"Waaah..." Yua let out a breathy exclamation.
Her voice instantly drew Miki and Shizuka's attention.
The two of them leaned over to take a look, and were just as stunned by the image on the screen.
"This... Rinko drew this?" Miki could hardly believe her eyes.
Rinko's art had always been good, but that "good" had been a precise, cold kind of good, like the flawless doll in a shop window.
The illustration in front of them, however, was brimming with life, with warmth, with desire.
"The alignment of muscle fibers... perfectly consistent with human biomechanics. Light and shadow rendering... accurately simulates skin reflectivity under a sheen of sweat. Data output... flawless."
The three of them circled around Rinko's screen, clicking their tongues in awe as though they were admiring a masterwork from the Renaissance.
Rinko, the subject of their gawking, only grew more and more uncomfortable.
With a sharp click, she shut off the display. Her face burning, she snapped, "What are you staring at! Never seen anyone draw before? Get back to work!"
Then, guilty, she snuck a glance toward the other end of the office, where Tanaka sat wearing headphones and pretending to study company documents seriously. In reality, the corners of his mouth were already stretching almost to his ears.
Inside Rinko's head, everything was a total mess.
The memories of the pantry weren't just looping; they were a sensory assault, replaying with a visceral detail that made Rinko's skin prickle.
She remembered the way the air in the cramped space had vanished the moment Tanaka moved. She could still feel the rough grain of the wooden shelves biting into her back as he hoisted her up, her legs instinctively locking around his waist to stay upright. The "sculpted lines" of his body were no longer a distant observation, she had felt every ridge of his abs grinding against her stomach, the sheer, hot bulk of him crowding her into the shadows.
Her mind fixated on the "research" she had so desperately tried to label as clinical. There had been nothing clinical about the way he had unfastened his belt, the metallic click sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room. She remembered the sharp, breathless hitch in her throat when he guided himself against her, the slick heat of her own arousal meeting the insistent, heavy pressure of him.
Then came the intrusion: a blunt, stretching force that had made her head tilt back against the wall. She remembered the rhythmic, wet sounds of their bodies colliding, the way he had buried his face in the crook of her neck, his growls vibrating through her collarbone. Every thrust was deep and uncompromising, driving the breath from her lungs until all she could do was sob his name into the silence.
The climax had been less of an experience and more of a total physical collapse. She remembered the way her internal muscles had spasmed around him, a frantic, pulsing tightening that drew a choked groan from his throat. He had surged into her one last time, pinning her wrists over her head as he came, his entire body shuddering with a violent, primal release that left them both drenched in sweat and gasping for air.
"Aaaahhh...!" Rinko screamed inwardly, burying her face in her hands. The phantom sensation of him still seemed to linger between her thighs, a dull, thrumming ache that served as a permanent reminder of exactly how much "control" she had surrendered.
She felt dirty now. She felt like her proud skills as an artist had been contaminated by that man's body.
The hateful thing was, the effect of that contamination was unbelievably good.
That morning, when she sat down at her tablet and tried to transform the results of last night's "research" into art, she was horrified to discover that all the bottlenecks that had blocked her for so long... were gone.
She no longer needed any reference materials. Because the best reference in the world had already been recorded in her DNA in full 3D, full surround, with Dolby audio included.
The moment she moved her stylus, Tanaka's body lines automatically appeared in her mind.
The flow of muscles, the changes in light and shadow, the path of force through the body... everything became so natural it felt like she was not drawing, but performing a precise extraction of memory.
In just one morning, the quantity and quality of her drafts surpassed everything she had done in the entire past week.
That waterfall-like surge of inspiration felt so good she was almost drunk on it.
But every time she finished a drawing, a heavy wave of shame and regret would rush up and drown her again.
She felt like Eve with the forbidden fruit in her hand, savoring its sweetness while drowning in guilt for her fall.
This feeling only intensified whenever she looked at Tanaka.
That man was acting strange today as well.
He was not being aggressive like yesterday, did not come over to claim credit, did not tease or mock her.
He just sat quietly at his desk like a proper new hire, studying the company's materials.
Yet the more he behaved that way, the more Rinko was convinced he was putting on an act.
She was sure that behind that calm exterior lurked a thoroughly wicked soul.
He must be thinking, "See? This tsundere woman ended up completely conquered by my body."
The more she imagined it, the angrier she became. Her grip on the stylus grew so tight she nearly snapped it in half.
No. This could not go on.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.
She told herself that everything that had happened yesterday had been for the sake of art.
She was a professional illustrator. Sacrificing a tiny bit of "trivial modesty" for the sake of her work was only natural.
Yes. That was all it was.
She turned the screen back on and started working on the next graphic.
This time, it was a close-up of the heroine. She wanted to capture that expression of happiness and intoxication when someone is wrapped in overwhelming love.
Yet after only a few strokes, she froze again.
What exactly should the heroine's expression look like?
Should she be crying or smiling? Should her eyes be hazy or clear?
Her mind went completely blank. Because that particular section of "research" had not yet been covered last night.
"Tch..." Rinko clicked her tongue in irritation.
She had just discovered a truly despair-inducing fact.
Her material library... did not have enough data.
Almost without thinking, her gaze drifted once more toward the other end of the office, to the walking database, who was sitting there "working seriously".
And as if they were connected by some invisible thread, Tanaka lifted his head at that exact moment.
Their eyes met in midair.
Tanaka showed her a gentle, harmless, utterly innocent smile, as if asking, "Sensei, do you need any help?"
But when that smile reached Rinko's eyes, it automatically translated into a completely different sentence.
"What is wrong, Sensei? Are today's materials not enough?"
The entire afternoon, Kurosawa Rinko could not sit still.
...