Liber Amoris

The room was bare as I looked around. Minimalist, functional—practically devoid of personality. But one item stood out amidst the spartan surroundings: a small picture frame tucked neatly onto a shelf, almost as though it were an afterthought.

I stepped closer, my eyes landing on the photo within. My lips curved into a faint smile.

So you still have it.

The thought crossed my mind unbidden, accompanied by the faintest pang of nostalgia. It was a picture I had taken that summer, the same one I held hidden in my room. Evil God had insisted on keeping it.

I reached out, brushing my fingers lightly against the edge of the frame. For just a second, I hesitated. Then, as if realizing the futility of lingering in the past, I drew my hand back and turned toward the desk.

For me, it had been an odd but remarkable moment, standing in a room that wasn't Komachi's, and more significantly, being in her room. The thought still felt surreal even now.

Aside from the picture, though, there was nothing noteworthy about the room. The shelves were lined with a handful of books, likely meticulously curated for either usefulness or appearances. No personal trinkets, no decorations.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I reached for one of the books. It felt slightly worn, as though its pages had been turned frequently. Expecting some dense volume on philosophy or perhaps a guide to psychological manipulation—something befitting her unnervingly calculated personality.

I turned it over.

What I saw made me pause.

A romcom. Of all things.

I blinked dumbly, staring at the colorful cover that depicted an overly cheerful protagonist surrounded by a harem of equally enthusiastic heroines. My mind struggled to process this revelation.

"What the…?" I muttered under my breath, flipping the book open.

The pages were filled with typical tropes—awkward misunderstandings, contrived romantic tension, and cringe-inducing dialogue that somehow made my own life feel more normal by comparison. This wasn't some intellectual exercise or an ironic collection. She had read this.

I placed the book back on the shelf, half-expecting it to vanish in a puff of logic-defying smoke. But it stayed, mocking me silently with its existence. My eyes scanned the other titles.

No way.

I picked up another book, then another. Each one was in the same vein.

Romantic comedies, slice-of-life stories, and even one or two light novels with embarrassingly saccharine titles.

"What the hell were you doing all this time?" I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

For someone who treated life like a meticulously designed chessboard, where every move was calculated and emotions were liabilities, this collection was… disorienting. It wasn't just out of character. It was like discovering a tiger secretly enjoyed playing with yarn.

I set the last book down, shaking my head. Perhaps this was her way of attempting to understand emotions or humanity, though the thought of her deriving any life lessons from this material was laughable at best.

A laptop sat on the desk, its sleek, familiar surface reminding me of the time she had roped me into watching anime.

I could practically hear her delivery as she half-suggested, half-ordered me to watch something utterly absurd. And then, inevitably, she'd mutter some scathing commentary about online discourse while scrolling through forums, only to pause occasionally and glance at me with an expression that was unreadable, even for me.

She had always been like that—pulling me into her world without explanation, yet leaving me to decipher its meaning on my own.

It was only after placing the last book back on the shelf that the realization hit me like a cold splash of water.

Wait. What the hell am I doing?

I was standing in the middle of her room, snooping around her shelves while Evil God was in the kitchen. The thought struck me with the creeping dread one might feel upon realizing they'd accidentally clicked "reply all" on an email.

This was… creepy, wasn't it? No, scratch that—it wasn't just creepy. It was the kind of behavior that would instantly brand me as some second-rate antagonist in a mediocre rom-com.

I could already imagine the narration: "Hikigaya Hachiman, unable to resist his natural inclination toward social ineptitude, trespassed deeper into territory he had no business exploring."

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. What was I even hoping to find?

I glanced at the laptop again and immediately shook my head. Nope, bad idea. The last thing I needed was to accidentally open some incomprehensible spreadsheet that would explain how I'd already lost some invisible psychological game she was playing.

I'm one step away from becoming one of those stereotypical stalker types in a bad teen drama. I died internally. All I needed now was some ominous monologue about "protecting her smile," and I'd officially hit rock bottom.

"Get a grip," I muttered, stepping back toward the door.

My eyes flicked to the small picture frame on the shelf, the one with the two of us frozen in time during that summer day. For a moment, my thoughts quieted. It was ridiculous, really. Even now, just being here made me feel like I was out of my depth like I had stumbled into some fantasy world.

And yet, I couldn't help but linger just a second longer, wondering what kind of world she saw me in.

Just as I reached for the doorknob, the door swung open from the other side.

Standing there was Evil God, her face as neutral as ever. More so than my own face. For someone who could read entire conversations with a single glance, her sudden appearance had the kind of unsettling precision that could startle even the calmest of people.

I was not the calmest of people.

"Oh, sorry," she said, almost nonchalantly, noticing the slight surprise in my expression. "Did I startle you?"

"Startled?" I scoffed, quickly composing myself. "Nah, not at all. Just… uh, stretching."

Her eyes flicked to my hands, still awkwardly hovering by the doorknob, before returning to meet my gaze. If she found my response a bit too defensive, she didn't let on. Instead, she stepped past me into the room, holding a tray with two cups of tea in her hands.

The familiar scent of green tea filled the room as she moved to the desk, setting the tray down with a soft clink. I couldn't help but glance at her, wondering if I'd managed to put everything back in order.

"You're pretty quiet," she remarked, her back turned to me as she set the cups down.

"I'm just appreciating your… uh, hospitality,"

Evil God turned slightly, her eyes meeting mine with that same unreadable expression she always wore. "How very unlike you."

"Well, I can be polite when the situation calls for it."

She didn't respond, instead sitting down at the desk and gesturing to the other cup. "Your tea is ready. You should drink it before it gets cold."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, moving to sit across from her.

As I reached for the cup, I couldn't help but sneak a glance at the bookshelf. Everything looked in place. For now, it seemed like my spur-of-the-moment cleaning frenzy had paid off.

Hopefully.

I sat down across from her, taking the cup of tea, and for a brief moment, the room was quiet except for the soft clink of porcelain. The faint sound of a clock ticking in the background only added to the odd stillness.

Suddenly, Evil God broke the silence. "I've really missed you,"

The words caught me off guard, and I found myself fumbling for a response. "I've missed you too." There was something about her being so direct that it made me feel... 'pleasant' unease. But then again, it was the kind of unease I had grown used to.

Trying to keep things casual, I asked, "So, how'd you end up with this apartment?"

She took a slow sip of her tea before responding. "Chairman Sakayanagi managed to arrange it for me. Got me a place on the suggestion of one of his contacts after I had to leave Chiba." Her tone remained flat as if she had just described a minor detail of her day, though I couldn't help but notice the slight pause when she mentioned Sakayanagi's name

I nodded, understanding the unspoken implications.

I took another sip of my tea, trying to shake off the pain of the conversation. But the silence between us had grown thicker, more charged.

My hands, still holding the cup, were a little too stiff, a little too aware of the growing tension in the room.

After a few moments, I exhaled sharply, more to myself than anything else. "You should have told me about Tsukishiro," I said, my voice sounding more worn than I intended. My mind flashed to those last few days, the ones spent in a constant state of unease, barely holding on. "I… almost gave up a few times. It felt like my back could've been run over by a damn steamroller, for all I knew."

I hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there it was.

"I thought I was going to die, you know? Every time I thought I had a chance to breathe, I realized it wasn't enough."

Before I could say anything else, I felt her hand gently touch mine, the warmth of her fingers grounding me.

Her hand was still on mine, warm and steady. The pressure was soft, but it had a strange, almost comforting intensity. Without thinking, my fingers shifted slightly, brushing against her face. The softness of her skin caught me off guard.

Before I could retract my hand, she took it gently, guiding my fingers to her cheek. Her skin was warm, softer than I expected, and I couldn't help but tense at the pleasant sensation.

Her face was as impassive as ever, and for a moment, everything felt… almost normal as if the tension that had been building for so long was finally easing. But then, something about the entire situation still felt off.

I blinked, the thought clawing at the back of my mind.

My breath caught for a second as I pulled my hand away slightly, still holding onto her wrist. I looked at her again, really looked at her.

And that's when it hit me.

Her touch. The way she wasn't pulling away, the way her hand had moved so easily to guide mine. It wasn't something I had ever expected from her—not this kind of connection, this kind of softness.

It wasn't the first time I'd felt this uncertainty when it came to her, but right now, I couldn't ignore it. I could feel my heart rate pick up as something clicked into place.

"You…" I started, but my words faltered.

For a brief moment, Evil God's hand stopped mid-motion, as if she were confused.

I felt a strange chill settle over me. My thoughts were racing, but I couldn't quite put them into words.

"You created this whole thing, didn't you?" I finally blurted out, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Her reaction was instantaneous. Her entire body froze as if she hadn't expected me to say those words. Her eyes flicked to mine, but there was no expression on her face, just the usual unreadable stare.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice while still calm, had an edge to it now. A flicker of abyss I could perfectly remember.

I leaned forward slightly, holding her wrist with just a bit more tension, not letting the moment slip by.

"I've known you long enough," I said, my voice steady despite the tight knot in my chest. "And since you know exactly what's going on in my head at all times, I think I've started to understand your true nature, too."

I paused, trying to collect my thoughts, then continued, "And you… you wouldn't make a mistake like that. You wouldn't leave anything behind that could tie you to this. So why the hell did Tsukishiro have your phone?"

The question suspended between us, abrupt and disturbing on far too many levels. The silence in the room felt graver now as if something had shifted, and Evil God seemed to sense it too.

Her reaction was swift and sudden. Before I could react, her hands shot up, grabbing my shoulders with a force that left me little room to respond. In an instant, she pushed me down, her strength surprising even me. I hit the floor with a soft thud and yet I didn't feel pain.

The room seemed to shift. The distance between us closed, and within moments, Evil God was sitting on my chest, her legs straddling me. Her body was pressed firmly against mine, and I could feel the heat of her skin, the weight of her presence overwhelming.

A few strands of her hair fell loose, cascading down her face, and brushing gently against mine. The faint scent of her lingered, something dark and intoxicating. Her eyes, that familiar abyssal darkness, seemed to pulse with life, as though they were alive, watching me, studying every shift of my expression.

She lowered her head, her breath warm on my face as she spoke, her face only a breath away from mine.

"I've manipulated many people. Hurt many of them," she said softly, the words darker than any of the previous ones. Her voice was as calm as ever, but there was an undeniable power to it, an underlying truth that made the atmosphere feel thick with tension.

"You told me once," she continued, her voice dropping lower, "that you wouldn't tolerate it if I crossed the line."

For a brief instant, I almost forgot to breathe as I stared into her eyes. Something stirred deep inside me, a conflict I couldn't quite untangle, but there was also a strange pull, an undeniable connection that was impossible to ignore.

The pressure of her body against mine was suffocating, but I couldn't look away. I was trapped—both physically and mentally. The warmth of her skin, the soft brush of her hair against my face, all of it was intensifying the storm inside me. My heart hammered in my chest, but it was nothing compared to the chaos in my mind.

"You… manipulated Tsukishiro," I muttered, my voice hoarse, almost as if the very thought of it were too much. "You led him straight to me. Made this entire mess happen. Why...?" I could feel the desperation rising in me, even as I tried to keep my voice steady. The uncertainty and unease were suffocating, and I couldn't stop myself from asking the one thing that had been eating at me for so long.

Evil God's eyes never left mine. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my ear, and for a moment, I could almost hear her thoughts whispering through the air.

"I wanted to see you again," she said, her voice softer, almost wistful in its own strange way. "You… were my book. The one I had to read. The one supposed to teach me how to live. How to feel."

The words made no sense, and yet they hit me like a slap. I had always known she wasn't like anyone else—how she could manipulate, twist, and turn everything to suit her will. But hearing her say it, hearing her admit that she saw people as nothing more than tools for her own learning, it made something inside me crack.

I had been nothing more than an experiment. A story for her to read and discard when it had served its purpose.

"You used every one," I muttered, my voice thick with bitterness, "even me. You turned us all into nothing more than pieces in your game. And now I see it—you never cared about anything else. Nothing has changed."

The words left my mouth, and I almost wanted to take them back. But I couldn't. I couldn't erase the truth now that it was out there.

But then her next words shattered the conviction I had been building.

"But the longer I read this book..." Evil God said slowly, her voice taking on a quiet intensity,

"...the less I wanted to reach the end."

"There's an answer," E̸vi̸l G̷o̷d said softly, almost reverently, "And I'm so close... so close to it. I can feel it, just beyond my reach." Her voice, that cool, controlled tone, trembled with something deeper, something darker, as though her very being was on the edge of an epiphany.

I could feel her eyes on me—those eyes, endless and dark, pulling me in like I was nothing more than a speck caught in her gaze. They were like an abyss, an unfathomable void that seemed to devour everything. Her beauty was impossible to ignore, but it was so much more than just her appearance. It was the way she was. The way the very shadows seemed to cling to her, as if they too were drawn to her power, to her darkness. Her presence was divine in a way that unsettled me like she was something beyond human.

Her skin, soft and flawless, shimmered in the low light, the faint glow casting delicate shadows along her cheekbones, and her jawline. Her brown hair cascaded around her face in soft waves, framing her features like a shroud, yet making her look even more... untouchable. Everything about her felt like it existed beyond the ordinary, beyond the mortal world.

And yet, it was her eyes that had me locked in place.

I couldn't look away, even as my heart hammered against my chest. They weren't just looking at me. They were looking through me.

"You're my answer, Hachiman," she whispered, her breath so close, warm against my ear.

The reality of the situation was becoming harder to ignore. I was on the ground, pinned by her, and the more I stared into her eyes, the more I could feel my sense of self beginning to slip away.

I couldn't even tell if I was terrified anymore. Her beauty, her power—it felt wrong, and yet I couldn't tear my gaze away. She wasn't just beautiful—she was something much darker, much more dangerous than anything I'd ever encountered.

Before I could process it, her lips were on mine. It was sudden, unexpected—an electric shock that jolted through me, igniting every nerve in my body. The heat of her kiss hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless and disoriented. Her kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, but there was something raw beneath it, something that hinted she was holding back.

Everything in my mind exploded in an instant. It wasn't gentle. It was like a punch to the heart, like an explosion that consumed me entirely. I felt her warmth against my lips, and immediately, her presence enveloped me. She was everywhere.

I couldn't react. I was paralyzed. Every part of me was on the edge of madness, on the brink of some unknown force. It was like being struck by lightning. I could feel my heart pounding so loudly that I almost couldn't hear my own thoughts. Her strength, this unstoppable force, held me in place.

With her body pressed against mine, I felt every inch of her skin. Hot, hungry, dominant. Her lips deepened, as though she was searching for something in me. My body responded against my will, pulling me into a whirlwind of this unknown, uncontrollable sensation. It was electrifying, so intense that I forgot who I was, forgot what I was supposed to do.

The surge of her kiss, the fire that blazed through me, left my body trembling. But somewhere, buried beneath the haze of desire and confusion, something inside me stirred. Something fought back. My hand, almost instinctively, found its way to her wrist.

I couldn't explain it. Maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was the sheer weight of everything that had been building up. But something snapped. With every ounce of strength I could muster, despite the overwhelming force of her presence, I pushed her away.

Not enough to break the connection entirely, but enough to give myself room—just enough to regain control over my thoughts.

I was gasping for air, my heart racing as if it might tear through my chest. But I didn't have time to process it. I wasn't thinking. I was acting, driven by something primal, something instinctual. Before I knew it, I was on top of her, straddling her, my hands gripping her wrists, pinning them to the ground.

I looked down at her, and for the first time, the roles had reversed. My body was on fire, and yet there was a strange calm in the chaos of the moment. I could see her, her beauty now something far more dangerous than before, like a storm waiting to break.

Her hair, scattered around her face, fell in waves, framing her as a deity caught between the world of light and shadow. Her eyes—the same abyss that had once drawn me in—now looked up at me with something different. There was no longer the detached calculation I had once seen. There was something more in those depths.

I couldn't think. I couldn't stop myself.

Without even realizing when I had moved, I leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't soft. It was raw. It was urgent as if something between us had shifted irreversibly. My lips claimed hers with an intensity I hadn't thought myself capable of. And I felt her tremble beneath me as if she had been waiting for this moment.

I was lost in her, in the heat, the hunger that had overtaken me. My fingers trembled as they slid along her jawline, brushing the soft curve of her neck. The sensation sent a jolt through me, igniting something dangerous. My hand found its way down, creeping slowly, dangerously, toward her chest. Every movement felt like it was both a betrayal and a need, something I couldn't stop even if I tried.

But there was still a part of me—deep down—that screamed for rationality, for control. With all the strength I had left, I managed to force myself to break the kiss. My breath was ragged, my chest heaving, but I couldn't let this consume me. I had to get out. I had to think. I tried to pull away, to stand, but the moment I tried to rise, her hand shot out—strong, almost inhuman in its grip—and I couldn't move.

Her fingers locked around my wrist with a force that made my blood run cold. I was frozen in place, her eyes, dark as the abyss, locked onto mine with an intensity that stopped me in my tracks.

"Hachiman," she called my name, her tongue lightly tracing her lips as if savoring the taste.

I didn't have the strength to fight it. The chaos inside me, the storm of emotions, made everything else seem insignificant. I felt my will crumble beneath her touch, the thin thread of resistance I'd clung to slipping away with every passing second.

I couldn't escape it anymore. I couldn't escape her. The world fell away, and I found myself leaning into her again, giving in to that dark, all-consuming force.

And for the first time, I didn't want to fight it.

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ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

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In the morning, I stumbled onto the train, the world swaying in ways that didn't seem natural. Everything around me felt muffled like I was underwater, and my thoughts were slow, disjointed.

I couldn't even remember how I got to the station. The train ride was a blur. My pulse kept racing, my chest tight. My head felt heavy, as though it was filled with fog, and every thought was like trying to swim through molasses.

When the train finally pulled into the station, I stumbled off, not sure if my legs were even working properly. I needed to get home. I needed to see Komachi. I needed something normal, something to remind me that I wasn't completely lost to that strange, intoxicating force.

But when I pushed open the door to our house, I was met with silence.

"Komachi?" I called out, my voice sounding too loud in the stillness. No answer. I called again, louder this time. Nothing.

I hesitated, turning toward the living room. Then to the hallway. The silence pressed in on me, making everything feel farther away. Like I was walking through fog.

A sharp pressure at the base of my neck.

The world blurred.

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"Hikigaya-senpai~! Wakey, wakey!"