Chapter 116: Consciousness and unconsciousness.

Violet had looked forward to the end of classes more than once before.

It was only now that she realized every single one of those times had involved Yuran.

“Violet-chan, sorry to keep you waiting.”

In the classroom that had grown quiet as most students began heading home, a notably tall figure appeared—his presence standing out even more than usual.

The door, which should have been plenty large, suddenly felt smaller than when she passed through it herself.

A trivial detail she had never noticed before now made her keenly aware of their difference in build.

As she approached with her bag in hand, her eyes met Yuran’s—his smile gentle, like petals softly scattering.

“Want to go somewhere? I’ve booked a salon just in case.”

“Eh…… I’m sorry, I didn’t prepare anything at all.”

“I’m the one who suggested it, so of course I’d handle the preparations.”

“But it was my idea to begin with…… I’m sorry—and thank you.”

“In times like this, just ‘thank you’ is enough.”

“……Thank you.”

“Mm! So, what should we do? If moving around sounds like a hassle, I’ve already asked them to prepare tea and sweets at the salon.”

“If they’ve gone to the trouble of preparing it, it would be a waste not to enjoy them.”

Yuran nodded with clear satisfaction—her answer must have been exactly what he expected.

If she had said she wanted to go into town, he would certainly have taken her.

But knowing Violet’s range of movement and preferences without needing to ask was one of Yuran’s proudest skills.

The real reason he had deliberately reserved the salon was twofold: he wanted time alone with her, and there was something he wanted to talk about.

He didn’t want anyone overhearing and starting unnecessary rumors.

“I put in all kinds of requests based on what I know you like, but I hope it suits your taste. I ended up choosing everything myself.”

“You and Marlin understand my preferences better than anyone, so there’s nothing to worry about. Actually, I’m more concerned about whether you made sure to include something for yourself.”

“I made sure to tell them that too.”

The salon Yuran had reserved had walls and ceiling made almost entirely of glass—less like an enclosed room and more like a terrace opening to the outside.

At first glance it offered a lovely view and good sunlight, but the dark brown wood framing the panes gave it a refined, subdued atmosphere.

The garden it faced was composed more of trees than flowers, so in truth the room wasn’t especially popular.

Normally she would have preferred somewhere brighter and more colorful, but Violet had always favored quieter, less crowded places.

“Ah, the table’s already set.”

A sweet fragrance filled the room.

On the neatly arranged table sat a tea set and a selection of confections protected beneath a glass dome.

Whether the staff had timed it perfectly based on their arrival or Yuran had given precise instructions, the precision of the timing was nothing short of professional craftsmanship.

“Violet-chan prefers milk, right? It might still be a little hot.”

“Thank you. And yours is this chocolate?”

“Yeah. They said it has an extremely high cocoa content. I tried one before and it was delicious.”

Yuran’s smooth, practiced movements as he served her might not have been particularly aristocratic.

Normally one would simply summon a servant to prepare tea—and most students, even many teachers, would struggle to brew a decent cup.

Still, the reason Yuran had acquired such skills was rooted in his distrust of others, so it wasn’t easy to say which way was truly better.

For his part, Yuran seemed overjoyed to have more things he could do for Violet—so perhaps he felt blessed by whichever god had granted him this chance.

“But since even I think it’s intense, it might not suit you, Violet-chan.”

“…………”

She couldn’t even handle a café au lait without wrinkling her nose at the faint bitterness—let alone black coffee.

The dark mass before her looked far stronger than anything she usually ate and would almost certainly fall squarely into the “extremely disliked” category.

Even so, the preconception that chocolate must be sweet was deeply ingrained in any sweet-tooth—and when Yuran, who usually just watched her eat with a gentle smile, went so far as to warn her, curiosity won out over caution.

Her finger instinctively reached for the smallest piece.

“——!?”

“Eh—Violet-chan!?”

“Wh-what…… is this…… s-so b-bitter……!”

Far more bitter than the time she had once accidentally eaten something similar.

Unable to swallow, it melted in her mouth and slid down her throat.

Every time her tongue touched it, a cold sweat seemed to crawl up her spine—an utterly unpleasant sensation.

She had reached for it knowingly, so it was her own fault—but the taste was so shocking she found herself thinking, absurdly, that she would probably remain a lifelong sweet-tooth.

“A-are you okay? Apparently it’s even more bitter than regular dark chocolate—um, here, drink this. This one’s for you, so it’ll help cleanse your palate.”

“Nn…… th-thank you. That was…… an incredible flavor.”

“It’s probably 95% cacao or something. I like the aftertaste to stay sweet, so it was just right for me.”

“My tongue still feels weird……”

“I should’ve stopped you sooner.”

“I ate it on my own. It’s rare for you to say something like this tastes good, Yuran. I guess curiosity got the better of me—and this is my punishment.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

“Yes—I’m never touching it again.”

To Yuran, who enjoyed it, it might count as a treat.

To Violet, who did not, it had felt like chewing on mud.

Tastes differ, of course.

There was no real problem in that difference, no cause for distress.

“Perhaps because of that…… these snowball cookies taste incredibly sweet and delicious right now.”

“Mine are good too.”

So saying, Yuran lifted the very same dark mass that had just assaulted Violet with unbearable bitterness.

He ate the sugarless chunk without the slightest distortion in his expression—in fact, with a gentle smile still on his face.

There was nothing strange about the sight itself.

And yet it felt utterly bizarre—probably because she had just personally experienced how scream-inducing that level of bitterness truly was.

“……I’m a little jealous.”

“You said the same thing the time you tried black coffee.”

“Bitter things just…… make me long for them somehow.”

“There are quite a few people like that.”

Why does liking bitter things seem more mature than liking sweet ones?

Why are tragic love stories—painful, heartbreaking, tear-jerking—more widely read than purely sweet romance novels?

Why does the miracle feel greater when an unhappy person becomes happy, rather than when a happy person becomes even happier?

Is it because wanting to be spoiled feels like weakness, while facing hardship feels like strength?

“Well, everyone yearns for what they don’t have. There are times I think it’d be nice if I could enjoy sweets too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. When I see you smiling happily while you eat, it looks so delicious.”

“Oh? Then would you like to try one, Yuran?”

A snowball cookie dusted with powdered sugar like fresh snow.

Since Violet liked them, they were undoubtedly sweet and delicious.

But they were absolutely not suited to Yuran’s palate.

She picked up a single one and held it exactly halfway between them.

Feeding someone by hand was terribly bad manners—something she would normally never do.

But today she intended it as a little mischief: the moment he leaned in, she would say “just kidding” and eat it herself.

“……Sure. Then I’ll take it.”

“Eh?”

They had been sitting side by side in separate chairs—yet suddenly Yuran’s face crossed that invisible boundary.

Reflexively she tried to pull her hand back, but he caught it gently.

With dexterous lips he plucked the cookie straight from her fingers.

In an instant it vanished from her grasp into his mouth.

Munch, munch, munch—gulp.

In a few fluid seconds it was over.

“Mm…… yeah, it really is ridiculously sweet. Exactly the flavor you like, Violet-chan.”

“…………”

Just as abruptly as he had leaned in, he pulled back.

She stared in stunned silence as he wiped the lingering powdered sugar from his lips with a finger.

Only belatedly did the reality—and the embarrassment—crash over her.

“——!!”

Her body temperature spiked.

It wasn’t hot, yet she felt feverish.

No one needed to tell her—her cheeks were unmistakably bright red.

The finger she had pulled back now grasped nothing, and that emptiness only made the memory of what it had touched more vivid.

Her brain felt as though it were boiling.

Something light as a feather had brushed past—too fast to register temperature, yet unmistakably there.

（L-lips…… his lips t-touched……!!）

The fingertip she clutched to her chest had definitely felt it.

The contact had ended before she could even register softness or elasticity—far short of a kiss.

And precisely because it had been so fleeting, her mind filled in the blanks, built upon it, imagined the rest.

The place she had wanted to be touched.

The way she had wanted to be touched.

“Violet-chan? Sorry, that was bad manners…… are you mad?”

“I-I’m…… n-not not mad.”

“Eh—which is it?”

“I’m not mad, but I’m mad!”

“Ehhh, sorry! It just looked so delicious.”

While listening to Yuran’s apologetic voice as he tried to gauge her mood, she turned her face away in a pout—trying to calm the thunderous pounding of her heart.

She knew her ears were bright red.

She was sure he had noticed too.

But she also knew they both found this kind of exchange fun.

That was why they kept doing it.