He turned his attention to the bed.
The girl lay sprawled across rumpled white sheets that had seen better days—and better establishments. Her uniform was gone, leaving her in nothing but her underwear: a simple white bra straining against generous curves, matching panties riding low on hips that flared out from a narrow waist. Her skin was pale as fresh milk, smooth and unblemished except for the red marks where rough hands had gripped too hard. She was trembling, chest heaving with each panicked breath, and tears streamed in wet tracks down cheeks flushed pink with shame and fear.
Please, please let this be over—
She was pretty, he supposed. Large breasts, maybe a D-cup, with visible cleavage pressing against the thin fabric of her bra. Slender legs, a soft curve to her stomach, dark hair fanned across the pillow in disarray. Her face was heart-shaped, features delicate—wide brown eyes swimming with tears, a small nose, lips trembling.
Not as cute as Shino, though.
Nowhere close.
Hozuki Nozomi let his gaze linger for only a moment—an assessment, nothing more—before he bent and retrieved her discarded school uniform from the grimy floor. The blazer was wrinkled, the skirt bunched up near the nightstand where they'd tossed it. He shook out the fabric and draped it over her body, covering those pale thighs and the swell of her chest that rose and fell with each shaky breath.
"Are you okay?"
Simple question. Stupid question, probably—she clearly wasn't okay—but he asked it anyway.
"Ugh... Wuwuwu... I'm not okay!"
The words came out as a wail, and her tear ducts apparently took that as permission to open the floodgates completely. Fat tears spilled down her cheeks, her small frame shaking with sobs that echoed off the water-stained walls of the love hotel room.
Women truly are made of water.
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. The scent of her fear mixed with the remnants of perfume—something floral, innocent, completely at odds with the sordid surroundings.
Outside, muffled by thin walls, he could hear the rhythmic creaking from the room next door. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed and flickered, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.
"Alright, stop crying. You're safe now."
His voice came out flat, matter-of-fact. He wasn't good at comfort—not like this, not with strangers. But he tried anyway.
"Go home and forget about what happened tonight. As for these scumbags—" He nudged Takagi Masao's unconscious body with his foot, watching the bastard's head loll to one side. "—I'll handle them. You won't have to worry about running into them again."
"Wuwu... Thank you."
She managed the words between hiccuping sobs, pressing the uniform tighter against her chest like a shield. Then she looked up at him—really looked—and something shifted in those tear-bright eyes. A spark of curiosity cutting through the fear.
He's... handsome. Really handsome. Like one of those princes from a manga...
"Um, I'm Aonaka Saya. May I ask your name?"
"Hozuki Nozomi. A high school student who just happened to be passing by."
"Hozuki Nozomi?" She repeated the name slowly, as if committing it to memory. Her gaze traced over his features—the sharp line of his jaw, the cool indifference in his dark eyes, the way he stood with easy confidence despite having just knocked out three grown men without breaking a sweat. "I'll remember that."
Then embarrassment flooded her face again, staining her cheeks a deeper shade of pink.
"Um... can you help me? I drank the medicine they gave me, and I can't move at all right now."
Hozuki Nozomi clicked his tongue—a soft, sharp sound—and crouched beside the bed. He reached out and poked her arm experimentally, pressing his fingertip against the soft flesh just below her shoulder.
So soft. Like pressing into warm dough.
Aonaka Saya's reaction was immediate. Her entire body jerked, a strangled sound escaping her throat, and her face went from pink to crimson in the span of a heartbeat.
"..."
She clamped her lips shut, unable to meet his eyes.
"You got drugged, huh?" He poked her again, this time lower, just above the elbow. Another full-body shiver. "What does it feel like?"
"I... I can't..."
"Speak up. If you don't tell me what it feels like, how can I figure out how to help you?" His voice carried an edge of impatience now. "I need to determine if the drug's component is an anesthetic or something else."
Aonaka Saya squeezed her eyes shut, her small hands fisting in the fabric of her uniform-turned-blanket. When she spoke, the words came out barely above a whisper.
"It's... it's very... that..."
"That? What do you mean?"
"Wuwu... Sensitive!" The admission burst out of her like a dam breaking. "Wuwuwu, it feels very strange when touched! Everything is... is too much!"
Her whole body is flushed. Even her ears. Whatever Shinokawa cooked up, it's designed to make every touch feel amplified—probably tenfold, maybe more.
"Uh... I think I understand."
Hozuki Nozomi straightened up, wiping his hand on his pants. Aonaka Saya was pretty—objectively attractive in that soft, demure way that some men went crazy for. Big breasts, cute face, submissive demeanor. But she wasn't his type. She didn't have that spark, that edge, that certain something that made a girl worthy of Sakura Dormitory.
And Shino had mentioned she already had a boyfriend.
Speaking of which—his gaze flicked to the unconscious form of Takagi Masao.
Some boyfriend.
He raised his hand and pressed two fingers to her forehead.
"Hold still."
A pulse of warmth flowed through the contact—purification magic, subtle and quick, burning through the paralytic agent coursing through her system. The technique was refined, precise; one of the many things he'd picked up during his time with Frieren. In less than a second, the immobilization was gone.
Shinokawa was a talented bastard, though. To develop something like this...
The drug was fascinating. Paralysis combined with heightened sensitivity—a potent combination for all the wrong reasons. But in the right hands? In his hands?
He made a mental note to search the room before leaving. There had to be more of it somewhere. A vial, a syringe, something. He wanted to confiscate it.
Hehe... I wonder what kind of adorable expression Yukino would make?
The thought sent a pleasant warmth through his chest.
Of course, he'd only purged the paralytic. The heightened sensitivity—that lingering effect that made every touch feel electric—remained. That was the useful part, after all. The part worth keeping.
"Eh... I... I can move!"
Aonaka Saya sat up suddenly, her eyes going wide. The uniform slipped, revealing a glimpse of white lace and soft curves before she caught it and pressed it back to her chest. She stared at him like he'd performed a miracle.
His hands were so warm. And that feeling when he touched me... like warmth spreading through my whole body. What was that? Who IS this person?
Her eyes were practically glowing with admiration.
Hozuki Nozomi, however, was already turning away.
"Alright, you can go now. Remember what happened tonight, and don't tell anyone."
"Okay."
The single word came out deflated. Aonaka Saya watched his back—broad shoulders, confident posture, not a single glance spared in her direction now that the crisis was over. The hope she'd been nursing, the half-formed fantasy of asking for his contact information, of maybe seeing him again, withered in her chest.
He's not interested at all. Not even a little.
How could Asada be so lucky? To actually meet such an excellent man who gives one a sense of security? And myself...
Her thoughts turned bitter as her gaze landed on the crumpled form of Takagi Masao. Her boyfriend. The man who was supposed to protect her, who she'd trusted, who she'd let touch her in the dark of his bedroom while whispering promises he never meant to keep.
The man who had offered her to a yakuza boss like she was a piece of merchandise.
The man who had wanted to share her.
Something cold and sharp crystallized in Aonaka Saya's chest.
She rose from the bed, legs still unsteady but functional now, and walked toward the door. As she passed Takagi Masao's prone form, she paused.
And then she lifted her foot—a slim ankle, a practical school shoe—and brought it down directly on his crotch.
Crack.
The sound was unmistakable. Like crushing a grape, but wetter. More organic.
Hozuki Nozomi felt a sympathetic chill race down his spine.
Women were not to be trifled with. This was too ruthless!
"Ow!"
Takagi Masao's eyes flew open, consciousness returning in a surge of white-hot agony. His mouth opened in a silent scream that finally found voice in a high, keening wail—almost feminine in its pitch—before his eyes rolled back and foam bubbled at the corners of his lips. He went limp again, twitching occasionally.
Aonaka Saya startled at the sudden movement, then noticed Hozuki Nozomi's stare. The look in his eyes was... complicated. Equal parts respect, caution, and something that might have been morbid amusement.
Her face flushed hot.
"Um... I'm not usually like this, but he was too much." The words tumbled out, defensive. "He's my boyfriend—was my boyfriend—but he wanted to... with me and two other people..."
"Alright, hurry home."
Hozuki Nozomi sighed and waved a hand in dismissal. He didn't need the details. He could imagine them well enough, and he didn't particularly care to dwell on the depravity of men like Takagi Masao.
Aonaka Saya lingered for a moment, something vulnerable and hopeful flickering in her expression. Then it faded, replaced by determination. She bent at the waist in a formal bow—deep, grateful, sincere.
"Thank you for saving me! I'll keep it a secret!"
She straightened, grabbed her clothes from where they'd been scattered, and dressed quickly with her back turned. Then she was gone, the hotel room door clicking shut behind her, leaving only the scent of her perfume and the sound of hurried footsteps fading down the hallway.
Silence settled over the room.
Hozuki Nozomi stood alone among the three unconscious bodies, his expression unreadable. The fluorescent light still buzzed overhead. The smell of cheap cologne and sweat hung thick in the stale air.
He snapped his fingers.
Three clusters of pitch-black flame erupted into existence, engulfing the trio instantly. The fire made no sound—no crackle, no roar. It simply... consumed. Flesh, bone, clothing, everything. The heat was immense but contained, impossibly precise, leaving not even ash behind.
In the span of three heartbeats, they were gone.
The room looked almost normal now. Just a rumpled bed, a lingering smell, and no evidence that anything had happened at all.
Hozuki Nozomi closed his eyes and reached inward, feeling for the threads of connection that bound him to the girls of Sakura Dormitory. They were always there—warm and pulsing, like heartbeats synced to his own. He chose one at random.
Mahiru.
Magic surged through him, and reality *twisted*—
---
[Sakura Dormitory, Shiina Mahiru's Room |
The transition was instantaneous. One moment he was standing in a seedy love hotel room; the next, he was sitting on the edge of a soft bed that smelled of lavender and clean linens.
"Ah! Nozomi, how did you appear?!"
Shiina Mahiru's voice was a startled squeak. She'd been halfway into bed, her body twisted in the act of pulling back the covers, when he'd materialized out of thin air not two feet away from her. She scrambled backward, pressing herself against the headboard, golden-brown eyes wide with shock.
She was wearing her sleepwear—a simple white camisole that clung to her modest curves, paired with soft cotton shorts that rode high on her thighs. Her honey-blonde hair was down, still slightly damp from her bath, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. The room was dim, lit only by the warm glow of a bedside lamp, and it smelled of her body wash—something sweet, like vanilla and strawberries.
God, he scared me! But also... he came to my room. He chose MY room.
The thought sent a flutter through her chest.
Hozuki Nozomi opened his arms, his lips curving into an easy smile.
"That's how I appeared. Mahiru, I've recently mastered a new power." He wrapped his arms around her before she could protest, pulling her soft body flush against his chest. She fit perfectly, like she was made for this. "As long as our bond remains unbroken, I can come to your side anytime."
Shiina Mahiru's cheeks colored, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she rolled her eyes—a gesture of playful exasperation that was undercut by the way she relaxed into his embrace.
"Won't that just make it easier for you to do bad things?"
He always smells nice. Even though he just appeared out of nowhere. How is that fair?
"How could I do bad things?" Hozuki Nozomi lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek—right at the corner of her lips. She shivered. "Mahiru, I'll only do good things for you. Things that make you happy."
"Hmph. You just know how to coax us."
She gave him a reproachful look, but there was no real heat in it. Instead, she snuggled deeper into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. Her body was warm and pliant, her breathing slow and content. The lamp cast golden light across her exposed shoulder, highlighting the delicate line of her collarbone.
"Speaking of which..." Her voice turned thoughtful. "Aren't you going to accompany Asada-san? It's clear that she's a little uneasy."
Hozuki Nozomi's arms tightened around her waist. His fingers splayed across her lower back, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her camisole.
"I've already accompanied her enough for today, you know." His lips brushed against her ear, breath warm. "Mahiru... don't you wish that I was yours right now?"
Another shiver ran through her. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, steady and strong. Her own was racing.
"Hmph, I don't want you." The words were breathless, contradicting the way her body pressed closer. "You're just an animal."
"How about you go find Misaki-senpai!" She was rambling now, grasping for deflection. "Sayu is fine too! Or—or I wouldn't even object if you went to study with Frieren-san and the others—mmph!"
His lips silenced her.
The kiss was sudden, demanding—his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that stole the breath from her lungs. His tongue swept past her parted lips, tangling with hers, tasting of mint and something darker. One hand cupped the back of her head, fingers threading through hair; the other slid down to grip her hip, thumb tracing small circles against the exposed strip of skin between her camisole and shorts.
Shiina Mahiru made a small, needy sound against his mouth.
Tonight, it's you, Mahiru.
No discussion.
---
The camisole came off first, pulled over her head with urgent hands and tossed somewhere into the darkness. Her breasts bounced free—small, perky, pink nipples already stiffening in the cool air. Hozuki Nozomi's mouth found one immediately, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud while his fingers rolled the other between thumb and forefinger.
"Ahn~!" Mahiru arched beneath him, her fingers clutching at his shoulders. "N-Nozomi, wait—"
But he didn't wait. His teeth grazed her nipple, a sharp pinch that made her cry out, and then his hand was sliding lower—past the waistband of her shorts, past the thin barrier of her panties, finding the slick heat of her already dripping core.
"You're so wet, Mahiru." His voice was a low purr against her breast. "And you say you don't want me?"
"Shut... shut up, you— ahhn!"
Two fingers pressed inside her, and Mahiru's back arched off the bed. Her walls clamped down immediately, tight and hot and fluttering around the intrusion. He could feel her pulse there, rapid and desperate. The wet sound of his fingers working in and out of her was obscene in the quiet room—schlck, schlck, schlck—punctuated by her breathless moans.
He's so good at this. It's not fair. It's not— oh god—
"More," she gasped, hips bucking against his hand. "More, please, I need—"
He gave her a third finger, stretching her, curling them just right to drag against that spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyes. His thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles, and Mahiru's moans turned into a high, keening wail.
"Cum for me, Mahiru."
She shattered.
---
But that was only the beginning.
The door to Mahiru's room creaked open.
"Mahiru...? I heard noises, are you— oh."
Shiina Mashiro stood in the doorway, her silver-white hair mussed from sleep, wearing an oversized t-shirt that barely reached her mid-thighs. Her violet eyes—normally blank and expressionless—went wide as she took in the scene before her: Hozuki Nozomi, shirtless, pinning her cousin to the bed; Mahiru, flushed and panting, her bare breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath.
"Mashiro—" Mahiru started, but she didn't get far.
Because Mashiro's gaze had found the obvious bulge tenting Hozuki Nozomi's pants, and something shifted in her expression.
"I want to help."
The words were flat. Declarative. As if she were announcing that she'd finished a painting.
"Mashiro, you don't have to—"
"I want to."
And before anyone could stop her, Mashiro padded across the room, knelt at the edge of the bed, and reached for Hozuki Nozomi's waistband with the same single-minded focus she applied to her art.
Behind her, another figure appeared in the doorway.
Rita Ainsworth, blonde hair in a messy ponytail, cheeks already flushed pink. She took one look at the scene and sighed.
I can't believe I'm doing this. But if Mashiro's doing it, I can't just let her...
"If Mashiro's participating," Rita said, her voice wavering only slightly, "then I suppose I have no choice but to supervise."
She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
---
The night was long.
Mashiro's small mouth wrapped around his cock first, her technique clumsy but earnest—she approached it like a new artistic medium, experimenting with angles and pressure while her violet eyes never left his face, cataloging every reaction. Her tongue traced the underside of his shaft, and her small hand pumped what her mouth couldn't reach.
"Mmph... nnh..."
Rita took over when Mashiro needed a break, her technique more practiced, more intentional. She hollowed her cheeks and took him deep, her nose brushing his pelvis, throat constricting around the head of his cock until he groaned and tangled his fingers in her blonde hair.
Mahiru, not to be outdone, recovered from her earlier orgasm and joined them—three mouths taking turns, tongues tangling together around his shaft, lips meeting in sloppy kisses over his sensitive tip.
"Fuck..." The word escaped him, raw and desperate.
And that was only the beginning.
He took Mahiru first, bending her over the edge of the bed and sliding into her from behind. Her walls gripped him like a vice, still sensitive from earlier, and she came again within minutes—screaming into the pillow while he fucked her through it, his hips slapping against her ass with wet, obscene sounds.
Then Mashiro, on her back with her legs wrapped around his waist, watching him with those blank violet eyes that somehow conveyed more emotion than any words could. She was tight—tighter than Mahiru—and her soft moans were barely audible, but the way her small body trembled beneath him told him everything he needed to know.
And finally Rita, riding him with desperate abandon, her breasts bouncing as she chased her own pleasure with single-minded determination. Her walls clenched around him in waves as she came, and he followed moments later—spilling deep inside her while she collapsed forward onto his chest.
---
Afterwards, they lay tangled together in Mahiru's bed—four bodies in a heap of sweat-slicked limbs and satisfied exhaustion.
Mashiro was already asleep, curled against his side like a cat.
Rita dozed on his other shoulder, her breathing soft and even.
And Mahiru...
Mahiru traced lazy patterns on his chest, her golden-brown eyes heavy-lidded but content.
"You're insatiable," she murmured. "All three of us, and you still..."
"Can't help it." His hand stroked through her hair, gentle now where it had been demanding before. "You're all too beautiful."
"Hmph. Smooth talker."
But she was smiling as she said it.
Hozuki Nozomi closed his eyes and pulled them closer.