Akihiro felt the warmth of the room intensify, and not just from the sake coursing through his veins. The laughter had softened into murmurs, the teasing into glances, and the air itself seemed heavier—charged with something unspoken.
Mika, flushed and giggling, reached across the table with a bottle of soju far too big for her hands. Her grip slipped, and with a startled yelp, the bottle tilted, sending a splash of cold liquid directly onto Akihiro's chest and lap.
"Ah! I-I'm sorry!" she squeaked, eyes wide, cheeks blazing.
The sake soaked through his shirt instantly. Akihiro stood halfway, trying to shake off the wet fabric, but it clung to him like a second skin. With a sigh, he pulled it off, revealing the lean lines of his torso beneath.
Mika froze, staring—not in embarrassment, but in open fascination.
"Oh… wow," she murmured, voice lower than usual, her gaze lingering far longer than it should have.
Sayuri raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slow smile.
"Well, that escalated quickly," she said, sipping her drink with feline grace.
Reika leaned back, arms crossed, eyes glinting.
"You're not leaving now, are you?" she asked, voice teasing. "Tonight's special. You can't just run off because you got a little wet."
Akihiro hesitated. He had planned to excuse himself—the heat, the tension, the proximity were all too much. But the way Mika looked at him now, less chaotic and more… curious, made him pause.
"I… guess I can stay a little longer," he muttered, trying to sound casual.
Sayuri leaned in, her voice smooth and low.
"Good. You're finally learning to surrender to the moment."
Mika scooted closer, her movements slower, more deliberate. The alcohol had softened her usual clumsiness into something more fluid. Her fingers brushed his arm, then lingered, tracing a line along his skin.
"You're warm," she whispered, almost to herself.
Akihiro's breath caught. Her touch was light, but intentional. She wasn't just reacting—she was exploring.
Her skirt, already damp from the spill, clung to her legs, and as she shifted to get more comfortable, it rode up further. She didn't seem to notice—or didn't care. Her bare thigh pressed lightly against his, and the contact sent a jolt through his spine.
Reika watched with a smirk, then leaned in, her voice low.
"Looks like Mika's finally learning how to be bold."
Sayuri chuckled, eyes half-lidded.
"Boldness is good. Especially when it's honest."
Akihiro tried to focus, but Mika's hand had found its way to his bare side, her fingers tracing the curve of his ribs with innocent curiosity.
"I didn't know you had muscles like this," she said softly, her voice almost dreamy.
He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shift away—or lean in.
Nezuko-sensei, still lounging with her cup, observed silently. Her gaze was sharp, but amused.
"Composure," she said, her voice cutting through the haze. "That's what it looks like when it's truly tested. You need to build some resistance against the opposite sex. We don't want you dying in some ridiculous way, do we?"
Akihiro nodded stiffly, trying to ignore the heat rising in his chest—and in other places.
Mika rested her head on his shoulder, her warm breath against his skin.
"I'm happy you stayed," she murmured.
He didn't respond. He didn't need to. The room had transformed into a battlefield of soft touches, lingering gazes, and unspoken invitations.
Reika moved closer, her hip brushing against his naturally. She ran a finger along Akihiro's waistline, where his skin was still damp.
"You're trembling," she teased, her voice husky. "Is that fear… or something else?"
Akihiro closed his eyes for a second, trying to center himself. But Sayuri's perfume, Mika's warmth, Reika's touch—everything conspired against his logic.
The perverted voice in his mind roared: Let it happen. Just once. Just one touch. Just one kiss.
The logical voice, intoxicated and exhausted, muttered: Just… resist… somehow.
Sayuri stood, walking slowly toward him, her eyes fixed on his expression.
"You're learning, Akihiro," she said, kneeling beside him. "To resist… and to feel."
Akihiro didn't respond right away. The air between them felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. Her presence was close — not threatening, but undeniably powerful.
Sayuri reached out, not to touch, but to hover her fingers near his arm, as if testing the boundary between comfort and challenge.
"It's not just about resisting others," she murmured. "It's about resisting yourself. The part that wants to run… or surrender."
Akihiro swallowed hard, unsure whether her words were meant to guide or provoke. Maybe both.
She passed her hand over his shoulder, her fingers trailing along his exposed collarbone.
"But be careful. Too much resistance… can turn into repression."
Nezuko-sensei smiled, crossing her legs with elegance.
"And repression… is the kind of weakness enemies love to exploit."
Akihiro took a deep breath, feeling the weight of every word, every touch, every look.
Akihiro's fingers twitched against the tatami, the pressure of Sayuri's touch lingering like a seal. Her words echoed in his chest, stirring something he wasn't ready to name.
He glanced at Nezuko-sensei, whose gaze remained unreadable — not cold, but impossibly precise. Like she was measuring his soul against a standard he didn't understand.
Sayuri leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"You're not weak, Akihiro. But strength without awareness… is just another kind of blindness."
He nodded slowly, unsure whether he agreed or simply didn't dare to disagree.
Nezuko's voice cut through again, calm but commanding.
"Lesson's not over. Everyone back to position."
Sayuri rose with feline grace, her expression unreadable now. Akihiro remained kneeling, the warmth of her presence fading, but the imprint of her words refusing to leave.
As Akihiro shifted back into position, the tatami cool beneath his knees, a shadow passed behind him.
Reika didn't speak at first. She settled beside him with a quiet thud, arms crossed, gaze forward.
Then, without turning, she muttered just loud enough for him to hear:
"Careful. You're starting to look like you enjoy being toyed with."
Akihiro blinked, unsure if it was a warning or a tease.
Reika's tone was dry, but her voice lingered in the air like smoke — not quite dismissive, not quite inviting.
She glanced sideways, her eyes catching his for a split second.
"Don't get used to it," she added, lips barely moving. "Some of us bite harder than we play."
Then she looked away again, as if nothing had happened.
Akihiro swallowed, the words settling somewhere between his ribs.
No smirk. No laugh.
Just Reika, sitting close, quiet and sharp — like a blade she hadn't decided to unsheathe yet.
The night stretched into hushed laughter, soft movements, and silent provocations. Mika nestled against him, Reika stayed close, and Sayuri watched as if waiting for the right moment to act.
Akihiro, shirtless, surrounded by intentions and warmth, understood that this night wasn't about winning—it was about navigating.
And in the midst of the chaos, he was no longer trying to escape.
He was trying to understand.
Mika, still with flushed cheeks and the carefree smile of someone who doesn't measure consequences, simply settled onto Akihiro's lap as if it were the most natural place in the world.
"Hehe… comfy," she said, her voice filled with that air of a ditzy kid, as if she were commenting on a random pillow.
The others laughed—Sayuri let out an elegant chuckle, Reika guffawed with malice.
"Look at that… he's a pillow now," Reika teased, a glint in her eyes. "Akihiro, you're turning into furniture."
Sayuri's voice is velvet over steel, her gaze lingering on Akihiro just long enough to make him question everything.
"Careful, Reika… some furniture bites back when you get too comfortable."
Mika began to fidget, wiggling her butt from side to side, trying to get comfortable.
Reika gave a slow, predatory grin. "I wonder if our 'furniture' has any loose parts we should check," she said, her voice dropping to a low purr.
Sayuri's eyes twinkled. "Or perhaps he's hiding some… secret compartments?" she added, her gaze never leaving his face.
Mika tilted her head, confused. "Secret compartments? Is that where you keep the snacks, Akihiro? I love snacks!"
Sayuri's laughter became a soft, knowing chuckle.
"Maybe it's not something to eat, Mika," she purred, her golden eyes flicking to Akihiro.
"Depends on your appetite," she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Some things are sweet… others are dangerous. Perhaps it's... something to be tasted. Like a very special treat."
Reika choked, her laugh turning into a sudden, sputtering cough.
"Ugh! That's enough!" she managed, wiping her mouth. "You've gone too far, Sayuri!"
Sayuri only laughed softly in response, a pure, tinkling sound.
Mika blinked, her brow furrowed.
"A treat? Where did Akihiro get an ice cream from? It's poking me!"
Nezuko-sensei's gaze, which had been full of detached amusement, now held a critical, sharp glint as she observed Sayuri.
Reika groaned, pressing two fingers to her temple like she was nursing a headache.
"Why are you like this?" she muttered, half to Sayuri, half to the universe.
Sayuri leaned back, swirling her drink with lazy elegance.
"Because she's pure," she said, smiling.
Akihiro's breath hitched.
"Hmm… there's something weird under me. Definitely not a snack or ice cream. It's kind of big and round... Is that part of your gear? It's really poking me. It's bothering me," she said, scrunching her face with genuine confusion.
She tried to figure out what it was, but she didn't use her hands to feel it. Her butt shifted curiously, as if exploring the shape beneath her.
Akihiro's mind screamed.
Of course it's still here. You're sitting on it. Its never gonna leave.
The laughter grew louder. Sayuri covered her mouth with her hand, trying to contain her giggles. Reika almost fell off her chair from laughing so hard.
It wasn't just the movement — it was the friction, the softness, the heat. Her weight shifted against him with innocent persistence, and every subtle grind of her hips sent a pulse of tension straight through his spine.
His muscles tensed involuntarily, vibrated. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the wave of sensation that surged through him like a jutsu gone rogue.
She wasn't doing it on purpose.
He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the storm. But Mika kept shifting, her skirt riding higher, her thigh brushing his exposed skin, her warmth pressing deeper into him.
It was sensory overload.
Her scent, the alcohol, the laughter around them — all of it blurred into a haze of temptation.
Reika lowered her hand from her temple, exhaling sharply.
"Okay, seriously," she muttered, her voice dry as sandpaper. "If this turns into a biology lesson, I'm leaving."
She didn't move, of course.
Instead, she leaned back just slightly, her gaze flicking to Akihiro with a glint that wasn't entirely hostile.
"But if you're hiding gear that pokes like that," she added, her tone dropping half a note, "you better learn how to control it. Or someone else will."
Her eyes lingered for a beat too long before she looked away, sipping her drink like nothing had happened.
Akihiro closed his eyes for a second, exhausted.
"You can't take it off, Mika…" he said, with no strength left to fight fate.
"Yes, you can, look," she replied with childlike conviction, bringing her hand to what she thought was the source of the discomfort.
Before disaster could strike, Nezuko-sensei stood with surgical precision, crossing the room in two silent steps. She held Mika's wrist firmly, but without aggression.
"Child… you shouldn't play with other people's things," she said, her voice low and firm. "If you break that… there's no fixing it."
Mika, still in a daze, asked, "But... why can't I just move a little?"
Sayuri let out a low, amused laugh. "Mika, darling, you're on top of someone and you want to order him around? Perhaps you're the one who needs to get used to it."
Reika snorted. "Tch. She's right. You can't just demand a new sitting arrangement."
Mika's brow furrowed. "But... it would just be a little change..."
Nezuko's voice cut through the giggling. "Mika. It is something sensitive. If you break it, it would be an irremediable and cruel thing for Akihiro."
Mika sniffled, her expression wobbling between confusion and guilt.
"I didn't mean to hurt anyone… I just wanted to help."
Akihiro exhaled, his voice softer now.
"You didn't hurt me. Just… startled me a little."
Sayuri leaned in, her tone playful but oddly gentle.
"That's what purity does. It startles. It disarms. And sometimes… it sits on you without warning."
Reika rolled her eyes, but her smirk had softened.
"Tch. Just be glad she didn't try to heal you. That would've been worse."
Nezuko-sensei, still holding Mika's wrist, released it slowly and gave her a nod.
"Lesson learned. Now sit properly, child. And next time… ask before you explore."
Mika's eyes, still blurry with innocence and sake, darted to Akihiro. "Is that true? I'm about to do… Is it really that terrible?"
Akihiro, still struggling to breathe, simply nodded. "Yes. It would be terrible."
Mika froze. Her eyes filled with tears instantly, and she began to whimper.
"S-sorry, sensei… sorry, Akihiro… I always mess everything up…"
The room fell silent for an instant. Even Reika stopped laughing.
Akihiro, still halfway lost between the warmth and the chaos, managed to gather a bit of lucidity. He wrapped Mika in a light but firm hug, like someone trying to protect without suffocating.
"You didn't mess anything up," he said, his voice calmer than he expected. "You're just… learning. Just like everyone else here."
Mika sniffled, leaning her head against his chest, her eyes still damp.
"I just wanted to help…"
"And you are helping," he replied, looking at Nezuko, who was now watching with a softer gaze.
Sayuri approached, kneeling beside them.
"She has a big heart," she said, smiling. "She just needs to learn how to use it with more care."
Reika sat on the tatami, crossing her arms.
"And Akihiro… he's learning to survive with a bomb in his lap."
Everyone laughed—even Mika, between sobs.