(Shared Melon, Indirect Kisses?)
After forcibly suppressing the primal urge to… well, not be a civilized person, Kuroha Akira scratched his cheek, a clear sign of awkwardness. "Ahem… come eat the watermelon."
"Mhm…"
With his right-hand ability currently swapped to the Class President's "Academic Prowess A," maintaining a perfect poker face had become significantly more difficult for him. He was acutely aware he probably looked like a total creep right now. In the gender-warfare landscape of his past life's internet, he'd likely already be branded a criminal and sentenced by the court of public opinion.
Yet, while Shinomiya felt her skin grow warm under his gaze, she paradoxically felt a flutter of delight seeing Kuroha Akira's flustered expression.
So… Akira-kun can be affected too.
His previous 'indifferent' reactions to her beauty had secretly fueled a sliver of insecurity within her.
Were all those earlier compliments just empty politeness?
No, that couldn't be it.
After all, words could be lies, but the jealousy, covetousness, and lust in people's eyes were always real. Back then, those looks only filled her with disgust and irritation. But now, being stared at by Akira-kun… she didn't feel that discomfort anymore.
Well… actually, it's still uncomfortable, but it's a different kind of discomfort… more like that sticky, restless feeling from the morning…
However, this moment also made Shinomiya realize something: she didn't dislike being looked at by men. She only despised gazes filled with raw desire and ill intent directed at her.
So, spending a bit of her meager budget on this cheap pair of stockings had been the right decision. She'd actually hesitated between black and white, ultimately choosing white because the term 'Shirako' (white child/fish roe) popped into her mind.
Black stockings can come later.
For now, neither she nor Akira-kun had much financial leeway. Every yen needed to be spent wisely, not wasted.
With a subtle sense of triumph swirling in her chest, Shinomiya leveraged her acting talent to feign shyness, subtly fishing for his approval.
Acting Proficiency subtly increases.
"Um… it's because Akira-kun said stockings would be better…"
She even remembers such an offhand tease?
My dear young lady… you are far too obedient.
Kuroha Akira distinctly recalled his exact words were 'stockings feel nice to the touch.' Could it be Shinomiya wore them… for him to touch? No, that couldn't be…
Still, since he was thoroughly enjoying the view, there was no need to 'correct' her misunderstanding.
"They look good. But aren't they hot?"
"It's manageable. Mostly, these shorts are a bit too short… Wearing stockings helps cover up a little. It feels less embarrassing."
Does it really cover anything?
Sheer white stockings… One could only call it a symbolic effort at best.
Kuroha Akira couldn't quite grasp the female psyche regarding degrees of skin exposure, so he wisely changed the subject.
"Let's eat the watermelon first. If we wait, it won't be as chilled."
He handed a spoon to Shinomiya. She took it and stared blankly at the unprocessed half-melon on the table. "This… we're supposed to scoop it out and eat it directly?"
"Yeah. Haven't you eaten it like this before?"
"Not really. When I was little, we rarely had expensive fruit. Later, in my new home, I could eat it anytime, but it was always pre-cut into pieces."
For the average Japanese, eating watermelon directly by scooping was probably considered quite an extravagant, almost hedonistic way to consume it. It was too bold, clashing with their generally reserved etiquette. Moreover, two people sharing one half-melon? Most Japanese, with their strong sense of personal space, would likely balk at the idea.
"If you mind, I can go cut it up."
"Ah, no, it's fine! I've just never done it this way before… It's okay. Let's just eat it together."
Truthfully, Shinomiya's main concern was the mingling of saliva and watermelon juice—an act even more intimate than an indirect kiss. Kuroha Akira, having long passed the age where such delicate nuances mattered, paid it no mind. His sense of romance, along with certain social inhibitions, had been dumped into the Mariana Trench years ago.
Without a second thought, he plunged his spoon into the heart of the melon, carving out a large crater as if opening a can. He scooped out a generous chunk of the sweetest center.
"Mmm~ So refreshing! The middle part is the best. Have some too."
"Ah, okay…"
Shinomiya held her spoon, staring at the meteorite-impact crater Kuroha Akira had carved into the watermelon's heart. Even with untouched territory remaining, she swallowed her shyness, scooped a delicate piece from the very edge of his excavation, and brought it to her lips.
Was this… an indirect kiss, mediated by watermelon?
The taste of saliva… She couldn't discern it, of course.
Ugh… I feel so foolish for fixating on this… Akira-kun doesn't care in the slightest.
Right! We are partners sharing a life! We can't let such trivialities create distance!
With her spirits thus rallied, Shinomiya cast aside her reservations and began to savor the watermelon in this novel, intimate way.
The melon was incredibly sweet.
As sweet as fresh cream.
It felt as if her entire life had begun to sweeten from the very moment she met Kuroha Akira.
If I had a sibling, would it feel like this?
Or perhaps…
If I had a lover, would this feeling be any different…?
Upon the heart-shaped box sealing her maidenly heart, another lock clicked open, undone by the sugary memory of shared watermelon.
However, half a watermelon proved too much for two. Kuroha Akira, still full from the Class President's luxurious handmade bento, could only manage a few hearty scoops before conceding defeat. Shinomiya's appetite was modest to begin with. By the time they set their spoons down, well over half remained.
Kuroha Akira carried the leftover melon to the kitchen, sealed it with cling film, then returned to the living room. With a theatrical snap of his fingers directed at Shinomiya, he declared, "Alright, since we're done eating… let's continue!"
He was, of course, referring to their voice acting practice. But Shinomiya, whose morning foot massage had elicited such embarrassing sounds, remained anchored in that misunderstanding. She assumed he meant to 'continue massaging her feet.'
"Mmm… mhm… let's continue…"
Moreover, when she'd put on the stockings, she had already mentally prepared for her small feet to be… appreciated. Wearing them wasn't just for him to see. After all, Kuroha Akira had said 'stockings feel the best to the touch,' so of course, she wanted him to touch them.
Thus, though blazing with shyness, she straightened her legs and presented her beautifully sheathed, white-stockinged feet to Kuroha Akira. Then, she covered her face with both hands, biting her lower lip in a desperate attempt to stifle any wanton, delicate moans that might escape.
Kuroha Akira, however, was befuddled.
Huh? What's this for?
Just finished chilled watermelon, and now you're offering me… warm ice cream?
But since the offering was presented, how could a self-professed connoisseur refuse?
He sat back down beside her, gently placed her lower leg across his thigh, and commenced the second session of her foot massage.
It seems Shinomiya really took a liking to it this morning… once you get a taste, you crave more.
Foot massages were indeed addictive; otherwise, foot therapy parlors wouldn't be so ubiquitous, nor would the industry even exist. It was worth noting that not every patron sought 'special services.'
The foot reflexology charts of traditional medicine, linking soles to internal organs, held their own logic. There was even a saying that the foot was the body's 'second heart,' providing crucial circulatory support—a notion Kuroha Akira found quite reasonable. People in poor health often suffered from cold feet and knees. Regular foot massages promoted health and blood flow!
Besides, massaging a beautiful girl's stockinged feet… Kuroha Akira would be willing to do it a thousand times over.
The texture of the stockings truly was superior—smooth and tender.
Shinomiya's petite feet were as exquisite as the rest of her. Though he'd noted this in the morning, touching them again drew a soft sigh from him.
"A beautiful person… with beautiful feet." They were a pair worthy of being a sculptor's reference model.
Kuroha Akira's hands moved with a hybrid of purpose and reverence—sometimes stroking, sometimes kneading, gliding over the sheer white fabric. Though termed a 'massage,' he applied minimal force, his touch more akin to delicate exploration.
As Kuroha Akira became engrossed in his… appreciation, Shinomiya felt her entire body melting into a pliant puddle.
Unlike the slightly firmer pressure of the morning, this time his technique was feather-light and disconcertingly… dewy. It sent unbearable tickles radiating from her soles directly to her heart. Her ten toes curled involuntarily; the arches of her feet tensed, forming a seamless line with her calves.
The sensation was unbearably ticklish, yet it carried the same profound comfort as before—no, a new, even more wondrous comfort seemed to seep into her very being, emanating from the soles of her feet.
But… I can't hold back anymore!
"Mmm…! Ah! Mmm… Ahhh!!!"
This time, her cries were higher, sharper, and carried an even more dramatic flair than the morning's performance.
In this intensely vulnerable moment, her [Voice of Nature S] talent paradoxically unlocked a new stratum of proficiency.
High-Pitched Proficiency subtly increases.
And so, Shinomiya Shion's restraint shattered once more, filling the Kobayashi living room with another round of utterly embarrassing, melodious sounds. The line between voice training and something far more intimate grew ever more deliciously, dangerously thin.