At dusk, the last trace of daylight was swallowed by the encroaching dark.
Streetlights blinked on one after another, casting dim yellow pools across the asphalt.
Soyo Nagasaki and Shinobu Kocho walked side by side out through the Wakaba household's gate and onto the night-chilled road. Their shadows crossed, separated, and overlapped again in the lamplight.
Soyo's steps were sometimes light, sometimes oddly heavy.
She stared straight ahead—smiling brightly one moment, brows knit with worry the next.
Noticing it, Shinobu slowed to match her pace. She tilted her head slightly, her gentle smile unchanged, and asked,
"What's wrong? Are you thinking about how we're going to deal with Morinami Minami's Palace tomorrow?"
Soyo's thoughts were jolted. Her shoulders stiffened sharply.
Her fingers tightened around her bag strap. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes. She instinctively avoided Shinobu's probing gaze and looked toward the blurred outline of distant buildings instead.
Then embarrassment rose on her face. She nodded awkwardly.
"Ah… yeah. That's right."
That was what she said.
But inside, she was thinking:
Sure, I'm worried about that… a little. But I'm more worried about Xiao Xiang spending the night with Mutsumi.
The moment she imagined Sakiko Toyokawa staying at the Wakaba residence tonight—sleeping in the same bed—Soyo felt her breathing go tight, as if her chest had forgotten how to expand properly.
Of course Shinobu could tell Soyo was brushing her off.
She only curved her lips a little more and nodded softly, letting the subject go. They were still, at best, a "friend of a friend" who'd met today—far from close enough to poke at buried feelings. Speaking too deeply when your bond was shallow was never wise.
Just like Shinobu herself hadn't spoken about her own tragic past.
She could tell by now: these groupmates—and the worlds they came from—were full of people who were kind, soft-hearted, and easily hurt.
If she laid out her blood-soaked, hopeless history in full, it would become a devastating emotional card in their eyes.
But Shinobu didn't believe suffering was something to parade around.
Her pain was the foundation that kept her moving forward—not a bargaining chip to trade for sympathy or goodwill.
And she certainly wasn't the type to deliberately display her wounds.
They had all agreed: after Sakiko finally spilled everything that had been weighing on her for so long—and after the misunderstandings were untangled—they would regroup tomorrow and tackle Morinami Minami's Palace together.
So Shinobu and Soyo left the Wakaba household to return to where they were staying.
As for Sakiko…
Under Wakaba Mutsumi's gaze—unwavering, calm, and yet somehow filled with things left unsaid—Sakiko ultimately couldn't bring herself to refuse the request to sleep together tonight.
Mutsumi had looked like a child terrified of being abandoned again, fingers clenched hard around Sakiko's sleeve, pleading without words.
Sakiko had looked at her. The refusal rolled around in her throat again and again, then finally collapsed into a helpless sigh.
In the Wakaba bathroom, water hammered the tile, spraying up tiny splashes.
Sakiko let cold water flood her face and neck, then raked her soaked bangs and hair back, exposing her smooth forehead, her tightly shut eyes, and the clean line of her jaw.
Water beads slid off her chin, struck her delicate collarbones, and traced the curve of her body as they fell.
Her breathing was a little fast. Her chest rose and fell hard—because even freezing water couldn't fully extinguish the heat burning from the inside out.
Just earlier, after returning to reality, she had formally invited Wakaba Mutsumi into the subgroup.
And immediately afterward, Mutsumi had opened a livestream room—private, with Sakiko as the only approved viewer.
The instant Sakiko clicked in, she went completely blank.
It wasn't an ordinary stream of video and audio.
In that room, Mutsumi shared her entire self—body and mind—with meticulous, ruthless completeness, in real time.
For a moment, it felt like Sakiko had been plugged into another body.
Thanks to the group's absurdly powerful interface, the data torrent was processed perfectly—so perfectly it didn't disrupt Sakiko's movement or thinking at all.
If anything, the group's optimization pushed Sakiko's perception of Mutsumi to an almost terrifying precision.
She could feel things even Mutsumi herself couldn't continuously register—sensations the brain normally filtered out as noise.
Like the faint friction of skin against skin. Or the subtle drag when soft sleepwear brushed against the body.
Those sensations happened too often, too constantly; the brain ignored them to prevent overload.
It was like breathing. Most people run on autopilot—until the moment they think about breathing, and suddenly the autopilot snaps off and it becomes manual.
Countless bodily functions worked that way: unless you deliberately focused on them, they were treated as background static and erased.
But now, Sakiko was feeling every fine-grained sensation in Wakaba Mutsumi's body.
She could feel the full, detailed texture of Mutsumi's skin meeting the world, the friction of fabric on flesh:
The faint, soft itch when cloth brushed her lower belly. The touch along her elbow when her arm moved and the sleeve's inner seam grazed it. The tiny bumps where bedsheet texture pressed into the back of her thighs and the curve of her hips.
All of it—vivid to the smallest thread.
The intimacy of that shared sensation made Sakiko's temperature spike. Her skin flushed uncontrollably.
To keep herself from losing control in front of Mutsumi, she had rushed into the bathroom and turned the water ice-cold, trying to force her body temperature down by brute physics and drown out the heat inside her.
After several minutes, she finally exhaled long and hard, regaining a sliver of reason.
She shut off the shower, dried herself carefully with a thick, soft towel, and fully blow-dried her hair.
Then she pulled out pajamas from the storage device and changed.
She took a deep breath. Still not fully calm, she turned the bathroom knob and stepped out.
Wakaba Mutsumi sat quietly at the edge of the bed in loose pajamas, hands folded on her knees—like a beautifully crafted doll.
Her pale gold eyes rested on Sakiko. She blinked once and asked flatly,
"Sakiko… you took a cold shower. Aren't you cold?"
Sakiko's step faltered. Then, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, she lifted her chin and gave a short, irritated snort—embarrassed at having her thoughts exposed, snapping back with a prickly little tsundere bite.
"Mind your own business."
Yes.
Sakiko Toyokawa had opened a stream too.
She hadn't thrown everything open the way Mutsumi did—she didn't completely expose her deepest emotional fluctuations—but she did choose to synchronize her bodily sensations.
If she was going to be force-fed another person's body, then fine.
She was going to make Mutsumi taste it too.
Sakiko walked to the bed, eyes sweeping over the neatly made sheets, and forced her voice to sound calm and normal.
"Let's sleep early. Tomorrow's going to be a big day. We need the energy."
Mutsumi nodded lightly, obedient as ever.
She climbed onto the wide double bed without a sound, taking up barely half a person's worth of space.
Then she scooted outward—deliberately—leaving an absurdly wide open area for Sakiko.
When she finished, she turned onto her side, pale gold eyes fixed on Sakiko without blinking, expectant like a small animal waiting for its person to come home.
Sakiko stood there, staring at the space Mutsumi had left, then at Mutsumi's utterly guileless gaze.
She inhaled, slowly, and climbed into bed.
The moment she lay down, Mutsumi latched onto her.
Mutsumi's slender arms locked around Sakiko's arm and she buried her cheek in the hollow of Sakiko's shoulder.
Then Mutsumi's legs followed—wrapping around Sakiko's thigh like clinging vines, tight and close, leaving almost no gap.
Sakiko sucked in a breath. The double hit of sensations slammed into her brain at once, and her body went rigid.
Her toes curled hard. Her arches tensed. The soft pink soles of her feet wrinkled with fine creases from the pressure—so different from Mutsumi's, which were unusually pale and soft from rarely going out and spending most of her time at home.
A small, puzzled whine slipped out of Mutsumi's throat.
"Sakiko's body is really hot."
She rubbed her face lightly against Sakiko's shoulder as if searching for a better spot, then buried deeper.
Even after that cold shower, Sakiko's temperature surged again.
She clenched her eyes shut, brows drawn tight, and spoke through gritted teeth—trying to sound sharp, but her voice still trembling slightly.
"Stop cuddling. Go to sleep."
Mutsumi nodded obediently.
"Good night, Sakiko."
Sakiko stared at the ceiling in the dark as the livestream fed her the quiet, drifting sensation of a body fully relaxing into sleep.
Only after she was sure Mutsumi had truly settled did Sakiko finally let out a breath.
Thank god she'd shot down the idea of Soyo sleeping here too.
She really wouldn't have survived that.
Time passed like a blink in sleep.
The next morning—
"Beep beep beep! Beep-beep-beep-beep!"
A shrill ringtone tore through the silence.
Sakiko opened her eyes.
She tried to sit up instinctively—then realized she couldn't breathe properly. Something soft and warm, but surprisingly heavy, was pressing down on her chest.
She blinked with dry, sluggish eyes as her vision sharpened from blur to focus—
And saw that Wakaba Mutsumi had somehow ended up sprawled across her like a clingy cat, completely defenseless, asleep on top of her.
Mutsumi's cheek was pressed to Sakiko's chest. Her hands clenched the front of Sakiko's sleepwear tightly. Warm breath brushed Sakiko's skin, raising a faint itch.
Sakiko noticed the livestream had apparently auto-ended while both of them were asleep—mercifully sparing her the full force of morning sensory warfare.
The phone on the nightstand kept ringing stubbornly.
Sakiko sighed and carefully reached one arm over Mutsumi, groping for her phone as gently as she could so she wouldn't wake the girl on top of her.
The caller name flashed on the screen:
Nagasaki Soyo.
Sakiko swiped to answer and held the phone to her ear, voice hoarse.
"Hello?"
Soyo's voice immediately poured from the speaker.
But the moment Sakiko heard it, her brows lifted slightly, puzzled.
Why did it sound… kind of put-on? Almost unnaturally sweet?
Sakiko shook her head. Probably the mic. Or the signal distortion.
"Sakiko, are you up yet?" Soyo asked.
The voice continued—like the connection really was bad—there was even a tiny tremor in it.
Sakiko felt the weight and warmth of Mutsumi on top of her, then answered without changing expression, calm as ever.
"I'm already up. I'm eating breakfast."
There was a pause on the other end.
Then Soyo made an exaggerated sound of admiration, her tone turning lightly playful—somehow even sweeter than before.
"I see… you're eating breakfast. As expected of you, Sakiko. You're preparing early for the Palace raid."
Her voice stayed bright.
"We're almost there. Come out and get us."
Sakiko gave a vague "Mm," her tone still flat and unbothered.
"Okay. Call me again when you arrive."
She was about to hang up when she realized—
Mutsumi had woken up at some point.
Those pale gold, glassy eyes were wide open now.
But Mutsumi wasn't looking at Sakiko.
She was staring straight toward the bedroom's side balcony door—the floor-to-ceiling window.
Sakiko turned her head left, confused.
And found Soyo Nagasaki standing right there.
Her face was practically pressed against the glass.
One hand held her phone. The other was braced hard against the pane.
Soyo's eyes were wide. The whites were webbed with fine red blood vessels. Something dark and indescribable churned behind her pupils.
Her gaze was nailed to the bed.
To the two of them.
She forced her mouth into a smile, but the curve was stiff—mask-like—her entire expression falling apart.
Behind and slightly to the side of her stood Shinobu Kocho.
One hand rested lightly on Soyo's shoulder—half restraining, half soothing.
When Shinobu noticed Sakiko looking, she offered a smile blended from apology and helplessness.
Sakiko's mental composure—honed to something frightening—kicked in.
She drew a deep breath, thumb on the screen, and ended the call with a blank face.
Then she reached up and gently pushed Mutsumi off her.
Mutsumi looked faintly confused, but released her grip obediently.
Sakiko threw back the covers, got out of bed, and walked to the window. Step by step.
She slid the glass door open.
Cool morning air rushed into the room.
Sakiko looked at Soyo—eyes landing on that collapsing smile—and said evenly,
"You came. Why didn't you call?"
Her voice was completely calm, as if the person caught in bed and lying about breakfast hadn't been her.
But Soyo didn't seem to hear the question at all.
Her voice was unnaturally gentle.
"Sakiko… didn't you say you were already up, eating breakfast?"
"The breakfast you said you were eating…"
Soyo's gaze slid past Sakiko's shoulder.
To the now-upright Wakaba Mutsumi.
"…what kind of breakfast is it?"
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
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Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
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Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 248
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Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
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Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 145
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 120
I Can Copy Unique Skills 115
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Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 105
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Hell-Difficulty Dungeon? 55
Transmigrated as Sukuna 80
Checking In in Demon Slayer 85
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 100
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Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 80
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 57
The Uma Musume Who Became 55
I'm Definitely Not the King of 60
After Maxing Out Every Class 45
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Honkai: World Modulation Mode 34
I, the Elden Sword Saint 27
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No One Knows Pokémon Better 18
I, Sakazuki, Won't Go Down Tha 20
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