"Natsu… I'm sorry. I can't do anything." Hashimoto Arina's hands slipped under Shirakawa Natsu's arms, pressing the back of his head against her chest as tears streamed down her face again.
Shirakawa Natsu rubbed his face against her shoulder, soft and sticky with tears, feeling an almost healing warmth seep into his soul. Why would anyone want to rush toward something so sacred? Could it be that the thrill of defiance made it so enticing? "Sister Youcai," he murmured, "give me two years. When the time comes, I'll tell the whole world, and then we'll be together forever."
They stayed in that embrace for a long moment. Then, lifting their heads from each other's arms, Natsu reached into his backpack and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Arina. "Sister Youcai… this is a gift for you."
Arina's eyes widened. She carefully opened the envelope and pulled out an admission invitation. Seeing her own name on the letter, she brought a hand to her mouth, her expression shifting from disbelief to shock.
"When we went to the aquarium, Sister Youcai said you didn't like the fish trapped behind glass," Natsu said softly. "I don't want you to feel trapped like that. At least this time, I wanted to help you, Sister Youcai."
Arina gently returned the letter to the envelope, shaking her head. "If the glass is made of love, then there's only happiness inside."
"But…" Natsu's mouth twitched. "The money's already spent, and invitations like this can't be resold or refunded."
At that, Arina's normally composed expression cracked slightly. Could this be the legendary love that encompassed even the mundane details of life—rice, oil, and salt? Natsu added, almost teasingly, "And I promised Yinhu for two years."
He meant he had to date a beautiful animal-eared girl, and he didn't want to hurt her. Arina understood instantly: interacting with a talking fox would place immense psychological pressure on him, and she didn't want him to see it. Her eyes reddened again as she clutched Natsu's shoulders. "I'm sorry. When you need help the most, I… I clearly can't do anything. I'm supposed to be the adult."
"Ah…" Natsu felt a twinge of confusion. He leaned toward Arina's ear. "Please, Sister Youcai… help me fulfill my dream."
Hearing this, Arina's blush deepened. Tears continued to fall, but there was also a reproachful look in her eyes. Under Natsu's gentle, smiling gaze, she finally broke into a small smile. She reached up, pulling the straps of her suspenders down, letting them slide off her shoulders to reveal her upper body, clad only in underwear.
"Spectacular." No matter how many times Natsu looked, he couldn't hide his admiration.
"Don't look!" Arina crossed her arms over her chest, but given her physique, it was mostly psychological. She blushed deeply, holding back her long hair from her face with one hand, kneeling on the hotel cushions and bowing her head.
"Hmm." Natsu snorted softly, stroking her hair. Sister Youcai—so caring and sweet—was far more satisfying than Mizhi. Watching her, cheeks flushed, occasionally glancing at him before lowering her gaze again, rubbing her white shoulders, he admired the smooth, soft skin. The experience was complete, and he didn't need to worry about scratches from little tiger teeth.
That night, they explored and experimented together, testing theories Natsu had long wondered about. With Sister Youcai's guidance, he discovered shortcuts that didn't require starting from the bottom. Some areas still required preparation—but practice granted understanding.
The next morning, Arina took him to the hospital early and personally verified that his heart had fully recovered. She cried again, long and hard, even if he tried to comfort her.
Eventually, she chose to study fine arts in France for two years, leaving her apartment in Tokyo. She moved into the master bedroom of Shirakawa Natsu's apartment, becoming the apartment's hostess. Each day afterward, she wore a relaxed, radiant smile, glad that Natsu's health was finally restored.
She guided him through places from her childhood—elementary schools, middle schools, universities—sharing the story of her twenty-six years of life.
"I wish time could stay like this," Arina murmured, lying in his arms.
"No," Natsu replied, holding her close. "The future is long. We'll make countless memories together, and someday, we'll tell our children about them when we're old."
"It's a promise." Arina extended her finger, showing the silver-white ring Shirakawa Natsu had given her.
"A promise," Natsu echoed, taking her hand.
A month later, Natsu accompanied Arina to the airport. Their farewell looked more like a brother seeing a sister off than a couple saying goodbye. Before the plane took off, they went to the bathroom together. Arina carried his belongings, checked her lipstick, and waved a bright, sunlike smile. Just like in the hospital ward, she waved every time she left, saying, "See you tomorrow."
Natsu stood watching the plane through the glass window. Love, he realized, could make even unconventional appearances—like transparent black silk or sheer stockings—completely acceptable.
After returning from the airport, Natsu committed to preserving his health. He walked every morning, maintained a healthy diet, read in the mornings, drew comics in the afternoons, applied to universities in the evenings, and slept eight hours every night.
On the seventh day after Arina left, Yazhikui checked in, taking the room next to his. Natsu realized he'd been betrayed: his "good brother" had promised not to wear clothes after a shower, but he had broken that promise.
Yazhikui lounged on the sofa with a laptop on his lap. His short hair tied back, he wore an oversized white T-shirt slipping off one shoulder, tiny droplets of water still clinging to his fair skin. His chest was small but firm, giving the shirt a naturally dangling effect. No underwear. Long, slender legs stretched out from the shirt's hem, which barely reached his upper thighs—a deceitful but impressive outfit.
"Something wrong?" Mizuki noticed Natsu staring, frowning as she adjusted her posture.
"I feel like I'm being followed," Natsu muttered, moving to sit beside her. His curiosity about her undergarments had an almost perverse tinge.
Yazhikui closed her laptop, frowning. "When did it start?"
"I can't tell," Natsu said, lowering his head. "I don't know when it began. On my morning walk, I felt someone behind me. I thought I heard a camera click, but when I turned, there was nothing."
He recalled a photographer in Dongguo who had secretly taken subway photos of women, won awards, and caused public outrage. Ever since, cameras were required to make audible clicks, lest candid photography become a crime.
Yazhikui frowned, thinking for a moment. "I'll follow behind you tomorrow morning."
"Thanks," Natsu said, grateful. His brother was dependable.
"Sleeping," Yazhikui said, standing and carrying her laptop into the other room.
Natsu realized that Mizuki was bold and flirtatious, with a reputation that long preceded her, yet she could inspire trust and security—qualities that mattered far more than appearances.
Sitting on the sofa, Natsu opened the Huangmao app. Its interface was familiar, the main page still empty. He had tapped it countless times, like exhausting stamina in a mobile game, yet still returned to see the "paper man's wife" updates.
Should he upload Mizuki's photo? He hesitated. The love metrics in Huangmao didn't necessarily reflect true affection. If he and Mizuki were recognized, their relationship could hit 100 points instantly—but friendship points didn't convert as predictably into love, and miscalculations could be embarrassing.
"Forget it for now," Natsu decided, closing the app. He would first earn simple points, then collect more once he had strong items to assist him—essentially brushing friendship points in preparation.
The next morning, he went for his walk as usual. Yazhikui, in sportswear with a hood over her head, followed at a short distance.
Since she was tailing him, he couldn't be sure if others were also following. He completed his run and returned to the apartment; a few minutes later, Yazhikui arrived as well.
"No luck," she said, shaking her head. "I'll check again Monday."
"Uh…" Natsu was taken aback. "Has the stalker started taking weekends off now?"
Yazhikui's expression turned sheepish. "I have a date this weekend. Can't cover it."
Natsu didn't go out on weekends. He stayed home to submit university applications. If the person following him was a beautiful girl, even a pervert, she might simply ask which pose she preferred—and he would oblige. But reality was harsher. A follower could be a thief, or worse.