Free Book Girl and the Corrupted Angel by Mizuki Nomura Page A

dates with the rehearsals for the recital, so I think my boyfriend’s a little unhappy. But he’s a nice guy, so he tells me to keep up the hard work. I wish I could introduce him to you. And you should (*remainder deleted)
    Understood—I’ll leave Christmas open for you, my very best friend, Nanase.
    Obviously I’ll be with my boyfriend on Christmas Eve, though.
    Heh-heh-heh, why don’t you just take the initiative soon?
    It’ll be fine! You’re cute, so I’m sure. (*remainder deleted)
    I made my ring tone a Christmas song.
    It’s “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”
    Too soon?
    Until your love is realized, I’m keeping my boyfriend’s name a secret.
    If you want me to gush, though, I’ll write as much as you could ever want.
    Last year on Christmas Eve, we exchanged matching rings.
    We promised we would always wear them, but he got teased at school when he wore it, so he took it off his finger and hid it.
    Before a date, he gets it out real quick and slips it back on. I just love watching him do that from a little ways off.
    And then! When he’s sad, he squeezes my hand tight to get through it, or when I touch his hand and he loosens his grip just a little…I feel so sublime and indulgent, and I think, Wow, I love him so much.
    When our rings touch each other, they make a noise, ching…that little sound is more beautiful to me than the most wonderful music.
    Well? Are you jeeealous?
    Hurry up and get a man, Nanase! Boyfriends are the best!
    When you get a boy, we’ll go on a double date.
    Hey Nanase—I’m totally overjoyed right now, and singing makes me so happy I can’t even stand it. With my angel beside me, I’ve gotten better and better, and I’ve started to like songs more.
    You don’t seem to like my angel, Nanase.
    Whenever I talk about him, you get in a bad mood.
    I get that you’re worried about me, but when you say stuff like how he seems fishy or ask if he’s tricking me, it makes me feel bad, too.
    My angel is important to me and I care about him a lot.
    I had to work all of a sudden.
    Sorry. I’ll call you later.
    Don’t let it bug you too much. Mori and them will (*remainder deleted)
    See you later, Nanase.
    Our fourth period classics class was independent study, so I quickly took care of my classwork, then read through Mito’s messages.
    Even when I’d read to the very last line, I couldn’t see why Mito had disappeared, and she didn’t talk very much about her boyfriend or the angel.
    Just from reading the messages, she came off as a perfectly ordinary, cheerful girl…
    The bell rang and lunch break began.
    “I’m gonna go buy some bread from a stand. You go on ahead and start,” Akutagawa said.
    “Huh? But you always bring your lunch.”
    “My mom forgot to turn on the rice cooker.”
    Akutagawa and I shared this brief exchange, and then I went out into the hall where—
    My cell phone vibrated in my pocket.
    I had a new message, sender unknown.
    I checked the message, then gulped.
    He’s Lucifer.
    What was this?
    Spam?
    I connected to the Internet on my phone to look up the word, and my jaw dropped.
    Lucifer was the angel who had turned his back on God and been cast into hell—he was the king of hell.
    My breathing became suddenly strained.
    An angel of music and the fallen angel Lucifer—was this a coincidence? Or had there been some sort of purpose in sending this to me?
    But who had done it?
    Who did “he” refer to? Who was Lucifer?
    The boy with the glasses and cold stare came to my mind. Could this be Omi harassing me? I didn’t know how he’d gotten my address, but already it was the only possibility I could imagine. Besides, even ignoring what had happened yesterday, there was way too much I didn’t know about him.
    What should I do? Should I try asking Omi? But what if he said something to me again? What if he glared at me with that naked malice in his eyes?
    Conflicted, I went to the library.
    There was a different student working at the desk. My