If Satania knew what Vignette was thinking, she'd definitely glare at her, cheeks puffed out.
"How rude can you be?"
Even Satania is trying her best to do what a demon should do, okay! Yes, she's chūnibyō and gets shunned for her odd behavior, but at least she isn't like Vignette—doing things that only an angel would do, despite being a demon.
Silently roasting Vignette's kindness, Hayashi Maki shook his head with a smile. Thinking about revealing his Great Demon "identity" to Vignette tomorrow actually made him look forward to it.
Click.
While he was lost in thought, the door opened. Shiina Mashiro shuffled in with her usual dazed look.
"Hayashi Maki. Here."
Without many words, the girl handed him her new draft pages.
Hayashi Maki took them and couldn't help praising her.
"Nice, Mashiro. Your manga's getting more and more interesting—keep it up."
Mashiro dipped her head slightly; her eyes brightened. She seemed pleased. Hayashi Maki gave her a once-over and opened his arms.
"Mashiro, come here."
Without hesitation, she dove into his arms, perching on his lap. Her snow-white arms naturally looped around his neck.
"Is Hayashi Maki going to reward Mashiro?"
As she spoke, she shifted instinctively, nestling closer to his chest.
"Yup. Mashiro working so hard to chase her dream deserves praise."
Feeling her soft warmth pressed to him, Hayashi Maki stroked her silky golden hair. Mashiro wore a look of quiet bliss, eyes narrowing, brows unknitting—like a praised pet nuzzling its keeper.
He wrapped an arm around her slim waist and kissed her without ceremony. He'd been on his best behavior meeting Nagi Sanzenin today—too unlike himself. Alone with Mashiro now, his nature slipped out.
"Mmm…"
Mashiro's cheeks flushed, but she didn't resist. She answered him warmly. Hayashi Maki guided his trusting girl with practiced tenderness; their gazes met and held. Though Mashiro looked dreamy, her eyes were full of him.
After a long moment, they parted, both breathless. Hayashi Maki held her small calf lightly, then a transmutation sigil flared on his hand. A pair of white over-the-knee socks appeared.
"Hayashi Maki—should I put them on?"
Mashiro tilted her head. At home, she usually lazed around without them—especially without her keeper's help.
"They're for you. Mashiro's so pure and cute—white is perfect."
He smiled, taking her delicate foot in his hand. Mashiro watched him holding her slender calf; heat crept into her cheeks. Something stirred inside—maybe that's what embarrassment feels like?
Even so, she obediently lifted her foot to make it easy for him to slip the socks on.
He eased the white socks up her legs, then—watching the dreamy-eyed girl looking trustingly at him—felt his restraint snap. He scooped her up onto his lap again and kissed the pale skin at her neck.
Mashiro, in a simple nightdress (she couldn't be bothered to change at home), made no move to resist. Soon, the nightdress slipped to the side.
Hayashi Maki took her white, delicate hand and met her eyes gently.
"Mashiro—are you scared?"
She shook her head, body trembling just a little, then leaned in to give him a soft kiss.
"I'm not. It doesn't hurt, anyway."
He chuckled and hugged the dreamy beauty tighter.
…
Afterwards, Mashiro lay limply against him, cheeks faintly pink—but not uncomfortable; if anything, quietly pleased. Each time Hayashi Maki "taught" her, it felt wonderful—filling blank spaces in her heart with something important.
She might still be naïve about everyday life, but when it came to feelings, she'd gained something. In short: be good, act affectionate, and Hayashi Maki will spoil her. That was enough to remember.
Before long, Mahiru and Rita came back. In the kitchen, Rita helped with prep while Mahiru happily cooked, humming all the while.
After dinner, Mahiru tugged the two girls to the bath. When he'd remodeled the house, Hayashi Maki had installed an oversized tub—three girls soaking together was no problem.
Mahiru, a towel wrapped over her hair, sank into the water; only her white shoulders, slender neck, and two half-spheres floating at the surface showed. Rita mirrored her—both perfectly developed, both stunning displays of feminine charm.
Mashiro normally didn't care about figures; she'd bathed with Rita and Mahiru before. But remembering Hayashi Maki's tastes, she quietly slipped behind Mahiru and reached out with a pale hand—then squeezed.
"Ah!"
"Mashiro—what are you doing?"
Mahiru squeaked, cheeks flushing. Yes, she'd suggested bathing together to deepen bonds and keep the "back garden" harmonious—but that didn't mean she welcomed Mashiro's hands.
Mashiro compared Mahiru's with her own, then wore a troubled look.
"Mahiru—how can I get as big as you and Rita?"
"Pfft!" Rita couldn't help laughing. She'd definitely never taught Mashiro that lesson.
Mahiru blushed, but patiently offered advice.
"Eat properly, don't be picky, sleep well—you'll grow. Especially dinner, Mashiro-nee. You're always snacking on Baumkuchen and then barely touching dinner. Keep that up and the gap will only widen."
Mashiro dunked her face in the water, dejected. Asking her not to eat Baumkuchen was like asking her not to breathe.
Rita leaned close and whispered another "method" in Mashiro's ear—playing along to mend their friendship. She didn't want to be kicked out again. Sleeping with Hayashi Maki had its charms, but he was too bad—and she wasn't ready to hand herself over.
Staying close with Mashiro was safer. Hearing Rita's tip, Mashiro's eyes sparkled—and she promptly forgave Rita, even inviting her to sleep together that night.
Rita, however, felt a pang. Once, she had been the one Mashiro trusted most. Now she had to "borrow" Hayashi Maki's favor to get along with Mashiro. It stung. She couldn't help doubting herself—could she really persuade Mashiro to return to fine art and go back to the UK?