let's keep it simple."

He raised his hand and pointed toward a nearby park—lush and vibrant beneath the late summer sun.

Yumeko followed his finger.

At the top of a tall tree in the center of the park, two sparrows were perched side by side on a swaying branch.

"Let's bet on how long it'll take them to fly away," Yukima said casually. "Whoever's guess is closest wins."

Yumeko clapped her hands together, visibly thrilled.

"A pure luck game? I love it! And what's the stake?"

"Hm…" Yukima pretended to ponder.

"If I win, I'd like Jabami-san to grant me one small wish. That's all."

"But if you win… Laplace Corporation will pay ten times Hyakubami Daily's rate for the partnership."

At first glance, it was outrageously generous. One side was betting on a vague wish. The other had ten times the value of a major corporate contract on the line.

Yumeko tilted her head and gazed at Yukima with mock confusion.

But behind that gentle gaze, her mind was racing.

It was a trap. Obviously.

Yet, after only a moment, she smiled and said—

"Alright. Let's go with Yukima-san's conditions."

There were no witnesses.

No signed papers.

No official record.

Yet both of them knew—the bet had been made.

And neither would back out.

Yukima pulled out his phone and opened the stopwatch app.

"Ladies first," he said. "What's your guess?"

Yumeko stared at the birds, then glanced toward the road nearby. Her eyes briefly flashed with calculation.

"Fifteen seconds."

Yukima nodded. "Very well."

He tapped the start button.

And at that exact moment, he bent down and picked up a pebble.

"I'll guess… five seconds."

He tossed the pebble into the air, then made a throwing motion—like a trained pitcher.

Thwip.

The pebble sliced through the air like a bullet, arcing high above the street and across the grass.

Yumeko's eyes widened.

There was no way—no human way—it should've made it that far.

And yet—

Crack.

The pebble struck the branch.

The sparrows shrieked, flapped, and burst into the sky, feathers scattered behind them.

Yukima calmly tapped the stop button.

"Five seconds."

He turned to Yumeko.

She was staring at him in wonder.

And then she smiled—softly at first, then with growing intensity.

"Ah… I lost," she said, voice breathy. "How beautiful."

As she spoke, a massive truck thundered by the park, its engine roaring.

Had Yukima not acted, the sparrows likely would've flown away at that exact moment—fifteen seconds after the timer began.

She would've won.

But Yukima had outplayed her.

Yumeko's cheeks flushed. She looked positively giddy.

"A perfect trap… how thrilling!"

"You saw through everything," she continued, almost moaning the words. "In just five seconds, you manipulated chance. You predicted the timing of the truck. And then—that throw. It shouldn't have been possible!"

She licked her lips again.

"A normal person could never throw that far… Yukima-san, just what are you?"

Yukima smiled without answering.

"Jabami-san," he said. "You're not going to complain about the unfairness?"

She shook her head, smiling even wider.

"No, no, no. I should be thanking you!"

Then she whispered:

"So… what is your wish?"

"I lost, so I'll do anything."

She stepped closer.

"My wealth… my body… even my very soul… if you want, it's yours."

Her voice trembled with anticipation. Her eyes glowed with a manic fever.

Her fingers brushed her own cheek, tracing a line down to her lips. Then, without thinking, she slipped one slender finger into her mouth and bit down gently.

It was not the gesture of a sane girl.

The sweetness from earlier had warped into something twisted—not cruel, but deeply, intoxicatingly mad.

Yukima Azuma watched, calm as ever.

This girl—she had seen through everything.

She knew the game was rigged.

She'd still played.

She'd wanted to lose.

Just to experience the thrill.

Yukima had never even said what his "wish" was.

He had only implied that it was Laplace's collaboration with Hyakubami Daily.

Most people would have assumed as much.

But legally, logically—he hadn't said anything specific at all.

It was a linguistic trap. A semantic illusion.

Yumeko, of course, had caught all of that instantly.

Yet she had walked into it anyway.

Because for her, the higher the risk, the greater the thrill.

And as for that incredible throw—

Even Yumeko couldn't fully understand how he had done it.

Yukima's strength rating—7—meant he was far beyond normal, but nowhere near a world-class athlete.

By sight alone, his arms were lean, muscular—but not superhuman.

Yet he had thrown a pebble like a sniper fires a bullet.

And the answer was simple:

He had cheated.

Just not in a way anyone could see.

His supernatural abilities—enhanced after his cooking skills reached Level 8—allowed him to manipulate the composition of his own body.

For just a second, his arm had become like a whip, adding subtle micro-joints and elasticity.

He had rewritten his structure, launching the stone across the park as if physics itself had looked the other way.

And Yumeko?

She loved it.

The deception. The genius. The trap.

To her, it was perfect.