"Ah, it's so comfortable..." I sighed contentedly, sinking deeper into the warm, soothing water of the spacious bathtub.
The gentle heat enveloped me, easing every bit of tension in my body. A soft, pleased sound escaped my lips as I let myself relax completely, the faint scent of lavender from the bath oils adding to the tranquil atmosphere.
The house itself was nothing short of impressive. Spacious, meticulously clean, and clearly well-maintained, it exuded a sense of luxury that seemed unusual for a typical family home.
But it was the bathroom that truly left me in awe.
This wasn't just any bathroom—it was practically a miniature spa. The sleek design boasted a deep bathtub, perfect for long soaks, a heating lamp that bathed the room in a warm, comforting glow, and a modern pressure faucet that delivered water with precision.
Every detail, from the pristine tile work to the stylish fixtures, spoke of careful thought and taste. It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that all of this belonged to a teenage boy.
Then again, Tsugimoto didn't really seem like your average high schooler.
Indeed, he isn't your average high schooler.
"Ah…" Exhausted, I let my body sink further into the warm water of the bathtub, the soothing heat doing little to quiet the storm in my mind.
Images of him—my newly met "stepbrother"—kept resurfacing, unbidden yet persistent as if etched into the back of my eyelids.
His presence exuded an allure that was impossible to ignore, a kind of effortless charisma that seemed to draw people in.
His golden eyes had an enigmatic warmth, like the first rays of sunlight on a winter morning, while his platinum hair glistened like moonlight, each strand catching the smallest hint of silver in the dim light.
His face was a perfect blend of refinement and strength, possessing an elegance that bordered on regal, yet with enough rugged masculinity to remind you he wasn't untouchable.
Then there was his physique: tall, commanding, and well-built, every movement he made radiating strength and confidence.
If I didn't know better, I would've pegged him as a college student, maybe even older.
But of course, I knew exactly who he was. How could I not? He was my hero.
Years ago, he had saved me from a monster—not just any monster, but a horrifying beast that had frozen me in terror.
I still remember that moment as if it were etched into my very soul. The way he stood there, fearless and commanding, like a beacon of hope against the looming darkness.
His words. That steady, reassuring voice cut through my fear as he said, "Leave it to me." Those four words weren't just a promise; they were a lifeline.
They anchored me to safety, and pulled me from the brink of despair. I have clung to that memory ever since, replaying it countless times in my mind.
He was so cool, so effortlessly heroic—the kind of person I could only dream of being like.
It's strange, though, how time changes things. Standing here now, face to face with him, my heart sank as I realized something: he didn't recognize me.
My hero has forgotten me.
Not even a flicker of familiarity crossed his face. Of course, I couldn't blame him. Heroes like him must save dozens, even hundreds of people.
What was one timid, insignificant girl like me among so many? I must have been just another face in the crowd, another fleeting moment in his storied life.
But still, a part of me had hoped. Hoped he might remember, even just a little.
But maybe that was for the better; since he didn't remember me, the awkwardness wasn't that bad.
And since fate has reunited us, I will have the opportunity to get to know him better and make a lasting impression on his heart.
"…yes."
I want to be close to him.
***
My hero, behind all the strength and confidence, is just a regular guy. He's even a bit of an otaku, just like me.
And... could it be? He actually likes me?
The drawing he made was unmistakably of me. Every stroke captured a detail that made it clear he had put his heart into it.
Though it was in a crude form, It was undoubtedly breathtaking—more than just a sketch, it felt like a window into his admiration. Yet, when I mentioned how beautiful it was, he looked almost too shy to accept the compliment.
So cute.
I couldn't help but giggle softly.
It was kind of adorable to see him like this—someone so capable and heroic, flustered over something so simple.
I had never seen him like this before, so openly vulnerable. The quiet astonishment on his face gave me a glimpse into a softer side of him—a side he didn't often show.
And honestly? It made him all the more endearing.
I want to tease him more.
"You're flustered," I teased in a playful, singsong voice, leaning in closer as I reached out to poke his cheek. My finger barely brushed his skin before Shinji let out a long, exasperated sigh.
His golden eyes met mine, sharp yet warm, and a slow, mischievous smirk spread across his lips, as if he'd suddenly found a way to turn the tables.
"You're quite a cheeky girl, aren't you?" Shinji said. Without warning, he reached out, his hand brushing against my cheek with a gentle but confident motion.
The texture of his skin surprised me—rough and callused, evidence of years of hard work or training. Yet, despite its ruggedness, his touch radiated a comforting warmth that sent a strange flutter through my chest.
Wait!
"You're flustered, too," he teased, his voice laced with a playful confidence that sent a shiver down my spine.
The corners of his lips curled into a mischievous smile as he leaned in slightly, his gaze steady and captivating. His unexpected flirtation caught me completely off guard, sending a rush of heat to my cheeks.
My eyes widened in surprise, and I could feel the warmth of my blush creeping across my face, betraying my composure. My heart raced, and I found myself at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention.
"Ah…" A soft, involuntary sound escaped my lips as he stepped closer, the space between us shrinking with each measured step.
Before I knew it, the distance was gone, replaced by a heavy, almost tangible tension in the air.
We were too close—so close that the faint rhythm of his heartbeat reached my ears, steady yet somehow louder than the world around us.
I could sense the warmth emanating from him, a faint warmth that caused my breath to catch and my heart to race.
"That's payback for teasing me," he said with a playful laugh, finally releasing my hand.
His touch, so warm and reassuring, was gone in an instant, leaving a faint, empty chill in its place.
The sudden absence of his warmth felt oddly jarring, a subtle ache I hadn't expected, and I couldn't help but feel a flicker of disappointment.
It was as though something intangible but comforting had slipped away, leaving me yearning for just a moment more.
Pat me more.
"Ugh… You're so mean!" I pouted and hit him lightly on the arm.
"Hmm." He closed one of his eyes, turned away, and sat back on the chair.
What does "hmm" mean!?
I shook my head and sighed, then continued to watch him draw. This time, he didn't show any shyness or shame anymore. Shinji just drew and drew without caring about anyone.
To which I envy his unwavering confidence. If I were him, I would probably swivel up into a ball and go somewhere dark to hide my embarrassment.
It would be a while before Shinji went to bed, and I didn't feel like sleeping before he did.
The room was dimly lit, the soft hum of the air conditioner filling the silence as I watched him draw about, seemingly lost in his own world. My curiosity got the better of me.
"Hey, Shinji," I asked hesitantly, trying to sound casual. "Mind if I look around your room?"
He had just come out of the shower, his damp hair sticking to his forehead.
He had showered so quickly that I barely had a chance to really take in the space—his shelves crammed with books of all genres, an assortment of video games stacked neatly, and various bits of tech scattered like artifacts waiting to be explored.
"Yeah, sure. Go ahead," he replied without even glancing my way, his tone nonchalant, as though the question had barely registered.
That was all the permission I needed. I couldn't help but wonder what stories these objects might tell about Shinji.
"Hm…"
As I navigated through the neatly arranged bookcase, I noticed a thing: he is kind of a serious guys
Textbooks, cooking recipes, financial fundamentals, and drawing lessons are among the many types of books available there; entertainment books are only found near the very end.
Not as much as I had assumed; he does not purchase any Doujinshi or books that are 18+, and there are not many short novels.
The book I found earlier was on his table when I came in. So did I get the wrong impression of him?
I didn't think so. He seemed more interested in collecting figurines of anime characters rather than reading novels. His shelves were filled with meticulously arranged models, each posed with dynamic expressions and vibrant colors, suggesting his deep admiration for the art. Books, however, were noticeably absent.
As I scanned his collection of consoles and gaming gear, something unusual caught my eye: a ring.
It wasn't just any ring—it looked ornate, with a subtle gleam that suggested it was crafted from silver or some other polished metal.
"Strange," I thought, leaning in for a closer look. Was this a new addition to his collection?
Did he collect jewelry, too? It felt out of place amidst the neon controllers, stacked game cases, and vibrant anime figurines.
"Shinji, there's a ring in here," I said, my voice tinged with curiosity as I stared into the box. Nestled at the bottom, the ring gleamed faintly, its surface marked with faint, intricate patterns that seemed almost otherworldly.
"Huh?" Shinji muttered absently, barely sparing me a glance. His attention remained fixed on his monitor, the soft scratching of his stylus filling the quiet space.
He didn't seem to care about it, but I couldn't look away. The ring seemed so out of place, so peculiar. "Can I take a look at it?" I asked, my voice soft but insistent. Something about it nagged at me, like a faint whisper I couldn't quite hear.
Shinji shrugged without looking up, still immersed in his drawing, as though the ring was the least important thing in the world.
But suddenly, as if he remembered something, he stood up and got close to me.
His eyes locked onto the ring, his brow furrowing slightly as he rested one hand beneath his chin, deep in thought. It was as if he were trying to piece together a memory, searching for some forgotten reason why the ring might be significant.
After a pause, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with mild curiosity. "It was a magic ring I stumbled upon a while ago," he said, his gaze lingering on its intricate design. "But, honestly, there wasn't anything remarkable about it—nothing magical, really—apart from its unique appearance."
He leaned in a bit closer, studying the ring as if trying to reassure himself. "Hmm," he murmured, nodding faintly, "Yeah, it's probably fine to handle."
He extended his hand, reaching out for the small object with a delicate yet deliberate motion, before bringing it over to me. "Here," he said softly, placing it gently in my palm.
My curiosity was piqued as I turned it over in my hands, examining its intricate details. It shimmered faintly under the light, its craftsmanship so exquisite that it looked almost like a wedding ring—elegant, timeless, and brimming with unspoken significance.
A sudden urge bubbled up inside me. "Can I try it on?" I asked, more to myself than anyone else.
Without waiting for an answer, I slipped the ring onto my finger.
The moment it settled into place, an unexpected sensation coursed through me.
A sharp, tingling rush surged from my fingertips to the rest of my body, like electricity crackling through my veins.
My skin grew inexplicably warm, a prickling heat spreading rapidly. My pulse quickened as a familiar, almost overwhelming feeling began to take hold.
My thoughts blurred, the room seeming to spin slightly as my head filled with a hazy fog.
Wait.
Was this... horniness?
"What's wrong?" Shinji's voice carried a mix of concern and urgency as he noticed the sudden change in my demeanor. His sharp eyes didn't miss a thing, and he rushed to my side without hesitation.
No, don't come closer.
I wanted to tell him to stop, to keep his distance, but my body betrayed me.
The closer he got, the more my skin seemed to burn, as though an uncontrollable fever had taken hold. My chest tightened, and my heart pounded so violently it felt like it might shatter my ribs.
Each breath I took came in ragged, shallow gasps, tinged with a heat that wasn't just physical but something deeper—more primal.
"Are you okay?" he asked again, his voice softer this time, tinged with worry. Ignoring my unspoken plea, he moved even closer until he was only inches away. His hand reached out, warm and gentle, brushing against my forehead as he checked for any signs of illness.
The touch sent a shockwave through me.
It was unbearable—embarrassing. But it was also intoxicating. His touch felt so steady, so comforting, and yet it only amplified the storm inside me. My gaze flicked to his arms—toned, strong, and so close I could almost feel the heat radiating off him.
"Ah, no," I gasped, a sound that escaped unbidden, low, and breathless, tinged with an emotion I couldn't suppress.
Mortified, I stumbled backward, putting as much distance as I could between us, desperate to regain control over my body's treacherous response.
But all my efforts were in vain.
The ring—it had to come off. Desperation clawed at me as I tugged and twisted, my fingers trembling with frustration. Yet, no matter how much strength I mustered, the ring refused to budge.
It seemed to mock my attempts, tightening its grip with every futile pull. The more I struggled, the more it felt as though the metal was melding with my skin, unyielding and immovable, as if it had a will of its own.
Suddenly, another shockwave surged through me, this time far more intense than before.
The sheer force of it overwhelmed me, making it impossible to stay on my feet. My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed to the ground, trembling.
A feverish heat consumed my body, radiating through every pore until I was drenched in sweat. The air felt heavy, clinging to my damp skin, intensifying the discomfort.
Below, a strange, unfamiliar sensation took hold—a mix of tingling and throbbing that sent waves of urgency through my womb.
The peculiar itchiness seemed to pulse with every beat of my heart, and something warm and damp seeped out, leaving me desperate for relief, an instinctive yearning for comfort I couldn't fully understand.
He's watching me—his eyes fixed on me—and it's utterly mortifying. My cheeks burn with shame, yet, deep inside, I can't help but crave his gaze. Why does the humiliation somehow make me long for him even more?
The ache in my chest is unbearable, an unrelenting pull that refuses to be ignored.
I want him. Desperately.
Every glance he casts my way stirs something raw and unrestrained within me, leaving me helpless against my own desires.
The tension becomes too much, overwhelming me to the point where I can no longer endure it.
I need to release this restless yearning to quiet the fire blazing inside me before it consumes me entirely.
Yes, I want him to brutally pound me.
"Hey, brother, let's have sex."