Liquidate (verb): to eliminate, typically by violent means; to kill.

"I'm sorry," Gakushuu said.

Despite his words, at the moment, he looked the picture of insincerity.

"Me, too." Karasuma was quite confused as to what exactly they were apologizing for, but Gakushuu's face made it clear that there was no time for an explanation and that he had to play along.

The atmosphere in the room was grim.

"'I accept your apologies,'" Asano said snidely, the expression on his handsome face a mix between a scowl and a sarcastic smirk. He began to pace in front of them, slowly, deliberately, almost lazily, and Karasuma held his breath in anticipation of the incoming shitstorm courtesy of one Gakuhou Asano. "Or so I would like to say, had this not been a repeat offense."

He held up two slender fingers. "Twice before, you two have gone against me, and twice before, I had the kindness not to say anything about your crimes. You especially, Asano-kun, should know better. I've taught you to know better."

Karasuma and Gakushuu exchanged a look.

Here we go.

Asano took a deep breath, bringing his fingers up to circle a temple and placing his free hand on his hip. "I spend my hard-earned money buying ice-cream for the three of us to share—"

The teenager snorted. "That's a lie. You made at least a million a day when you were jobless—ow."

Asano had smacked his son on the head with a hardcover copy of The Missionary Position.

"—and you always eat virtually all of it before I do. What's worse is that you leave a trace amount of ice-cream at the bottom of each container so that you could have an excuse to keep them in the freezer. Because you're both too lazy to wash them yourselves and deposit them in the proper bin."

"… Is it the red one?" Gakushuu asked.

That earned him another hit.

"No, you privileged brat."

Karasuma wanted to point out that Asano was being irrational and making mountains out of molehills, but he had no desire to be on the receiving end of that book. He himself ate like, half the ice-cream, because Gakushuu had told him that it was fine (but he wasn't blaming him at all, no!). He knew from experience that Asano wasn't just superhuman when it came to intelligence—he could pack quite a punch, too. So, he said nothing.

"I hope you're both happy." Asano stopped pacing, stopping in front of his son. "In one week, you have consumed all ten cups—almost five liters—of Happy-san's Limited Edition Fruit Salad Surprise Ice-Cream. Which sounds like a terrible flavor, I know."

Gakushuu shrugged dismissively, and at that moment, Karasuma was certain that being infuriatingly smug ran in the family. "It was actually quite delicious—"

"Well, I will never truly find out, because the last day of sale was the day before yesterday."

It was all Karasuma could do to not laugh (or roll his eyes, either way was fine) at how serious his lover was acting. Over ice-cream. In the middle of January. What topped it off was how cute it was. Asano thought that he was being scary. Unable to help himself, he cracked a smile.

He's so petty.

As if he'd read Karasuma's mind, Asano turned on his heel and strode out of the room with a huff that was hardly dignified.

The raven-haired man turned to Gakushuu. "What was that?"

"My father likes ice-cream more than he'd admit," Gakushuu said coolly, crossing his arms over his chest in a self-satisfactory manner. You never would have thought that he had just gotten chewed out and hit on the head with a cardboard-bound controversial essay. Twice. "He's never hit me on purpose, though. I wonder if he's going through andropause…"

His violet gaze flickered to Karasuma, scrutinizing. The hue of his eyes was brighter than his father's, but he was undoubtedly Asano's son, right down to the shape of his eyes and the curve of his jaw. It was almost unnerving how similar they looked. Maybe Asano's genes were completely dominant, despite the rarity of such an eye color. That wouldn't surprise him at all.

"Maybe your violent tendencies are rubbing off on him."

"I am not violent."

Gakushuu placed a hand under his chin and grimaced. "Hm. The noises you two make in the bedroom suggest otherwise."

"Well." Embarrassed, Karasuma cleared his throat. "You actually like making him mad?"

"Of course," the orange-haired teenager's face twisted into an expression that was almost dementedly mischievous, although obviously, he caught Karasuma's all-too-transparent attempt to change the subject. "Anger clouds the mind and makes it so easy to control that it's almost laughable. He was the one who taught me that."

"He taught you well, then," Karasuma admitted. "So… what are you trying to make him do?"

"Oh, no—I'm not trying to control him right now. This is just fun."

Karasuma sighed.

Leave it to Asano to raise a psychopath.

If Karasuma could describe Asano with one word, it would have to be stunning. Not only was he physically attractive, with his striking eyes and sharp features—the man undoubtedly had foreign blood in him—but he had a certain air of regality and strength that immediately drew attention when he entered a room, as if he were a king. It was in the way he walked and the way he talked and the way the very sound of his voice turned heads towards him. It was in every movement, every blink, and every time he clenched his jaw whenever something displeased him. It was something alluring and attractive, but quite off-putting at the same time.

Sovereignty.

It wasn't at all unlike the aura of bloodlust exuded by the soldiers, killers, and assassins that Karasuma had encountered. He had no doubt that Asano could be just as deadly as them, if he wanted to be.

And right now, Asano really fucking wanted his ice-cream. Although his expression didn't give anything away, his aura was terrifyingly intense. So it was no surprise when every head in the coffee shop turned to look at them as they strode through the glass door.

The day had been pretty warm, for winter, so the place wasn't totally empty. It was actually bustling. Most of the customers that he could see were sipping coffee or tea, or digging into a sandwich, but a couple of them were feasting on the parfaits that the café was famous for. Gakushuu had suggested they go, having heard about it from school, and after Karasuma promised to pay for everything as an apology (a decision that he regretted immediately), Asano agreed to come. The drive from the house was an endeavor in itself, since the father-son duo never stopped verbally assaulting each other.

When their waiter came up to seat them, Karasuma felt his muscles tense. It had only been a year since they'd last seen each other, so Karasuma was easily able to place a name to his dark hair and golden eyes.

"Welcome to—uh…"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Isogai," Gakushuu said. He looked and sounded neither friendly nor contemptuous—Karasuma wondered if he knew that the former 3-E student worked here. It was unlikely, since he wouldn't have wanted anyone he knew to see him third-wheeling one of his father's dates. "I do hope that you're not going against your new school's policies by taking on a part-time job."

"Don't worry, I'm not," Isogai said good-naturedly. His uneasy expression had quickly shifted into a pleasant one after casting a confused, curious glance at Karasuma. He was a regular waiter serving customers now. "Welcome to Amaimon's! Let me take you to your table."

Isogai led them through an opening to the right and into the extension of the café, which was far larger than the main eating area. The wallpaper was a dark shade of brown, which balanced the natural light let in by the enormous windows that covered the side facing the street. Black and white abstract paintings and potted plants were placed at intervals around the room.

It was funny, how the neutral colors made the red, green, and blue spots pop out like warning signs.

Gakushuu's face spasmed, for the briefest moment, in disgust.

"Vice-President-kun," Karma Akabane drawled, stretching each syllable out. "I didn't expect to see you here!"

Crap.

The red-haired demon of 3-E was slouched on his chair over a half-finished glass of what looked like strawberry milk, completely unperturbed by Gakushuu's seething violet gaze. Seated at the table with him were Nagisa and Kayano. Karma hadn't changed in appearance, but Nagisa had undergone a drastic change. Or maybe it was just the hair. It had been cut short, no longer in the pigtails that Karasuma had gotten used to seeing it in. Likewise, the once-vivid green of Kayano's hair, which was now kept loose and wavy, was fading, and her natural dark roots had begun to show.

Kayano's brow furrowed. "With your father… and Karasuma-sensei?"

"It's a long story," Karasuma muttered as he settled into the booth that Isogai had led them to, which happened to be right across from his former students' table. Asano slid into the bench in front of him, and Gakushuu followed, shooting a piercing glare at Karma, who only flashed a mischievous smirk back. Looking like he wanted nothing to do with what was to come, Isogai gave them their menus, briefly relayed the specials, took their drink orders, and was gone.

"Can we hear it?" Kayano asked. "The story, that is."

"No."

"Aww." The green-haired girl pouted.

Karasuma could feel his former students' curious glances trained on his face, like sniper scopes on a target. Like their late octopus teacher, they were all too eager when it came to juicy gossip. He skimmed over the menu, trying to take his mind off the fact that he had run into not one, but four of his former students in the span of two minutes. He hoped that there wouldn't be more. He would rather not make his sexual orientation and current partner a subject of gossip in 3-E's social circle. It was likely that the trio didn't suspect that this was a date… but what else did it look like?

Well, if he didn't confirm it, they'd never believe it. He just had to keep his mouth shut. The problem resided in whether or not the two redheads he came here with would keep their mouths shut. An unlikely possibility. They both liked talking. Asano in particular, on top of talking, liked torturing Karasuma.

"What are you three doing here?" he heard Gakushuu ask the group at the table across from them. It almost seemed out of character, until Karasuma remembered that the teenager's only other possible conversations would be with his father and him.

"Just thought we'd hang out," Kayano said cheerfully. "It's winter break, after all."

"We're meeting Maehara, Kataoka, Sugino, and Kanzaki after Isogai's shift is over," Nagisa added.

"The more interesting question is," Karma said, "what are you doing here, VP-kun?"

Gakushuu scoffed. "Being a third wheel."

Karasuma resisted the urge to bang his own head on the table.

"Oh, do stop complaining, Asano-kun," Asano said dismissively, thumbing through the menu with false interest—Karasuma could tell that he had already decided what he was going to order, and that the cost was going to be ridiculous. "You willingly accompanied us to this fine establishment. Which you suggested we go to."

Kayano gasped. "So, this is a date between Karasuma-sensei and the ex-Chairman?"

"Whoa, Karasuma-sensei!" Karma gave a low whistle, twirling a long silver spoon with his fingers. "Never took you for that type, although it does explain a lot, now that I think about it! Does Bitch-sensei know about this?"

"Yes," Karasuma muttered, shrinking under their gazes.

"Guys." Nagisa looked up from his parfait. "If Karasuma-sensei doesn't want to say anything, we shouldn't force him to."

Asano watched the scene unfold with a smile, his head propped up on his hand, which was the most relaxed that Karasuma had seen him all day, aside from when he woke up that morning. He almost looked cute, had his intentions for smiling not been so depravedly sadistic. As he glanced back towards his menu, the collar of his shirt shifted, showing just the slightest bit of purple on his neck—part of an old love bite.

Luckily, it was located on a low enough spot to still be hidden from the students.

A blush spread across Karasuma's face when he remembered how he had gotten to make that mark. It had been a stressful week for him, and they had curled up on the couch to watch Sonic Ninja, during which he put up with Asano's criticisms. Things had escalated when the end credits started rolling. Karasuma remembered every unhurried, careful moment that went into crafting that bruise—the feeling of Asano's pulse against his lips, the smell of his soap and aftershave, his groans and whimpers that were barely audible over the cheesy superhero music blaring from the TV speakers. How he was obviously in pain, but he was such a masochist that he actually enjoyed the thought of being marked.

In light of his newly resurfaced memories, Asano's neck looked incredibly tempting—Karasuma wanted to pin the man down and sink his teeth into his throat.

"Now I really want to hear that story!" Kayano said.

Karma was grinning from ear to ear, his smile resembling Korosensei's default expression. He looked every bit like his late teacher, minus the yellow skin, slime, and tentacles. Oh, and the insatiable desire to flip through porn magazines. "Yeah, tell us the story, Karasuma-sensei."

Yeah… no.

Then, like an angel of salvation, Isogai was back with their drinks. "Have you decided on what you'll have?"

With an air of finality, Asano slid the menu over, tapping the most expensive item on the page—of course—with a well-trimmed fingernail, as he directed a sly smirk towards Karasuma. "I'll have the Colossal Parfait."

"A-Are you sure?" Isogai asked, his eyebrows disappearing under his long fringe. "I'm not saying you can't finish it, sir, but—"

"Absolutely."

"It feeds six people."

"I want it."

Karasuma frowned. "I'm not helping you eat that."

"I wasn't expecting you to."

"Gakuhou, that thing costs 10,000 yen. If you don't eat it all, I swear…"

Petulantly, Asano stuck his tongue out at him.

"What are you, five?"

The Colossal Parfait was… well, colossal.

If it was on the floor, it would have reached Karasuma's knees, no problem. There had to be at least a dozen layers of ice-cream, cookie crumbs, corn flakes, chocolate mousse, jelly, and mesmerizing swirls of vivid syrups that looked sort of like galactic nebulae, but much brighter in color. There were slices of chiffon cake, sponge cake, cheesecake, and cake rolls. There were waffles. The whole thing was topped with a mound of whipped cream, Pocky sticks, some grated cheese, caramel syrup, cream puffs, and a bright red cherry that was so small in comparison to everything else that it looked like it wasn't meant to be there. Adding all of that to the ridiculous amount of strategically-placed slices of peach, melon, kiwi, banana, and strawberry, it probably weighed 4 kilograms. Maybe more. Definitely more.

Karasuma's head was swarming with questions. How was nothing falling off? How long was it going to take for it to melt? Whose idea was it to put corn flakes in a parfait? And goddamnit to hell, how was that glass bowl not cracking under the weight of all that sweet, sweet crap?

Kayano was half out of her chair, almost drooling with desire.

There was no way Asano could eat that by himself.

He blinked. "If you need help—"

"Touch it and you'll lose a finger."

Karasuma turned his head to see his lover's expression of… pure glee? While he wasn't smiling, his silver eyes were gleaming with the eerie, unmistakable light of greed. He looked excessively giddy—almost childishly so—for someone who was about to eat something that could easily serve six people. It was kind of cute.

And, of course, Karasuma had to verbalize that sentiment.

Somehow, the only thing that came out of his mouth was the ever-so-flattering "You're going to get fat."

Not that he minded a bit of squishiness in bed, but… eh. Was that the best he could do?

"I don't recall you ever being my mother," Asano retorted, spitefully shoveling a mound of vanilla ice-cream and peach into his mouth with the provided spoon. He chewed for a few seconds, then swallowed—how did he not get a brain freeze from that? "Besides, you're not one to talk about weight gain and health in general, what with your silly fixation on cup ramen and burgers. If the perils that come with your job don't kill you, a heart attack will."

"Look who's being a mother now."

The redhead leaned forward, his eyes gleaming suggestively. His tongue flicked out to lick a smudge of white off his lips. It was so disconcertingly hot that for a second, Karasuma forgot that it was ice-cream and not something else. "Your mother wouldn't do the things I've done to you."

"You're a dick," he muttered, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Am I now?" The bastard made no effort to lower his voice. "I never took you for the type to shy away from a little tie-and-tease, Tadaomi."

Asano practically purred his name, lips curled into a seductive smirk. A slender finger slowly crept up to his throat and deftly undid a button, exposing his defined clavicle. Karasuma wanted to kiss him and punch him in the face at the same time.

Had this man no shame, showing such a blatant display of promiscuity in front of a group of minors?

And was it just him, or did his former students just move closer?

You sleazy children.

They took after Korosensei, alright.

"Go eat your fucking parfait," he grumbled, taking another bite out of his sandwich. He wasn't one for sweets, so the limited sandwich selection was a relief to find. You could never go wrong with bacon.

Asano raised his spoon. "Gladly."

"And you'd better finish that."

A smarmy, complacent smile graced his lover's features. "You, of all people, should know that I always swallow."

Suddenly, the bacon didn't taste so great anymore. Karasuma put his sandwich down with an exasperated groan, not missing the implication of the innuendo nor the mixed reactions of the teenagers around them—Karma didn't even bother to stifle his snicker, while Kayano's face turned entirely red. "Did you really just say that in this room full of people? One of whom is your son?"

"Asano-kun is mature enough to handle that implication," Asano said, nibbling on a Pocky stick. "I have nothing to lose."

"Except for my respect," Gakushuu muttered. He looked like he was about to upchuck the spoonful of Tropic Topic Sundae that he had just consumed.

"Touché."

"I can't believe it," Karasuma found himself saying.

Asano actually finished the whole thing. The glass bowl that had, at one time, been practically overflowing with fruit, ice-cream, and pastries, had been completely emptied, down to the very last kiwi seed. The forty-two-year-old ex-chairman of Kunugigaoka Academy had just polished off a four-kilogram parfait in one sitting, with nothing to show for it but a slightly distended belly and a grin that was way too smug for Karasuma's liking. And it had hardly even been thirty minutes.

He really couldn't believe it. He wouldn't have believed it, if he hadn't witnessed the man go down on that monstrous excuse of a dessert himself—the largest pieces of fruit and cake went first, taken apart on the plate that Isogai had given him. Then, he made his way through the rest of the parfait with a quick, calculated efficiency that was almost as intimidating as seeing him seated at his desk in that dark office.

"I expected nothing less," Gakushuu said, looking impressed.

The second that last spoonful found its way into Asano's mouth, the café's customers had applauded. People took pictures.

Asano looked at Karasuma with a self-satisfactory, gloating grin that screamed, "I fucking told you so" in the most annoying way possible. He burped quietly into his napkin, setting his cleaned spoon to the side as if he were at a five-star restaurant. He almost looked like he wanted seconds.

Isogai quietly handed Karasuma the check.

13,000 yen.