Keikaku Doori...Da.

Well, time to sorta explain this scene.

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Himiko finally pulled back, her breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps. She looked down at Kuro—no, her Kuro—and surveyed the aftermath of her actions.1

Two deep, raw puncture wounds marred the smooth skin of his neck, blood still oozing slowly from the holes she had carved into him. His once pristine shirt was stained with dark, spreading patches of red, and his complexion had turned pale from the blood loss.

But Himiko didn't feel disgusted. She didn't feel guilty, scared, or even shocked by what she had done. Instead, an overwhelming sense of love washed over her, warm and all-encompassing.

Kuro looked beautiful—more beautiful than he ever had before. The blood, the pallor, the vulnerability... it all made him perfect in her eyes. He had tasted beautiful too, and that sweetness still lingered on her tongue, a reminder of the connection they now shared. How could she have been so afraid of this? Afraid of being happy?

A soft, contented sigh escaped her lips as she gently brushed a lock of hair from Kuro's forehead. This was what she had been searching for, what she had been denying herself all this time. She didn't have to pretend anymore—no more hiding her desires, no more forcing herself to be the nice, sweet girl everyone expected her to be. She was free.

Free to be herself. Free to love.

As the euphoric haze began to fade, Himiko's thoughts became clearer. She knew, deep down, that this kind of love—her love—would never be accepted by others. They wouldn't understand.

They would call her a monster, shun her, and try to force her back into the box she had just escaped from. But that was okay. It didn't matter anymore. She didn't need their approval. She didn't need anyone to understand, as long as she had Kuro, as long as she could feel this way.

Slowly, Himiko climbed off of Kuro, taking care not to disturb him too much. He was still unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady.

A small, satisfied smile played on her lips as she carefully cleaned the blood from his neck, wiping away any evidence of what had transpired. The puncture wounds were deep, but she was careful, bandaging them with a tenderness that belied the violence of her actions.

"There," she whispered, her voice soft and affectionate as she patted the bandage into place. "All better now, Kuro."

As she finished, her gaze lingered on his peaceful, vulnerable form, and a sudden thought struck her. She wasn't a bad person—at least, not in her own eyes.

What she had done... it wasn't wrong. It was just... different. But she wasn't cruel, not really. She had patched him up, after all, taken care of him in her way. And as for the blood... well, it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

With a sly smile, Himiko pocketed the bloodied cloth she had used to clean his neck, a souvenir of sorts. A snack for later, to remind her of this moment, of this feeling. It was only fair, after all. She had given so much of herself in return.

Finally, she rose to her feet, her heart light and her mind clear for the first time in what felt like forever. She wasn't going home tonight. That place, with its rules and expectations, had nothing for her anymore. No, she was going to do what she wanted, follow her heart, wherever it might lead her.

As she slipped out of the infirmary and into the night, Himiko felt a strange sense of peace settle over her. It felt right—everything about this felt right. She was done pretending, done hiding. From now on, she was going to live her life on her terms.

She was free.

...

As the infirmary door clicked shut behind Himiko, the room fell into a quiet stillness. A few seconds passed before Kuro's eyes fluttered open, a soft smile curling on his lips. He had been awake the entire time, every second of the encounter unfolding exactly as he had anticipated.

How cute, he mused to himself as he gingerly touched the bandage on his neck. It was neat, carefully placed, and even adorned with a little sticker—Himiko's final touch of care after her descent into...happiness.

Kuro sat up slowly, his movements unhurried as he took in the scene around him. The room was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners, but his gaze was odd though, he had doe-eyes, so you'd never see it coming.

His shirt was stained with blood, the once-white fabric now a deep, dark red. He glanced down at it with mild interest, as if examining a trivial spill rather than the remnants of a deliberate act.

"Well," he muttered to himself, brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes, "part one of the plan is complete."

Kuro stood, straightening his clothes and smoothing out the wrinkles as if preparing for a formal occasion. He moved with a casual grace, his demeanor calm and composed. But his mind was anything but. As he tidied up the room, righting the vase Himiko had knocked over, Kuro couldn't help but reflect on the events that had just transpired.

"Was I a bad person?" he wondered aloud, his voice soft and contemplative. The question lingered in the air for a moment, unanswered. But he already knew the answer didn't matter. The truth was, Himiko's fall had been inevitable—a fate she couldn't escape. He had merely nudged her in the right direction, ensuring that it happened on his terms, under his control.

It hadn't taken much effort. The circumstances, the subtle manipulations, the timing—it had all been too easy. Almost disappointingly so. Kuro frowned slightly as he set the vase back on the windowsill, his mind turning over the notion that maybe, just maybe, he was growing bored. Bored enough to start questioning his actions.

"My heart and actions are utterly unclouded," he whispered, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "They are all those of Justice."

 But justice, he mused, was a tricky thing. Subjective, malleable, and sometimes a little too easy to twist to suit one's needs. Before he could dwell on it further, the door creaked open, and Kuro turned to see Heather standing in the doorway.

Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his appearance, her gaze lingering on the bloodstained shirt. But she didn't react with horror or suspicion. After all, who would immediately think it was blood? To her, it was probably just a spill, a clumsy accident.

"Kuro?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Where's Himiko? I was looking for her."

Kuro's smile widened, his usual enthusiasm bubbling to the surface as if nothing at all was amiss. "Oh, she left the school," he said brightly. "Went off to be happy."

Heather blinked, processing his words. "Happy? What do you mean?"

Kuro shrugged, the movement light and carefree. "You know, just living her life. Doing what makes her happy. Isn't that what we all want?"

Heather frowned, the confusion deepening in her eyes. There was something about the way Kuro said it, something that didn't quite sit right with her. But she couldn't put her finger on it, and ultimately, she found herself nodding along. After all, it wasn't like Himiko to do anything rash. Maybe she had just needed some time alone.

"Right… I guess that's good," Heather muttered, though a lingering unease gnawed at her. Still, she let it go, deciding that it wasn't worth pressing further. Himiko would come back—eventually.

With a final glance at Kuro, who seemed as cheerful as ever despite the odd circumstances, Heather turned and walked out of the infirmary. The door closed softly behind her, leaving Kuro alone once again.

He stood there for a moment, his smile slowly fading as the quiet enveloped him. Alone in the darkness, his expression grew pensive, almost distant. "...Ugh...now I have to stay here for another year..." Time for a time skip.

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[Auther: Yo. My MC's full name is "Kurokami Tenshin" it's meaning is super edgy.]