A sudden pressure against his shoulder made Kuroha Akira pause mid-massage. Curious, he started to turn his head—
And met resistance.
Specifically, the resistance of Shinomiya's foot pressing firmly against his cheek and the side of his nose.
Well. Now he was literally being stepped on by a beautiful girl.
And unexpectedly, he caught a whiff of her scent—a faint trace of perspiration, yes, but beneath that, the clean fragrance of silk and the subtle floral notes of her shower gel. The three mingled into something unexpectedly... evocative.
Was this the authentic scent of a beautiful girl's feet?
This really made one want to investigate further.
Not good.
His... preferences seemed to be evolving in increasingly specialized directions.
Shinomiya's toes pushed his face back into forward position while she issued a warning. You can't turn around yet!
"What's wrong with turning around?"
Akira-kun... do you genuinely not know my current posture, or are you pretending not to?
Kuroha considered this. Her legs were draped over his shoulders, feet resting against his back. Her upper body was propped up behind him. From his perspective, the arrangement was innocent enough. But from hers...
He visualized it. The position. The angle. The potential exposure.
"Uh... right. My apologies. I was being presumptuous."
It's good that you understand. A pause. Akira-kun, please continue what you should be doing.
What he should be doing? Foot massage?
She'd said so herself. Fair enough.
Kuroha reached back, grabbing her sole with his hand, thumb finding the arch with practiced precision. He pressed.
Behind him, Shinomiya clamped both hands over her mouth.
She'd only meant to prevent him from turning around—a simple precaution. But her choice of words had backfired spectacularly. Now things were about to become significantly more... intense.
Her current state had long passed "diaper change" territory. Even her ultra-short gymnastics shorts now displayed a noticeable dark patch in the center—invisible if she kept her legs closed, but in her current wide-open posture, completely exposed should he turn.
She couldn't show panic. That would arouse suspicion. Remain calm. Stay composed. Calm... composed... Ah!
Her efforts succeeded in suppressing vocalization, but at considerable cost: crystal tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes, and the dark stain on her tight shorts expanded further.
Hmm... let's leave it there for now.
Kuroha's arm was cramping from the awkward backward angle. He gave her heel one final pat against his shoulder, then stood and moved away from the chair, finally releasing her legs.
"Can I turn around now?"
...... A pause, heavy with meaning.
You can.
Why did she sound so deflated?
Kuroha turned.
Shinomiya had curled into a tight ball on the chair, hugging her white-stockinged legs against her chest, face buried in her knees. Complete self-isolation mode engaged.
Uh. What happened?
"Did I hurt you? You should have said something."
It's not pain... I just...
She couldn't finish. Couldn't explain that her school uniform had just been washed again, that her gymnastics shorts now featured a gradient from light blue to dark blue in a very specific location, that she had no clean pants left to change into. Hence the curling. Hence the hiding. Hence the desperate attempt to cover everything before he noticed anything amiss.
She risked a glance up. Kuroha stood there with that expression—the one that clearly said how am I supposed to know if you don't tell me?
Frustration bubbled in her chest.
How COULD she tell him?!
Oh, Akira-kun, I just climaxed from a foot massage, nothing unusual!
Even Shinomiya found this development mortifying. What kind of person reacted like that to simple physical contact? A pervert, that's who. A complete degenerate.
And she knew Kuroha's personality well enough to predict his response: if he discovered the truth, he'd never massage her feet again.
She couldn't accept that.
So instead, she did what any reasonable girl in her position would do: pretended to be unreasonably sulky, hoping he'd drop the subject.
Anyway... Akira-kun, you don't understand anything.
Kuroha stared at her, thoroughly confused.
Her mood had dropped instead of rising?
Which part went wrong?
She enjoyed foot massages—this was established fact. So why the sudden unhappiness? Was it the posture? Embarrassment about exposure?
Damn it. He needed a stats window! Or a thought bubble displaying the other person's internal monologue!
Something!
Girls were incomprehensible.
Kuroha sighed deeply, hands on hips. Future policy: only engage when Shinomiya explicitly offered her feet. Let her initiate. That way, nothing could go wrong.
The irony, of course, was that Shinomiya wasn't actually sulking. She was simply waiting for her shorts to air-dry sufficiently that the dark and light areas became indistinguishable. Once that happened, she could move again without fear.
In the meantime, conversation would pass the time.
Speaking of which... She kept her voice casual. Akira-kun, I met Tomita Haruka during my morning run today.
"Ah, morning run girl? What about her?"
She asked why you haven't been coming lately.
"Oh. Just tell her I've been busy with writing. No time for morning runs."
Kuroha hadn't run all week—mornings were prime drafting hours, and he'd been maximizing every moment.
That's what I said. Then she asked if you'll run again in the future. I said I wasn't sure, I'd have to ask you. She paused. So... will you?
"Eventually, yeah. After this deadline passes. I'm already feeling rusty—need to maintain conditioning."
I see. I'll tell her when I see her.
"Thanks."
Kuroha found himself mildly surprised that Tomita Haruka specifically inquired about his absence. Did she look forward to seeing him as much as he looked forward to seeing her... boing-boing movements?
But no—that was presumptuous thinking. What could possibly interest her about him? His bulge?
The possibility that Tomita might harbor feelings existed only in the most technical sense. Practically speaking, the odds were negligible. People shouldn't get ahead of themselves.
First: his looks weren't striking enough to inspire instant attraction. Even with the "doesn't speak" bonus factored in, he rated maybe 75 points—barely crossing into "reasonably handsome" territory.
Second: their interactions had been pitifully few. Different running routes, only brief encounters near the bridge, barely more than nodding acquaintance. If they'd been running companions daily, maybe something could develop. But they'd only exchanged names recently—hardly fertile ground for romance.
What Kuroha didn't know was the rest of that morning's conversation.
The third question Tomita Haruka had asked Shinomiya: What is your relationship with Kuroha-kun?
Shinomiya had answered honestly at first: "We're friends."
But then she'd seen Tomita's bright, hopeful smile.
And something dark had surged in her chest.
So she'd added, almost casually: We live together now. Same room.
She'd watched Tomita's smile freeze, then crumble into bitter understanding. Watched her turn and walk away like a girl who'd just lost something precious.
Shinomiya felt no guilt.
Only relief. The satisfaction of obstacle removal.
This matter didn't need Akira-kun's attention. He was busy. Focused. Distractions would only harm his progress. She was simply handling trivial matters on his behalf.
And honestly?
When it came to women who smiled at Akira-kun that way...
Having her by his side was enough.
No need for a second.