To be honest, Utaha had always harbored doubts about whether her body was truly worth the care, guidance, comfort, and even life-saving charm she had received from Akira.
After all, virginity was such an abstract concept.
Some girls gave it away for tens of thousands of yen, some lost it in a whirlwind romance that turned out to be wrong for them, and others simply gave it up to seek thrills.
While she had restrained herself with moral values and didn't want to lose it so casually, it didn't mean she thought her virginity was worth all that—equal to so many tangible and intangible things.
She couldn't help wondering: Am I really worth that much?
…But after last night and this morning, she no longer thought that way. In fact, she felt like she had gotten the short end of the stick.
Utaha lay slumped over the dining table, glaring unhappily toward the kitchen.
She hadn't expected being a lover to be so exhausting—sore all over, painful (well, not entirely pain), and even though she'd cried out "no" until she was almost in tears, she was still treated more roughly instead.
So then what was she supposed to say?
Scream "yes" instead???
If she had actually done that, she doubted she'd even be able to get out of bed today.
Just thinking about it made Utaha seethe.
And to top it all off—she was hungry.
She hadn't eaten anything since dinner last night, except for a few freshly baked mini breads in between.
Now it was already afternoon. A few hours more and it would have been an entire day without a proper meal.
To sum it up: as a lover, Utaha didn't get paid, didn't get gifts, had to endure fatigue, pain, and hunger—she might very well be the most pitiful lover of the century.
So even when Akira "humbly lowered himself" to act as her rather disobedient manservant, and cheerfully brought over the lunch that Nanami had prepared earlier—needing only to be heated—Utaha couldn't bring herself to be happy, let alone proud.
After placing the meal—sufficiently plentiful but not wasteful—on the table, Akira pulled up a chair beside her and said with a gentle voice and smile that could almost be called tender, "Need me to feed you, Utaha-chan?"
Never mind the humiliating suggestion, just the creepy honorific alone gave Utaha goosebumps.
But that gentle voice and smile made her heart skip a beat.
Turning her head away in disdain, she replied in an equally disdainful tone,
"If you want to use a more intimate nickname, I might accept that, but could you please just act normal?"
Akira sighed dramatically, pretending to be hurt.
"So cold… And just a moment ago, you were clinging to my neck and kissing me. How come you're so different now that you're out of bed?"
"That was when I wasn't fully conscious!" Utaha snapped, grabbing her chopsticks.
"Besides, I think it's much better to turn cold after getting out of bed than to stop acting human on the bed, don't you think?"
Akira's smile grew even more playful.
"Speaking of acting inhuman on the bed… Utaha, didn't you even let out a meow last night? Just like a cat…"
Utaha could have countered that line of conversation—she certainly had the verbal weapons—but her skin wasn't thick enough.
She couldn't bring herself to keep going.
So she funneled her frustration into her appetite, burying her head in the lunch and eating in silence.
Akira watched her with a smile as he ate too. After the meal, he carried Utaha upstairs—this time, into her own room.
"Alright, get some proper rest now. I'll go… tidy up a bit."
Thinking about his own bedsheets, Akira felt a headache coming on.
Back when it was Hayasaka Ai, there hadn't been much blood.
Girls who exercise a lot—like those who ride horses or dance—often don't bleed the first time, since the hymen is fragile and may have already broken from activity.
But Utaha, being from the literature department, probably hadn't done much intense physical activity.
Everything had been well preserved. Akira had gotten a bit carried away last night, so… the traces on the bed were very clear.
Of course, most of this knowledge came from online.
He wasn't the type to deliberately seek out virgins just to enjoy the "purest experience"—not even if money were involved.
That said, aside from principles, everything else boiled down to cost or desire. Once desire was present and the cost felt justified, well… he had ended up corrupting two girls after all.
Utaha curled up under the covers, beckoning the little cat that had wandered into the room.
Hearing that Akira was going to clean up, she smirked mischievously and said, "Afraid Aoyama-san might find out?"
Akira thought for a moment. "If you don't mind, I could leave it for her to clean up."
Utaha did mind—a lot.
Being the hidden lover was already bad enough.
Exposing that to the "light" of day—especially with traces as private as those—was absolutely out of the question.
No way she could let another girl clean that up.
With a shooing wave filled with unspoken meaning, Akira returned to the room and stripped the sheets.
He carefully hand-washed the stained parts, dried them with a hairdryer, and put them back on the bed.
Then he bagged the used contraceptives and tissues from last night and this morning separately from the room's trash.
He even took out a lint roller, cleaned the bed, swept the already clean floor, and didn't overlook the bathroom or sink.
The lint roller strips and hairs he gathered were all put into a separate garbage bag.
He had never done anything as sneaky as cheating, but some things in life simply didn't need to be taught—like eating and sleeping.
A man's IQ and attention to detail when it comes to destroying evidence after fooling around could only be described as… a mysterious gift.
Looking out the window at the continuing drizzle, Akira grabbed an umbrella, headed out to a roadside bin to toss the bag, and returned to stand under the eaves.
Watching the rain fall into the yard, he lit a cigarette—a post-lunch cigarette of satisfaction.
A perfect weekend.
Having finished the final act of both physical and mental release, Akira headed back inside and opened the door to Utaha's room.
She was curled lazily under the blankets, playing with her phone and holding a cat. Her posture and aura matched the feline in her arms with uncanny precision.
It honestly made Akira feel like he was waiting on a spoiled mistress.
"Not going home today?" he asked.
Utaha turned her face toward him, eyes still tired and full of complaint.
"How am I supposed to go home like this…? I brought my school bag anyway. I'll just go to school directly tomorrow."
"Well then, before little Nanami gets back…"
Rolling up his sleeves, Akira met her wary gaze—the same one she might give to a beast of burden.
Then he made a suggestion that was the most painful yet oddly joyful task in serving a spoiled master:
"Want me to help you take a bath?"
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