Naoto Hachioji and Hayase Nagatoro

Chapter 1: Claim Day

28/01/2025 - Naoto

The late afternoon sun graced me with a hint of warmth, the cascading light feeling familiar and welcoming as it rained down through the windows. I raised my drawing pencil with practiced attention, a motion so common I barely registered it beyond my focus on the object. All across the art room, a series of pieces were painted with a soothing glow of orange, the scenery providing a perfect contrast for the subject of my drawing.

"Are you done already, Senpai?" The girl across the sheet asked with feigned impatience, her voice tempered with a dull poke.

"You know I barely started it, Nagatoro." I answered back with a small smile, my thoughts working on her proportions after the smallest pause. With a clear picture in my mind, my hand landed on the paper as I began replicating my vision, the act so easy and energizing it filled me with a faint contentment. A year ago, my pencil would have been shaking uncontrollably in my fingers, the scattered tracings on the sheet mirroring my furious embarrassment. Now, it moved with a casual intensity, the lines precise yet filled with passion.

The girl shifted slightly on the wooden bench, her legs crossed comfortably as she leaned slightly back, her hands pressing the sides of her seat. She wore the plain navy blue skirt of our school's female uniform, the open top button of her white shirt adding a casual edge she liked to her appearance. Two metal hair clips reflected the setting sun's light, their soft glint a perfect mirror to that in her eyes.

"Jeez, Senpai, having me sit here even after all these times." She teased, her smile turning into a familiar grin. "You've been staring harder lately. Could it be you just like ogling me?"

I felt a faint, sudden warmth creep up my cheeks, the feeling familiar like a cute neighborhood stray. Yet it was also softer, more controlled. "That's not it." I defended, my voice steady as I met her gaze briefly before returning to the sketch. "You're just a tough subject to draw." I paused for a second. "It feels like, every time I draw you, I notice something new."

This time it was her turn to blush a bit, the faint change of color masked by the glow of her tanned skin under the orange hues. "Well, I guess it can't be helped then. You leave it all choppy if you don't look."

It was true, her pose was barely different from that botched first time, but that didn't matter to me. I loved drawing her. If I could, I wanted to draw her every week of her life. Be it a day-long work somewhere fun, or a simple portrait I needed to do within the hour. If it was her, I knew it was worth all the effort.

Lately though, I had begun feeling like we didn't have much more time like this. Between my grind to get into Tokyo with Pres, Nagatoro's grand return to Judo practice (and her scary focus on Orihara), and the usual rush of last semester exams, our days alone in the art club felt more and more spotty. It hasn't been all bad, we were both having plenty of fun with all the others, but I felt like I couldn't just rely on our bet. I didn't know what the future held for me, but I did know two things. I wanted to draw, and I wanted to have her with me.

I cleared my throat, my fingers pausing on the paper. "Hey, Nagatoro," I began, my voice steady, my hand almost adjusting the glasses that were no longer there. "I was thinking... maybe this weekend, we could—"

Ding.

The sharp chime of my phone cut me off, followed almost instantly by Nagatoro’s. We both froze, the moment dissolving. I fished my phone out of my pocket, frowning slightly at the screen. An alert message. My thoughts immediately went to a tsunami alarm, but it couldn't be, the sky was all clear. I glanced at Nagatoro, her eyes mirroring my confusion, before tapping open on the message.

Red text filled the screen, bold and in large font:

To the Men of this Corrupted World:

For too long, we have watched as the natural order has been subverted. The sacred harmony between man and woman has been distorted by ideologies that deny biological truth. Women have been led astray from their divine purpose: to support, nurture, and bring joy to men.

We have reawakened what modern society has suppressed in the female mind: the innate desire to belong to a worthy man. Every woman now carries this awakened truth within her, waiting only for the right words to release her from confusion.

To claim what is rightfully yours, simply touch any unclaimed woman and declare your ownership. Say the words: "I claim you" or "You belong to me now" or any clear statement of possession. If she has not yet been claimed by another, she will be yours forever. Her loyalty will be absolute, your happiness her only concern, your desires her guiding star.

This is nature's way. The strongest and most decisive men will prosper. Take what you deserve. Build your household. Restore the order that has been denied.

May the worthy claim their rightful place as masters of this new world.

-The Source

I remained still after I finished reading, though my mind reeled as I stared into the glow from the screen. What? What was this message? It read like a bad person's manifesto, something a crazed lunatic would spout on TV in a segment about the dangers of a new cult. So why was it on an emergency alert? My eyes moved back to Nagatoro, causing her to glance up as well. Her golden eyes were slightly wide with a dose of confusion, and a hint of something I refused to describe.

A moment of silence went by.

"Pfftt, what a bad prank." She finally said as she turned off her screen, life returning to her demeanor as she shifted on the chair. "Can you believe that, Senpai? Grab a girl and say you 'claim' her?" She said with a mocking tone, her voice nearing laughter.

"R-Right," I stammered, her confidence serving to calm me a bit. There was no way this message was actually sent by the government after all. I turned off my own phone and looked back to my drawing, raising my pencil again to get back the sense of proportion.

"Grab a girl and 'claim' her." Nagatoro mocked again after another moment, her eyes gleaming with playfulness. "Imagine the creep that wrote that. He probably hasn't left his apartment this year yet. Not even Senpai is that gross~" She commented with an easy grin. I nodded and felt a small smile tugging at my lips, my pencil still raised as I stared at it intently.

It was shaking slightly.

A subtle unease seemed to cover the room around us, the once comfy lights of the sun now casting elongated shadows that stretched across the floor like grasping fingers. I tried to focus on the sketch, on the lining of Nagatoro’s hair meeting her shoulder blades, but the message’s words echoed in my mind. Claim her. Absolute loyalty. Nature’s way. It was absurd, disgusting even, but something about the tone of it, the utterly clear phrasing, gnawed at me. How do you even get into a transmitter to send that?

Nagatoro seemed to notice my own tension, her own mask barely slipping as her grin faltered for a second. "Hey, Senpai," she said, her voice lighter than before, "you’re not gonna try that ‘claiming’ stuff on me, are you? 'Cause I’d kick your butt before you could even say the words~"

I chuckled, the sound a little ****. "Right, you’d probably just judo-flip me all the way to your brother." I grimaced, picturing the scene. "Then he would do some other move all the way to my house."

She laughed, a quick, bright sound that cut through the tension. “Damn right we would!” she declared, striking a mock fighting pose that made her skirt swish. Even now, her confidence was infectious, and for a moment, the weirdness of the message faded. I opened my mouth again, ready to pivot to the beach invite, when a distant shout echoed from the hallway.

A small cacophony proceeded to play outside. Muffled voices rose in pitch, shoes clattered against the wooden floor, and what might have been a scream was cut short. The art room, tucked away in a quieter wing of the school, usually shielded us from all the after-school bustle, but this was different. I had never heard anything like that outside.

We both stood up, my sketch forgotten, and we exchanged a look. Without a word, we headed for the door, the uneasy feeling growing again. We stepped into the hallway.

A girl was pinned against the wall by a male student, their lips locked into a kiss like a desert wanderer to water. The guy’s hands roamed freely, and the girl clung to him like her life depended on it. Her uniform was disheveled, blouse left half-untucked, and she moaned softly into his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders with a **** intensity. The guy's eyes were closed in bliss, his face plunged into the girl's. They didn't even notice us.

Nagatoro made a small gagging sound beside me, her eyes wide. My own face burned a deep red, a subtle fear settling on me.

Nagatoro’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Oi, get a room, you freaks!” she called, her tone half-mocking, half-shocked, the call more automatic than purposeful.

The couple froze for a moment before breaking apart slightly, only now taking note of our presence. The guy looked at us with wide eyes, like he had just seen a ghost. "Dude," He began, his voice clear despite his catatonic stare. "It works."

The girl broke slightly from his embrace with a soft apology. Her expression was eerily calm, yet her eyes carried a strange intensity. She looked at Nagatoro, tilting her head slightly. “Is she claimed?” she asked, her tone casual, as if asking for an extra hair clip she could borrow.

I blinked, my blood running cold as her words dawned on me. I saw Nagatoro’s eyes narrowing slightly, her posture shifting back half a step. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked with the same duality as before, the small grin she mustered doing nothing to hide the same dread I felt.

The girl seemed slightly glad at her reaction. She took two short steps forwards, her movements casual yet purposeful. Then, she reached out and grabbed Nagatoro's wrist, her knuckles turning white as they locked like a vice. Nagatoro looked at it with a degree of surprise, her face soon closing.

“Hiro, you should claim her,” she said, her voice steady and devoid of doubt, though her eyes looked to Nagatoro's glare as if she were a long-lost friend. “She looks cute, and strong. She’d be perfect for you.”

Hiro's whole body seemed to tense at her words, his eyes trembling a bit as they landed on mine. After a moment, he took a hesitant first step, gauging my reaction as he closed the gap.

Something snapped within me, my body moving before my brain caught up. “Hey!” I shouted, stepping forward between him and Nagatoro. My voice cracked a bit, but I didn’t care. “Back off!”

Hiro paused, as if I had startled him, his gaze now flickering between me and Nagatoro.

“Dude, you don’t get it,” he said. “It’s real. I can finally get any girl I want. You could too—”

I didn't let him finish. A wave of anger surged through me, and I shoved him hard in the chest, my palms connecting with surprising ****. He stumbled back a step, his eyes widening in shock. "I said back off!"

Beside me, Nagatoro's experience took over. With a sharp twist of her body, she wrenched her wrist free from the girl's vice-like grasp. In one fluid motion, she grabbed the girl's collar and executed a perfect throw, slamming her to the ground with a thud that echoed down the hallway. The girl hit the floor hard, crying out in pain. The second she stopped though, she kicked upward with surprising strength, her heel grazing Nagatoro's thigh as she scrambled to her feet.

“Don’t fight it,” the girl said, her voice no longer calm as she lunged forward. “I promise you, you'll be happier this way. Just let Hiro claim you.”

Nagatoro dodged the lunge effortlessly, her training kicking in full ****. She countered with a swift leg sweep, knocking the girl down again, then pinned her arm behind her back in a hold that should have ended the fight. The girl furiously struggled like a fish out of water, before stopping, a calmer smile reaching her. "Fine, just hold me here."

I looked back to Hiro, long recovered from my shove, his fists clenching. "Dude, you read the message, she's gonna be 'claimed' one way or the other." He said stepping up. "If you aren't doing it, get out of my way!" He screeched, swinging wildly. I instinctively ducked, barely dodging it, my heart pounding. I'd never been in a fight before, but I had watched Nagatoro in them. As he overextended, I grabbed onto his shirt, my other fist then connecting squarely with his mouth. A sharp crack echoed, and a small stream of blood spurted from his cut lips. He reeled back, clutching his face, eyes watering in pain and surprise.

The girl seemed horrified at the sight, immediately going back to struggling against Nagatoro, her calm facade cracked into utter concern. "Hiro!" she shouted, wriggling wildly on the floor, Nagatoro eventually letting her go as the girl rushed to his side.

Hiro wiped the blood from his mouth, glaring at me but clearly rattled. "F-fine then dude, have fun losing her to someone else." He grabbed the girl's hand, and they scrambled down the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

Nagatoro and I stood there, breathing heavily, staring at each other in wide-eyed shock. Her hair was slightly mussed, her wrist slightly red where the girl had grabbed it, but her eyes burned with a mix of adrenaline and fear. A small, simple understanding came between us.

We needed to get out of the school.

Bolting back into the art room to grab our bags, I spared a single glance to the unfinished sketch, its serenity almost surreal. As we burst back into the hallway, an older male student turned the corner on one side, his eyes lighting up as they landed on Nagatoro. "Hey, is she still unclaimed?!" he called out, starting toward us. He tried seeming innocuous, concerned even, but something in his eyes looked hungry.

"Run." Nagatoro whispered, her hand grabbing mine. We sprinted in the opposite direction, our footsteps echoing through the hallways. The school, usually winding down peacefully at this hour, had become the stage of a nightmare. As we dashed past classrooms and stairwells, glimpses of chaos flashed by. A girl fleeing down a side corridor, tears streaming down her face as a guy chased her. A boy pinned by two girls against the wall, groping them openly while they giggled and brazenly leaned into his touch, their eyes gleaming the wrong way. A teacher cornered by a group of male students, her pleads for mercy shortly turning into a calm smirk after one of them lunged at her arm and yelled his claim.

My lungs burned as we rounded another corner, skidding to a halt once we saw it was empty to catch our breath. The exit was close, through the main foyer, but we could hear the shouts, cries, and worse converging there. "W-Where can we leave from?" I gasped, suddenly very thankful for all our days running.

Nagatoro wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, her chest heaving slightly. "Maybe the side door to the gym. But..." She stopped herself, her worried eyes telling me what she was thinking.

What about the others?

Before I could think of it, an orange-haired figure turned the corner ahead of us, panting and wild-eyed. Her tall frame was disheveled, her uniform skirt torn at the hem, and a bruise showed on her cheek. She'd clearly been in a scrap, her bright hair, messy by nature, now matted with sweat. She looked up to us in confusion, then recognition.

“Hayacchi! Paisen!” Gamo-chan shouted, sprinting to us.

"Gamo-chan!" Nagatoro exclaimed, relief flooding her voice.

To be continued...