NOVEL WEB Chapter 2: Chapter 1
The library at Gohoku University smelled like old paper and stale coffee, a quiet tomb of dust and faded ink that Kaito Nakamura called home most nights. Rain streaked the tall windows in lazy, uneven trails, the late afternoon gray bleeding into the stacks of books towering around him. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a low drone that gnawed at his skull, but he barely noticed—his world was the glowing screen of his beat-up laptop, the only thing keeping the loneliness at bay.
He sat at a corner table, half-buried in a fortress of textbooks—Advanced Algorithms, Data Structures in C++, a dog-eared sci-fi novel he'd read twice. His wire-rimmed glasses perched crooked on his nose, smudged lenses catching the light as he squinted at lines of code. His fingers—nails chewed raw—hovered over the keys, tweaking a shitty game mod he'd been screwing with for weeks: a pixelated spaceship that kept smashing into asteroids no matter how he fucked with the collision logic. He muttered a curse under his breath, voice barely a rasp, and shoved a hand through his greasy black hair, the strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.
Kaito's hoodie hung loose on his skinny frame, the gray fabric pockmarked with lint and faded stains—coffee, soy sauce, who the hell knew. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, just a vending machine onigiri he'd wolfed down hours ago, the wrapper still crumpled in his pocket. His stomach growled, a low rumble he ignored. Sleep was a distant memory too—dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes, making him look like a strung-out ghost. The library was empty save for a few stragglers, their heads bowed over notes, and that suited him fine. No one bothered the gangly nerd in the back, hunched over his screen like it was his only friend. Maybe it was.
He adjusted his glasses, wincing as the frame dug into his temple, and tapped out another line of code. The spaceship spun out, crashed again—fucking useless. He sighed, a sharp huff that fogged the air, and leaned back in the creaky chair, the wood groaning under his bony ass. This was his life—quiet, unremarkable, a gray blur of routines and solitude. No parties, no friends, no girls. Just him and his code, chasing bugs in the dark while the world spun on without him. He was invisible, and most days, he liked it that way.
Then he heard her.
"Um, hey… Kaito, right?" The voice hit him like a slap—soft, lilting, cutting through the library's dead air like a blade. His head jerked up, glasses slipping down his nose, heart slamming into his ribs hard enough to bruise. He blinked, half-expecting a prank—some asshole jock mocking him again, maybe—but it wasn't.
Aiko Tanaka stood there, radiant as a fucking supernova.
She was a vision carved from every wet dream he'd ever had—long dark hair spilling over her shoulders in silky waves, big doe eyes glinting with something he couldn't read, lips curved into a shy, teasing smile that made his dick twitch before he could stop it. Her pastel pink sweater hugged her tits just right, the soft swell pressing against the fabric, and her pleated skirt swished above her knees, showing off legs that could've stopped traffic. She clutched a textbook to her chest—like a shield, or maybe a prop—her nails painted a glossy red that caught the light. Kaito's mouth went dry, tongue sticking to the roof like sandpaper.
"Y-yeah?" he croaked, voice cracking like a prepubescent kid's. He shoved his glasses up, smearing the lenses worse, and cursed himself silently. *Smooth, you dumb fuck.* His palms slicked with sweat, and he wiped them on his jeans, the denim rough against his skin.
Aiko tilted her head, hair sliding like ink over her shoulder, and her smile widened—bright, disarming, a punch to his gut. "You're in Professor Ito's programming class, aren't you? The guy who's always scribbling in the back?"
He nodded, dumb as a brick, his throat closing up. How the hell did she know his name? Aiko was campus royalty—popular, gorgeous, the kind of girl who floated through crowds with a posse of giggling bitches and drooling guys trailing her like dogs. She was the one who turned heads in the cafeteria, who got whispers and stares wherever she went. Kaito was the shadow in the corner, the weirdo with the messy hair and the stammer, the guy who tripped over his own feet when someone said hi. She shouldn't know he existed.
"I saw you fix that dude's code last week," she said, stepping closer, her sneakers squeaking faintly on the tiled floor. Her perfume hit him—vanilla, sweet, a hint of something dirty underneath—and his brain shorted out, a buzz of static where thoughts should've been. "You're really good at that shit, huh?"
"Uh, I guess?" He scratched the back of his neck, fingers snagging in his hair, cheeks burning so hot he swore they'd blister. "It's just… basic debugging. Nothing special." His voice was a mumble, barely audible over the rain tapping the windows.
"It's special to me," she said, her eyes locking on his—big, brown, sucking him in like a black hole. She leaned in a fraction, her textbook pressing tighter against her chest, and he caught a glimpse of cleavage peeking over the edge. His dick stirred again, traitorously hard under the table, and he shifted, praying she didn't notice. "I'm totally fucked on this assignment. Loops and arrays? It's like… alien bullshit to me." She laughed—a bright, tinkling sound that made his stomach flip and his balls tighten.
Kaito stared, waiting for the catch. This had to be a setup—some cruel game where she'd giggle and skip off, leaving him red-faced while her friends snickered from the stacks. Girls like Aiko didn't talk to guys like him. They fucked the rugby team, dated the rich pricks, not the scrawny nerd who smelled like yesterday's ramen. But she just stood there, rocking on her heels, her skirt swaying, looking so fucking earnest he couldn't breathe.
"D-do you… need help?" he stammered, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His heart raced, a frantic thud-thud-thud against his ribs, half-expecting her to laugh in his face.
Her face lit up, a grin splitting her lips—white teeth, a flash of pink tongue. "Oh my god, yes! Could you? Please?" She clasped her hands under her chin, textbook slipping, and he caught another peek of her bra—black lace, jesus fuck—before she straightened up. "Like, right now, if you're not busy. There's a study room free over there." She jerked her thumb toward the glass-walled rooms lining the library, already turning like she knew he'd follow.
He did. Like a dumbass moth to a blowtorch.
They crossed the library, her sneakers squeaking, his worn-out Converse shuffling behind. His laptop banged against his hip in its bag, his pulse a jackhammer in his ears. She pushed open a study room door—cramped, fluorescent-lit, a table scarred with pen marks—and dumped her stuff, flopping into a chair with a sigh that lifted her tits under that sweater. Kaito hovered, awkward as hell, clutching his bag like a lifeline.
"Sit, sit," she said, patting the chair next to her, her voice teasing now. He obeyed, thighs brushing hers under the table, and nearly choked on his own spit. She pulled out her laptop—sleek, new, not a scratch—and opened a mess of code that looked like a toddler wrote it. "See? Total garbage," she groaned, pouting—lips glossy, fuckable—and pointed at the screen. "It keeps shitting out errors. What am I screwing up?"
He leaned in, glasses fogging from her heat, and forced his eyes to the code instead of her mouth. "Uh… your loop's fucked," he mumbled, fingers shaky as he typed a fix. "No condition. Here, try this." His voice was a wreck, but she didn't seem to care—ran the program, and when it worked, she clapped like a kid, her hands brushing his arm.
"Holy shit, you're a genius!" she squealed, beaming at him. "I owe you so fucking much, Kaito!" Her elbow nudged his, her touch electric, and he flinched, dick throbbing painfully now.
"N-no, it's nothing," he said, ducking his head, face a furnace. But inside, he was soaring—she thought he was smart, she was touching him, she was *here*. They worked for an hour, her chattering about dumb TV shows, teasing him about his nerdy sci-fi obsession—"That's so cute, you geek"—and him grinning like an idiot, too stunned to talk back.
When the library lights dimmed, closing time creeping up, she stretched, arms over her head, sweater riding up to flash a strip of smooth stomach. "Hey," she said, voice softening, "thanks for this. You're sweet, you know?" She leaned in, her breath warm on his cheek, and his heart stopped.
"Uh… y-you're welcome," he whispered, barely audible. She smiled—soft, real—and looped her arm through his as they walked out into the rain-damp night. "Let's hang again, okay? You're fun," she said, her hip bumping his.
Fun. Sweet. Kaito's head spun, her warmth seeping into him, her scent clogging his lungs. He didn't know what the fuck was happening—how a goddess like Aiko saw him—but for once, he didn't question it. Maybe this was his shot, his dream, his chance to be more than a shadow.