When Akira reached the upper floor, he immediately noticed that the door to his apartment wasn't fully closed. He pushed it gently, letting it open silently without a sound. It wasn't a surprise. From the moment he entered the building, he had already felt that familiar, calm, and confident aura—one that didn't belong to an intruder… but to one of the few people who never bothered knocking when visiting him.
The apartment, as provided by the academy, remained the same: a narrow corridor bathed in pale white light at the entrance. To the left, the small bathroom with dark blue tiles, still carrying the lingering scent of lavender shampoo, a clear sign it had been used recently. On the right, the storage room, whose door could barely open halfway due to the boxes piled inside, remained shut.
With every step he took inside, the familiar layout of the apartment slowly revealed itself: the living room connected to an open kitchen, dim lighting, balcony curtains half-drawn to let in silvery moonlight across the wooden floor.
The kitchen was bathed in soft light from the pendant lamps above the marble table, casting a gentle glow on the polished metallic surfaces. Amid the aroma of ginger and roasted garlic, there she was—that unmistakable presence. A girl whose very existence seemed to elevate the elegance of the place.
Her long black hair flowed smoothly, nearly brushing the floor, glistening like a silk curtain in the kitchen's light, swaying with her every subtle motion. Her glowing crimson eyes turned toward him, emitting a soft gleam like a calm, controlled flame. She wore a short white skirt that stopped just above her knees, paired with long black stockings that reached up to her narrow waist beneath the skirt, giving her appearance a striking contrast. Her blouse was simple yet elegant, a soft ivory color that suited her natural beauty.
But what stunned him most… wasn't her appearance.
Over her clothes, she wore a white apron with fine gray stripes, neatly tied around her waist. She held a ladle, gracefully stirring fried rice in a deep pan with professional ease, as steam rose with the scent of seafood wafting through the apartment. Her movement was calm and balanced, as if she'd done this countless times—despite Akira's memories screaming otherwise.
"Welcome back, Akira."
She said it with a soft smile without even turning, as if his arrival wasn't surprising at all. Her eyes sparkled for a moment when she saw him in his formal attire, but she quickly refocused on the pan, continuing in a gentle voice: "Dinner will be ready soon… go change your clothes first."
Akira stood there without taking another step, staring at her silently for a few moments, not quite believing what he was seeing.
It was Yuri—the princess he knew, the proud and spoiled one who barely did anything outside of fighting and chasing her whims—now standing in his kitchen, cooking like it was the most normal thing in the world.
A full minute of silence passed before he finally muttered, with a tone not devoid of curiosity:
"Did you always know how to cook… Yuri?"
She laughed softly, a gentle ring that matched the rising steam and the smell of butter, then turned to him with a teasing side glance:
"Kind of… Living a long life teaches you many things—even if you didn't want to learn them."
[A/N: She's Ha Yuri Zahard from Tower of God.]
"I see…" Akira nodded lightly. He, too, had lived a very long time—and he understood the meaning behind her words.
"…" Akira cast a long gaze at Yuri's figure in the kitchen, a gaze free of words, but heavy enough to make time slow for a heartbeat. It was less of a reaction and more of an intentional act… as if he wanted to carve this rare sight deep into his memory, to return to it one day—when silence would be his only companion.
"I'll go change." He said it in a calm tone, devoid of extra emotion, then turned and walked toward his bedroom.
His fingers unfastened his tie with practiced ease, pulling it off slowly as he undid the buttons of his inner shirt one by one. In his other hand, he held his shiny black jacket, now dulled under the apartment's dim lighting. His steps were steady and heavy, not hesitant, yet unhurried… as if every movement was calculated, as if even undressing should be done in silence.
Behind him, Yuri's presence continued to fill the room with the soft clatter of kitchenware, gently colliding in the pan. There were no words, but the atmosphere was far from quiet. Something invisible existed between them—an unseen bond that needed no words and didn't seek them.
He opened the bedroom door, letting in slightly cooler air from within, carrying the faint scent of paper and iron—remnants of his long presence here. He closed the door behind him without a sound.
He took off his shirt and placed it on the chair near the bed, then opened the closet, choosing something simple—a dark gray T-shirt and comfortable cotton pants. No need to dress up, not in front of someone close, and there wasn't any party to attend.
After tossing his formal clothes in the laundry basket, he ran his fingers through his golden hair and let out a quiet sigh, then left the bedroom with composed steps.
Upon returning to the living room, his eyes immediately fell on Yuri. She stood at the table, setting the dishes carefully one by one… but it wasn't the food that caught his attention.
She moved lightly, nudging a chair with her foot, swaying her hips with each step unknowingly. Her short skirt lifted slightly with her motion, revealing the beginning curve of her elegant lower back, while her long hair flowed down like a waterfall of ink.
It wasn't intentional, but it was hard to ignore.
He didn't know if she was trying to seduce him into doing unspeakable things… or if it was just a subconscious gesture. Either way, he had to admit—she had succeeded in tempting him.
And even if it wasn't part of her plan, his body didn't seem to distinguish between intent and effect—especially with her calm breathing filling the room and the scent of food mingling with the fragrance of her long hair.
But despite it all, Akira wasn't someone who let his instincts take over… not now, at least.
With a heavy sigh, he did what had to be done.
Lust Manipulation – Activated.
In an instant, the burning heat in his body was subdued. His ragged breaths slowed, and his pounding heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm, as if someone had closed a valve and contained all that fire within.
"You need to control yourself, Akira…" he murmured quietly, walking toward the table.
"Is everything ready?" – he asked with a voice that sounded more normal than he felt inside.
"Yes, have a seat. Try it and tell me if it tastes good." – said Yuri with a small smile as she sat across from him.
And as he reached for the chopsticks, the delicious aroma of the food hit his senses like a storm, pushing aside all reservations—yet still, he hoped the taste matched the smell.
He took a bite of the fried rice, and as soon as it touched his tongue, he froze for a moment, then slowly closed his eyes. The taste… was amazing.
"Hmmm… I didn't know cooking was one of your hidden skills." – he said in a calm tone, chewing slowly, savoring each bite.
"I didn't know either." – Yuri laughed softly, resting her chin on her palm as she watched him with sparkling eyes – "But I wanted to try… for you."
Akira's hand paused for a moment, but he didn't look up at her. He simply said quietly while taking another bite: "You did well. The taste exceeds expectations."
Yuri raised an eyebrow with mild surprise, then smiled with that playful gentleness she always carried – "So… if I told you I made dessert too, would you fall for my cooking as well?"
"That depends…" – Akira said quietly, finally lifting his gaze toward her, his tone low and eyes glinting with something hard to define – "Is the dessert better than dinner?"
"Maybe…" – she leaned in slightly, whispering across the table – "But you won't know… unless you try."
...
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