Some time later…
Nozomi stood frozen at the door of his room, the corners of his mouth twitching as he stared at the unexpected sight before him—a beautiful blonde girl, damp from the shower, standing barefoot in his doorway.
Wrapped in nothing but a white bath towel.
"She said she wanted to take a shower when she got here," Nozomi muttered to himself, blinking twice just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "And now… she's walking around in a vacuum state like this?"
The girl in question, Rita Ainsworth, gave a sly smile as she stepped into his room as if this were the most natural thing in the world. With a towel draped over her shoulders and her long, golden hair still glistening with moisture, she began to dry it nonchalantly—completely ignoring how the towel barely clung to her frame, and how her… impressive figure was putting up a bold front against gravity.
A single drop of water slid down her collarbone and disappeared into the dangerously deep valley between the two soft mounds pressing against the towel.
Nozomi sighed deeply. "Miss Rita, are you serious right now?"
"I didn't bring any luggage," she replied breezily, her British accent adding a strange sense of class to the shameless situation. "I came with the intention of dragging Mashiro back home, not settling in. But now that I'm stuck here, I figured I'd borrow some clothes… from my prince."
Her eyes mischievously drifted to Nozomi's shirt, and before he could react, she reached out and grabbed it off the chair.
And then—swish.
The towel hit the floor.
Nozomi's eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn't help but take in the view. Rita's figure was radiant, sculpted like a statue out of moonlight—flawless skin, long legs, and curves that would've made any normal guy's brain short-circuit.
So white. So proportionate. So... openly bold.
She noticed his gaze and blushed, hurriedly slipping on his shirt. It was oversized on her slender frame, the hem brushing her thighs, making her look both indecent and adorable at once.
She had expected him to turn away in panic, maybe cover his eyes and mutter apologies like a flustered anime protagonist.
But Nozomi?
His expression was calm. Way too calm.
(What the hell… is this guy made of stone or something?!)
She felt a strange pang of defeat. Rita Ainsworth—one of the most sought-after girls back in England—just flashed her full glory, and the guy didn't even blink?
Still… she was intrigued.
Mashiro wasn't the type to get close to just anyone. And the look Mashiro had earlier—when her eyes followed Nozomi—was unmistakable. It wasn't just friendship.
Rita had come to bring Mashiro home.
But now… she wanted to understand this guy first.
"...So, what did you think?" she asked with feigned nonchalance, turning slightly as she adjusted the shirt.
Nozomi replied honestly, "Looks good."
She gave a smug smile—until he added, "But my girlfriend is prettier."
Rita's smile dropped. "Eh? Wait… girlfriend? Who's your girlfriend?"
Nozomi raised an eyebrow. "Which one are you asking about?"
"...Wait, what do you mean which one?!" Rita's eyes widened in horror. "Don't tell me… you have more than one?"
"Uh-huh."
Rita immediately clutched her head.
(This guy's a womanizer! A real-life harem protagonist! Why did I let my guard down?! I even—gahhh! That was my body!! My pure, untouched body!)
Before she could spiral into further internal screaming, Nozomi casually pulled open his nightstand and tossed her a pair of light-colored panties.
"Put this on. The contrast is really something, y'know? You're too white."
"...Excuse me?" she choked. Then eyed the panties. "Why do you even have this next to your bed?!"
"They're Mashiro's. Last night she said they looked too childish and stuffed them under my pillow."
Rita blinked. "Wait… You and Mashiro…?"
"She's naive, like a kitten," Nozomi shrugged. "Since you were her roommate in the UK, I figured you'd understand."
Rita stared at him for a moment before chuckling. "So… you're Mashiro's 'handler' here. That's funny. I used to be the same, back in England."
Before Nozomi could stop her, she flopped onto his bed and wriggled under the blanket like she owned the place.
"Oi, that's my bed," Nozomi muttered.
"I know," she replied sweetly. "Good night."
"No, not 'good night.' Get up. Go sleep in one of the guest rooms. Mashiro's on the third floor too."
"She's mad at me. She won't want to see me right now. Sooo… it's safer to stay here. Plus, maybe you'll protect me~?"
"Me? In the same bed?" Nozomi gave her a deadpan stare. "You serious?"
She grinned. "What? Scared?"
"Tch." He didn't answer. Just climbed into bed beside her.
…
A beat of silence passed.
Rita: "…"
The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon slipping through the curtains. Nozomi's arm naturally circled her waist—too naturally. Rita stiffened as the warmth of his body pressed against her back.
This was... dangerously close.
Her heart raced like a taiko drum before a festival. Though she tried to breathe steadily, there was no hiding her nervousness. It was her first time being this physically close to a guy—and not just any guy. It was him.
"That... um... Nozomi-san, could you maybe... behave a little?"
Nozomi, without even opening his eyes, replied smoothly, "I'm a perfectly normal guy. If Miss Rita understands how lethal her beauty is, maybe she should be the one heading up to the third floor."
Rita bit her lip, her face turning red like a steamed bun fresh off the fire.
"…Forget it. I'll stay here."
There was a flicker of something mischievous in her voice. Part of her wanted to see what expression Mashiro would wear if she knew another girl had stolen a night beside Nozomi. But more than that—she wanted to know why Mashiro looked at him like he was her entire world.
"Suit yourself," Nozomi mumbled, wrapping his arm tighter around her. "Just so you know, I don't make moves on girls casually. But I'm still greedy."
Rita's breath caught. Greedy?
"If it gets too much, run back upstairs," he added. "Good night."
"…Good night," she muttered, voice nearly inaudible.
His arm remained where it was—warm, steady, unshakable. Rita stared at the ceiling, her heart fluttering. She was nervous. She was embarrassed. She was—
Comfortable?
That thought alone was enough to make her cheeks flare again. Still, as the minutes passed, his warmth lulled her into a strange peace.
Before she knew it, sleep took her.
--------
The next morning, sunlight streamed softly through the windows.
Rita stirred first.
What greeted her was a scene straight out of a shoujo manga. She had unknowingly clung to Nozomi like a human octopus in the night, her arms and legs tangled with his. Her face was practically buried in his chest.
"…Hot," she murmured, cheeks flushing red.
She lifted her head just enough to get a good look at him.
"Mr. Nozomi… is pretty handsome, huh…"
His sleeping face was calm, almost princely. Rita blinked several times, then looked away in a fluster. She had never been the type of girl to fall for appearances, but Nozomi—Nozomi was different. There was something about him. Something that made even her—a self-proclaimed independent and rational woman—feel oddly drawn in.
And worst of all...
She slept better than she had in years.
Just as her thoughts wandered—
Click.
The bedroom door creaked open.
A familiar little head peeked in—golden hair tousled from sleep.
Rita and the golden-haired intruder locked eyes.
"Mashiro!?"
"Rita!?"
The two girls shouted in unison.
"Why are you here!?" both of them demanded at the same time.
Mashiro puffed her cheeks like an angry kitten. "Mashiro isn't leaving. Rita, do you want Nozomi to take your side?"
She marched forward.
"Because Mashiro… won't lose!"
Before Rita could even process the declaration, Mashiro had already climbed into bed and straddled Nozomi with all the fierceness of a protective girlfriend unleashing her hidden boss-level power.
Rita's eyes widened. "W-Wait, what are you doing?!"
Mashiro's cheeks flushed, but she didn't hesitate. She began her mysterious attack technique—unorthodox, unpredictable, and shockingly bold for someone so usually aloof.
There were… gestures. Ventriloquism? When had she learned that?
(Yes, it's another blowjob scene. I'm not gonna write it.)
Rita covered her eyes—but peeked through her fingers. "Mashiro!? Who taught you this kind of... technique?"
"Umm… Mashiro figured it out herself."
Then, with full sincerity, Mashiro declared, "Rita, Nozomi won't give you anything! He's mine!"
Rita sat frozen.
Her heart panged painfully.
She smiled wryly, but the sting of jealousy bloomed all too real in her chest. Once, she had been the person Mashiro trusted most. But now…
Now Nozomi was in that place.
Rita bit her lip.
So that's what it means to lose the lead. And yet… why does it hurt this much?