Late afternoon light filtered through half-drawn curtains, casting amber streaks across the cramped living room. The apartnt slled faintly of lavender fabric softener and sothing sweeter underneath—perfu, maybe, or the particular scent of a woman living alone. Dust motes drifted lazily in the warm air.
Hozuki Nozomi stood shirtless near the window, his expression placid, letting Kirisu Mafuyu examine his back.
Her fingers trembled slightly as they traced the skin where the burn had been. Smooth now. Completely healed. The ridge of scar tissue she'd expected to find simply wasn't there—just warm, unblemished skin stretched taut over muscle.
It's like it never happened, she thought, swallowing hard. Like I never hurt him at all.
But that wasn't what made her face flush crimson.
His physique was... problematic. Each abdominal muscle carved with definition she'd only seen in fitness magazines, the V-line of his hips disappearing into his waistband like an arrow pointing sowhere she absolutely should not be looking. His shoulders were broader than she rembered. When had he gotten so built ?
Her index finger twitched.
Just one poke, the traitorous part of her brain whispered. Just to see if they're real.
She clenched her fist at her side.
This is your student, Kirisu Mafuyu. Your STUDENT. Who has a GIRLFRIEND. Multiple girlfriends, probably, looking like that. You are a professional educator and you will NOT—
"Ahem."
She cleared her throat too loudly, stepping back and smoothing down her skirt with more force than necessary.
"Well. It seems your wound has completely healed. The recovery ability of young people is indeed impressive."
Young people. Yes. He's young. A child, practically. A very muscular, very tall child with eyes that look at you like—STOP IT .
She patted his shoulder once, twice—firm, professional pats that absolutely did not linger on the warmth of his skin.
"Alright, put your clothes on."
He reached for his shirt with maddening slowness, fabric sliding over those ridiculous muscles inch by inch. She turned away, busying herself with a stack of papers that didn't need organizing.
"Hozuki-kun, if you don't mind, how about having dinner at my place tonight?"
One who takes from others is beholden to them, she reminded herself. O ne who eats from others is soft on them.
This was compensation. For the cleaning. Nothing more.
"Okay."
Just like that. No hesitation, no questions. His voice was warm honey poured over gravel, and she hated how it made sothing flutter in her chest.
"Alright then." She grabbed her purse, practically fleeing toward the door. "I'll go buy groceries now. You can sit here for a while and play mobile gas or sothing."
She flashed him what she hoped was a casual smile and escaped into the hallway.
---
Nozomi watched her retreating figure—the nervous bounce in her step, the way she kept tugging at her skirt, the pink tips of her ears visible even from behind.
A smile curved at his lips.
Once she gets used to my cooking and can't stomach takeout anymore...
The thought was calculating, perhaps. But also practical. Kirisu Mafuyu's dostic skills were legendarily nonexistent. The burn on his back had been proof enough—who pours cold water into boiling oil? The woman was a walking kitchen hazard.
Whatever she bought tonight, he would be the one cooking it. That much was certain.
He settled onto the leather sofa, fishing his phone from his pocket. The apartnt was quiet save for the distant hum of traffic seven floors below and the occasional drip-drip from her kitchen faucet. He made a ntal note to fix that later.
The mobile ga loaded with a cheerful jingle—M agical Girl Misaki × Magical Girl ruru: Dream Collaboration . Character models filled the screen, cel-shaded and polished, their outfits artfully tattered from combat damage in ways that rode the line between action and ecchi.
His own ga. Well, their ga—Misaki's hyperactive direction, Eriri's character designs, Utaha's narrative frawork, and Nanami's voice work.
A smile tugged at his mouth as he tapped through a battle sequence. The protagonist took a hit, her uniform ripping strategically, and a soft " Kyaaah~! " echoed from the speakers.
Nanami's voice work has really improved.
He should thank her properly. After all, he'd helped her practice so many late nights—drawing those particular sounds from her throat until her voice went hoarse, until she learned exactly how to pitch a gasp, a moan, a breathless cry...
Training, he reminded himself, suppressing a smirk. Purely professional voice training.
If Aoyama Nanami knew what he was thinking, she would absolutely spit in his face.
"Shaless," she'd hiss, cheeks blazing, even as her thighs pressed together. " You're absolutely shaless, Nozomi..."
The doorbell rang.
His finger paused mid-tap.
Mafuyu had a key. She wouldn't ring.
Frowning slightly, he set down his phone and crossed to the entrance, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his feet. He turned the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
"Nee-san! Miharu is here! Hehehe~"
A blur of pink hair and pale skin launched through the doorway.
"Did you miss your cute little sis— mmph! "
Before he could react, she'd collided with his chest—arms wrapping around his torso, face burying into his shirt, her entire body pressing flush against him with the montum of her leap.
The impact was... considerable.
Kirisu Miharu was soft .
That was the first coherent thought that registered. Soft in ways that had nothing to do with personality. Her chest compressed against his abdon, generous curves yielding against hard muscle, and even through two layers of fabric he could feel the distinct shape of her—the full weight of breasts that rivaled her sister's, squishing warmly against him with every slight movent.
She slled like strawberry shampoo and vanilla body lotion. Sothing sweeter underneath, girlish and clean.
" Mmm ~" She nuzzled against him, eyes still squeezed shut, rubbing her cheek against his pectoral with shaless affection. Her ponytail swished behind her, tickling the backs of his fingers. "Nee-san's been working out! You feel different sohow..."
Her hips shifted as she tried to burrow closer, and the motion dragged her thighs against his.
Nozomi's jaw tightened.
His body was reacting. Of course it was reacting—he wasn't dead, and a beautiful woman had just thrown herself into his arms, all warm skin and sweet perfu and absolutely obscene curves pressing against him in ways that made his blood run decidedly south.
Control , he thought firmly, willing his breathing to stay even. Control.
Miharu's brow furrowed, still pressed against him.
Huh?
Sothing was wrong.
Nee-san was supposed to be soft. Squishy. Comfortable. This was like hugging a warm wall. A very firm, very muscular warm wall that slled like sandalwood and sothing darker—masculine. Her cheek dragged across what was definitely not the familiar give of her sister's chest.
And lower...
Her hip brushed against sothing hard .
That's... not Nee-san's belt buckle.
Her eyes snapped open.
Steel-gray irises t hers from approximately three inches away. A handso face—devastatingly handso, actually, all sharp jaw and high cheekbones—stared down at her with an expression caught sowhere between amusent and restraint.
The blood drained from her face.
Then flooded back with a vengeance.
"AHHHHH!"
She launched herself backward like a startled cat, stumbling into the hallway wall with a thud , one hand clutching her chest, the other pointing at him with a trembling finger.
"You—you—you—"
Her voice ca out in squeaks.
"Who ARE you?!"
The boy—man?—straightened slowly, and she couldn't help but notice the way he adjusted his posture, angling his hips slightly away from her. His expression remained infuriatingly calm.
"My na is Hozuki Nozomi. I'm Teacher Mafuyu's student."
His voice was deep. Smooth. Like dark chocolate lting over her eardrums.
"As for why I'm here..." A faint smile curved at his lips. "You'd better ask Teacher Mafuyu yourself."
Student, her brain repeated dumbly. Nee-san's student .
Why is Nee-san's student SHIRTLESS in her—
Wait. He was wearing a shirt. When had he put that on?
She shook her head, trying to clear the static.
Upon closer inspection—now that she wasn't actively rubbing herself against him like so kind of affection-starved housecat—she realized just how striking he was. Sharp eyebrows slashed over eyes that seed to pierce straight through her. Sharp features softened only by the slight upturn of his mouth. Tall—much taller than her, tall enough that she'd have to crane her neck to et his gaze properly.
He looks like a light novel protagonist, she thought distantly. The kind who accidentally acquires a harem by chapter three.
Is Nee-san part of his harem? Is THAT why he's here so late? Has she been LYING about having a boyfriend this whole ti—
Reality crashed back.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!"
She bowed deeply, her ponytail swinging forward.
"I am Kirisu Miharu! As you can see, young man, I am Kirisu Mafuyu's sister!"
Young man. Why did she call him 'young man'? He was probably her age. Maybe older. Why was she like this?
"It's a pleasure to et you!" She bowed again, face burning. "Please take care of !"
When she straightened, he was smiling properly now—a warm expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made sothing in her stomach do a complicated flip.
"It's a pleasure to et you as well, Miharu-san."
The way he said her na— Miharu-san —sent an inexplicable shiver down her spine.
"Since you're Teacher Mafuyu's sister, please co in and sit down." He stepped aside, gesturing toward the living room. "She went to buy groceries. She'll be back soon."
"O-okay!"
Miharu nodded rapidly, face still flushed, and shuffled past him into the apartnt.
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