However, his abilities weren't without limits.
Time Stop and X-Ray Vision—two seemingly overpowered tools—shared the same "total time" pool.
Measured in seconds, stopping time for one second or maintaining X-ray vision for one second both consumed one second from the quota.
And this quota wasn't infinite. It was like a hidden battery: every morning, when Yuma naturally woke up, he'd find the total time mostly recharged.
He glanced at his modest but accurate wristwatch—there was still some time before the ceremony started.
He habitually calculated the time quota used that morning.
Peeking at Yukino-san had taken nearly a minute, plus a few seconds of paused time for thinking… the remainder had to be budgeted carefully.
(Hm?)
The instant his mind brushed over the invisible "total," a very subtle but unmistakable anomaly appeared.
The total time… seemed to have increased by a tiny amount.
The increase was minuscule—maybe a few seconds, perhaps less—but it had definitely grown.
This wasn't the usual morning "automatic" recharge; it was growth that had just happened today, right now!
(What's going on? Besides the fixed morning recovery, there's never been natural growth.)
(What happened just now?)
His brain, like a precision instrument, rapidly rewound: leaving the principal's office, closing the door, smile fading, encountering Kasumigaoka Utaha, the conversation, her departure…
Kasumigaoka Utaha!
She was the only variable!
(Was it coincidence? Or… really related to her?)
An intense desire to investigate instantly overrode his initial intent to "avoid trouble."
If the total time could be replenished in some way, the implications for him were enormous—it was worth a small risk to verify.
Without much hesitation, Yuma's eyes sharpened.
[Time Stop]
The silent command was issued.
In an instant, everything around him lost its color, turning into a monotonous gray-white.
Dust particles floating in the air froze in place, leaves swaying outside the window locked in eerie poses, even the distant clamor from the gym abruptly cut off—as if seized by an invisible hand.
Everything fell into absolute stillness.
The world had been paused.
Yuma wasted no time. He immediately turned and quickly walked in the direction Kasumigaoka Utaha had gone.
His footsteps echoed unusually clearly in the frozen air.
Soon, around the corner of the hallway, he spotted that graceful, motionless figure.
She was frozen mid-step, her black hair cascading like a waterfall, the tips slightly lifted and locked in mid-air.
Her skirt was lifted in a subtle arc from walking, the lines of her long legs—tightly wrapped in black pantyhose—appearing even more elongated and seductive in absolute stillness, like a meticulously crafted work of art.
Stopping in front of Kasumigaoka Utaha, Yuma didn't act immediately.
(The total increased after we separated. So the trigger was most likely the physical contact when we collided?)
His gaze fell on her frozen face—those dark-red eyes like the finest gems, yet devoid of life.
His mind raced, trying to reconstruct every detail of that brief moment.
(The impact was light—mainly arms and shoulders. I also smelled her fragrance…)
(Beyond that, nothing special. Could simple touch be enough?)
He needed to test it.
Holding his breath slightly, Yuma carefully extended his hand and lightly brushed the back of her hand hanging at her side with his fingertip.
The skin felt cool and delicate; the texture was exceptionally clear in the frozen state.
The instant their skin touched, an extremely faint, almost imperceptible "flow" surged from his fingertip—like a gentle trickle.
The invisible gauge representing total time in the corner of his vision crept upward ever so slightly, struggling as it rose.
(…Too slow.)
Yuma's brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.
This sluggish growth rate was far slower than the rate at which maintaining the current time stop consumed it!
Like a nearly empty pool where water trickled in drop by drop, while the outflow gushed in large streams—
It was unsustainable; the total was still net decreasing.
(But earlier, just a momentary contact added over ten seconds—how?)
His gaze swept over Kasumigaoka Utaha's frozen form again, recalling the more detailed sensations from the collision.
Not just hands—arms, shoulders… and perhaps something more…
(Contact area? Degree of intimacy? Or the "sensitivity" of the contact point?)
A bolder hypothesis formed in his mind.
His eyes involuntarily landed on her chest, which appeared even fuller and more pronounced in stillness. The fitted uniform blouse was stretched taut, outlining breathtaking curves.
During the earlier collision, the softness Yuma had felt was undoubtedly this.
Reason told him this was dangerous and extremely disrespectful.
But the intense desire to uncover the secret of his ability, combined with the huge temptation of stable time replenishment, ultimately overwhelmed his hesitation.
In this stopped time, no one would ever know.
Yuma took a deep breath and reached out again—this time with clear intent, slowly moving toward that forbidden softness.
His movements were slow; his fingertips even trembled slightly—from nerves or some hidden excitement.
Finally, his cool fingertips lightly touched that astonishing softness and elasticity through the thin layer of uniform fabric.
Buzz—!
As if a switch had been flipped, a "hot current" far stronger and more surging than when he touched her hand rushed through the point of contact!
The time total gauge shot upward at an unprecedented speed—in just one or two seconds, it gained nearly five minutes' worth of normal quota!
(So… much?!)
Yuma's pupils contracted in shock. For a moment, he forgot to move; the exquisite sensation from his fingertips intertwined with the rapidly growing time, creating a strange dizziness.
The wonderful feeling was crystal clear: soft, warm, full of vitality and fullness.
He unconsciously curled his fingers slightly, sinking deeper into that softness and scale, and the time total continued to increase steadily and quickly.
(It's true! Intimate contact… the recovery amount is directly proportional to the intimacy level!)
However, just as he immersed himself in this unexpected discovery and the marvelous sensation—
A very faint but blood-stirring soft hum suddenly rang out in this absolutely silent gray world.
"Mmm… nn…"
The source was the girl in front of him.
(Oh no! Prolonged contact will…!)
His ability had one special mechanism.
In time stop, if contact with an object exceeded a certain duration, it would "pull" that object into the current frozen time flow.
This mechanism had pros and cons: the pro was that Yuma could interact with the outside world during time stop; the con was that he couldn't do things like what he was currently doing to Kasumigaoka Utaha for too long.
He immediately withdrew his hand, and the black-stockinged senpai returned to complete stillness.
(If contact is broken, the "pull-in" process stops.)
This small loophole now became Yuma's key to unlimited replenishment.
He reached out again—this time with less hesitation and more clear purpose.
His heart pounded violently in his chest, a mix of guilt, thrill, and craving for more "time."
His cool palm covered that full curve once more, carefully savoring the warmth and softness.
The sensation of time replenishment surged (partly psychological).
After a short while, Kasumigaoka Utaha's body showed extremely subtle signs of reaction—eyelashes fluttering, fingertips curling, as if about to wake from sleep.
Yuma decisively withdrew his hand again.
Then he began repeating the process.
Reach out—cover—feel the rapid time replenishment and the astonishing sensation from his palm—release—reset—reach out again…
Cycle after cycle.
Using this ability for such a purpose for the first time—even if it was to replenish time—began to excite and stimulate Yuma.
His movements gradually became more skilled and bolder.
His fingertips seemed to awaken with memory; each time he covered her, he could precisely capture the peak of that soft fullness.
At first it was just palm coverage; gradually, his fingers grew restless and began exploring.
Through the thin spring uniform fabric, Yuma could clearly feel the increasingly obvious subtle changes beneath—that most innocent and honest reaction of a girl, quietly blooming even in unconscious stillness.
(This spot… seems especially sensitive?)
While curiously pinching and pressing the tip lightly, he watched Kasumigaoka Utaha's face.
Each deeper touch made her thick eyelashes tremble more violently; her long legs wrapped in black stockings seemed to rub together unconsciously.
He could even see a faint pink flush spreading across her pale neck.
All these silent, involuntary reactions became the strongest catalysts.
The boy realized his own breathing had grown heavier at some point; heat was gathering below.
What started as a purely functional operation to gain time had unknowingly taken on more primal teenage impulses and curiosity.
After one particularly firm squeeze, Kasumigaoka Utaha's body suddenly tensed—she was about to cross a critical threshold.
Yuma jerked his hand back, the motion almost panicked.
All signs of impending "awakening" were forcibly erased again; Kasumigaoka Utaha returned to that perfectly still, exquisite doll ready for the taking.
He looked at his slightly trembling hand; the lingering warmth still clung to his fingertips.
(This sensation…)
His gaze fell on her chest; the uniform fabric where he had repeatedly touched showed no visible marks, but the memory in his fingertips couldn't be faked.
This made Yuma unconsciously swallow, followed by an even stronger, almost blasphemous feeling.
Like a long-repressed virgin finally experiencing the wonder of a girl's body for the first time.
He reached out once more—this time not toward the already thoroughly "attended" softness, but slowly downward, gliding over her flat abdomen, feeling the delicate pleated skirt fabric.
Finally, tentatively and extremely gently, he covered those thighs tightly wrapped in black pantyhose.
The sensation was smooth and warm.
The high-quality stocking material clung perfectly to her skin, presenting the fullness and elasticity of her legs flawlessly while adding a unique silky texture.
Yuma pressed his palm slightly, feeling his fingers sink into the wonderful give of her thigh flesh. Time total received another substantial boost—less explosive than direct chest contact, but longer-lasting.
His fingers slowly slid upward along those elegant curves; the faint rustle of stockings friction was infinitely amplified in the silence.
The higher he went, the fuller and more plush the sensation became, almost inviting deeper exploration into the mysterious territory beneath her skirt.
Just as his fingertips were about to brush that absolute forbidden edge—
Yuma abruptly stopped, took a deep breath, and forcibly suppressed the churning heat and increasingly dangerous thoughts within him.
(Enough… I have plenty of time now.)
The amount replenished over nearly half an hour was enough for him to spend freely over the next two days. Continuing further risked losing control.
However, the instant his fingertips left the warm skin wrapped in black stockings, an extremely subtle but unmistakable damp stickiness suddenly clung to them.
"!!!"
This was definitely not just the feel of the stockings!
In the absolutely still time, his fingertips showed no visible change, but that clear, slightly viscous wetness transmitted unmistakably to his brain.
He instinctively looked at Kasumigaoka Utaha's still-frozen face.
At this moment, her faintly flushed cheeks, lightly furrowed brows, and slightly parted lips—as if in silent moan—all seemed tinged with sensual longing.
(Even unconsciously… her body…?)
This discovery struck harder than any previous touch—like an electric current shooting up Yuma's spine, delivering a particularly intense thrill.
That negligible wetness on his fingertips now felt burning hot, making his heart race in panic.
(I can't continue…)
Letting desire grow unchecked would only lead to ruin, and what he had just done had already brushed that dangerous, intoxicating boundary.
Yuma retreated almost hastily, taking one last glance at Kasumigaoka Utaha's body—which seemed to have quietly bloomed in the frozen time—before resolutely turning and striding away.
Once he reached a safe distance, he released the time stop.
[Time Restart]
The world resumed its flow.
Kasumigaoka Utaha suddenly stumbled, nearly losing her balance, and quickly steadied herself against the nearby wall.
"Haa… haa…"
She couldn't help the soft panting, her cheeks burning hot, the flush spreading all the way to her ears. A clear tingling sensation lingered in her chest.
But what filled her with overwhelming shame and panic was—
Between her thighs, an utterly unfamiliar wet, sticky warmth clung tightly to her most private skin, intertwining with the lingering sensation of being touched at the tops of her thighs.
The intense stimulation and humiliation nearly made her faint.
(Wh-what's happening…?! This feeling…?!)
Kasumigaoka Utaha clamped her legs together hard, her body trembling slightly. A wave of panic and disbelief seized her breath.
Just a second ago she had been walking normally—yet now her body felt… violated, toyed with.
This was absolutely not something normal physiology could explain!
She frantically smoothed her skirt, her fingertips even detecting an unusual dampness.
The girl jerked her hand back as if burned, her face turning so red it seemed blood might drip from it.
(What on earth happened… why did my body suddenly become like this…)
She bit her lower lip hard, trying to use the faint pain to dispel the strange sensations and the chaos in her mind, but the intense lingering feeling of being caressed and played with refused to fade.
Kasumigaoka Utaha forced her softening legs to move, practically fleeing toward the restroom with unsteady, panicked steps—her retreating figure full of embarrassment and disarray.
At the other end of the hallway, Yuma unconsciously rubbed his fingertips, as if that subtle yet real dampness still lingered there.
He took a deep breath, gradually suppressing the ripples in his eyes.
The welcome ceremony and freshman speech were next—he couldn't afford to drop his "honor student" facade.