Chapter 2 - A Marriage With Rules
1550 Words
If there was one thing I learned today, it was this:
Fate has a very specific sense of humor.
And it targets me personally.
The Marriage Practice Apartment Building stood behind the main campus like a luxury dormitory pretending not to be controversial.
White walls. Large windows. Privacy curtains.
And inside Apartment 3-B—
One bedroom.
One kitchen.
One sofa.
One double bed.
And one extremely angry pink-haired girl standing in the center of the room like she was seconds away from declaring war.
“…Explain.”
Saotome Airi’s voice was soft.
Dangerously soft.
I looked at the room brochure again.
“Couples are encouraged to share a sleeping space to simulate realistic marriage conditions.”
She stared at me.
I stared at the brochure.
Silence.
“…And you’re okay with that?” she asked slowly.
“It seems efficient.”
Something in her snapped.
“Efficient?!”
Her voice echoed off the walls.
“Are you stupid?! We’re a boy and a girl! Alone! In one apartment!”
“Yes.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?!”
I considered it seriously.
“No.”
She clutched her head.
“I got paired with a psychopath.”
I set my bag down calmly.
“It’s just sleeping.”
“That’s not the point!”
She pointed at the bed like it personally offended her existence.
“That’s a double bed!”
“Yes.”
“That means we’d be—”
She stopped mid-sentence.
Her face flushed.
“…Close.”
“Oh.”
I finally understood the problem.
“You’re worried about inappropriate situations?”
“I AM NOT!”
“…You sound worried.”
She grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at me.
I caught it again.
“Violence decreases compatibility score.”
She froze.
Slowly lowered her hand.
“…You’re using the score against me.”
“It’s in the rules.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m not.”
But maybe I was a little curious.
She was usually confident. Sharp. Untouchable.
Right now, she looked flustered.
It was… new.
She turned away sharply.
“Fine. We’ll set boundaries.”
“Okay.”
She grabbed the notebook from the desk.
“Rule one: No touching without permission.”
“Understood.”
“Rule two: No entering the bathroom while I’m inside.”
“Reasonable.”
“Rule three: We sleep separately.”
“There’s only one bed.”
“I’ll sleep on the bed. You take the sofa.”
“That seems uncomfortable.”
“For you.”
“I don’t mind.”
She blinked.
“…You don’t?”
“I’ve fallen asleep at my desk before.”
“That’s not healthy!”
“You’re concerned about my health?”
“I’m concerned about the score dropping if you die!”
“Ah.”
That made sense.
She turned red again.
“I didn’t mean it like that!”
“I didn’t assume anything.”
For some reason, that answer made her more irritated.
She slammed the notebook shut.
“Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Calm! Normal! Not reacting!”
“Should I react?”
“Yes! At least a little!”
I tried to simulate excitement.
“…Oh no. We are alone.”
Her eye twitched.
“That’s worse.”
—
The first official task was delivered through the tablet at exactly 4:00 PM.
Task 1: Prepare dinner together.
Evaluation Focus: Cooperation, communication, emotional atmosphere.
“Emotional atmosphere?” she read aloud.
Her ears turned pink.
“That’s vague.”
“Probably means we shouldn’t fight.”
She shot me a look.
“You started it.”
“I did?”
“You exist!”
“…I apologize?”
She turned away dramatically.
I walked into the kitchen area.
The apartment was surprisingly well-equipped. Cutting boards, pans, fresh ingredients delivered earlier.
“What do you want to cook?” I asked.
“I don’t care.”
“That’s not helpful.”
She crossed her arms.
“I don’t cook much.”
“I see.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I wasn’t.
But maybe my silence felt judgmental.
I handed her an apron.
She hesitated.
“…This is humiliating.”
“It’s just fabric.”
She tied it on reluctantly.
I did the same.
For a brief second, we stood facing each other in matching aprons.
She looked away first.
“Don’t think this is cute.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good!”
—
Cooking with Saotome Airi was like handling a cat that pretended not to want affection but would bite you if you ignored it.
She insisted on cutting vegetables.
She nearly cut her finger.
I stepped in automatically.
My hand wrapped around her wrist to steady the knife.
Her body froze instantly.
The knife stopped mid-air.
“…What are you doing?” she whispered.
“You were going to hurt yourself.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
Our hands were still touching.
Her skin was warm.
Her breathing slightly uneven.
I adjusted her grip carefully.
“Hold it like this.”
She stared at our hands.
Then at me.
Her face slowly turned red.
“You’re close.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not— I mean—”
She yanked her hand away suddenly.
“I know how to do it!”
“Alright.”
She cut the carrot aggressively.
The pieces were uneven.
But I didn’t comment.
After a few minutes, she muttered quietly—
“…Thanks.”
“For what?”
“…Earlier.”
“Oh.”
She looked annoyed that I didn’t make it dramatic.
“You could at least act proud.”
“Why?”
“I just thanked you!”
“That’s normal.”
She stared at me again.
Longer this time.
Like she was trying to solve a puzzle.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
—
We ate at the small dining table.
It wasn’t silent.
But it wasn’t comfortable either.
She kept sneaking glances at me.
Every time our eyes met, she quickly looked away.
Finally—
“…Why aren’t you trying?”
“Trying what?”
“To impress me.”
I blinked.
“Why would I?”
Her fork paused mid-air.
“Because I’m Saotome Airi.”
“I’m aware.”
“And?”
“And what?”
She stared.
Waiting.
“…You’re popular,” I added.
“That’s it?!”
“Yes?”
She looked personally offended.
“Do you not like me?”
That question caught me off guard.
“I don’t dislike you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I thought about it seriously.
“I don’t know you well enough to say.”
She froze.
Completely.
Then slowly—
Her ears turned bright red.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Why?”
“Most guys would say they like me immediately!”
“Oh.”
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE FLUSTERED!”
“Should I be?”
She stood up abruptly.
“You’re broken.”
I watched her walk to the sink.
I genuinely didn’t understand.
Was I supposed to feel something specific?
She was attractive.
Objectively.
But we just met as partners.
Wasn’t it too soon to talk about liking someone?
Maybe she was just competitive.
That seemed likely.
—
Later that evening, while cleaning up—
My phone buzzed.
A message from Hina.
Are you doing okay?
I typed back.
Yes. Cooking right now.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Is she difficult?
I looked at Airi.
She was drying plates aggressively.
Not really.
Before I could type more—
A shadow fell over my screen.
Airi was standing right beside me.
“Who are you texting?”
“Hina.”
Her expression changed instantly.
“Oh.”
Just one word.
But her tone shifted.
“Already updating her?”
“She asked.”
She turned away.
“…You’re close.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
The air felt different now.
“…Do you like her?”
I blinked.
“Hina?”
“Yes.”
“She’s my childhood friend.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I genuinely didn’t know what answer she wanted.
“She’s important to me.”
That was honest.
Airi’s grip on the dishcloth tightened.
“…I see.”
Her voice was quieter now.
Less sharp.
Less defensive.
I didn’t understand why the room suddenly felt tense.
—
When we submitted the evaluation form, the system processed for a few seconds.
Then—
Compatibility Score: 52 → 60
Airi stared at it in horror.
“…It went up.”
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
“We cooperated.”
“We argued!”
“Not that much.”
She looked betrayed.
“This system is broken.”
I tilted my head.
“You don’t want it to go up?”
She hesitated.
“…It’s not that.”
“Then?”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then turned away.
“…Never mind.”
But when she thought I wasn’t looking—
She touched her cheek lightly.
As if checking the warmth there.
And for just a second—
She looked confused.
- Writer
