Under the harsh glare of the library's fluorescent lamps, Shiho Miyano's fingers trembled around the slender glass bottle nestled in her bag. She'd already taken a swallow to soothe her parched throat—now he wanted her to hand it over?
Akihiko Tou's dark eyes glinted with mischievous challenge. He leaned forward, all calm confidence, as if daring her to refuse. Shiho's pulse quickened. That handsome curve of his jaw, the teasing smile—it shouldn't matter, not here, among the stacks of journals and half-read tomes.
"Do you really expect me to 'sell' you water?" she asked, voice clipped but not unkind.
He glanced at his watch. "I'm on a tight schedule. Unless you fancy keeping me here all day?"
Shiho Miyano's mind raced. His teasing edge shouldn't affect her—I needed to hear his next insight on enzyme-mediated drug conversion. With a decisive flick, she unzipped her tote and withdrew the bottle.
His eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. She nearly smirked. He'd thought to corner her—yet she'd come prepared. The thrill of sparring minds made her pulse pound harder than any romantic trope ever could.
"Drink," she said, tilting the bottle toward him. "Once you finish speaking."
He allowed her to fill the gap, lips curving as he took the offering. Then he paused. "I don't like drinking after others," he confessed, voice low.
Shiho Miyano's breath caught even as she fought to appear unmoved. "You can trust me," she replied, voice softer. "It's untouched."
He smiled and twisted the cap. Shiho's heart fluttered when she saw faint droplets clinging to the rim—proof that she'd taken the first, tiny sip. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of this delicate, almost intimate gesture.
"Thank you," he said, voice husky. He tipped the bottle, long, thoughtful sips painting hopeful sparks in his eyes.
Shiho watched every movement: the way his throat flexed, the subtle arch of his eyebrows when the water reached the back of his mouth. Indirect as it was, the contact felt like something more potent than any buffer solution.
When he finally set the bottle down, half-empty and gleaming under the library light, he met her gaze. "I realized I never asked your name."
Shiho Miyano blew out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Shiho Miyano."
"Beautiful," he murmured. "I'm Akihiko Tou."
Her heart stuttered at the roll of his name on his lips. She nodded, tempering her own rush of warmth. "Shall we—continue?"
He inclined his head. "Lead the way."
They rose and wove through the crowded aisles. Students clustered at every table—laptops aglow, whispered debates drifting in arcs of curiosity. Shiho scanned for a quiet corner, but every seat seemed claimed by chatter or the steady hum of collaboration.
"There," she whispered, pointing to a recessed nook where a single girl sat, head bent over a thick novel. No one else ventured there—perhaps they thought it off-limits, reserved for staff.
Akihiko smiled. "Quiet spot. Let's ask permission."
They approached. Akihiko dropped his voice to gentle tones. "Excuse me, may we share your table?"
The girl looked up, startled. Pale hair framed her porcelain face; the oversized school-issued sweater hung loosely over a child's frame. Her eyes, wide and innocent, flicked between them.
"Oni-chan?" she murmured, then recovered, nodding shyly. "Yes, please."
Akihiko bowed in thanks. Shiho arranged her books—and her racing thoughts—before sitting opposite him. The girl returned to reading, lost again in Margaret Mitchell's world of Scarlett O'Hara and the fires of Atlanta. Shiho stole a glance at the spine: Gone with the Wind. Impressive.
Once settled, Shiho cleared her throat. "So—enzyme catalysis in medicinal transformation. I'm stuck optimizing APTX4869 conversion without unwanted by-products."
Akihiko's eyes ignited. He leaned in, fingertips tracing invisible pathways in the air. "Consider coupling a yeast-derived oxidoreductase to a liposomal carrier. Targeted release at the mitochondrial membrane could scavenge reactive oxygen species before they derail your synthesis."
Shiho's pen danced across her notebook. Her doubts melted the more he spoke—his suggestions were bold yet grounded in solid biochemistry. "What about pH stability during endosomal uptake?" she countered.
He nodded, pleased. "Buffer the vesicles with a zwitterionic phospholipid mix. Maintains a near-neutral microenvironment while preserving enzyme conformation."
They traded ideas like seasoned researchers: polymerases, ligases, prodrug linkers, cofactor regeneration cycles. Every concept unlocked half a dozen new angles in Shiho's mind. She found herself smiling, exhilarated.
The child at their table never stirred, reading with serene focus. Occasionally, her small hands would flip a page, and Shiho caught sight of the dreamy expression on her face—lost to a tale of love, loss, and resilience.
For the first time since her synthesis stalled, Shiho Miyano felt true inspiration surge through her veins. She realized she wasn't simply seeking answers—she'd found an intellectual companion. Someone who treated her as a peer, not a junior.
Akihiko paused, one finger tapping his notebook. "Your core issue is cofactor turnover. If we introduce a secondary catalytic cycle—say, nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide analogs regenerated by a complementary oxidase—we can avoid saturation."
Shiho's chest tightened with excitement. "Yes—that's it! A coupled redox loop to maintain NADH levels without buildup. It could raise yield by at least twenty percent."
He grinned, that playful spark in his eyes. "Precisely. Now, your mentors may still balk, but the data should speak for itself."
A gentle voice interrupted: "Senior Tou?"
Akihiko looked up, surprised. Shiho's heart skipped a beat when she recognized the newcomer. Shinichi Kudo—Tokyo's prodigy turned reluctant detective—stood framed by the library stacks, concern etched in his brow.
Shiho instinctively pressed a hand to her chest. Shinichi's presence here could only mean one thing: her clandestine tête-à-tête with Akihiko was about to face its first real test.
Akihiko Tou's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. He closed his notebook, the air between them crackling with newfound rapport—and the promise of challenges yet to come.
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