As expected, when Kyousuke returned home, he was greeted with concern from Kasumigaoka-senpai as well—naturally about the Mystery Writers' Association Award.
Unlike Eriri, who drew a clear line between herself and the literary world, Kasumigaoka-senpai cared no less for him.
She was the kind of person who would even notice and stand up for him when Ishida Hidenori bad-mouthed him in the newspaper.
So of course she'd pay attention to something as important as a major award.
Just like before, she didn't breathe a word of it to anyone else.
Neither Kyousuke's mother nor anyone else at home had the slightest idea.
This girl carried a maturity far beyond her age.
If Yukari embodied the "cool older sister" archetype, then in contrast, the classical literature teacher looked more like the bashful little sister when standing before Kasumigaoka Utaha, the truly mature one.
What does it feel like to be cared for?
It's like walking alone in a pitch-black forest, where every tree is tall and straight, their thick canopies blotting out even the faintest light.
You can't even tell what kind of trees they are.
No matter which way you turn, it feels like there's no way out—just the harsh cawing of crows and the rustling of unknown creatures all around.
Everything about it screams eerie and terrifying… yet you don't feel afraid at all.
In fact, you even have the leisure to wonder how many of those crows are male and how many are female—just so you can brag about it later.
Because even if you can't see a way forward, you know someone will come looking for you.
Somewhere in that darkness, a pair of eyes is watching you with the gentlest brows and lashes imaginable.
Just like now.
Even though Kyousuke wasn't sure he could actually handle the situation, he could still smile and say, 'It's fine. Just a small matter. Nothing I can't deal with.'
But no matter how hard he tried to project strength and confidence, Utaha-senpai still didn't believe him.
She dragged him into her room, insisting she had to cheer him up—because, as she put it, he was about to head into a fierce battle, and his "mana reserves" needed a proper recharge.
The moment they stepped inside, Kyousuke was shoved against the door.
He couldn't help but recall the little kids obsessed with Ultraman—after running around, they'd lean against a wall, pretending to "recharge," complete with sound effects of blinking signal lights.
Back then, he'd always looked down on such childish antics.
But now that it was his turn to be pressed against a wall for "recharging," he suddenly realized there might be some science behind it after all.
They didn't call it "becoming one" for nothing.
In moments of passion, the urge to completely lose yourself inside the other person is overwhelming.
And when your back has something solid to brace against, it makes things much easier—you just throw yourself forward, and all you feel is Utaha-senpai's soft body pressing tighter against you.
Her curves flattened against his chest, the heat of her body and the faint note of vulnerability in her trembling sighs stirred both his thirst and a teasingly cruel edge within him—satisfying him all the more.
The only problem was… the one who was supposed to be getting recharged was Kyousuke.
Somewhere along the way, the roles had reversed, and it was Kasumigaoka Utaha pinned against the wall instead.
Her long, pale legs were already hooked around his waist, her whole body suspended in midair, supported entirely by Kyousuke's hips.
Bathed in moonlight, the silver silk of her nightdress had bunched up around her waist.
Her smooth thighs glowed with a soft sheen, which scattered into droplets of sweat as his hands brushed across them.
Her lips parted, gasps escaping in hot bursts of breath, her wine-red eyes glazed over.
Sweat beaded down the pale skin of her exposed chest, shimmering like jewels.
Mana replenishment… really wasn't easy.
No wonder they said you had to be a thirty-year-old virgin to become a wizard.
If you didn't have decades of pent-up frustration, how could you possibly endure it?
Kyousuke paused, holding her hips in his hands, his forehead pressed to hers.
Their breaths mingled, never quite dispersing before being drawn back in by the other.
The air between them only grew thicker with heat and intimacy.
Love and desire—inseparable.
Desire without love was empty, leaving nothing but hollowness once the act ended.
But desire fueled by love?
That was fulfillment, both body and soul.
It made you feel as if the truth of the universe itself was within your grasp.
Forehead to forehead, they stared into each other's eyes, their thoughts and spirits seeming to connect.
"Now you believe me, don't you?" Kyousuke teased softly, squeezing the fullness of her hips.
"Well~~ I'm not so sure yet," Utaha replied, her voice husky and dripping with allure. "You don't seem all that hungry. Could it be… Sawamura-san already recharged you earlier?"
"..."
The moment she said that, Kyousuke felt a toothache coming on.
'Why bring up Eriri now of all times?'
Just earlier, he'd been goofing around happily with Eriri all the way home, and now here he was, pinning Utaha-senpai against the door, recharging in earnest.
Even a guy with skin as thick as his couldn't help but feel embarrassed.
Utaha's smile only deepened at his reaction.
"What's the matter? Did I hit a nerve?"
"My, my. To think Kashiwagi Eiri sensei is not only good at drawing lewd doujins but also at practical application? I always thought she only dared to fantasize while drawing. Who would've guessed otherwise~ Tsk, tsk. What a surprise."
Her laugh was sweet and merciless, just like Eriri's own unintentional gift for comedy.
Even if Eriri herself never thought of her role as a comic relief, she still managed to bring joy to others.
"That's not it. Eriri… she's still a kid," Kyousuke muttered, only to grit his teeth immediately afterward.
Because Utaha—dangling safely in his arms with her legs locked around his waist, her back pressed to the wall, and his hands supporting her curves—wasn't staying the least bit still.
Feeling secure, her hands had gone free… and were now very thoroughly testing whether Kyousuke's "mana reserves" were truly replenished.
'Honestly… do you even realize the situation you're in? If I let go right now, you'd be skewered on the spot!'
Kyousuke sucked in sharp breaths, shocked at how bold Utaha-senpai was.
To mention Eriri while her hand gripped his "weapon"? Did she seriously think a thin layer of underwear could restrain him?
"Eriri also asked you about the award earlier, didn't she?"
The black-haired, red-eyed girl's hands didn't stop.
They slid up, down, left, and right with exquisite gentleness, as if she were carefully polishing a trophy.
Yet her words were bold, her gaze sultry as silk as she locked her eyes on Hojou Kyousuke.
"Yes… but don't worry. I'll start working on it tomorrow. I won't compromise. Writing mysteries was always meant to—ah, ngh… don't move around like that!"
Kyousuke really didn't want to be talking about Eriri at a time like this.
It made his conscience flare up as if it had been offered as a sacrificial lamb.
Right now, that conscience was on its knees, sobbing, "Eriri, I'm sorry!"—but with a flushed face and an almost ecstatic expression.
A mix of shame and thrill washed over him.
His attempt to change the subject failed.
As if sensing his intent, Utaha-senpai pinched him lightly between her thumb and forefinger in protest.
"Kyousuke, you really don't like talking about Eriri, do you? Is it because she's useless yet can't ever stop chirping away?"
Her voice carried laughter, her eyes smoldering.
Feeling the man trapped between her legs twitch under her touch only stoked her delight further.
The more he hardened in her hand, the more gleeful she became.
"But then again, maybe 'useless' isn't fair. I honestly didn't think Eriri would actually drag Mr. Spencer into things last time—calling her dad for help. You must've been grateful, weren't you?"
"Hhh… Senpai, I was grateful when you invited my parents and friends to my award ceremony too. But it's late. Maybe we should just… get some sleep." Kyousuke grimaced. Why did she have to bring up Eriri's father of all people?
Utaha's lips curved, her tone suddenly serious beneath the teasing lilt.
"Think about it. If I were a guy and my girlfriend's first instinct after thinking I'd murdered her childhood crush was to help me hide the body, I'd kiss her until her lips swelled too much to speak. …No, just kissing wouldn't be enough, would it?"
Her voice—usually cool and seductive, sounded oddly sincere this time.
Kyousuke glanced down.
The crimson shimmer in her eyes still burned with allure, but now, impossibly, they also carried a strange innocence.
'A miracle,' he thought.
No wonder Eriri called her a "witch."
Just one woman—this woman could fulfill every fantasy a man might have.
If Eriri heard Utaha speaking so sweetly, actually calling her "Eriri" like that, she'd probably laugh so hard she'd forget all pretense of dignity, clap Utaha on the shoulder, and praise her.
She'd think, "This witch may shamelessly seduce my errand boy, but at least she's got good taste. I really am the perfect wife candidate."
Pure, cute, and brimming with youthful charm—someone who brought prestige outside and could even become an accomplice in murder at home.
Forget the so-called Yamato Nadeshiko or the famed beauties of history—Eriri would claim none of them could measure up to her.
But if she saw how Utaha was saying those words right now, Eriri's knowledge of humiliation play would kick in immediately.
She'd probably explode into a bloody nose fountain on the spot.
Sure, she still made bank off of drawing such works for otaku, but thanks to someone's influence, she'd long since defected to the banner of pure love.
And now—now she'd been made the victim? A prop for their fun?
'I daughter of a proud diplomat of the British Empire, noble-born and pure-blooded—me, humiliated? Impossible! It's supposed to be me humiliating others!'
Kyousuke sighed.
Seeing Utaha's excitement growing, clearly wanting to continue this little "Humiliate-Eriri Game," he decided enough was enough.
No matter how close he was to overflowing, he had to defend Eriri's honor.
The battlefield shifted from the wall to the bed.
Like every room in the dorm, Kyousuke's bed was enormous—his especially, since he feared rolling off in his sleep.
Her lips were sealed again.
Utaha let out a muffled hum from her nose and obediently lay back, though part of her desperately wished he'd lose control and punish her right there.
Too bad—even things as simple as using her hands made Kyousuke blush furiously.
So pure.
For all her bold front, she was no less inexperienced than him.
The gentle caresses were as much trial-and-error as they were affection.
She'd studied plenty from Kashiwagi Eri's shameless doujins, but nothing beat firsthand experience.
Her thoughts flickered.
'I wonder… how would Eriri be in this situation?'
The moment that idea surfaced, a shudder ripped through her body, like a jolt of lightning racing from her drenched lower half up to her brain.
Even though she wanted to push further, her strength failed her—she'd been "recharged" too thoroughly. Her whole body went limp, drained.
Luckily, the man above her could sense every shift in her, watching her closely as if to punish her further for Eriri's sake.
He leaned in to pull away, but—no. Her arms tightened around his neck, trapping him.
'Wait… wasn't she just about to push me off?'
Women. Hmph.
No one knew how long it lasted.
Just when Utaha felt like she might ascend to heaven, Eriri flashed through her thoughts again.
Ah, right. She'd nearly forgotten Kashiwagi Eri.
So in a gasp between kisses, she finally managed to blurt:
"Kyousuke… Kashiwagi Eri-sensei—do you think she'd be as skilled in real life as she is in her doujins?"
Her crimson eyes were glazed with lust, her whole body slick with heat and dampness as she asked.
Kyousuke groaned, tipping his head back in silent despair.
So it wasn't his stamina failing—it was Senpai's obsession with Eriri reaching celestial levels.
He didn't reply.
Instead, his eyes hardened.
His hand squeezed down, and as she cried out in pain and surprise, he sealed her lips once again.
'Don't worry, Eriri. With me here, this witch isn't playing the "Humiliate-Eriri Game" anymore tonight.'
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