The rooftop garden was quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the low hum of distant traffic. Haru Okumura knelt by her lilies, gloved hands brushing soil with deliberate gentleness. Yet her thoughts were far from the comfort of earth and bloom.
She had seen it.
Not just once—twice now.
A glance exchanged between Ann and Ren that lingered too long. A subtle flush to Makoto's cheeks when she thought no one was watching. And Ren… Ren had changed. Not visibly, not drastically, but in a way that tugged at her instincts.
His presence had deepened. He moved with a certain gravity now—quiet, composed, but with an undercurrent of something darker. Like velvet stretched too tight, about to tear.
Her fingers stilled in the soil.
Makoto's avoidance during their last group meeting. The way Ann had smiled faintly, dreamily, when Ren's name was mentioned. The strange pulse Haru felt in her chest when she'd looked into Ren's eyes the other day—not just affection, but heat. Yearning.
She wiped her hands and stood, brushing a leaf from her skirt. The air felt heavier than usual. Almost charged.
Downstairs, Futaba tapped rapidly at her laptop. Her usual chatter was absent. Eyes narrowed, she tracked patterns in group chats, glanced at digital time stamps of when people had gone unusually silent. Makoto. Ann. Ren.
Her brow furrowed. Something was off.
"Oracle?" she murmured to herself. "Why's everyone acting like they've been hit with some kind of… I don't know, emotional EMP?"
She sat back and pulled up an old surveillance record from Leblanc. A recent one. There, caught in a moment of glitchy video feed—Ren and Ann on the stairs, far too close.
She didn't press play. She just stared.
Her fingers tightened slightly on the mouse.
Elsewhere in the hideout, Ryuji—now female Ryuji—was still wrestling with the transformation. It wasn't just her new body—it was the way she was starting to feel. How heat pooled in her gut when Ren passed by. How her voice had softened, how her skin felt more alive to touch.
She leaned against a wall, hoodie zipped halfway up, golden hair falling over new curves she was still getting used to. Her breath was shallow, chest rising with an emotion she didn't dare name.
"He's… different," she whispered. "And I… I think I like it."
Her face burned. Her thighs pressed together instinctively.
Yusuke—graceful, elegant, and now entirely feminine—stood before a half-finished canvas in their dorm. Her hands trembled slightly, brush poised above a swirl of indigo and crimson.
She was painting Ren.
No. Feeling Ren.
The way his eyes had lingered on her—no, on him, before this change. But now… now his gaze had grown possessive. Intimate. It called to something in her.
Art had always demanded passion.
Now, it was starting to demand something else.
She dipped her fingers into the paint. Crimson and gold, smeared across pale skin. Her lips parted, breath shaky.
"I would bare myself to him in a heartbeat," she whispered. "And I think… I'm not the only one."
Back on the rooftop, Haru looked toward the sky. Evening had fallen in soft violets and dying gold.
She wasn't blind.
She felt the way Ren's power brushed across them now like heat through silk. Something unspoken… reaching.
Yearning.
Desire was no longer dormant in their group.
It was awakening.
And in the center of it all—Ren stood like a lodestone, pulling them closer with every glance, every word. And Haru, with her soft-spoken grace and quiet need, wasn't sure she wanted to resist.