Reborn in Classroom Of The Elite With A Lust System

KNOCK KNOCK

The knock came like a spark to a powder keg, igniting everything inside me that had been simmering since the moment I first saw him. When I opened the door, there he was—Kamado Yuta, standing under the warm glow of the hallway light, looking every bit the perfection I couldn't stop craving.

His uniform was immaculate, every detail sharp and precise, but it was his eyes that undid me. That calm, unreadable gaze he always wore, as though nothing in the world could touch him. But I wanted to touch him. I wanted to undo him, strip away every layer of his composure until all that was left was me.

"Yuta… you're already here," I said, keeping my voice steady, though my heart betrayed me with its quickened pace.

"Yeah," he replied, stepping inside without hesitation. "I was just coming back from a house meeting—" he motioned toward his pristine uniform, "—and when I got your message, teleporting seemed quicker."

Teleportation. Of course. Two days ago, it would've felt surreal. Now, it was just another reminder of how vastly different he was. A reminder that he had seen the real me no one else had and no else should. 

Every little thing he did only made him more desirable. Two days. That was all it had taken for him to consume my every waking thought. Two days, and he had already wormed his way into every crevice of my mind, every corner of my heart.

"Ah, right," I murmured, stepping aside to let him in. "I forgot you could do that. Come in."

"Thanks," he said simply, his voice calm, grounded, like the world outside didn't exist for him.

He walked over to the sofa, moving with an unhurried confidence that made my chest tighten. Shrugging off his blazer, he folded it with the kind of precision that hinted at discipline. As he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, the faint click of each button seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. My gaze zeroed in on the faint line of his collarbone as he unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning aloud.

His hair, slightly tousled from the day, framed his face in a way that made him seem effortlessly untouchable.

I followed, sitting beside him, my hands clenching slightly as I resisted the urge to reach out.

"So," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "What did you want to talk about?"

For a moment, I hesitated. The words I'd prepared felt suddenly inadequate. He was looking at me with that calm intensity, the kind that made me feel like he could see through the layers I'd spent years perfecting.

"Kikyo, are you okay?" he asked, his tone soft but firm.

Hearing my name in his voice made me falter. He'd said it so easily, like we were already close. Close enough to share secrets. Close enough for him to know mine.

Without a word, I leaned forward, resting my head against his chest. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my cheek—it was everything.

He froze for a second before relaxing, his body adapting to the moment as if he didn't mind. The subtle acceptance made my breath hitch.

"I hate them," I murmured, my voice muffled against his shirt.

He stayed silent, letting me continue.

"I hate all those perverts in class," I said, my fingers curling into fists. "I hate how I have to keep pretending, smiling, being 'perfect' while they stare at me like that."

He let out a small sigh. "I think every girl in class hates Ike and Yamauchi."

"True," I admitted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "But it's not just them. It's everyone. All of them. They think they know me, but they don't. They never have and never will."

He didn't respond, but his silence wasn't dismissive. It was patient, like he was giving me the space to unravel.

"Do you like Horikita, Yuta?" I asked suddenly, tilting my head to look up at him.

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"You heard me," I said, my voice sharper now. "Do you like her?"

"Uh, no," he replied, clearly taken aback. "Why are you even asking?"

No…

"Then why can I sense her mana on you?"

His expression froze, and in that moment, I felt something twist inside me. A flicker of something dark, possessive.

"It's faint," I continued, my tone calm but firm, "but it's there. That's the thing about you, Yuta. Your mana is so powerful that even the faintest trace of someone else's sticks out. It's… distracting."

He sighed, leaning back slightly, but his gaze never left mine.

"You know," I said, my voice softer now, almost playful, "in the girls' forum, you're ranked number one as the most desirable guy in school. And trust me, number two isn't even close. Everyone's wondering who you'll end up with. A lot of the girls in our class think it's going to be Horikita."

"And?" he asked, his tone neutral.

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes at him. "What's so special about her?"

"Listen, Kikyo," he began, his voice calm but with a hint of frustration, "I know you don't like her, but—"

"Shush," I interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. The action was bold, reckless, but I couldn't stop myself. "No need to explain."

I let my hand drop, a small smile playing on my lips. "You know, you're a dirty playboy, Yuta. Toying with girls' hearts, making them fall for you without even trying. It's cruel."

He blinked, caught between confusion and amusement. "Uh…"

"I like it," I said, cutting him off before he could respond. My voice dropped, the words coming out as a whisper. "I like the way you're playing with mine. The way you make me feel… alive. Desired. Owned."

His usual composure wavered, just for a second, and I relished it.

"You haven't showered right??" I asked suddenly, the change in topic making him blink in surprise.

"No," he said cautiously.

"Good," I said, leaning closer, my voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Can we shower together?"

His expression froze, his calm exterior cracking in a way that sent a thrill through me.

"??"

I smirked, satisfied. You'll be mine, Yuta. After tonight, I'll make sure I'm the only one you think about. This way you won't abandon me. 

As I stood, I could feel his gaze on me, unreadable but intense. The air between us was charged, heavy with the unspoken.

"Don't overthink it," I said, walking toward the bathroom without looking back. "You'll understand soon enough."

When I glanced over my shoulder, he was still sitting there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something else—something I couldn't quite place.

The faint crease in his brow, the way his eyes seemed to linger on me, sent a rush of satisfaction through my veins. Maybe he didn't fully understand yet, but he would. He had to.

I couldn't let them take him from me. Not the girls in our class. Not their empty flirtations. 

And especially not her. Not Horikita.

Not after he'd seen the real me. Not after he'd looked past the mask I wore every day and stayed.

Not after he'd accepted me.

This wasn't just a crush. It wasn't fleeting or frivolous like the petty infatuations I saw around me.

He was mine. He was meant for me. I could feel it in every glance he gave, every word he spoke. The way his eyes lingered, the way his voice softened when he said my name, the way he accepted me—it was all proof.

And I was his. Completely. Utterly. The way his hands moved, the faint strength in his grip—I wanted to feel them on me, holding me, claiming me before he claims another woman. His warmth, his lips, the heat of his skin against mine—I craved it all.

He just didn't realize it yet, but he would.

Oh, he would. I'd make sure he couldn't think about anyone else. I'd be the only one in his thoughts, the only one he wanted, the only one he needed. I'd burn myself into his very being until he couldn't imagine a life without me.

I will make sure he stays with me forever and love me forever.