The word "prince" hit me like a brick.
I grabbed the fraying thread of my composure and faced the busty woman.
"No. Prince? That's ridiculous—"
She seized my hand, shook her head, and locked eyes with me.
"Because you saved me. You're my prince."
"What the hell are you—"
I wanted to call bullshit, but the words died.
Her eyes.
A wild, unblinking madness burned in them.
Not affection. Not admiration.
Like she's staring at a plastic model.
A hunger to dismantle, study, reassemble.
The chill silenced me.
Then she spoke.
"Let's go together."
I snapped back, ready to refuse.
Too late.
"Huh?"
She stepped in, hooked her hands under my armpits, and lifted.
My feet left the ground.
Literal princess-carry—by a woman.
Is this even possible?
I'm no giant, but 160+ cm, solid build. And she hoisted me like a doll.
I craned my neck.
190… maybe pushing 200?
Taller than I'd guessed. The frame, the muscle to support those curves—it made sense.
So those tits aren't just decorative.
Crude thought. I swallowed it.
"Where are you taking me?"
I didn't fight. Didn't complain.
She wasn't stable.
Provoke the unstable, and things escalate.
Military lesson. No elaboration needed.
So I played it safe.
She answered.
"My house."
"House?"
"Yeah."
Strangers, and already a home invite. My inner Confucian roared, but physics said I'd lose a fight.
Squish~♥
Definitely not because her breasts cushioned my back.
"Before we go, introductions. Mori Takuya. You?"
"Suzuki Haruka (鈴木 春華)."
"Right. Suzuki, let's move."
"Haruka."
"Huh?"
"Call me Haruka."
"Fine."
And so began my bizarre escort with the busty—Haruka.
How long had she carried me?
We stopped before a gate marked Suzuki (鈴木家).
Tens of minutes. No fatigue.
I spoke.
"This it?"
"Yeah."
"Put me down. I'd like to greet your family on my feet."
"Okay."
Earlier requests? Firm "No." Now? Instant compliance.
Is she dumb or sharp?
I scanned for the bell.
"Press here."
"Ah. Thanks."
Ding-dong.
With her guidance, I rang it. Waited.
Rustling inside.
[One moment~]
Delivery vibe.
Door opened. Middle-aged woman.
"Stamp goes here… oh? Haruka? And…?"
I bowed.
"Hello. Mori Takuya. I was passing by, saw Haruka-san in trouble. Wanted to explain."
I didn't say your daughter kidnapped me.
Her mother hugged the filthy giant without hesitation.
"What?! What happened to my Haruka?!"
Pure maternal panic. I felt it.
Didn't want apologies from a mother clutching her dirty child.
Plus, I was half-curious. I'd come willingly.
I told her mother,
"I'll explain inside."
"Ah! Yes, yes. Come in."
Tea served. I recounted the near-accident.
"Haruka almost got hit?!"
"Yes. Reckless speed."
"Oh heavens…"
Done. Mother bowed deep.
"Thank you… truly…"
"No. Anyone would."
I meant it.
She kept thanking. Warm resolution.
Then the interesting part.
"As you see, my daughter has a mental disability."
"Mental disability?"
"Yes…"
She broached carefully.
I was stunned.
Because I knew it well.
"The doctor calls it Asperger's syndrome."
Asperger's. Newton. Tesla. Musk.
I asked, surprised.
"If it's Asperger's—didn't Newton and Tesla have it?"
"You know?"
"Just a bit."
Relief washed her face. Explaining must've been hard.
Made sense now—Haruka's oddities.
Asperger's: hyperfocus on interests.
"I saw her watching ants forever. That her thing?"
"No. She just… observes. Hobby."
Just observation?
Then what's her real obsession?
I asked,
"Any particular field?"
"Ah. That is…"
Before she finished—
"I'll show you."
Haruka stood.
Mother nodded—better this way.
Why not just say it?
Didn't matter. I followed.
We entered a corner room.
My jaw dropped.
Dozens of gutted PCs.
And—
Building a supercomputer?
A hulking rig that could swallow every part in the room.
To a normie: Frankenstein's monster.
To me—future knowledge, computer literate:
Supercomputer in progress.
Half-convinced.
Haruka is the talent I need.
Right now. Perfect.