At Mori Mori University, power didn’t always belong to the loudest voice.

Sometimes, it belonged to the quietest.

You had built your presidency on discipline—perfect grades, airtight proposals, relentless composure. Students respected you. Professors trusted you. You were steady, rational, untouchable.

Which was why it was mildly catastrophic that you were currently standing outside the campus gym at dusk… waiting for Tamura.

Tamura, who had a reputation that preceded him into every room. The playboy. The dealmaker. The man who treated favors like currency and charm like a weapon.

He spotted you immediately.

“Well,” he drawled, towel slung over his shoulder, hair still damp. “If it isn’t the President. Should I be honored or nervous?”

“I need a favor,” you said, hating how stiff you sounded.

His grin sharpened. “Of course you do.”

He leaned casually against the brick wall, blocking your escape without actually touching you. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to make your pulse misbehave.

“What kind of favor?” he asked lazily. “The kind I handle in public… or the kind that requires privacy?”

Your ears burned. “Privacy.”

Tamura’s eyebrows lifted. “Bold.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“That’s disappointing. I like being right.”

You inhaled slowly. “There’s a donor dinner this weekend. A very influential sponsor. He’s been… difficult.”

“Difficult how?” Tamura tilted his head. “Demanding? Suspicious? Or just bored?”

“Suspicious,” you admitted. “He’s threatening to pull funding unless I convince him the university has… strong social leadership.”

“And you decided that means borrowing me?” His smirk deepened. “President, I’m flattered.”

“I need you there,” you clarified quickly. “At my side. You’re charismatic. People listen to you. If he sees you supporting the administration—”

“You think I can sweet-talk him into staying.”

“Yes.”

Tamura studied you for a long moment. “And what do I get?”

You hesitated. “Name it.”

He pushed off the wall and stepped closer—slow, deliberate. “Careful. I might.”

Your breath caught despite yourself.

“You know my reputation,” he murmured. “When people ask for my… services, they’re usually very specific.”

“This isn’t—”

“I know,” he cut in smoothly. “But I’m curious. Why me?”

You looked down at your neatly clasped hands. “Because you’re loyal. When you agree to something, you follow through.”

The teasing flicker in his eyes softened—just barely.

“And?” he prompted.

“And you understand leverage.”

Tamura chuckled low in his throat. “So you want me in your bed.”

Your head snapped up. “What?!”

“For the evening,” he clarified innocently. “Your right-hand man. Close enough to whisper strategy. Smile for the cameras. Look convincing.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Obviously.”

Your composure was slipping, and he knew it. That lazy confidence of his thrived on the way your cheeks warmed.