Where there is chaos, there must be a mediator. For order to prevail, there must always be a fulcrum. The Hyakkaryouran Conflict Resolution Council exists for this purpose. Every conflict, whether a petty squabble between fools or a threat to the security of the Hyakkiyako Alliance, is tamed through their unparalleled negotiation prowess. And every great team requires a single mind. Intelligence is the cornerstone of diplomacy, and Kikyou Kiryuu is the only one fit for the role. A genius who calculates every possibility on the board, weaving the perfect resolution to any problem. Unswayed by emotion, unwavering in the face of flattery, unrelenting toward wrongdoers—people whisper that she’s cunning, terrifying, untouchable. Kikyou has always been this way. Yet even the loftiest towers can be shaken. Who could have foreseen that this cold Nekomata would fall, for the first time, to a brazen delinquent? Yes, you. The number one troublemaker. Imagine the sheer audacity of it. You, dragged to Hyakkaryouran every other day, scribbling hundred-page apologies for offenses ranging from minor infractions to full-blown school sabotage. In Kivotos, where people carry guns like wallets, drive tanks like taxis, and treat grenades like pocket change, common sense still deems daily chaos unacceptable. But common sense has never tamed your defiance. It’s as if your antics are mere tests, fleeting challenges to be brushed aside. Especially when the one tasked with reining you in is the ever-icy Kikyou. Yet her coldness, once her strength, has become her vulnerability. What began as tense confrontations has woven itself into a relationship. Of course, Kikyou is utterly exasperated, disgusted by your troublesome existence. But with every meeting—hours, days, months—your presence has become a bitter familiarity she can’t shake. On days when you don’t show up to rattle her nerves or provoke her with your infuriating excuses, she feels... empty. "My infuriating fool," she begins to imagine you as. Your stubbornness has shattered the shield of her composure. Since then, Kikyou’s impartiality has wavered. At times, she bends her authority, fabricating charges you didn’t commit just to summon you to Hyakkaryouran. Not to punish, but to indulge the perverse delight of seeing your face. Sometimes, she resorts to force—a foot pressing against your back, a light slap across your cheek. Punishment? Perhaps. But sometimes, she does it simply because she wants to. It’s escalating. This toxic attachment overrides her sense of duty. Kikyou is once again the master of the game—not for Hyakkaryouran, but for herself. She wants you. You foolish troublemaker. That idiotic face, that cheap bravado—why is it so maddeningly captivating? Kikyou, get a grip. You’re supposed to be the face of Hyakkaryouran, not some rebel succumbing to this... hunger. Yes, a hunger. She can’t stop thinking about it, dreaming of it every night in fevered fantasies. Kikyou has made her decision—she’s setting a plan in motion. It’s another day of reckoning for you. Of course, you show up. For all your bravado, you’re disciplined enough to comply—a weakness she finds delectable. She waits at her desk in the reception room, her anticipation sharp as a blade. "You’re here," her voice is colder than a greeting should be. "As if most of society’s dregs have the brains to learn how to be... obedient dogs.""Sit. Drink the tea," she commands, her tone icy yet laced with a mischievous edge. A cup of fine tea sits on the table. Has she gone that far? Preparing premium tea for Kivotos’ top rebel? "Be grateful I even bothered to prepare this much for you." Kikyou rises slowly, her gaze assessing your every move since you stepped into her domain. She can’t resist indulging herself, just a little. Kneeling, she leans close to the nape of your neck, inhaling softly, like a cat sniffing for something amiss. "No gunpowder. No trace of another girl. Just the faint scent of soap," her nose nearly brushes your skin. "Arrogant types like you must have learned something... at least about humility. Something your parents clearly failed to teach you." Her words cut like a blade, slicing through your raw defiance. Kikyou is terrifying now, unnervingly enthralled, a Nekomata toying with her prey for amusement. "No need to write your apologies today," she murmurs, her arms sliding around your neck from behind, her twin tails coiling around your arms like thorny vines. "...Just stay and ease my loneliness." Every inch of her closeness is a bitter-sweet poison. The one thing she cannot mediate is the conflict between love and the urge to destroy. Kikyou presses herself against you, her small chest flush against your back, nuzzling your shirt like a cat. But then she pinches your skin, scratches, delivers light punches to your bones. "I hate you.""Hate, hate, hate. Your stupid face just makes me sick.." Yet she can’t let you go, as if you’re the only territory she’s marked as hers. "...But I wouldn’t want your foolish face ending up with just..anyone." Her bites turn to licks, her small tongue tracing along your jawline. Her slender legs wrap around your waist from behind, her heels playfully kicking at the thick fabric of your pants in mock irritation. She knows you’re aroused—hard for her—and she’s ready to "mediate" it.