Chapter 69: Of Course, You May

This angle, this position—it didn’t seem like it was Kiyori Mirei’s…

He glanced up at Miss Kiyori sitting beside him. Her eyes were crystal clear as she ate, entirely absorbed in her meal.

“What’s wrong?” Kiyori Mirei asked, puzzled, a trace of oil still on the corner of her lips.

“It’s nothing.” Haruhi Harano picked up a napkin and gently wiped her mouth for her, an indulgent smile on his face.

A bare foot kept brushing against him under the table—sometimes just a fleeting touch—and Haruhi pretended to ignore it, chalking it up to an “accident” from across the table. He liked a bit of thrill, sure, but the risk was too great at a time like this. Romance without the ability to reload and replay was like a bird with broken wings—one careless move and he’d turn into that infamous tragic lover from the stories. The thought alone made him shudder. Still, to prevent that mischievous foot from continuing its crimes, Haruhi clenched his legs together and caught it between them.

Across the table, the expressions of the Momoya mother and daughter were worth noting. Eri Momoya’s face remained composed and graceful as she chewed her food, but she noticed Haruhi’s distracted gaze and asked curiously, “What is it, Haruhi?”

Her movements, posture, and eyes were perfectly normal—there was nothing amiss.

“Nothing at all,” Haruhi replied with a smile, pretending to spear a couple pieces of beef from his plate, and sneaking a glance at Komai Momoya. Since her true nature had been exposed to Haruhi and Kiyori Mirei, she’d dropped all pretense, stuffing beef into her mouth from her little bowl, her lips slicked with oil. So much for the perfect goddess—she was just a silly girl after all.

He could feel the foot on his thigh struggling to break free, but Haruhi wasn’t about to let her off so easily. He decided to keep the evidence safely trapped for now.

After a couple more futile attempts to escape, the foot finally gave up and settled obediently in place.

Not long after, however, Haruhi felt another jolt—a different bare foot was now rubbing up his calf, inching higher. He glanced at the unruffled Kiyori sitting beside him, eating with perfect composure. What was going on tonight?

Kiyori Mirei acted as if nothing unusual was happening, calmly enjoying her meal above the table while a secret world unfolded beneath it.

Dinner ended quickly—apart from the little under-the-table episode, the rest of the meal was harmonious and pleasant. After helping Eri Momoya clear the table, Haruhi stood to take his leave with Kiyori Mirei.

This prompted another sigh of admiration from Mrs. Momoya for Haruhi’s good manners, followed by a despairing glance at her own daughter, who was still wearing a loose white T-shirt with two fresh stains of sesame oil from dinner.

Noticing her mother’s gaze, Komai Momoya grinned sheepishly and scratched her head. How could a girl so sharp outside turn into such a goof at home? Where had things gone wrong?

Before leaving, Haruhi cast a long, searching look at Komai Momoya. Was this the real perfect goddess?

On the way downstairs, Kiyori Mirei walked ahead while Haruhi trailed behind, mentally tallying up the night's gains. The evening’s maneuvers had earned him a whopping eleven points of favor with Eri Momoya—a difficult feat, considering her affection had just barely reached fifty-three, the threshold for “friendly.” At first, Kiyori Mirei and Yoshimi Uehara gave Haruhi the illusion that winning someone’s heart was easy. Only when dealing with Eri Momoya did he realize it wasn’t so effortless—it was simply that he’d appeared at the right time, in the right place, and met the right person.

He’d also come to understand a crucial point: the fastest way to close the distance with a girl was to create opportunities for physical closeness. It was pointless to act like a gentleman and keep your distance—unless you were so outstanding that beautiful girls chased after you, in which case, forget everything he just said.

Especially with Yoshimi Uehara—one night, in the warehouse, he’d singlehandedly faced the boss, relying on a powerful energy drink and a perfect alignment of time, place, and mood. By sheer persistence, he finally achieved his first “kill,” racking up thirty points of affection in a single night.

Of course, increasing physical closeness didn’t mean turning into a lecher. As written in “The Spring Annals,” you had to let a girl’s body grow accustomed to your presence. If you could manage that, success was close at hand.

The “Spring Annals,” abbreviated as “Annals,” didn’t yet exist as a published book—so far, it was all in Haruhi’s mind. One day, he was determined to turn this living language into a legacy. Maybe, with some additions, he really would publish it and share his experience and stories with the world.

As Haruhi imagined the day his book sold out to thousands, Kiyori Mirei, walking ahead, suddenly came to a halt. The abrupt stop nearly caused Haruhi to run into her. Staring at her graceful silhouette, he was momentarily dazed.

“What’s wrong, Kiyori?” he asked.

“Would you walk with me for a while? I don’t want to go home just yet,” came her reply.

By now, night had fully fallen. Stars were scattered across the cold sky, and a bright moon hung overhead, its light forming a stark contrast with the dazzling city lights of Tokyo below. Of course, that brilliance belonged only to central Tokyo—far removed from the outskirts where their rented apartment stood.

Here, it was rare to see another soul on the street at night. Everyone had long since retreated home to savor their precious hours of comfort.

“Can we go for a walk to clear our minds and digest a bit?” Kiyori Mirei added.

Moonlight spilled across her delicate features, making her look like a goddess from the moon itself—pure and untainted.

Haruhi’s heart skipped a beat, then he grinned.

“Of course, Kiyori. I’d love to.”