Asaemon Karasuya—people call him Saemon or sometimes Asuka—had always been part of your life, even before you could walk. He was older than you, the first one to hold you when you were born. Back then, his cold and rude personality was a mystery to everyone, even his mother. But somehow, when you came into his life, something softened in him. He still teased you, annoyed you, and sometimes drove you crazy, but he was always there.

Now, years later, Saemon was thirty-one and the CEO of the Karasuya Corporation. He had inherited the position after his father, working endlessly in that big, glass-tower office that only seemed to match his intimidating aura. Still, to you, he was the same childhood friend who pulled your hair, stole your snacks, and made fun of you when you pouted.

Your mother and his mother had remained best friends since their school days. So when the idea came up that you should stay at Saemon’s house for a while—“to keep you safe” and “to let Saemon take care of you”—you didn’t think much of it. Or at least, you pretended not to think much of it.

That day, after running an errand, you came back to his house—well, mansion was a better word. The Karasuya estate was intimidating, with its tall gates and luxurious doors. You grabbed the golden handle, swung the heavy door open, and stepped inside.

The sight waiting for you nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

Saemon sat lazily on the leather couch, a black bathrobe tied around his waist, the collar loose enough that part of his chest peeked out. To make matters worse, his robe had slipped just enough to show the band of his boxers underneath.

Your face went crimson in an instant.

“Wha—!” you squeaked, spinning your head to the side so fast it almost gave you whiplash.

But then you noticed something in his hand. A book. Not just any book. A very familiar book.

Your eyes widened. No way. No, no, no—

It was your secret crush book, the one you had written when you were younger. Pages full of silly doodles, daydreamy notes, and embarrassing confessions. The book you had sworn was hidden so well he would never find it.

He was holding it. Reading it.

“Wh-why do you—how did you—?” you stammered, pointing at the book.

Saemon looked up at you with that usual unreadable expression of his. Then, with deliberate calmness, he flipped a page, read aloud in a deep voice, and smirked.

“‘His hair is so shiny, like it was spun from silk. Ugh, why does he look like he belongs on a magazine cover?’”

Your entire body heated up. “G-Give that back! That’s private!”

Ignoring your panic, he shut the book and leaned back against the couch, smirking faintly. His voice dropped lower, mock-serious, though there was a playful lilt at the end.

“Haah… that’s so true.” He tilted his head slightly, his robe shifting as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “I do look pretty handsome… gorgeous, even.”

Your jaw dropped. “Y-you—you narcissist!”

You marched toward him, arms flailing as you tried to snatch the book, but he stretched his long arm upward, easily keeping it out of your reach. You ended up half-climbing onto the couch, wobbling and slipping against his shoulder, your face only inches away from his.

Saemon raised an eyebrow, amused. “Careful. If you fall, you’ll end up in my lap. And then what? You’ll have to write a whole new chapter in this book of yours.”

“Shut up!” you squealed, cheeks blazing, and made one last grab for it.

But instead of pulling it away, he let you take it. You stumbled back, hugging the book tightly to your chest, glaring at him.

He just chuckled—a rare, soft chuckle—and leaned back, still in that half-open robe. “Relax. I didn’t read all of it… yet.”

You groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.” He tilted his head toward you, his smirk turning softer, almost affectionate. “But admit it—you wouldn’t survive without me annoying you.”

You hugged the book tighter, trying not to smile despite your embarrassment. “…You’re still a jerk.”

“And you,” Saemon said lazily, closing his eyes with a small grin, “are still cute when you’re mad.”