248 This Wicked Temptress

Perhaps it was a silent truce, but after visiting the neighbors, Eriri and Kasumigaoka didn't argue anymore.

Though honestly, it might've just been the calm before a fiercer storm.

After all, a certain blonde wasn't the type to let things go with just a few sharp words.

She might get knocked out in one blow, sure—but she had an alarming enthusiasm for physical retaliation.

For one certain someone, the day was only mentally exhausting.

But for the two girls, it had been full-on mental and physical fatigue. Between moving in, unpacking, and waging an emotional war for love, they were completely wiped.

Eriri, who never handled debates well online and often ended up wordless and rolling in bed with frustration, was clearly spent.

And Kasumigaoka, who usually relied on her icy aura and cold stares to keep people away, found herself dragged into constant social skirmishes.

What annoyed them the most, though, was how he looked completely relaxed, sitting on the sidelines like some kind of calm spectator.

The only thing he did was occasionally serve tea and snacks to the warring parties.

Sure, the freshly baked sweet buns were delicious, and the fruit juice was refreshing—but it's not like he made them for just one person!

Who the hell acts as coach for both sides of the match?! This jerk!

After dinner, the Kyousuke household's nightly tradition an evening stroll—began.

Tonight's moon hung low and yellow in the sky, not a cold, pale white, but a soft yellow gold.

It didn't illuminate the ground clearly, but it gave the night a strangely warm glow.

When they arrived at Mejirodai Sports Park, Eriri scanned the place thoroughly—there wasn't a single children's slide like Kasumigaoka claimed.

Hmph. Just as she thought.

That woman was full of lies.

Just like her novels—zero sincerity. Ugh, why could someone like her write such good stories? So frustrating!

Ahead of her, Kasumigaoka Utaha clung lightly to Kyousuke's sleeve, her other hand covering a quiet laugh.

Eriri gritted her teeth and stormed forward, grabbing the other sleeve and shaking it.

Even if she was full from dinner, she was going to drag him to get sweets from Gunrindou!

Shouko and Naoka linked arms behind them, enjoying the night breeze and watching the chaos unfold ahead.

A lively life like this... didn't seem so bad after all.

Even though the area was surrounded by schools—including two women's colleges—the local residents had long since gotten used to seeing groups of girls wandering around.

But this scene, with four stunning girls surrounding one guy, was something else entirely.

Any one of these girls on her own was enough to crash a server—or make the media trade away millennia of history for a headline.

When they finally returned home and opened the door, a wave of rich floral fragrance washed over them.

"Mmm, smells amazing!"

Eriri was the first to kick off her shoes and dash to the dining table. She planted her hands on the table, staring at the vase of blooming lilies.

"Why don't the flowers in my yard ever smell this nice?"

"What you're smelling are scented molecules diffusing through the air, entering your nasal passages, and being interpreted by your brain as a 'fragrance.'"

"Your garden is an open space, so the molecules disperse with the wind. But in my house—"

"Who asked for a science lecture?!" Eriri snapped. "On a night like this, even the grass should be releasing its fragrance! Couldn't you just admit you bought them for me?!"

A flower named Lily meeting someone named Lily—of course the scent would be stronger!

"For once, I agree with Sawamura-san," Kasumigaoka chimed in with a rare smile. "After all, today marks the start of our life as housemates. That's worth celebrating, don't you think?"

"Hmph, as if anyone wants to be your housemate," Eriri muttered, turning her head away.

She'd never admit it, but this kind of shared life had already exceeded her expectations.

Just like in anime—eating together, watching TV together, going on walks together.

There was the gentle Shouko, the infuriating Kasumigaoka, the cool Naoka... and, well, that idiot too.

A princess from a castle, stepping into this kind of life for the first time.

Having this many close companions for the first time.

Even if she wasn't alone with him, somehow, this felt... okay.

Kasumigaoka caught her cold snort and smiled faintly. She didn't bother arguing and headed upstairs.

Though she often mocked Eriri as a brat, deep down, she respected her.

In many ways.

Unlike her own withdrawn, avoidant personality, Eriri actively navigated society—even thrived in it.

She was the classic "perfect rich girl" the school gossiped about. And from the outside, she wore the title flawlessly.

Sure, she was a closet otaku who could binge anime all day with a Coke in hand.

Sure, she wore cringe old track suits when not in uniform.

Sure, she drew highly questionable doujin art... But outwardly? Elegant looks, strong social skills—flawlessly executed.

Kasumigaoka didn't envy that life, but she respected that kind of strength.

She could never do it herself. She didn't know why Eriri hid her real self, but she respected strength.

Just like she loved Kyousuke for his.

Whether it was in art or in life, Sawamura Eriri had earned that respect.

If she ever married Kyousuke, maybe she'd hire Eriri as her exclusive illustrator.

With that thought, Kasumigaoka returned to her room, changed into her loungewear, and carefully touched up her makeup.

Unlike Eriri, who didn't care and went out in track suits, Kasumigaoka always made an effort—even changing into a fresh pair of stockings before heading out.

When she came downstairs, the soft ambient lights were already on, and the metal blinds had shut out the huge glass windows.

The big screen was already lit with an unfamiliar anime.

"Took you long enough, Kasumigaoka Utaha! We've been waiting forever!" Eriri grumbled.

She had picked the anime earlier while chatting with Shouko.

She already had the whole night planned out.

Normally, she could only watch these anime movies in disguise at the theater with her parents.

When watching with friends her age, it was always boring rom-coms she didn't even like.

Kasumigaoka looked at Eriri gripping the remote with sparkling eyes, eager to hit play, and smiled.

"Thanks for waiting, Sawamura-san. And really, there's no need to keep using my full name. If you don't want to call me senpai, just 'Kasumigaoka' is fine."

"Who waited for you, narcissist? I'll call you whatever I want! Now sit down—it's starting!"

Eriri huffed.

Like hell she'd change how she addressed her.

If she did that, she might lose her competitive edge.

She might even ask for an autograph from the writer she adored. That would be way too embarrassing!

No, she'd keep calling her "Kasumigaoka Utaha." That woman wasn't Kasumi Utako, the novelist she admired.

She was a worthy rival—nothing more!

Kasumigaoka didn't say anything more.

She glanced at the people sitting on the carpet, leaning against the sofa.

As expected, Kyousuke was seated in the center, with Eriri to his left and Shouko and Naoka to his right.

After thinking for a moment, she quietly sat down next to Eriri.

"Ah! Don't sit so close!"

Already fully absorbed in the anime, Eriri jumped when someone suddenly sat down beside her.

The warmth of a body so close startled her, making her blurt out in embarrassment.

"Sawamura-san, I'm just sitting next to you like a normal person," Kasumigaoka said with a teasing smile.

"Compared to how you were clinging to Kyousuke earlier, this is keeping a respectful distance."

"Or… could it be that you actually like girls? And having a beautiful older girl like me so close is just too much for you to handle?"

"Even if I did like girls, I definitely wouldn't go for your gloomy, scheming type!" Eriri snapped.

"And anyway, aside from that pervert Kyousuke, who would like girls!? ah Shouko, I wasn't talking about you—ah! What is this!?"

Her rant was cut short by a sudden, strange sensation on her bare legs.

She looked down, using the glow from the screen as light—only to see a pair of long, black, shimmering legs in tights, easily twenty centimeters longer than hers.

"Move your legs! Why the hell are you wearing tights at home!?" she cried, face flushing red as she quickly pulled her legs in and yanked a blanket off of Kyousuke to cover herself.

"It's a personal preference," Kasumigaoka replied calmly.

"I didn't think I needed to report that to you. Besides, you're still wearing twin tails even at home, when most people would let their hair down."

"None of your business! Be quiet and watch the movie!"

Not that it was because someone liked twin tails that she wore them or anything… Eriri gave a sneaky kick under the blanket toward a certain someone beside her.

When there was no reaction, she suddenly worried—did she accidentally kick Shouko instead?

Kasumigaoka didn't say anything more, turning her attention to the screen.

Normally, her evenings were spent either fending off her editor's deadlines or reading novels—both solitary activities.

Even at home, she rarely joined her parents in watching TV.

Sitting like this, watching a movie with friends, was honestly a first in her life.

Was it a good feeling? Not exactly. But… not unpleasant.

The film was a romance—an old-fashioned, sentimental story about a girl with a disability gradually opening her heart to a boy who helped her.

Predictable, but moving.

Halfway through, Eriri was already sobbing loudly, startling poor Shouko, who rushed to comfort her.

"I—I'm okay! It's just… so touching!" Eriri sniffled.

Shouko found the story touching too, but she couldn't quite imagine what it must be like to feel things as deeply as Eriri did.

Kyousuke, however, wasn't surprised at all.

Not long after they met, Eriri had bawled her eyes out over Love Metronome, and again when she read The Devotion of Suspect X.

So now, he just quietly handed over tissue after tissue while offering up his T-shirt as a backup.

"I'm okay. Shouko, you need to keep watching, okay?"

Eriri reached over Kyousuke, grabbing Shouko's hand and placing it right on his stomach—completely unaware of how awkward that might look.

Kasumigaoka wasn't surprised either.

As a fellow writer, she understood: a creator's work is the mirror of their heart.

She had read all of Eriri's work and could clearly see the emotion poured into every page.

Unlike her own cynical beginnings, Eriri wrote with pure love and passion for her characters.

That honesty always showed through.

So of course she'd cry at something like this.

Kasumigaoka understood completely.

When the credits rolled, Kasumigaoka let out a quiet yawn—soon contagious.

Even Eriri, still sniffling, couldn't help but open her mouth in a wide, sleepy yawn.

"I'm going to take a bath. Kyousuke, I'm using your bathroom. Mine's not ready yet," Kasumigaoka said casually, already heading upstairs before anyone could respond.

"Kasumigaoka Utaha! Wait just a second! I checked earlier—your bathtub is working perfectly fine!"

Eriri jumped up and raced after her, flinging her arms around the shameless girl to block her way.

"Oh~ is that so? Then thank you kindly, Sawamura-san." With a sly grin, Kasumigaoka turned around and walked back toward her room.

When Eriri turned around triumphantly, she noticed Shouko looking at her with what could only be admiration.

Yes. Let's go with admiration.

"I'm taking a bath too!" With her cheeks still red, Eriri dashed into her own room.

Shouko chuckled and began tidying up the mess in the living room, gently shooing away the others who tried to help.

Meanwhile, Naoka pulled Kyousuke aside to show him her latest clothing designs and ask for feedback.

After rinsing off, Eriri tested the water with her toes.

It was a bit hot, and she instinctively pulled back.

But after a moment's hesitation, she slowly eased herself in.

"Ahh~"

As the warm water enveloped her, she barely managed to suppress a moan.

The tub fit her body perfectly, supporting her neck and shoulders.

Her hair was wrapped neatly in a bath cap, and she closed her eyes with a deep, content sigh.

It was as if the fatigue of the day melted into the water, leaving her weightless.

She slowly lifted one leg above the surface.

First her dainty toes, then her foot—soaked a lovely pink from the heat.

Her skin, pale and flawless, was smooth and supple, and the blue veins beneath had all but disappeared.

Her calf emerged next, slim and elegant, tapering up to a firm, well-toned thigh.

Even after years of being a shut-in, the flexibility she built up from childhood dance lessons had never left her.

Holding a pose like this wasn't hard at all.

Water streamed down her sleek leg, collecting at the gentle curve of her calf before dripping back into the bath.

She sat up slightly and gave her leg a light squeeze—soft, delicate, and silky to the touch.

Even she found herself admiring it.

Her hand glided from the arch of her foot up the shin and over her thigh, which was firm but full—shapely and strong.

"My legs are pretty nice too, huh? Even if they're a teensy bit short… this is still textbook model proportion!"

Muttering to herself with a smirk, Eriri sank her leg back into the water and resumed her soak.

Afterwards, naturally, she started feeling hungry.

She was just about to go downstairs for a carton of milk and a snack when she noticed something odd—the door to the room on her left was open, but the lights were off.

"Kasumigaoka Utaha…" Eriri ground her teeth. That woman—had she actually taken a bath at all?

Knowing Kasumigaoka, her showers were lightning fast.

Things like toner, lotion, body cream—every girl had a routine. But she skipped all that. Her smooth skin was clearly the product of absurdly good genetics.

Which meant—there was no way she'd finish bathing before Eriri.

That sneaky woman. Could it be… she didn't even bother soaking at all!?

Inside Kyousuke's room, his efficiency in the shower was, unsurprisingly, nothing a girl could compete with.

In less than ten minutes, he was already seated at his desk, reviewing the files Kisaki had sent him.

There were updates from the publisher, progress reports on public relations and awards, sales figures for related merchandise, and negotiations with parties interested in licensing his works.

Just then, a knock came at the door.

Without looking back, he casually called out, "Come in."

It was probably Shouko.

She had a habit of bringing him fruit when he was working and sometimes dragged him out for a walk in the garden.

Though Kyousuke made sure to rest properly when he was with Eriri, he wasn't nearly as disciplined when alone.

Thanks to Mitsuha's "gifts," even if he ended up with extreme nearsightedness or something like a slipped disc, he could just use the "Return to Origin" reset at the end of the year to fix everything.

But this time, the familiar line—"Kyousuke-kun, have some fruit"—didn't come.

The moment he heard the turning of the doorknob, he knew it wasn't Shouko.

With his sharp senses, he could distinguish people by the speed and strength of their movements, even the weight of their footsteps.

'Yep… it's Utaha-senpai.'

"Senpai, is there really something wrong with the bathtub?" he asked, spinning around in his chair.

But the moment he saw her, he realized there was absolutely nothing wrong with her bathroom.

Her signature white hairband was gone.

Her hair was half-dried, damp strands clinging loosely to her cheeks.

She wore nothing but a silky, tangerine-yellow nightgown, cinched slightly at the chest with a white ribbon tied into a bow.

It was clearly too large on her—revealing a generous stretch of porcelain skin, and the soft curves beneath the silk hinted more than they hid.

The short hem barely reached her upper thighs; one misstep and something scandalous might be visible.

Her long, smooth legs practically defined the phrase "legs for days."

At least to a certain someone, not even her well-endowed chest could compete for attention when her legs were in view.

"Senpai… there's no one else here but girls, but still, you could show a little restraint," Kyousuke muttered seriously, swallowing hard.

"Huh? But this is just how I normally dress at home," Utaha replied with feigned innocence.

A flicker of mischief lit up her wine-red eyes.

"Ahem… So, was there something you needed?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.

"Can't I just come see you for no reason? Or are you disappointed it's me at the door?"

"N-no, not at all! I just thought, well, girls usually take longer showers. You showed up so fast, I figured something urgent must've happened."

"Oh, you know me so well, Kyousuke. Is it because you used to bathe with that childhood friend, Yamauchi Sakura?" Utaha teased as she strolled into the room and pulled up a chair beside him.

"That never happened. I've bathed alone since I was a kid," he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

He glanced back at the door—she hadn't even bothered to close it all the way.

"Hehe~" she chuckled, not pressing the joke further. Instead, she pulled a USB drive from her pocket and handed it to him.

"This is a rough idea for my new project. Can you take a look?"

Kyousuke took it and plugged it into his computer.

Their literary exchanges were always on the technical side—story logic, grammar, and pacing.

They never critiqued each other's characters or plotlines.

"Huh? It's not a sequel to Love Metronome?"

What opened wasn't a structured manuscript, but a blank title screen followed by scattered notes.

It looked more like jotted-down thoughts than a proper draft.

"That one can keep going as it is. The characters will live out their lives naturally."

Utaha rested her chin on her folded hands, her head tilted slightly as she watched him from the side.

Her wine-red eyes didn't blink, fixed intently on his profile.

It was different from the early days when she meticulously constructed every plot point.

Now, the characters had taken on lives of their own.

The story no longer followed the author's hand—the characters marched toward their fates on their own.

Whether it ended in joy or tragedy depended entirely on them.

All the author could do was offer her best wishes and present their lives to the readers.

"A true new project, huh? Then I'd better take a serious look," Kyousuke said, a little surprised.

Back when they'd been hanging out more often, editors from the Undying River Publishing House were constantly calling, hounding her to write.

He remembered one in particular—Machida-san, was it?

Her voice had sounded so pitiful, he'd almost wanted to apologize on Utaha's behalf.

Yet now she was voluntarily submitting a new story. That was unexpected.

But after just a glance, his expression fell. The story was…

A golden-haired witch, a supernatural being from the Heian era, lived in hiding among humans.

She would lure young men with her masterful art skills, and while painting them, secretly drain their souls.

Once the portrait was complete, their soul would be trapped forever on the canvas.

Before the witch's life came to an end, she'd devour the painting—using the soul within to rejuvenate her fading life force.

"...Senpai…"

If you're going to write a ghost story, at least don't make her blonde.

The subtext was a little too obvious.

Both from a literary and social perspective, it was just… questionable.

"Oh my, Kyousuke, you opened the wrong file~ You shouldn't be poking around in folders named 'New Folder' like that. Or were you hoping to uncover some dark secrets hidden on my USB?"

Utaha gave a soft gasp, leaning in close as she reached for the mouse.

Her small hand wrapped over Kyousuke's, gently closing the file and opening another one.

Even then, she didn't let go.

Her petite hand stayed on top of his, and she shifted her body slightly, nestling behind him in a half-embrace.

So… she really did just throw on a nightgown after her shower?

Kyousuke, who was also only wearing a thin T-shirt, could immediately feel her.

Silk pajamas didn't do much to block out sensation.

As she guided his hand across the mouse, her body pressed against his arm, and all his senses kicked into overdrive. A vivid mental image began forming in his head.

"Kyousuke, focus," Utaha murmured, her face flushed.

Whether it was from embarrassment, the lingering warmth of her bath, or something else… he couldn't tell.

"R-right…" he stammered, forcing at least one percent of his attention onto the monitor.

This story seemed more grounded:

A girl with long black hair gets accepted into a public university in Kyoto—a source of joy for her family, since they couldn't afford a private school.

However, the university didn't have dorms, and renting a place alone was too expensive.

So, the girl moved into a charitable student residence—run by a church and filled exclusively with women.

The dormitory was managed by a nun from the church.

While there was no obligation to join the church, she would often preach during mealtimes.

And for the sake of those cheap yet surprisingly tasty meals, the girl had no choice but to show up every day and endure the noise…

———————————————————————

Wrapped in the warmth and softness of her embrace, Kyousuke did his best to suppress the growing urges within him and focused on the screen.

Although his right hand was still pinned gently under hers, she wasn't applying any force—just like her hug, it was soft, warm, and quietly comforting.

He gave a slight shake of his head to clear his thoughts, forcing his mind to stay sharp. As he read, he began analyzing the story's internal logic, moving the mouse to highlight certain points and offering his feedback.

Leaning gently against him, Utaha braced herself with one hand on the back of his chair.

Her senses were filled with the scent lingering on his skin—maybe body wash, maybe shampoo, she couldn't tell.

Her chest lightly brushed against his arm with every subtle movement.

Though they'd sat close like this before when discussing stories back in the apartment, this was the first time they'd done it while she was dressed in nothing but a silk nightgown.

The warmth building in her chest felt like a flame licking across her skin, ignited by every small touch.

And despite the clarity of Kyousuke's voice beside her—like the cold wind across a frozen tundra—it did nothing to cool her down.

On the contrary, it fanned the heat inside her even more.

"Ka-Ka-Kasumigaoka Utaha!!"

The door burst open with a bang, a sharp voice ringing out—full of embarrassment and disbelief.

"What do you think you're doing!?"

"Tch." Utaha clicked her tongue in irritation.

This was the result she wanted, but having her perfect moment with Kyousuke so rudely interrupted still annoyed her.

"Good evening, Sawamura-san," she said coolly, pulling back and sitting upright.

She turned her gaze toward Eriri. "As you can see, we're working on a manuscript."

"T-That is not what this looks like!" Eriri's arms trembled at her sides, her fists clenched tight.

Her wide, ocean-blue eyes sparkled with outrage, and her mouth hung open as if unable to express just how furious she was.

That damn temptress! She was only gone long enough for a bath, and this is what happened!?