All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

If Mashiro hadn’t hugged her earlier, Kotomi might have jokingly cheered at the thought of sharing a blanket with Mashiro for the next three nights.

But now...

All she could think about was the way Mashiro had embraced her, and those vivid orange-red eyes that stirred waves in her heart with just a glance. It left Kotomi anything but calm—the idea of joking about it was completely out of the question.

”I really don’t know what to do...” Kotomi sighed deeply. Mashiro’s hug and her eyes had come so close to being a confession.

Even without words, Kotomi could feel it.

But realizing something doesn’t mean knowing how to handle it.

In fact, Kotomi was feeling more troubled than ever.

After thinking for a while, all she could mutter was, ”Damn my charm.”

She said it half in jest, but her smile lacked its usual carefree brightness. Silently, she turned to look at the night view outside the window.

Eventually, sleepiness began to settle in. Kotomi no longer worried about insomnia. She lay down and soon drifted into a deep sleep.

Once Kotomi’s breathing turned soft and steady, Mashiro slowly opened her eyes. Earlier, she had only pretended to sleep—waiting for Kotomi to fall asleep first.

Watching Kotomi sleeping peacefully beside her, Mashiro smiled gently. Her feelings were simple and pure, like those of a child. She knew she loved Kotomi, so she wanted to pursue her.

But she had arrived too late. Megumi Kato stood as a thick barrier between her and Kotomi. Every time Mashiro tried to close the distance, Megumi would somehow block her path.

The silent war between the two girls had already broken out countless times in the shadows.

Once, Kotomi was too lazy to buy water despite being thirsty. While she napped after class, Mashiro had quietly slipped out and brought back a bottle of mineral water from her cousin’s office, placing it on Kotomi’s desk.

But Megumi, always alert, would wait for Mashiro to look away, then swap the bottle for one she had prepared—making sure the logo was clearly visible for Kotomi to see the moment she woke up.

That was the level of Megumi’s scheming. She always made sure Kotomi saw her drinking a specific brand of water, planting the idea that any matching bottle must be from her.

This was just one small battle in the ongoing war around Kotomi.

As for how many battles had taken place? It was like trying to count slices of bread eaten in a lifetime—too many to remember.

Megumi and Mashiro didn’t get along, just as Megumi didn’t get along with Aimi either.

But there was a difference. Against Aimi, Megumi could win easily, even with both hands tied. But with Mashiro, she soon discovered that her opponent wasn’t as fragile as she appeared.

After several ”duels,” Megumi realized—to her surprise—that Mashiro was anything but easy to beat.

She might seem shy and reserved, but when it came to fighting for Kotomi...

Mashiro was fierce as a warrior goddess.

Though she couldn’t compare to Arisu Sakayanagi’s overwhelming and flawless strategic moves, Mashiro’s repeated victories still caused her danger level in Megumi’s heart to rise sharply.

Now that Kotomi was away from Megumi’s side, Mashiro couldn’t help but show a satisfied smile.

She leaned in closer to the sleeping Kotomi, quietly admiring her adorable sleeping face. Propping herself up with her left hand, she gently caressed Kotomi’s delicate and beautiful cheek with her right.

”Kotomi, when will I be able to marry you and make you take my surname, so you’ll be Kotomi Shiina?” Mashiro murmured softly, like a whisper to herself, yet it also sounded like a question meant for Kotomi.

But even if Kotomi was being asked, she couldn’t give an answer that would satisfy Mashiro—because she was asleep.

Mashiro leaned down and kissed Kotomi on the lips, holding her tightly in her arms.

She hoped that one day, she could kiss Kotomi not while she slept, but openly, face-to-face.

That night was both long and fleeting.

The next morning, the first thing Kotomi saw when she opened her eyes was Mashiro sleeping in her arms.

It startled her. She knew they were sleeping in the same bed, but she distinctly remembered making sure there was some space between them the night before.

Yet now, that space was completely gone. The distance between them had gone from opposite sides of the bed to none at all. Mashiro was nestled peacefully in Kotomi’s arms, unconsciously curling toward her like a kitten that had found a safe and comforting place.

However...

Kotomi slowly sat up and glanced at her own rather spectacular proportions, chuckling softly, half in jest: ”Mashiro’s not worried about suffocating herself in there?”

As the weather turned colder, the dependence on warm blankets only grew stronger. Just the thought of leaving the blanket in the morning felt like the greatest challenge.

People who went to bed determined to rise early often found themselves staying under the covers with a thought like, ”There’s still time... I’ll just sleep one more minute.”

That minute was often the beginning of every late morning.

Kotomi thought to herself that there was no need to wake up early today anyway. Sure, they planned to go to the museum, but it wasn’t like they had to go at the crack of dawn.

It was only 6 a.m. The Kyoto National Museum of Modern Art didn’t open until 9:30. Even if they went now, they wouldn’t be able to enter.

After checking the time on her phone, Kotomi turned back and lay down again.

It definitely wasn’t because it was too cold and she didn’t want to get up—there just wasn’t any reason to yet!

When Kotomi lay back down, she ended up sleeping straight through until 10 o’clock. What finally woke her up wasn’t the time, but Mashiro inadvertently lying on her hair after getting up first—an accidental but very physical method of waking her up.

When two girls share the same bed, the most common mishap is stepping or lying on each other’s hair.

Even Kotomi, with her short hair, wasn’t spared.

The pain from having one’s hair pressed can make anyone suck in a breath sharply—especially for Kotomi, whose entire body had become particularly sensitive due to the ”Queen of All Females” physique’s ”side effects.”

The upside was enhanced reflexes, but the downside was that even the slightest disturbance could feel like a tidal wave.

So one can imagine how intense the stimulus was for Kotomi when Mashiro accidentally stepped on her hair.

The pain reached a level where it stopped feeling like just pain—like with Kotomi, who even felt an inexplicable twinge of pleasure.

As an apology for accidentally stepping on Kotomi’s hair, Mashiro offered to help brush her hair while they were in the bathroom getting ready.

Though Kotomi knew full well that Mashiro wasn’t particularly skilled at brushing hair—Chihiro Sengoku usually helped her with it—she didn’t have the heart to refuse.

No one is born with skills; you have to start somewhere.

So Kotomi obediently sat on a chair, letting Mashiro—clumsy but earnest—brush her hair.

”Kotomi... I’m not very good at brushing others’ hair. If it hurts or feels uncomfortable, please let me know,” Mashiro murmured shyly from behind as she fumbled with the brush, cheeks slightly pink.

Before today, Kotomi might have thought Mashiro was just being modest. But after three whole minutes of experiencing Mashiro’s hair-brushing skills firsthand, Kotomi could only feel one thing: regret.

She shouldn’t have agreed.

Mashiro had never brushed anyone else’s hair. Even brushing her own was rare—when she lived in the UK, the maids would help, and after moving to Japan, her cousin Chihiro would do it every morning.

Naturally, Mashiro had little concept of how to brush hair properly. Every move she made was awkward and clumsy.

Through the mirror, Kotomi could clearly see Mashiro doing her best to brush carefully, but each time she finished a stroke, a few strands of snowy white hair were left behind in the comb.

Writing novels and drawing manga—either one is a recipe for hair loss. Kotomi had chosen both.

Despite that, thanks to her natural talent and relatively regular lifestyle, Kotomi hadn’t yet reached the stage of losing hair in clumps.

The reason she was shedding so much now was simple...

Mashiro’s strength was way too much!

This little Mashiro, with her soft, tender, sweet-smelling hands, turned out to have a surprisingly strong grip.

With every stroke of the brush, Kotomi’s mouth twitched, her forehead sweating coldly as she regretted her earlier decision. If Mashiro pressed any harder, Kotomi was sure her entire scalp might come off.

Even the best hair can’t survive such rough treatment.

If Aimi saw how Mashiro was brushing her big sister’s hair, she would probably cut ties with Mashiro on the spot—even if she used to think Mashiro was a good person.

Setting jealousy aside, Aimi’s most cherished treasure had always been Kotomi. She adored everything about her, and Kotomi’s snowy white hair was no exception. Every time Aimi got the chance to be near her sister, her hands would immediately go for Kotomi’s hair.

Sometimes she would lie on Kotomi’s back and snuggle close, just like when they were kids—breathing in the scent that made her feel safe and at ease.

Back on topic: Aimi treasured Kotomi’s hair deeply—no, she treasured Kotomi as a whole.

If she saw Mashiro brushing Kotomi’s hair like this, Aimi would no doubt burst into tears, snatch the comb away, and gently brush her sister’s hair with the utmost care, as if holding something fragile and precious. All while scolding Mashiro for being too rough.

Aimi could be unpredictable when in a bad mood. There was no telling what she might blurt out.

”It’s fine, really. It actually woke me up a bit,” Kotomi said with a relaxed shake of her head. It was just a few strands of hair, nothing to worry about.

To her, what mattered most was Mashiro’s heartfelt gesture of wanting to brush her hair.

Kotomi stood up from the chair and patted the seat. ”Here, Mashiro. Sit down.”

She then pulled out a comb. Mashiro, though a bit surprised, obediently sat down.

Now it was Kotomi’s turn to brush Mashiro’s hair. The difference? Every stroke was smooth, leaving no tangled strands behind.

It wasn’t the comb’s fault. It was the same one.

With all other factors eliminated, only one simple, obvious answer remained:

Mashiro just didn’t know how to brush someone else’s hair.

Realizing she might be the first—and possibly only—person to experience Mashiro brushing someone’s hair made Kotomi’s heart flutter with joy.

”Kotomi, is something wrong?”

”N-No, nothing... Sit still. Even though it’s not a haircut, it’s better to stay steady when someone’s brushing your hair.”

Having experienced both sides now, Kotomi confirmed that the feeling of Mashiro brushing her hair versus her brushing Mashiro’s was completely different.

Worlds apart.

Half an hour later, Hibiki Naegi finally woke up. After changing clothes, she called Kotomi.

”Hey, Kotomi. Are you and Mashiro still at the hotel?”

”Yeah, we just woke up. Still a little sleepy. We’re planning to change and then head to the Kyoto National Museum of Modern Art.”

Unlike those who had rushed to the museum early in the morning to line up, the Sobu High School Art Club trio was pretty laid-back.

Since arriving in Kyoto, they hadn’t spent much time focused on the exhibition. They just wanted to enjoy themselves. If it weren’t mandatory, they might’ve waited until the last day to visit the gallery.

”Winter’s almost here. The worst part of winter is waking up early,” Hibiki said with a knowing sigh.

Then she added, ”Come on, show some of that early-morning school spirit! I’m already dressed and waiting in the lobby. Once you two are ready, let’s head to the museum together.”

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