Part 1
While Philip's next potential romantic escapade was being carefully orchestrated without his knowledge in Albecaster, he faced a far more immediate challenge in the presidential suite of the Avalon Imperial Hotel in Bromanceham.
The silk bathrobe pooled at Natalia's feet like liquid moonlight, and Philip's brain simply... stopped.
For three eternal seconds, he was frozen, mouth slightly agape, face transitioning through shades of red that could have rivaled the sunset. The delicate lace lingerie she wore beneath—a confection of ivory silk and intricate embroidery that somehow managed to accentuate her perfect hourglass figure while revealing the alluring contours of her abdomen and perfectly sculpted legs—defied all logical processing. It was as if heaven had presented him with a masterpiece of feminine beauty, so perfect that his mind couldn't reconcile the fact that something so ethereal was standing right in front of him, warm, breathing, and devastatingly real. Most importantly, she was... readily available.
"Damn, I can't believe she gets the awe while I always just get the nosebleed or accusation of indecency. What a double standard," the System's voice rang in Philip's mind. "Though I must admit, the girl knows how to make an entrance. The original Philip certainly had exquisite taste in his subconscious ideals."
"Master?" Natalia tilted her head slightly, a faint blush coloring her porcelain cheeks as she registered his stunned expression. "According to my books, male protagonists typically respond to such displays with either immediate ravishment or poetic declarations. You appear to be experiencing system failure instead. Am I doing this incorrectly?"
Philip's mouth opened and closed several times, producing no sound whatsoever. His eyes, acting entirely without his brain's permission, traced the elegant curve of her collarbone, the delicate hollow at the base of her throat, and the way the lace clung to her generous bosom before yielding to the sculpted expanse of her abdomen. Her hips flared in perfect proportion; her legs seemed carved for allure, both in their length and graceful line. And the way she stood—hands clasped demurely before her, weight shifted slightly to one hip—composed a silhouette that would have driven Renaissance sculptors to despair at their inability to capture such perfection in mere stone.
Blood surged through him like a dam giving way, pooling in regions that made rational thought increasingly impossible. Heat hammered his face, his pulse thundered in his ears, and he became acutely aware that his twenty-something body had entered complete rebellion against his thirty-something mind's attempts at restraint.
Natalia's blush deepened as she registered the path of his gaze, her posture shifting by degrees—shoulders drawing back, one hand moving to rest on her hip, accentuating the firm perk of her ample bosom. "Oh! This is working! Page 47 of 'Seducing the Stubborn Earl' indicates that dilated pupils and elevated breathing patterns suggest successful interest generation!" She consulted an invisible mental checklist. "Should I proceed to Step Two then?"
Something between a laugh and a groan escaped Philip's throat. Even in this moment of overwhelming desire, Natalia's analytical approach to seduction was simultaneously endearing and absurd. But as she began to move toward him with what she clearly believed was a sultry walk—actually more of an exaggerated sway that would have been comedic if she weren't so devastatingly beautiful—something primal pulsed through him.
His body moved without conscious thought, drawn toward her as if by magnetic force. This was nothing like his fumbling experiences with Tara back in Bortinto—those had been desperate gropings in the dark. This was something else entirely, a desire so overwhelming it brooked no opposition from either logic or emotion.
"Well, she is technically the subconscious manifestation of old Philip's ideal woman," the System chimed in, now perched on the boardroom table in a pose that would have scandalized Victorian sensibilities. "And believe me, the original Philip had seen his fair share of beauties. But this one? Chef's kiss. No wonder you're about to spontaneously combust."
As Natalia stood before him, looking up with those impossibly blue eyes that held such trust, such earnest desire to please him, Philip felt his higher brain functions simply... abdicate. His rational mind—that part of him that worried about moral implications and consequences—sent up one last desperate flare of warning. But it was immediately overridden by the pounding of his pulse, the heat coursing through his veins, the overwhelming need that seemed to emanate from every cell in his twenty-four-year-old body.
For the first time since his transmigration, he truly understood the difference between this younger body and his older self. The intensity of physical desire that had become a distant memory in his overworked previous life now roared through him like wildfire. All the restraint he'd prided himself on in Bortinto, all the careful control he'd maintained since arriving in this world, simply evaporated.
Natalia took a small step backward as he approached, consulting her mental romance manual. "I believe I need a wall for the next part," she announced with the tone of someone following assembly instructions. "Chapter Twelve of 'The Wallflower's Awakening' was very specific about optimal wall positioning for passionate encounters."
She moved backward until her back met the wall, then immediately began adjusting her posture with scientific precision. She set her palms flat against the wall on either side of her hips. One foot slid slightly forward, the knee softened, toes pointed so her arch lifted and the slipper merely kissed the floor. The shift set her weight onto her back leg, and her spine answered with a slight arch.
"Palms flat against the wall at hip level—check. Weight shifted to back leg—check. Spine arched to optimize bosom presentation—" She paused, frowning slightly. "Master, the manual suggests a 15° back arch for silhouette, but given our 5 cm height difference, my model recommends a 7° chin lift. Approve?"
Philip made a sound that might have been a laugh if his brain hadn't been completely offline. His body continued its approach on autopilot until he'd effectively cornered her against the wall. They were so close he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the delicate scent of lavender from her bath mixed with something uniquely Natalia—like sunshine and fresh linen.
"Excellent proximity achievement!" Natalia whispered encouragingly, though her own breathing had quickened. "According to my research, you should now either declare your desperate need for me or begin removing clothing. Though we're already somewhat ahead of schedule on the disrobing timeline—"
Whatever rational protests Philip's mind attempted to mount were drowned out within seconds by the overwhelming effect of Natalia's presence. This close, he could see everything—the way her bosom rose and fell with quickened breaths, the spreading blush across her face and neck, and the subtle firming of certain areas beneath the lace.
In one last desperate attempt to calm his desires before doing something irreversible, Philip dipped his head to steady himself, bending at the waist and aiming his forehead for the safe harbor of her shoulder. At that exact, inopportune moment, Natalia rose onto her toes—the manual had been very specific about toe-rising during wall encounters—and his face found the soft, yielding curve of her cleavage instead.
"Ah!" Natalia's surprised exclamation was pure reflex, her body tensing for a heartbeat at the unexpected contact. "That was not in any of the diagrams!"
The sound of her voice, breathless and surprised, shattered Philip's last restraint. Before he could stop himself, his arms were around her waist, drawing her against him, his hands exploring the elegant curves of her body—the narrow span of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips, the smooth expanse of her back. His lips found her neck, pressing fevered kisses against her porcelain skin while she made small sounds of surprise and discovery.
"Oh my," she breathed, her academic tone wavering as new sensations flooded through her. "This is... the books mentioned tingling, but they failed to quantify the amplitude."
Philip's hands tightened at her clinical observation, and Natalia responded with an involuntary gasp, her body arching into him. "Fascinating! That response was entirely involuntary. My body appears to be operating on previously unknown subroutines—"
"Natalia," Philip groaned against her neck, "please stop analyzing."
"But Master, how else will I optimize our mutual pleasure algorithms—oh!" She gasped as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot below her ear. "That..."
Despite the overwhelming desire coursing through him, Philip couldn't help but smile against her skin. Only Natalia could make passion sound like a software update.
"This sensation," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine wonder as her hands tentatively explored his shoulders, "is quite extraordinary. Like lightning but warm. Like falling but safe." She paused, consulting her mental database. "I believe the next part calls for you to carry me to the bed. The 'sweep into arms' maneuver was specifically recommended in many books, though given my fitness levels, I could carry you instead if you prefer?"
Philip's hands tightened involuntarily at her practical suggestion, and Natalia responded with a subtle movement, her thighs pressing together reflexively as new sensations coursed through her body. The movement nearly finished the business before it started in earnest.
And then, just as Philip's mind had cleared away the last vestige of resistance, just as he was about to give in completely to the moment, Natalia's sweet voice asked in a tone of innocent curiosity: "Master, when you marry Lady Elora, would it be possible for us still to do this once in a while? This feels so weird yet so amazing and I think we should do it more often."
The question hit Philip like a bucket of ice water thrown directly in his face. Elora! Kendrick! Reality crashed back with brutal clarity.
Images flooded his mind: Elora's earnest green eyes during their dance, the way she'd looked at him with such hope. She needed him now more than ever, with Kendrick's fate uncertain, possibly lying gravely injured or worse in some imperial medical facility. The guilt crashed over him in waves—Kendrick, who'd stood by him through every crisis, who'd defended him against chaotic mobs, who'd trusted him with his sister's happiness. Kendrick, who was now paying the price for trying to bring peace to a continent at war.
And beyond the immediate guilt lay deeper concerns. What would happen to Natalia if they continued down this path? The memory of her tears at the garden party surfaced vividly. He knew with crushing certainty that the more intimate they became, the harder it would be when society's expectations inevitably tore them apart. Marriage wasn't optional for someone of his station—it was mandatory. And when that day came...
Moreover, the System's earlier comments on blue mana flashed through his mind. If he could power Natalia without the massive drain on his fortune, it would increase the chance that he could successfully disguise her as human indefinitely and keep her as part of his future household.
'If you can't conform, reform,' the System's voice chimed in, then vanished as quickly as it arrived.
Under the weight of these cascading thoughts, his body, which had been pressed so urgently against Natalia's, suddenly stilled. The raging desire that had consumed him moments before didn't disappear—it still burned through his veins like liquid fire—but it was now tempered by an avalanche of competing emotions: guilt, fear, uncertainty, and a crushing sense of responsibility.
Natalia, feeling his sudden stillness, pulled back slightly to study his face with genuine concern. "Master? Your blood flow patterns have shifted dramatically. Have I performed something incorrectly?"
She glanced down, then her eyes widened with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Oh! Your... your lower body appears to have retreated..."
Philip's face, already flushed from desire, somehow managed to achieve new depths of red. He took a shaky step backward, his legs trembling. "No, Natalia, you didn't... it's not your fault. I just..."
She tilted her head, genuinely puzzled, her analytical mind engaging with the problem. Then her face lit up with sudden understanding. "Oh! Was that it? Did we just complete the ritual of love? That was more efficient than I would have hoped."
Philip made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
"But wait," Natalia continued, her brow furrowing adorably, "Lydia said the ritual of love should last between five and fifteen minutes, though romance novels usually claim '30 to 50 minutes.' But we had..." She glanced at the wall clock. "...used only four minutes. Did we achieve some sort of speed record?"
She looked down at herself, still pressed against the wall in her lingerie, then back at Philip with genuine confusion. "Also, I'm fairly certain we skipped a step. The books were very clear about the usage of the bed, and we appear to have missed that entirely. Unless..." Her eyes widened with a new thought.
"Natalia," Philip said gently, fighting the urge to either laugh or die of embarrassment as he reached for her discarded bathrobe. As he wrapped it around her shoulders with careful, protective movements, he continued, "Nothing actually happened. We didn't... that is, the 'ritual of love' you're referring to... we didn't do that."
She blinked up at him, her head tilting in that adorable way it did when encountering data that didn't align with her models. "So what did we just do?"
"Uh," Philip said, his face burning anew as he searched for appropriate terminology. "Let's just say what we did was... preliminary activities. Like the warm-up stretches before exercise."
"Oh!" Natalia's face brightened with understanding. "Like stretching before calisthenics! How practical. The books did mention something about 'building arousal,' though they usually do not clearly define what it entails." She paused, considering. "So when do we proceed to the main exercise? I found the warm-up surprisingly enjoyable. My nerve endings are still providing fascinating feedback—"
"No!" Philip said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "That is, not today. Not... not until we figure out some things."
"Oh! I assumed you had it all figured out. Given your past record in such activities." Natalia asked with genuine curiosity. "Maybe we could ask Miss Lydia? She seems quite knowledgeable in such matters—"
"No!" Philip said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "I mean, let's just rest for today. It's been a long day; I am sure you are exhausted."
"I am not exhausted," Natalia replied with an enthusiasm that surprised Philip, "though I am experiencing unusual energy fluctuations in my lower abdominal region. Also," her cheerful tone gave way to a hint of self-consciousness, "I believe I might need another bath before we proceed further."
"How come?" Philip asked, then immediately wished he hadn't.
"Because I appear to have experienced an unexpected... leakage."
Part 2
Thirty minutes later, Philip lay rigid in the emperor-sized bed, staring at the ceiling while his mind ran calculations that had nothing to do with estate management. He'd positioned himself at the absolute edge of the mattress, maintaining maximum possible distance from where Natalia had settled on the opposite side. The gap between them could have accommodated another person entirely.
The silk sheets felt wrong against his skin, and every sound in the suite seemed amplified—the whisper of fabric, the distant hum of the city below, his own heartbeat refusing to normalize.
Natalia had emerged from her second bath in a fresh nightgown—soft blue silk that Lydia had packed—and climbed into bed with her usual efficiency. But something was different. Philip could feel the tension radiating from her side of the bed as she shifted positions repeatedly, each movement accompanied by a frustrated sigh.
"Master?" Her voice came softly through the darkness.
"Yes?"
"My internal processes are... destabilized."
Philip turned his head, though he couldn't see her clearly in the dim light. "Are you okay?"
"Unknown." She shifted again. "My body appears to be maintaining a readiness state from our earlier warm-up exercise. Temperature regulation compromised. Involuntary muscle tension in lower abdomen. Persistent core system agitation."
Philip pulled a pillow over his face with a groan.
"The sensation isn't unpleasant," she continued analytically. "Just... insistent. Like an unresolved algorithm demanding completion."
Before he could respond, she moved—not with calculation but with instinct. She crossed the mattress and pressed against his back, arms wrapping around his torso.
"Natalia—"
"Proximity reduces discomfort by 23%," she admitted against his shoulder. "May I remain?"
Philip's heart rate spiked. Every curve pressed against him, her breath warm on his neck. It was simultaneously comforting and agonizing.
"This might make sleeping difficult," he managed.
"Acceptable. I don't require traditional sleep anyway." She shifted, inadvertently pressing closer. "Master, you're experiencing significant distress. Recursive worry loops for eighteen minutes."
Even in confusion, she was still analyzing him with scientific precision.
"You're calculating probabilities," she continued, her analytical voice softening. "Lord Kendrick—grief pattern breathing. Lady Elora—anxiety response. When you think about me..." she paused, "heart rate increases twelve beats per minute, temperature rises 0.3 degrees, and certain anatomical responses become pronounced."
Philip was simultaneously impressed and mortified. "You've been monitoring my vitals?"
"Automatic process. The novels call it 'being attuned to one's beloved.'" She paused. "Given our positioning, certain responses are difficult to ignore. Should I pretend not to notice?"
"Yes, please."
"Acknowledged. Officially not noticing your lower body's enthusiasm."
Beloved. The word hung between them, unacknowledged but impossible to ignore.
Philip's mind churned through scenarios. Tomorrow's orphanage visit loomed. And eventually, he did have to face Elora, whose brother, his very best friend, might be on his deathbed. How could he comfort her without inadvertently making promises his heart couldn't keep? The memory of her hopeful green eyes during their dance haunted him. She'd need him more than ever, drowning in grief and fear.
But was refusing her even possible anymore? Society expected it. Her situation demanded it. She'd defended him publicly, invested her reputation in their connection. His allies planned around it. And, with her current situation, her very sanity might depend on it. Every thread of his new life seemed woven toward that inevitable conclusion.
"You're escalating again," Natalia observed. "Thinking about Lady Elora and tomorrow."
"How—"
"Breathing patterns. Also, you tensed when I mentioned her earlier." Her hand moved to rest over his heart. "You're calculating how to comfort her without creating false expectations."
"And if there's no way to avoid those expectations?" The question escaped before he could stop it. "What if every path leads to the same destination?"
Natalia was quiet for a moment. "Then perhaps the question becomes not whether, but how you navigate that path while preserving what matters to you."
Surprisingly insightful for someone who learned emotion from romance novels.
"What matters to me is getting increasingly complicated," he admitted.
"Because of me?"
"Among other factors."
She pressed closer, and he felt something shift in her breathing—less analytical, more... yearning.
"I'm experiencing something new," she whispered. "Beyond the physical discomfort. A... wanting. Not for optimal outcomes or successful parameters. Just... wanting." Her voice grew smaller. "The books mentioned desire but never explained how it burns."
"Welcome to being human."
"Is that what's happening? Am I becoming human?"
Philip didn't answer. How could he, when the System had been cryptic about Natalia's evolution? But developed she had—far beyond any simple artificial construct.
"I don't know what you're becoming," he admitted. "But you will not be alone in this process."