Even though Mimori phrased it like a question, her actions made it obvious—there was never any real choice. The "inquiry" was purely for show.
Scene shift: she was already guiding Bokue into the suite's living room.
Through the windows, nearly half of MAR's research base grounds could be seen clearly.
Dark clouds pressed low over the empty weekend roads. The plane trees lining the asphalt swayed left and right under a humid wind that screamed "storm incoming." A few scattered raindrops had already begun tapping the glass.
Everything about it predicted a violent downpour.
But for Bokue and Mimori inside, none of that mattered.
Mimori walked straight to the window and drew the curtains across the entire wall of glass, shutting out the gray view. Then she went to the sofa, sat down first, and patted the cushion beside her—an unmistakable invitation.
So… "making Mom happy too," huh…
Seeing how openly eager she was, Bokue remembered what Nagisa had said earlier at the apartment.
Honestly, Nagisa's "worry" was completely unnecessary.
This woman had initiative. Too much initiative.
With a soft sigh, Bokue walked over and sat down beside her.
He hadn't even tried to keep distance. The gap between their legs was maybe five centimeters at most—already far too intimate.
Mimori was still unsatisfied.
She shifted closer, then closer again, until their bodies pressed together fully.
"Hmph~"
When she met Bokue's puzzled glance, Mimori lifted her face and smiled—an adorable expression that carried a concentrated dose of "Nagisa-ness."
That smile alone killed any impulse to scold her.
"Alright," Mimori said brightly. "Give me your hand~"
Before Bokue could respond, she had already taken his hand—palm to palm—and covered it with her other hand. Then she began stroking slowly, almost reverently, like she was confirming something with her fingertips.
If the roles were reversed, someone would call this predatory.
No hesitation. No shame. Just direct, shameless "hunting."
"Mm-hm~ Yes. This feeling."
Mimori's eyelids lowered as she enjoyed it more and more.
"Honestly… after last week's visit, I noticed it immediately," she murmured. "My ability is tactile-based. Even a simple handshake tells me things about a person's condition."
Her fingers tightened lightly around Bokue's hand.
"That's why I normally avoid unnecessary contact. Everyone has privacy. And if it isn't for work… I don't want to know."
Her eyes opened slowly.
"But you're an exception, Bokue." Her voice softened. "No—'exception' isn't even accurate. I've never encountered anything like you."
She swallowed once, visibly steadying herself.
"Your presence feels… comfortable. Too comfortable." Her lips curved, almost helpless. "It's nearly irresistible."
Then she released his hand and stood.
Before Bokue could ask what she was doing, she turned to face him—and climbed onto the sofa.
One knee pressed down against the cushion. Then the other.
In one bold motion, she straddled him.
Her hands landed on his shoulders, steady and firm, and she leaned down slightly, teeth biting her lower lip as if she was fighting her own restraint.
"I don't understand," Mimori whispered. "Why is it like this? Can you explain it, Bokue?"
"…"
Bokue actually could explain.
He understood what was happening to her.
It was the same mechanism he'd seen in others—Rias, Kuroka, and so on. Once his power touched someone deeply, their bodies learned it too well. Later contact would trigger the craving automatically—like a switch being flipped.
A simple analogy: walking past your favorite restaurant and catching the smell—your mouth waters before you even think.
Except for Bokue, that effect didn't just "increase." It multiplied.
Mimori was a special case: she hadn't received his power directly, but her tactile perception was far more sensitive than most. So even without "prerequisites," she could still be pulled into the same state.
The strongest proof was what he'd seen the moment he opened her office door earlier.
No matter how hard Mimori tried to "handle it herself," she couldn't fill the vacancy her instincts had carved out.
The only solution was the antidote: the real thing.
Back in the living room, Mimori had fully abandoned restraint.
Her hands slid from Bokue's shoulders to his neck, wrapping tightly as she leaned to his ear and whispered, breath shaking.
"I know Nagisa would be upset," she murmured, voice trembling. "But Obasan… Obasan has no choice anymore. I really can't endure it."
Bokue answered quietly.
"No." His voice was calm. "Nagisa would actually be happy."
The moment he said it—before Mimori could even process it—Bokue's hands went to her waist. He lifted her in one smooth motion and flipped positions so quickly she didn't have time to react.
In the next instant, Mimori was pressed into the sofa cushions, blinking up at him.
Bokue's silhouette blocked the ceiling light. Mimori's coat had come loose and fallen open, her breathing fast and uneven.
"T-this… what even is this…?" she stammered, swallowing hard, her face flushed in disbelief.
She tried to speak again—tried to regain control—
But Bokue didn't give her room for it.
Outside, thunder tore across the sky.
CRAAACK—!
A bolt of lightning split the clouds, its pale light seeping through the curtains and flashing across the living room.
Mimori's body jolted—completely betrayed.
And then the storm finally arrived in full.
Rain hammered the windows in a relentless roar, like the sky had decided to drown the entire research base.
According to the forecast, it would last well into the evening.
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~ 70 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon
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