Rewrite Our Love? Too Late

Shuchiin Private Academy.

Located in the heart of Minato, Tokyo, this prestigious integrated institution spanned from kindergarten to university—a seamless academic pipeline, reserved for the children of Japan's most elite families.

Even long after the formal abolition of the aristocracy, Shuchiin remained the quiet bastion of political bloodlines, corporate heirs, and social bluebloods. It wasn't just a school—it was the cradle of Japan's next generation of rulers.

"By the way," said Hayasaka Ai, her tone light and casual despite the weight of the information,

"For the past thirty years, ninety percent of Shuchiin's funding has come directly from the Shinomiya Group."

"The current chairman of the board is the Shinomiya family's eldest son—Shinomiya Oka-sama."

It was a simple explanation. Too simple.

In truth, the details behind Shuchiin's foundation and power structure were far more intricate and deeply rooted in post-Meiji political maneuvering. But today wasn't about that.

Today was about appearances.

Hayasaka Ai walked ahead, but not as the cold, calculating maid of the Shinomiya estate.

Nor as the sweet, soft-spoken noble lady she often posed as in the girls' academy.

Today, she wore the skin of a gyaru.

A casual ponytail, shimmering light makeup, glossy pink nail polish, and just a hint of attitude.

To the outside world, she was simply an ordinary student at Shuchiin—one with no official ties to Shinomiya Kaguya.

But Yukima Azuma knew the truth.

This gyaru persona?

Just another expertly-crafted mask.

Hayasaka Ai was still the most capable personal maid of the Shinomiya household.

Today, she'd been asked to help the student council welcome an incoming exchange student—namely, Yukima Azuma himself.

How convenient.

He walked beside her, clearly amused.

"Yukima… -san… what are you smiling about?"

(.V o)?

She noticed immediately, her expression tightening with guarded curiosity.

Ever since that night—the one where she'd pretended to sleep and been struck straight through the heart by his unfiltered confession—Hayasaka Ai had become far more attuned to Yukima Azuma's presence.

Perhaps he's the only person…

Who can see through all my masks.

And still… likes what's underneath.

No amount of training, no number of personas, could stop her heart from skipping in moments like this.

"Hayasaka, watching you is quite interesting," Yukima said with a relaxed smile.

(་་ ཡང་་་)

Hayasaka's brow twitched.

She pursed her lips into a mild pout.

(0%)

If someone else had said that, she'd have rolled her eyes and walked away.

But when he said it…

It stung a little. In a strange way.

"So that's it? Yukima-san likes gyaru girls now?"

"Not at all," Yukima replied smoothly. "It's interesting because gyaru is Hayasaka Ai."

✩ (~ - ~ :)

"This is just a disguise. A persona to blend into Shuchiin. What's so fascinating about that?"

Yukima stopped walking for a second.

He raised a single finger and wagged it lightly, as if lecturing a child.

"Hayasaka, people can't pretend to be something they don't understand."

"Every disguise comes from within.

The mask is painted by Hayasaka Ai herself."

"And if you look carefully—if you're not blinded by the mask—you can catch glimpses of the one who painted it."

"Even if someone has a thousand masks—when you piece them together, you start to see the truth behind them."

"Don't you find that… fascinating?"

Hayasaka looked away, cheeks slightly flushed.

(><)

"What nonsense is he spouting…"

A mask is just a mask.

There's no such thing as a "true heart."

But still…

Could he really see through all of them?

Her heart skipped again.

She hated how impressive that was.

They continued walking along the tree-lined streets that led to the front gates of Shuchiin Academy.

Only when they arrived at the towering stone arch did Hayasaka seem to remember her role.

"Yukima-san," she said, clearing her throat slightly, "Would you like to tour the school first or head straight to the student council to complete your transfer procedures?"

Her fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt without thinking—a small, girlish gesture that clashed adorably with her usually composed demeanor.

It wasn't part of the act.

This time… she was just being herself.

"If we do the tour, will you be my guide the whole time?"

"Of course."

"Then I'd like a full tour, please… Hayasaka."

"Understood," she said softly.

It was morning. Classes were still in session.

As they passed the classroom blocks, Yukima could hear the murmur of teachers lecturing and the occasional rustle of pages turning.

No idle chatter.

No footsteps in the halls.

Compared to Toyogasaki, Shuchiin's academic discipline was in another league. Not necessarily better—but certainly more refined.

"Your class will be 1-B, Yukima-san," Hayasaka noted as they passed a long corridor lined with sliding doors.

"And yours?" he asked.

"1-E," she said, then added, "Kaguya-sama is in Class A. Secretary Fujiwara is also in 1-B with you."

Yukima blinked.

So he'd be sharing a classroom with Fujiwara Chika…

"…This will be interesting," he thought.

They finished the tour just as the first period ended.

Now, it was time to visit the student council.

Located at the far end of the academic building, the student council chamber was completely isolated from the usual student areas. The hallway leading to it was silent, imposing, and grand.

A place built for power.

Yukima paused in front of the heavy oak door and narrowed his eyes.

"Could this place… be turned into a harem base?"

After all, the student council president had sweeping authority.

They could appoint or dismiss positions within the council.

They controlled a club budget between 300 to 500 million yen annually.

A cunning manipulator could pull every girl he liked into the council—assigning them cushy roles—and live like a corrupt king.

…If, of course, the president wasn't Shinomiya Kaguya.

Thankfully, with her in charge, this wouldn't become a den of vice and degeneracy.

Yukima sighed and shook off the improper thought.

"Please wait inside, Yukima-san. Kaguya-sama should arrive after class."

Hayasaka said this gently, but didn't enter with him.

Here at school, she was merely a student.

Unofficial.

Invisible.

Yukima watched her disappear down the corridor before turning to the door.

With a light push, the thick antique door creaked open.

Before he even stepped inside, a faint aroma of tea wafted toward him.

Sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting gold across the wooden floors.

At the far end of the room stood a girl. She was arranging an elegant tea set, each movement graceful and precise.

She turned at the sound of the door.

The moment she saw his face—her breath hitched.

Her eyes widened with surprise and joy, but in the span of a heartbeat, those emotions vanished beneath a practiced, refined smile.

"You must be Yukima Azuma-san, right?" she said warmly.

"Please, have a seat!"

She guided him to the table and placed a porcelain cup in front of him.

The tea was still steaming. The aroma—floral, with a faintly sweet undertone—was familiar.

He took a sip.

The flavor was clean and complex. Slightly bitter at first, but the aftertaste was honey-smooth and refreshing.

"How is it?" she asked eagerly, eyes sparkling.

"It's delicious," Yukima said, meaning it.

"The best tea I've ever had."

The girl clapped her hands in delight.

"I'm so glad! I hoped you'd like it."

Then, as if suddenly remembering, she placed her hands lightly over her chest.

Her fingers brushed the red ribbon on her sailor uniform.

The motion was subtle—but enough to draw attention to the gentle curve of her figure.

At a glance… C-cup, at the very least.

"I'm Suou Yuki," she said with a radiant smile.

"First-year student. Cultural Committee member of Shuchiin's student council."

"And from today onward, we're classmates—so please, just call me Yuki, okay?"

Yukima froze for a moment.

It really was her.

Though only three years had passed, the girl before him had transformed completely.

Back in middle school, Suou Yuki had already stood out. But her emotions were always visible in her eyes—clumsy, sweet, and vulnerable.

Now…

Now she was a lady.

Her posture, her tone, her expressions—everything was composed and refined.

She no longer had the frail, sickly look from before. Her cheeks now carried a healthy glow, and her once-thin figure had blossomed into graceful elegance.

And yet—

Her eyes were the same.

The same warmth.

The same longing.

For the past three years, Suou Yuki had undergone the harsh heir-training curriculum of the Suou family.

Who knew how many sleepless nights she'd endured?

How many lessons, how many punishments, how many lonely evenings?

And even now—with the one she'd longed for all this time finally sitting across from her—

She held back every emotion.

She didn't cry. She didn't jump into his arms.

She simply smiled, calm and composed.

"This girl…" Yukima thought, "She's endured so much."

Faced with someone like that—someone who had endured in silence—he found it impossible to tease.

So instead—

He smiled.

And said, softly:

"It's been so long, Yuki."