The sugar high from the Cream Horn had long since faded, leaving Oota in a state of agitated exhaustion. His apartment, felt like it was being slowly colonized by the scent of the bakery. It was in the curtains, in the rug, and—most annoyingly—on the tip of his tongue.
Oota sat at his desk, staring at a blank page. He should have been happy. He had finished his Calculus homework. He had survived another session with the "flirtatious monster." But a nagging feeling of unease was scratching at the back of his mind. Why was a successful baker like Haru so dedicated to tutoring a stubborn university student?
Buzz.
It wasn't Oota's phone. It was Haru's. The giant had stepped into the small kitchen to wash the flour from his hands, leaving his sleek, black smartphone face-up on the wooden table.
Oota knew he shouldn't look. He was a man of integrity. He was a sexy body practitioner. But then the screen lit up with a notification that made his blood turn to ice.
[NEW MESSAGE - MRS. OOTA]: Thank you for the update, Haru. Is he still being difficult? Please ensure he doesn't waste time on those 'tea hobbies.' I expect the weekly progress report by tonight.
Oota's breath hitched. Weekly progress report?
He didn't think. He didn't weigh the consequences. He grabbed the phone. It wasn't locked. The messaging app was open to a long thread of conversations between Haru and Oota's mother.
Oota scrolled, his eyes widening with every line. It wasn't just math scores. It was everything.
"He was ten minutes late to sit down today. He seems distracted by his books on ceramics. I've increased the pressure." "Oota is stubborn, but I'm finding ways to make him listen. I'll ensure he stays on track for the exams."
There were even photos. A grainy shot of Oota slumped over his desk. A picture of his tea shelf with a caption from Haru: "Too much clutter. I'll make sure he clears his head."
The betrayal felt like a cold blade between his ribs. Oota wasn't just a student; he was a project. A specimen under a microscope. And Haru wasn't just a tutor; he was a spy. An operative hired by his overbearing mother to dismantle the only parts of Oota's life that made him feel like himself.
The sound of running water stopped.
Oota stood up, the phone trembling in his hand. He felt the body calmness shatter into a thousand jagged pieces of glass. He wasn't earthy or grounded anymore. He was a wildfire.
Haru walked back into the room, drying his large, calloused hands on a paper towel. He stopped when he saw Oota standing there, clutching the phone. The air in the room instantly dropped twenty degrees.
"Oota," Haru said, his voice low and devoid of its usual playful lilt. "Put the phone down."
"You're a spy," Oota spat, his voice shaking with a mixture of rage and hurt. "You're not here to help me. You're here to report back to her! You've been watching me like I'm some kind of animal in a cage!"
Haru didn't look guilty. He didn't apologize. He just tossed the paper towel into the bin and took a step forward. The 13cm height difference felt like a mountain looming over Oota.
"It's a job, Oota," Haru said calmly, his amber eyes tracking every twitch of Oota's face. "Your mother pays for results. I provide them."
"Results? By taking pictures of my private things? By telling her I 'waste time' on what I love?" Oota stepped closer, his chest heaving. "I thought... I thought you were actually interested in... in..."
Oota stopped. He didn't want to finish that sentence. He didn't want to admit that for a second, he thought the "Good ya... my boy" comments were something real, something just between them.
"Interested in what?" Haru asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, predatory frequency. He took another step, invading Oota's space until the "Fresh Bread" scent was suffocating. "In you? In your little tea ceremonies?"
"Get out," Oota whispered, his eyes stinging. "Get out of my apartment. Tell my mother I fired you. I don't care about the money. I don't care about the grades. Just leave me alone."
Oota turned to walk away, but he didn't even get two steps.
A hand, large and incredibly strong, gripped his shoulder. Before Oota could cry out, he was spun around and slammed against the wall. The impact wasn't violent, but it was firm, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.
Haru loomed over him, his arms locking on either side of Oota's head, trapping him against the cool plaster. The "Red Flag" was no longer just a warning; it was a full-blown emergency. Haru's face was inches away, his muscular frame completely eclipsing Oota's slim body.
"Let go of me," Oota hissed, trying to push against Haru's chest. It was like trying to move a brick wall. Haru's muscles felt like iron under his t-shirt.
Haru didn't budge. He leaned in closer, his predatory eyes scanning Oota's face with a terrifying intensity. He looked at Oota's trembling lips, his flushed cheeks, and the way his heart was hammering so hard against his ribs that it was visible through his cardigan.
"You're in no position to fire me, Oota," Haru murmured, his breath warm against Oota's skin. "If I leave now and tell your mother the truth—that you're failing to cooperate and wasting her money—she'll pull you out of this university. She'll take you back home. You'll be under her thumb twenty-four hours a day."
Oota's eyes filled with genuine fear. He knew Haru was right. His mother was a woman of absolute control. This apartment, this tiny bit of "Body Tea" freedom, was all he had.
"So, here is how it's going to work," Haru continued, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel. He shifted his weight, his thigh pressing between Oota's legs, pinning him even more securely to the wall. Oota felt small, fragile, and utterly at the mercy of this man.
Haru reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Oota's jaw before moving up to grip his chin, forcing Oota to look him in the eye. His thumb brushed against Oota's bottom lip, reminding him of the Cream Horn from earlier—a memory that now felt like a trap.
"I'm going to keep writing my reports," Haru whispered, his gaze dropping to Oota's mouth. "But what I put in those reports depends entirely on you."
Oota's breath was coming in short, jagged gasps. He was angry, yes, but he was also vibrating with a terrifying kind of adrenaline. The proximity, the power imbalance, the way Haru was looking at him—it was too much for his "straight" brain to process.
"What... what do you want?" Oota managed to choke out.
Haru smirked, a dark, beautiful expression that made Oota's stomach flip. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of Oota's ear.
"If you're a good boy, I'll tell her what she wants to hear," Haru purred. "I'll tell her you're focused. I'll tell her you've given up your 'distractions.' I'll keep you here, in this apartment, where you belong."
Oota felt a shiver run down his spine that had nothing to do with fear. "And if I'm not?"
Haru pulled back just enough to look at him, his amber eyes burning. "Then I'll tell her the truth. I'll tell her you need 'stricter supervision.' And we both know what that means."
He let go of Oota's chin, but he didn't move away. He stayed there, his body heat radiating into Oota, his presence a constant reminder of who was in charge. He was a baker, a tutor, a spy, and now—a captor.
"Now," Haru said, stepping back just an inch, his voice returning to its usual smug tone. "Pick up your pen. We have three more chapters of Engineering Ethics to cover. And I expect you to be very, very focused."
Oota stood against the wall for a long moment, his legs feeling like jelly. He looked at Haru, who was already sitting back down at the table, casually checking his phone as if he hadn't just dismantled Oota's entire world.
Oota walked to the table, his heart still screaming in his chest. He picked up his pen, but he wasn't thinking about ethics. He was thinking about the way Haru's hand felt on his jaw. He was thinking about the word "good boy." And he was thinking about how much he hated that he didn't want Haru to leave.