My apologies for the late chapters. The troubles of an unemployed job-seeking individual always rear their heads at the most inconvenient of times.
No worries though, I'll upload the deficit in chapters.
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(The Dangerous Charm of Absolute Territory)
"Come inside when you're done. I've cut up some watermelon."
"There's actually fruit… Are you sure you're the same old lady I know? Have you been body-snatched?"
"That's it, brat. Your share is gone."
"Hey, wait! I take it back… Hah, having to grovel just for a slice of watermelon…"
In his past life, Kuroha Akira wouldn't have given watermelon a second thought—mainly because he'd eaten so much of it, it had lost its novelty. But watermelon was undeniably a fruit that carried the essence of summer, much like oranges in winter.
However, in Japan, watermelon was a luxury fruit. Bringing a whole one as a gift was considered a particularly thoughtful gesture. In truth, outside of China, watermelon wasn't cheap anywhere in the world, given that China alone accounted for over 60% of global production. The term 'melon-eating masses' was a fitting, if slightly ironic, label for its people.
"Does Akira-kun eat watermelon often?"
"Fairly often, yeah."
"Grandmother Kobayashi and I bought this one together. I've never eaten such an expensive fruit before… Though, looking at the price today, it was much cheaper than I remembered. When I was little, watermelon was still very costly. I'm not sure when the prices started dropping."
Hearing this, Kuroha Akira shot a sidelong glance at Grandmother Kobayashi. Though she remained silent, he caught a flicker of pride on her face. So the drop in watermelon prices is mostly Old Man Kobayashi's doing.
Perhaps it was the 'melon-eating masses' passion for the fruit itself that had driven his efforts. No wonder the notoriously thrifty old woman was willing to splurge on fruit—it wasn't actually a splurge at all.
Truly admirable, Grandpa Kobayashi… Kuroha Akira's respect for the man reached new heights.
With watermelon on the line, Kuroha Akira was motivated to finish the weeding quickly. He reached out to Shinomiya. "Hand over the sickle. I'll take care of the rest. You head inside first."
"But…" Shinomiya hesitated slightly. Weeding was a task she'd accepted, and she wanted to see it through on her own.
Kuroha Akira knew Shinomiya had a strong independent streak, but right now, efficiency took priority. Sometimes, you had to cut through the sentiment.
"Listen. You've been working under the blazing sun all day. Your stamina must be drained. I've just been sitting in class—I've got energy to spare. I'll be much faster than you are now. And me helping you is for my own benefit too."
He gave her a look that said, 'You know what our relationship is.' Shinomiya, adept at reading emotions, understood perfectly.
Right… She and Akira-kun were collaborators, a united front. There was no need to draw such clear lines.
"Okay… Then take these too." Shinomiya obediently passed the sickle to Kuroha Akira, then removed her work gloves and handed them over as well.
"Good. Now go take a cool shower. Eating chilled watermelon after a shower is the ultimate refreshment."
"Mhm."
Kuroha Akira swiftly cleared the remaining weeds—a task that took less than ten minutes. Shinomiya's work had been meticulous, leaving no patchy areas; he only needed to tidy up near the storage shed.
After finishing, he returned the tools to the shed and headed inside. Grandmother Kobayashi wasn't in the living room. On the dining table sat half a watermelon with two spoons. On the kitchen counter were juice stains and two plates of sliced watermelon.
Akira walked over and found a note written in Chinese on top:
[Take these to Tsuchikata and Toshiro. You two eat what's on the table.]
The two plates held only about a quarter of the melon each. Presumably, the old woman had taken some for herself and offered some to Mr. Kobayashi.
Tsuchikata was likely still asleep, and Toshiro wasn't off work yet, so Kuroha Akira stored the plates in the refrigerator to deliver later.
Returning to the living room, he found Shinomiya coming downstairs after her shower.
"Oh, done already? Come have some melon… Uh."
And then, Kuroha Akira froze again.
It wasn't that Shinomiya had emerged wrapped only in a towel. She still wore the old-style gym uniform, but her previously bare legs were now sheathed in a pair of translucent, over-the-knee white socks.
Between the tight, short bloomers of the uniform and the top of the white socks lay an exposed expanse of supple, pale thigh—a 'negative space' more evocative than any direct display. The slight inward curve at the tops of the socks created a gentle constriction, alluring yet not uncomfortable…
This… this was the legendary Absolute Territory!
In his past life, this combination had nothing to do with actual students; it belonged solely to the realm of suggestive cosplay photo sets. It was an outfit dripping with deliberate provocation, possessing the same visual impact as a sheer school swimsuit.
But Shinomiya was a genuine, living high school girl. Though semi-withdrawn from school, no one was more authentically suited to this attire than her. The destructive power of this 'gym uniform + white socks' combo was… terrifying.
If someone were to photograph her for a magazine cover, the issue's sales would probably triple.
Just adding a pair of white socks elevated the allure to a whole new level, imparting a temptingly criminal edge to the pure girl's image. This is the charm of stockings! The magic of thighs!
Moreover, beautiful legs adorned with such socks fell squarely within Kuroha Akira's… aesthetic preferences. His appreciation was, therefore, particularly intense.
As he admired the view, Kuroha Akira justified himself internally: See? I told you I have a thing for legs.
Under his undisguised, fervent gaze, Shinomiya—already feeling shy—grew even more self-conscious. Her shoulders hunched slightly, her hands fluttered uncertainly. She felt an urge to cover her lower body, yet also didn't want to block Kuroha Akira's line of sight… after all, she had put this on for him to see.
However, the heat in his stare was so palpable it made her freshly showered skin feel like it might break into a sweat again. Softly, she reminded him, "Um… Akira-kun…"
"Oh…" Kuroha Akira finally snapped out of it. He raised a hand to partly shield his eyes; if he didn't, looking away would be a Herculean task.
Perhaps he had underestimated Shinomiya's charisma before. Her natural beauty was merely the foundation; he hadn't accounted for the massive charm multipliers provided by styling and attire. This sudden, masterfully executed display had left him momentarily unsteady.
If makeup and clothing could transform an ordinary girl into a beauty, and photoshop could work miracles, then for a girl blessed with innate beauty, meticulous styling could directly morph her into a succubus, capable of captivating the hearts of every passerby with a single glance.
At this thought, a pang of regret shot through Kuroha Akira. Just changing into a gym uniform and white socks is this devastating. If she were professionally styled by a top-tier makeup artist and dressed in more elaborate fashion, she could undoubtedly be elevated into a true 'goddess.'
He could vividly imagine the scene of her stepping into the public eye: countless spotlights converging, media frenzy, ascending to become a generation's screen idol amidst fervent adoration…
Yet, in the deepest corner of Kuroha Akira's heart, a tiny, possessive sprout—"I don't want other men to see her like this"—began to emerge… only to be swiftly stamped out.
It wasn't that he had fallen for her. It was more akin to the excitement of spotting pristine, untouched game. This was a man's innate nature—the desire to sequester beauty for oneself.
But Shinomiya did not belong to him.
She belonged to no one, nor should she belong to anyone.
Only then would she remain the one and only, Shinomiya Shion.