At Mori Mori College, reputation was currency.

And no one spent it more freely than Tamura.

He lounged across the rooftop bench like he owned the sky itself—tie loose, sleeves rolled, expression permanently tilted somewhere between bored and amused. Students whispered when he passed. Some out of admiration. Some out of caution.

The School President preferred neither.

You preferred order.

Spreadsheets. Meeting minutes. Cleanly drafted proposals. As President of Mori Mori College’s student council, your strength was precision. Your words were careful, your posture straight, your reputation spotless.

Which was precisely why you were standing in front of Tamura.

“I didn’t think the great President would ever come looking for me,” he drawled, cracking one eye open. “Did I miss a memo?”

You swallowed. “I need a favor.”

That got his attention.

Tamura sat up slowly, lazy confidence sharpening into interest. “A favor,” he repeated. “From me?”

There was a rumor spreading. A dangerous one. Anonymous posts suggesting mismanagement of student funds—fabricated screenshots, twisted narratives. You had proof it wasn’t real, but the posts were spreading through private circles faster than you could shut them down.

And Tamura knew everyone.

Not because he held office.

Because people trusted him with secrets.

“You have access,” you said quietly. “People talk to you. If you can trace where the posts started—”

He hummed, leaning closer. “So this is about damage control.”

“Yes.”

“And what,” he asked softly, “are you offering?”

Your hands tightened around your folder. “Anything within reason.”

Tamura’s grin widened. “Careful, President. That’s a dangerous sentence.”

You flushed, but didn’t look away. “I’m serious.”

He studied you then—not like gossip, not like conquest. Like a puzzle.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “most people come to me because they want something messy. You’re the first who wants something clean.”

“I want the truth.”

“And you’re willing to get your hands a little dirty to protect it?”

Silence stretched between you.

“…Yes.”

For once, Tamura didn’t laugh.

He stood, stepping into your space—not invading, just close enough that you had to tilt your head up slightly.

“You’re braver than you look,” he murmured. “I’ll help.”

Your shoulders loosened in relief. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” His tone turned light again. “My price isn’t money. And it’s not your position.”

You blinked. “Then what?”

For the first time, you wondered if Mori Mori College’s so-called playboy was far more dangerous—and far more dependable—than anyone realized.

And maybe, just maybe, you were stepping into something far more complicated than a favour..?