Kuroha Akira caught the flicker of loneliness in Shinomiya's expression—brief as a passing shadow, but unmistakable to someone who'd learned to read her subtle cues.
He understood immediately: she was deliberately letting those emotions show. With her rapidly developing acting skills, she could easily have masked everything behind a perfect smile.
This vulnerability was intentional. Strategic. A gentle tug on his attention leash.
They weren't dating—hadn't established any formal relationship—but Kuroha still needed to consider her emotional state. Girls' moods were notoriously unpredictable, shifting like summer weather without warning. Mercury retrograde could tank a girl's spirits. A cloud passing the wrong way could do the same.
More importantly, without the initial "boost" wearing off, Shinomiya would inevitably relapse into self-doubt. She couldn't see proficiency scores like Kuroha could—no clear metrics to track her progress. Without peer comparison, her improvement remained invisible to her own eyes.
This was the hidden cost of home self-study.
Like college graduates facing their first job search, submitting endless applications without responses, falling into that double spiral of confusion and anxiety: Am I not good enough? What will I do with my life? What if I never find work?
Kuroha had avoided that particular hell by securing employment immediately after graduation in his previous life, but he understood the feeling of "not knowing where the future lies." He'd felt it acutely upon transmigrating to this world—until he'd found a new goal: lie flat and leech off others.
But Kuroha had adjusted because his life experience gave him perspective. Shinomiya was just an inexperienced girl who needed guidance.
Waiting until she was genuinely sulking before offering comfort would waste more energy and time—and slow the Tounosaka Voice Actor Training Plan's progress.
That's why, whenever Shinomiya extended her foot to tease him, Kuroha never ignored her. No matter how busy, he'd free one hand to engage, fully interacting with those white-stockinged beautiful feet.
The honest truth: he enjoyed it immensely. He'd never imagined his particular... appreciation for feet would ever prove useful. But here they were, in a perfect win-win situation!
Same logic applied now. Rather than receiving service, Kuroha preferred being the active party. It satisfied his preferences while lifting Shinomiya's spirits.
"No need for shoulder rubs. I'd rather be the one doing than receiving, so..." He made a grasping motion in the air—unmistakably lewd, yet somehow innocent in context. "Shall we do 'that' as usual?"
Shinomiya's heart stuttered.
Previously, she'd always initiated these sessions, teasing him into engagement. But today, he was extending the invitation. Which meant higher intensity. Stronger stimulation. More...
She knew accepting meant another underwear change afterward. The laundry situation was becoming genuinely concerning.
But she couldn't help herself.
She was completely addicted.
Mm... I'll leave it to Akira-kun...
She settled into the chair beside him, hands braced behind her on the seat. Her face turned away, cheeks flushed, as if she couldn't bear to watch what was about to happen—yet her lower body moved with perfect obedience, legs extending together, toes landing precisely on his knees.
Like a concubine awaiting favor, radiating shy submission.
The entire performance was, of course, carefully crafted.
When they'd discussed character expression previously, Kuroha had mentioned that shyness amplified a girl's charm. Shinomiya had taken this lesson to heart. Her natural personality trended bolder—the initial shyness had faded quickly, replaced mostly by excitement. She actually wanted to extend her feet more aggressively, maybe stomp his thighs playfully, engage in the kind of casual intimacy friends might share.
But she maintained the shy girl persona because it worked. Kuroha's reactions proved its effectiveness every time.
Not only had Shinomiya fallen in love with having her legs and feet massaged, but Kuroha had developed genuine appreciation for playing with girls' feet. Their preferences interlocked like perfectly cut puzzle pieces.
The most outrageous part? Kuroha no longer approached these sessions with pure lecherous intent. It had become... entertainment. Recreation.
He found this development almost unbelievable. Previously, the sight of beautiful legs in stockings would trigger immediate... reactions. Now, facing Shinomiya's white-stockinged feet, he could appreciate them like artworks, play with them like stress toys, without the constant undertow of base desire.
Maybe Shinomiya's feet transcended mere physical attraction. Maybe they represented something closer to natural beauty—art for art's sake.
Whatever the reason, he'd stopped questioning it. Good looks and good fun were sufficient justification.
His initial serious massage technique had evolved into exploration—finding sensitive spots, discovering new ways to play. The way her heel fit perfectly in his palm, smooth as polished jade. The satisfaction of rubbing her arch with his index finger. Playing "thumb roller coaster" along the curve of her sole. Probing the deep groove between her toes with his middle finger.
Shinomiya's feet had become his personal stress-relief artifact. His mood soared whenever he held them.
And now, inspiration struck.
"Oh, speaking of which—we could also try this..."
He gently lowered her feet, then turned his back to her. Reaching back, he grasped her ankles and lifted her calves in one smooth motion, positioning them at shoulder height. Her feet rested against the back of his shoulders, toes pointed slightly upward.
A sedan-chair carrying posture—except the passengers were Shinomiya's feet.
"Ah!"
Shinomiya startled, nearly toppling backward, but her innate flexibility and balance saved her. She caught herself, breathing hard.
"Sorry, should have warned you." Kuroha glanced back. "Didn't hit your head?"
Shinomiya propped herself up, face burning. "No... but Akira-kun... this is..."
"Think about it—I can massage your feet while you massage my shoulders. Two birds, one stone."
Technically accurate. Her feet pressed against his shoulder blades, providing counter-pressure while his hands worked their usual magic. A human fascia gun, powered by Shinomiya's legs.
Mm... but...
"Problem? Uncomfortable?"
No... it's fine. Akira-kun, please continue.
But inwardly, Shinomiya wailed: This position is too embarrassing!
She wasn't wearing a skirt—no exposure concerns—but the "display layout" posture made her want to cover her face with both hands. It felt like Akira-kun was using her ankles as handlebars, her calves as... as...
Thankfully, he'd turned his back. Probably recognizing how awkward face-to-face contact would be. How gentlemanly.
But this didn't stop her imagination from running wild.
She couldn't help visualizing: Akira-kun inserting a key into an ignition, starting an engine. Shinomiya-brand Beautiful Girl Sedan, purring to life.
Her body, traitor that it was, decided to method-act this fantasy.
Ten toes curled simultaneously. Her feet pressed against his shoulders with sudden force. Kuroha felt the strong thrust against his back—
And somewhere in the metaphorical vehicle, fluids leaked.
Shinomiya's face achieved new heights of crimson as she registered what had happened. The laundry situation had just escalated significantly.