When Egawa Mitsuki lifted her arm, her smooth, fair underarms came into view—tender, hairless, almost suspiciously pristine, the kind of detail that pinged like a fan-service frame in a seasonal anime.
Yūto Shō had braced for something unpleasant, but the sight disarmed him. The resistance drained out of his shoulders, and without ceremony he leaned in and inhaled, catching a faint, delicate fragrance clinging to her skin.
Egawa Mitsuki hadn't expected him to actually go through with it. Watching him sniff her armpit like some unhinged side character with a fetish unlock, mortification surged up her chest in a hot wave. She didn't dare stop him, though, and could only twist her face away, cheeks burning.
After Yūto Shō had memorized the scent, he pulled back and gave her an approving nod, like a critic at a tasting flight. "Not bad. Your armpits are pretty sexy."
Egawa Mitsuki didn't agree, didn't disagree. The shame curdled in her stomach, and she kept her face stony, refusing to give him a single word.
Yūto Shō smiled faintly and dropped into a crouch in front of her, eyes locked on her feet.
Egawa Mitsuki instinctively pulled her foot back, staring at him with wide, startled eyes. He couldn't seriously want to smell her feet too?
Sure enough, Yūto Shō tilted his face up. "Lift your foot."
She hesitated, then raised it slightly, balancing awkwardly on one leg.
Because he hadn't broken their earlier agreement, she had no grounds to refuse.
"Higher. I can't reach it from here," Yūto Shō prompted.
Egawa Mitsuki stared at him in disbelief, a flicker of disdain sparking in her eyes. This guy actually wanted to smell her feet. So gross—like a cockroach scuttling out of a drain—did he not realize how deranged he sounded?
At the same time, she didn't want him anywhere near her feet, because she was wearing summer sandals. Bare skin, no barrier, nothing between his nose and her toes.
The thought alone made her stomach knot. It wasn't that she was worried about her feet smelling—she just found the whole concept revolting.
Yūto Shō arched an eyebrow. "What, problem?"
Her heart jolted. She weighed it for a beat, then gritted her teeth and lifted her foot higher.
She squeezed her eyes shut and mentally talked herself down—it was just her foot, let him sniff if he wanted, she wasn't losing anything tangible.
Yūto Shō saw she'd raised her foot to a workable height and leaned in for a closer look. Her bare feet were pale and finely sculpted, the kind of porcelain detail you'd find on a high-grade figurine. Even tucked into casual sandals, they kept their elegance. Five toes lined up like polished pearls, the nails brushed with a soft pink, and the whole arrangement looked almost edible.
Egawa Mitsuki hadn't heard anything for a while. She cracked her eyes open and found him crouched in front of her, examining her foot with the focus of a jeweler. His face was close enough that she could feel his breath ghosting across her skin.
She froze, an odd flutter spiking somewhere under her ribs. Watching him kneel in front of her with her foot less than twenty centimeters from his face, Egawa Mitsuki felt—against every protest she'd lodged out loud—a quiet, traitorous spark of satisfaction.
At that moment, Yūto Shō noticed her foot tremble, her five toes clenching and then loosening. He couldn't hold back anymore. He brought his nose to within a centimeter of her foot and inhaled deeply.
Egawa Mitsuki watched him sniff her foot, her pupils contracting sharply. Shame and excitement tangled in her gaze. Her thighs instinctively pressed together, her body trembling in tiny shivers, a tempting flush blooming up her cheeks, as though some warm current had started circulating somewhere deep in her belly.
Yūto Shō wasn't looking at her face. After a careful test sniff confirmed no offensive odor, he relaxed and kept going, deliberately committing the scent of her pale feet to memory.
Then the tip of her toe brushed his nose.
Yūto Shō startled and glanced up. Egawa Mitsuki's face was painted scarlet, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that practically vibrated. Her gaze burned with arousal, her body trembling in subtle waves.
The instant she realized she'd been caught looking, her expression cracked. She turned her face away, eyes darting anywhere but at him.
Catching the guilt rolling off her, Yūto Shō pieced it together. A mischievous grin curled at the corner of his mouth. He asked, deliberately innocent, "Egawa Mitsuki, are you turned on?"
"Wh—who's turned on, stop spouting nonsense." Her voice cracked, panic flooding her eyes.
Now Yūto Shō was certain. He looked at her with open disdain. "You're not turned on? Then explain why your face is that red. Someone sniffed your feet and you actually got off on it. You're a real degenerate, huh."
"Shut up, I'm just hot," Egawa Mitsuki shot back, embarrassment laced with anger.
But her face kept tightening, anxiety creeping in.
Yūto Shō didn't let her off. He kept poking. "Stop pretending. I can read you like an open light novel. I just sniffed your stinky feet and you obviously loved it. Want me to do it again? Hell, maybe go further while we're at it."
Egawa Mitsuki was utterly humiliated. Having her secret exposed felt like getting hit with a flashbang in front of the whole class—she wanted to find a hole and disappear into it. But when Yūto Shō mimed leaning in to actually kiss her foot, anticipation flickered across her eyes before she could mask it.
Yūto Shō didn't actually kiss it. He just leaned back and mocked, "Look at you. You swore you weren't a pervert. Didn't know the noble Egawa Mitsuki was hiding that kind of hobby."
Catching the amusement and ridicule in his voice, Egawa Mitsuki's face went bloodless. Her eyes slowly reddened, glazed with the gleam of unshed tears, and her foot started to lower toward the ground.
Yūto Shō's eyes flicked sideways. He suddenly snatched her foot and slipped the sandal off.
He cradled her bare foot in his palm and turned it over, examining it like it really was a piece of warm jade fresh from the carver—delicate, smooth, almost unreal in its fineness.
He studied it for a moment, then suddenly closed his lips around one of her toes, watching her face for the reaction.
Egawa Mitsuki shuddered all over, frozen as she stared down at him sucking her toe, her flushed cheeks twisting into something dangerously close to shy bliss.
"Route One: The girl before you wants you, lowly and beneath her, to kiss her bare feet. Groveling like this will leave her feeling intoxicated, as though she were grinding you under her sole."
"Route Two: She actually wants you to kiss her filthy, stinky feet. For someone like you, who aspires to be a top-tier degenerate, this is an open invitation. You decide to flip the script and grind her under your shoe instead, using the dirty sole to crush her noble face."
The second he'd clocked Egawa Mitsuki's reaction earlier, Yūto Shō had seen a new route prompt pop into his vision like a dating-sim choice wheel. He softened and selected Route One, pressing his lips to her foot.
Fortunately, Egawa Mitsuki was meticulous about hygiene—her feet were spotless. There was no odd taste at all when he held her toe in his mouth, only a faint trace of something almost sweet.
Even so, Yūto Shō was in a sour mood, because his pride refused to make peace with what he was doing. He'd taken the lesser of two paths to keep from humiliating Egawa Mitsuki past recovery, but that didn't mean he planned to let her walk away unscathed.
He watched the girl whose toe he was sucking shift from shocked, shy stiffness to something far more compromised. Her eyes fluttered shut, cheeks flushed, lips parting as she sank into the sensation like she was enjoying a private treatment.
Yūto Shō scoffed inwardly. He spat her toes out, flipped the hem of her skirt up, and exposed her lower half, the safety shorts hugging the curve underneath.