Kaito's Obsession

Chapter 10 The Collection

CLASSROOM - MID‑MORNING

The teacher moves row by row, handing back the latest major exam papers—the one Xhilo had studied for until her eyes burned, determined to defend her place at the very top. She holds her breath as her sheet lands on her desk: 98%—First Place, same as always, a small victory she worked hard to earn. But her gaze drifts instantly to the paper placed beside hers—Kaito’s.

Her breath catches.

He sits relaxed, expression calm as ever, while she stares at the marks. His score is high—94%—still among the best… but impossible. She watched him answer effortlessly, heard him explain complex topics better than anyone how could he have missed questions so simple?

The mistakes aren’t on the hard essays or advanced problems every single wrong answer is on the easiest, most basic items:

- Question 1: What color will you get if you mix purple and more blue? He answered Orange instead of Indigo

-Question 22: What is the biggest solid organ in the human body? He marked heart instead of Liver.

- Question 37: What do plants release? He marked Carbon dioxide instead of Oxygen.

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- Question 53: The twin sister of Earth. He marked Mars instead of Venus

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- Question 60= A tiny, negatively charged particle that moves around the nucleus of an atom. He marked Mass instead of Electron

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- Question 75: A heavy, silvery-white, radioactive chemical element atomic number 92. He marked Lithium instead of Uranium

When she traces only the first letter of each correct answer… her blood runs cold:

I • L • O • V • E • U

It isn’t carelessness. It is deliberate—calculated down to the smallest detail, just like everything else he does. He chose to miss only those simplest questions—letting her keep her rank, exactly because he knows how much winning matters to her… while slipping a secret message only she would notice.

She turns slowly toward him, heart hammering, paper trembling slightly in her hand. He’s already watching her—eyes dark and bright at once, that familiar knowing smile soft and possessive, like he’s been waiting for her to decode it.

He leans close, voice low and smooth—quiet enough no one else hears, heavy with certainty.

"You fight so hard to stay first… I’d never take that from you. Not when it matters so much. But I wanted you to see—even the things I “get wrong”… are only ever for you."

His gaze lingers on her eyes, then drifts down to the letters she’s traced over and over.

"And every choice I make—every word, every grade, every step—will always spell the same thing. You just have to look close enough to read it."

The bell rings, cutting off her reply. She hurries to pack her things, wanting to put distance between them—but he falls into step beside her instantly, matching her pace exactly, like they are tied together by an invisible thread. He doesn’t push or crowd her—yet—but every word he drops feels like another small chain.

"Straight to the restaurant after this, yes? You usually stop to buy a bottle of water at the corner store first—still the same brand, still the same size. I know. I make sure I know everything that matters."

Her steps falter. She never mentioned that habit to anyone. It hits her then—this isn’t just about school anymore. He has mapped her entire life.

RESTAURANT - LATE AFTERNOON

The shift goes like before—busy, loud, full of customers—but every minute feels heavier. He doesn’t come in right away; instead, he stays just visible enough—sometimes through the window, sometimes passing the door—always there, always watching, like a shadow that never lifts.

XHILO’S APARTMENT - EARLY EVENING

Everything feels normal to her—safe enough, or as safe as she lets herself believe. She locks the door, draws the curtains, changes into comfortable clothes, and settles at her small desk to study, completely unaware that every movement, every quiet sigh, every small shift of her hair is being seen clearly—live, unbroken, from somewhere far too close.

KAITO’S ROOM - SAME TIME

His space is quiet, dim, lit only by soft warm lamps and the glow of large screens lining one whole wall—each showing a crystal‑clear feed from a different corner of her room: her desk, her bed, the window, even the spot right by her door.

The rest of his walls are covered too—row after row, shelf after shelf, filled with photographs of her. Every shot is sharp, perfect, taken over weeks and months: her walking fast along her usual route, leaning over a textbook in class, wiping down tables at the restaurant, smiling faintly at something no one else caught, even moments she thought were completely private—staring out the window, tracing the pendant at her throat, resting her head tiredly on her hand. He has them all—arranged carefully, like a collection only he is allowed to own.

He sits relaxed in the center, leaning back slowly, eyes moving gently between the screens—calm, focused, admiring, no rush, no noise. He watches her trace lines in her notebook, watches her rub her tired eyes, watches her tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear—every small detail he knows by heart, yet still looks at like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

His voice is low, soft, almost reverent—only for himself, and for the image of her glowing on every display.

Quiet, steady, completely certain. "Rest, study… be exactly who you are. I’ve made sure no one else gets to see you like this—no one else gets close enough, no one else deserves it. I’m the only one who watches over you properly. The only one who keeps you truly safe."

He leans forward slightly, fingers brushing lightly over a printed photo of her sitting just like this—serious, focused, unaware she is already someone’s whole world.

"Nothing will ever hurt you while I watch. And no eyes but mine… will ever see you as you really are—soft, real, and mine."

He settles back again, gaze fixed gently, admiring, completely in control—watching her every breath, guarding her every moment, satisfied that he is the only one who holds the right to see, to know, and to protect her.