Exiting the lounge and returning to his room, Kagura shut the door to find Nao standing primly at his entrance, hands clasped near her abdomen, radiating alertness.
"You're back. Shall I pour you some tea? What would you like?" Nao greeted him as he entered.
"It's this late, Nao. Aren't you tired?" Kagura glanced at his left wristwatch—hm, already 2:00 AM.
"You jest, sir. What personal maid retires before her master?" Nao closed the door, trailing discreetly behind him. "You only spent about forty minutes in the lounge. Did you enjoy yourself alone?"
"It was alright."
"Next time you wish to unwind, I can join you."
"Thanks."
Kagura turned, playfully pinching Nao's chin, gazing at her with a mischievous twinkle.
In his memory, he and Nao had been intimate eight times—her slit tasted, her mouth, breasts, and feet employed—but those were "future" events, now a null timeline. Kagura hadn't saved that reality, nor would he revisit it if he had.
Thus, to Nao, his gesture seemed overly familiar.
"May I ask, Master Kagura, is there something on my face?" Nao met his gaze coolly, her lips curving slightly.
"Nothing, just… Since you're awake, care to share a drink? A rare chance." Kagura released her chin, heading for the liquor cabinet.
"Oh, I'd be delighted, but, Master Kagura, since it's a rare chance, may I ask a simple question?"
"Ask away~"
"That feminine scent on you—whose is it?"
"…?"
A question mark popped over Kagura's head.
—Good grief, she can't see Renka but smells her fragrance? Nao's nose is sharper than a bloodhound's!
Turning, he saw Nao, hand on cheek, squinting with gossipy delight. "Oh my, have I upset you? If I've overstepped, I apologize."
"It's fine…" Kagura chuckled, sniffing his shoulder awkwardly, tilting his head. "I don't smell anything?"
"Eh, really…?" Nao clapped slyly, giggling. "Truth be told, I didn't either, just a hunch. But your reaction suggests a lady was indeed cozying up to you."
"…Tch, you tricked me, Nao."
Kagura pouted, mildly annoyed.
Only then did he realize his cleaning spell should've erased all traces—Nao's nose, keen as it was, shouldn't have detected anything.
"My deepest apologies—" Nao lifted her maid apron and black skirt slightly, bowing. "You seemed unsatisfied, and inviting me for a drink sparked my guess."
"Ugh, you've completely seen through me, damn it!" Kagura clenched a fist, half-laughing, half-crying, pointing to her room. "Forget it, go rest. Pretend I said nothing."
"Nonsense, how could I refuse your kindness?" Nao strode to the cabinet, kneeling, her shapely hips rising as she rummaged. "Which would you like?"
"Anything."
Kagura's eyes lingered on Nao's swaying hips and the faint outline of her panties under her skirt.
"Then I'll choose for you."
Nao carefully retrieved a bottle, placing it on Kagura's desk, then fetched a decanter, glasses, wine knife, candles—everything needed. She gestured for him to sit, deftly opening the bottle and pouring a splash.
"Sorry…" Kagura swirled the glass, sniffed, sipped, then handed it to her. "You know I didn't mean it like that."
"Of course, nor did I think you meant what I implied."
Nao smiled, pouring a quarter-glass for him and a bit for herself. Standing, she sipped, her eyes saying: You totally meant it, didn't you?
"Alright, fine, I confess, I'm guilty!" Kagura downed a gulp, covering his forehead, laughing sheepishly. "I was thinking… ahem, drinking with you and then…"
"And then—?" Nao raised her glass, winking.
"Ugh, Nao, you're wicked, making me say it to see me squirm, huh?"
Kagura rarely blushed before peers, but Nao's mature allure sometimes flustered him.
"A man who faces his desires boldly is more charming—at least, I think so."
"Fine— I was thinking we'd drink, get tipsy, and do something intimate."
"Such as… what kind of intimacy?"
Nao cradled the bottle, refilling their glasses, then perched lightly on the desk's edge, her sipping revealing a delicate, pale wrist, dazzling Kagura.
"Uh… like holding hands, hugging, a kiss? Maybe… touching your garter stockings… that sort of thing?"
Kagura felt led by the nose since Nao entered.
Is this a mature woman's charm?
"Hehehe… Sounds like something you'd say."
"Is teasing me that fun?"
"Can't help it—you're a lustful high school boy," Nao said, holding her glass in her left hand, her right resting on Kagura's wrist, tilting her head with a soft laugh. "Your wine's delicious. Thank you for sharing."
"Likewise," Kagura propped his head on his left hand on the desk, sighing with closed eyes. "I repent for lusting after you."
"You've done nothing wrong. A young man your age desiring women around him is perfectly natural."
"Natural or not…"
"Let's change the subject. Want to hear a joke?" Sensing his mood, Nao shifted gears. Kagura nodded, eyes shut.
"Ahem, this joke's a family heirloom. I bet it'll make you laugh."
"Hiss… An ironclad one, huh? Let's hear it."
Intrigued, Kagura propped his chin with his left hand, sipped, and glanced at her, urging her on.
Nao swirled her glass, smiling mysteriously. "In 20th-century England, a five-year-old boy's mother was days from giving birth. One day, walking home with his dog George, he saw his mother changing, naked."
"Hm… Five years old, fair enough."
Kagura knew there was more, swirling his glass to prompt her.
"The boy asked, 'Mummy, what's that furry bit between your legs?' She said, 'It's my washcloth.'"
"Heh… Alright," Kagura stifled a chuckle, touching his lips. "Kids, right? Probably less open sex ed back then."
"Exactly," Nao suppressed a laugh, glancing at the ceiling. "Days later, she gave birth. The doctor shaved her down there. Her son saw her naked again and asked where her washcloth went. She said she lost it."
"Lost it, huh? Moms worldwide are pros at dodging kids' questions."
The more Kagura spoke, the harder Nao fought laughter, making him suspect she'd crack first.
Sometimes, telling a joke and getting no reaction leaves the teller laughing, awkwardly.
So, Kagura resolved to laugh first, good or not, to spare Nao embarrassment.
"You're right, hehe… Ahem, sorry," Nao giggled, sipped her wine, and continued. "The boy was upset, vowing to find his mother's washcloth."
"Nice, ambitious. Then?"
"Days later, he ran to his mother, cheering, 'Mummy, I found your washcloth!'"
"What…?"
Kagura's mind raced with wild guesses.
"She asked where. He pointed outside, beaming, 'In the kitchen! The maid's using it to wash Daddy's face~'"
"Pfft—"
Kagura genuinely laughed, Nao's mimicry of the boy and mother amplifying the humor, sparking vivid images.
"Ahem, only mildly amusing, right?" Nao leaned forward, smirking slyly.
"No, it's a solid joke."
That joke planted images of Nao "washing" his face with her "washcloth."
Though Nao was hairless down there—Chiyo Yuihama was the "washcloth" type. "There's a sequel. Want to hear?"
"Oh? Go on."
A sequel? Not the mom using a "new washcloth" on the boy—that'd be grim.
Nao set down her glass, standing straight, hand on chest, bowing deferentially. "It's a true story. The kitchen maid was my great-grandmother."
"Pfft… Hahahahaha! A family hell-joke? What happened to her? No punishment?"
"Not severely. Also, that five-year-old was your great-grandfather, the former Duke of Marlborough."
"What? Fuck… Hahahahahaha!!!"
Realizing his great-grandfather was "washed" by Nao's great-grandmother, Kagura lost it, clutching his stomach, nearly falling off his chair.
Gasping, he wondered: Is my taste for cunnilingus hereditary? Great-granddad was into it.
A true Western dirty joke—nice.
"Hehehe…" Nao chuckled, steadying Kagura. When his laughter subsided, she coughed lightly. "Master Kagura, you usually have Ai 'wash your face' every morning, don't you?"
"Uh…"
The topic silenced him.
Got me there, Nao.
"Don't mind it—it's between you and Ai. I won't say more." Nao raised her glass, smiling. "It's late. Please rest and care for your health."
"Alright, good night." Kagura clinked glasses. Nao finished her wine, bowed, and said, "Thank you for the hospitality. Drink moderately. I'll take my leave."
"Mm."
Kagura watched Nao return to her maid quarters. Glancing at the bottle, he lost interest, corked it, stripped, grabbed his phone to re-add Mrs. Yuihama, saved a "Slot B" while showering, and crashed.
Tonight, Nao skipped her "goodnight kiss" service. Morning came without her sitting on his face, nor did Renka stir despite his calls—she was still recovering.
Two days of this. On Golden Week's fourth day, riding with Nao to Ms. Tsurumi's, Kagura sighed, "Women get scary when jealous…"
Per the original timeline, he'd have slept after returning from the Yuihamas' on Day 2, with Nao's "goodnight kiss" and Ai's face-sitting wake-up. But Renka's presence made him think he carried her scent, causing Nao's "displeasure," halting those services.
Nao, his mother's age, had her pride, after all.
"Here we are. What now?" Nao parked before Ms. Tsurumi's, glancing at the dozing Kagura in the rearview mirror.
"Find a nearby diner, rest, wait. If I don't contact you by 11:30, grab lunch somewhere."
Kagura opened the door, spotting Ms. Tsurumi, dressed impeccably, makeup flawless, just like "that day." But now, Nao was merely his maid, driver, and secretary—no intimacy. The sense of things changed, people not gnawed at him.
Still, Kagura saw Nao as his woman. He'd win her back and earn points for a golden apple to take responsibility.
Grabbing a plain white paper gift bag from the backseat, he stepped out.
"Understood."
Nao lowered the window, nodding as Kagura leaned down.
"So glad you came! Come in! And your driver… join us inside?" Ms. Tsurumi rushed forward, beaming, greeting him warmly.
Her enthusiasm surpassed before, likely thanks to him returning Rumi home.
"No need, I'll go alone." Kagura waved Nao off, turning to Ms. Tsurumi with a smile. "Where's Rumi? Is she alright?"
"Yes! Though she lost the new bag, transit card, and student ID I bought, I haven't scolded her further."
Leading him inside, Ms. Tsurumi nodded apologetically to Nao's departing car, adding, "Last time, you bringing Rumi home was such a fortunate coincidence. Had you not been there, it could've been bad. Perhaps Rumi has a fated tie with you."
"Hahaha, no need for fate talk—she's safe, that's what matters." Kagura slipped into the slippers Ms. Tsurumi had prepared. Before he could speak, she called down the hall, "Rumi?! Mr. Sawamura's here. Come greet him!"
"No rush, no rush." Kagura raised a hand calmly, but Ms. Tsurumi laughed, "To be sharp today, I had Rumi sleep two hours earlier last night. Come, come in… Rumi?! How long will you dawdle? Making the teacher wait? Such a naughty child!"
Her voice sharpened, itching Kagura's ears. He thought: Moms worldwide nag their kids the same…
"Ugh…" Rumi descended with reluctant, uneven steps, not fully emerging but clutching the railing, peeking half her face from the wall, mumbling glumly, "Hello, Mr. Sawamura…"
"Hehehe, no need to call me teacher yet." Kagura approached with Ms. Tsurumi, who seemed ready to scold. At the stairs, he shook the paper bag, pulling out a flat gift box for Rumi. "I intruded the other night. My apologies. This is for you."
Having seen Rumi's near-nude body, Kagura knew women held grudges—gifts were timely.
Today's Rumi seemed "forced to perform." An elementary schooler in a gorgeous black dress, it enveloped her tightly yet flattered her curves elegantly.
Ruffles adorned her chest and waist, with flared lace cuffs. The hem reached her ankles, her long hair draped, side locks adorned with purple roses and red ribbons—graceful, mysterious, but overly mature.
Clearly, Rumi disliked the outfit, delaying her appearance. Likely Ms. Tsurumi's choice to make her seem ladylike for Kagura.
"Oh, Mr. Sawamura, bringing gifts?! Teachers don't give students meeting presents! Rumi, don't take it!"
Ms. Tsurumi tried to stop her, but Rumi had it. When she moved to snatch it, Rumi, obediently, bit her lip reluctantly, handing it to her mother.
Her wistful lip-bite warmed Kagura's heart. That's a kid!
Kids hating to part with gifts is normal, but parents grabbing them back annoyed Kagura.
If he had any gripes about Rumi's interactions, it was Ms. Tsurumi. But life dulls one's spark—he didn't expect every mother to have Nao or Chiyo's vibrant souls.
"Don't mind, Ms. Tsurumi. My late visit was rude. Oh, here's something for you too. Please accept both."
Kagura offered a box half the size of Rumi's.
Cue the familiar "gift refusal dance," reminding Kagura of kids awkwardly accepting red envelopes in his past life.
Eventually, he prevailed.
"Mr. Sawamura… Can I open it?" Rumi clutched the ribbon-tied box, fidgeting beside him.
In black knee-high stockings, she rubbed the floor with her socked toes shyly.
The awkwardness of him seeing her near-nude that night seemed resolved.
Kagura sat at the dining table, sipping Ms. Tsurumi's red tea—served to please him, assuming he liked it.
He didn't.
He thought: Ms. Tsurumi, I see your effort, but Rumi's talent is key. Instead of these gestures, letting her keep the gift would please me more.
"Of course, open it. I hope you like it, Miss Tsurumi~"
Hearing "Miss," Rumi flashed a shy smile, lowering her head, deftly unwrapping the box.
Ms. Tsurumi, claiming to fetch snacks and candies, went upstairs—likely to open her gift.
Kagura's gift to her was a jade bangle, once offered to Ai, who rejected it as too mature. For Rumi…
"Ah…"
Rumi tore the wrapping, gasping sincerely.
She loved it.
Indeed, Kagura gave her the latest Fruit phone, top-spec Mini model. Since "Miru Hakawa" (Rumi) mentioned lacking a phone, he thought she'd need one.
"What do you think, Miss Hakawa? Satisfied?" Kagura teased, raising an eyebrow.
"Ugh…" Rumi turned away, embarrassed, muttering sidelong, "You're a teacher, yet you bully me…"
"Oh-ho, I haven't agreed to be your teacher." Kagura thumbed toward the music room. "Prove it with that later."
At this, Rumi glanced reluctantly at the gift, bit her lip, and pushed it back on the table, stepping back, head bowed. "I'll fail anyway… Take it back."
"Hm? What's that? Gifts given don't return."
Kagura nudged the box to the table's edge.
"Aren't you the 'fail the test, take it back' type of teacher?"
Rumi lifted her head, hands behind her, fingers twisting uncertainly.
"What am I, a miser?" Kagura propped his chin, shrugging. "It's a gift. I want you happy, playing your best. So, do you like it?"
"Mm…" Rumi peeked at the box, tiptoeing to grab it, inspecting it, nodding firmly. "Yes! I love it. Thank you, Saw… Kagura!"
"Hahahaha—calling me Kagura now?"
"You didn't tell me your name first."
"Kagura is my name. I didn't make one up like you."
"Why not your full name? Don't people introduce themselves fully?"
"I wanted to do a good deed anonymously, leave a card, and let you toss and turn, sleepless, wondering. You didn't take it." Kagura pulled a frosted black card with his family crest from his wallet, handing it over. "Here, my full name's on it. Take it."
Rumi, speechless, held the gift box in her right hand, reaching with her left.
Kagura pulled back, tapping her left hand sternly. "Take a card with both hands."
"Ugh…" Rumi bristled but complied, setting the box down, taking the card with both hands, nodding. "Thank you…"
Inspecting it, his full name gleamed in ornate gold script, with smaller kanji below—his status demanded English prominence.
The overly florid gold letters were Eriri's handiwork.
"This card…" Rumi flipped the black card, tilting her head. "It's heavier than usual… Iron?"
"Of course not. Silver."
Kagura propped his chin, ruffling her head.
"Silver…" Rumi's lips twitched, studying it. "Isn't that too valuable for a kid like me?"
"Silver's not as pricey as you think. Keep it, don't show it off, don't lose it."
"Okay…"
Rumi tucked it away but, finding no pockets, clutched it bitterly.
Her fumbling showed she rarely wore this dress—likely bought yesterday, pocketless and unfamiliar.
Soon, Ms. Tsurumi returned with snacks, bickering with Kagura and scolding Rumi for taking the card and phone, until Kagura led Rumi to the music room.
Kagura reached the piano first, while Rumi leaned against the door, hands and left foot pressing it, head bowed, unmoving.
"What's wrong, Rumi?" Kagura lifted the dust-free key cover, sliding his left hand over the white keys, turning to her. "Not coming? It's your piano."
"…Mom's so annoying."
Rumi muttered, head down, displeased.
"Feeling your mom's a nag is normal at your age, especially since she's a teacher, prone to lecturing."
"I said I don't want to learn piano. I'm not improving, and now I'll embarrass myself before a new teacher… And she made me wear this—no pockets for my phone or card. Why are women's clothes like this?"
"Hehehe… Hahaha!" Rumi's innocent gripes amused Kagura, but she frowned, annoyed. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing. You're cute enough to pull off that dress, though it's a bit mature for you. Why I laughed—play Maid's Skirt for me. If I'm pleased, I'll tell you."
Kagura tapped the keys, coaxing a pleasant chime from the Steinway grand.
"I… I don't know it. Never practiced."
Rumi pouted, lying nervously.
"No way. Your mom said you're intermediate. You're not free-tested, so you've practiced it."
Kagura knew Japan's 23 piano grades. Intermediate was 9–15; Rumi was 14. His Maid's Skirt was in the advanced repertoire, potentially an exam piece. Intermediate students practiced advanced pieces, so Rumi claiming ignorance was nonsense.
Like a Chinese college student claiming they never studied Marxist philosophy.
"…Thought I could fool you." Rumi lowered her head, staring at her stockinged toes, mumbling, "But I can't improve anymore. Even with your guidance, it's pointless."
"Really? At eleven, reaching grade 14 is impressive."
"Then, Kagura, what grade were you at eleven?"
Rumi looked up, questioning petulantly—a childish inquiry.
"No grade… So you're actually better." Kagura stifled a laugh, shrugging.
"…"
Rumi's lips twitched, realizing her naivety.
Kagura never tested, competed sparingly, but won nationals, Chopin, Leeds, Tchaikovsky, and Liszt competitions, always top five, usually first or second.
He and Rumi were never on the same starting line.
Piano grades satisfied most, but for true musical aspirants, they were just the beginning.
"Come on, I'm no master, but people pay dearly for my guidance. Play Maid's Skirt. Impress me, and I'll take you as my student."
"Really?!"
Rumi's eyes sparkled instantly.
Kids' emotions swing fast.
"Of course. What's wrong? You look more dejected now."
"…" Rumi squatted, hugging her knees, whispering, "Kagura, have you ever been unable to play?"
"Uh… Not really?"
Injury might stop him, but Ai protected his hands fiercely, even falling to save them. He lacked such experiences.
"I… might not be able to play anymore…"
"Why?"
Kagura's brows knotted.
"Maybe two years ago… It started with slight dazes… Then I'd blank during practice, waking with headaches. It's worsened. Last exam, I froze mid-performance… I can't play anymore."
Rumi spoke forlornly, her tone thick with reluctance and resignation.
She omitted details, like "imagining an invisible friend, Renka, due to loneliness."
Renka wasn't imaginary but real, unseen, and elusive, making Rumi believe she was a fantasy.
Unwilling to hear Kagura's response, she covered her ears with her hair and hands, shutting out the world.
"This…"
Kagura thought of Renka. Is her attachment to Rumi's shadow the cause? Then…
"That's what I meant—my attachment to Rumi caused this. I can't stay bound to her."
Renka's figure rose from Kagura's shadow.
"Whoa, you startled me…"
Her voice from behind sent a chill down his spine. Renka, slightly displeased, stepped before him. "What, my lord? Is my face so frightening?"
"No, seeing you recovered makes me glad." Kagura glanced at Rumi, unresponsive, and whispered back.
"Far from fully recovered… I just sensed a familiar place and emerged," Renka said, gazing at Rumi with pity and guilt. "She'll likely never see me again. I can't even apologize…"
"But, if Rumi's dazes stem from your attachment, now that you're detached, can she recover?"
"It'll be tough. The evil corroding me also harmed her. Human souls are fragile; repairing them is a massive task. In my prime, I could've managed, but now… my heart's willing, but my strength's lacking."
Renka's expression turned compassionate, studying Rumi, crouched and blocking the world, then faced Kagura formally. "So, my lord, to help her, you must hasten my recovery."
"I want to help. How?"
Seeing Rumi still crouched, Kagura pressed Renka urgently.
He'd crossed time to save "Miru Hakawa"—Rumi. As a pianist, he pitied a girl whose musical dreams were stifled by Renka's evil.
"Hm… Offerings, faith, or rich spiritual sources for me to absorb." Renka lowered her head, shaking it. "But those are costly. High-quality, unclaimed, gentle spiritual sources are rare. I won't demand you acquire them—let it be."
"This…"
Kagura nearly said, "That'll take ages," but froze, gasping—Damn, my 'Spiritual Semen' ability… Could it replenish Renka? But saying, 'Want to drink my semen?' feels too perverse, like a molester!