In the courtyard, Herta held a thick notebook and leaned lazily in her chair, flipping pages slowly.
April 12th – Unexpectedly, lying on Noah Metron's thigh gave me a strange sense of peace. His lap… soft, steady. Surprisingly comfortable.
April 13th – Did calculations lying on his thigh again.
April 14th – Still studying on his lap. At this point, I'm starting to see the appeal.
April 15th – Herta, you fool… You came to his world to study, not fall into the trap of "lap pillows." What happened to the plan? Where is your integrity?
April 16th – …Still studying on his lap.
As she looked over her self-written notes, Herta's expression twisted between pride and self-loathing.
She shook her head.
"His birthday is coming."
She glanced at the calendar, confirming the date. She had overheard Noah talking to the AI assistant earlier. Today was the day.
She wanted to prepare a gift.
Something… personal.
But what?
He didn't seem to care about wealth or power. So far, he'd only shown interest in—her.
Specifically, in dressing her up and watching her reactions.
"…No. I'm not wrapping myself in red ribbon and hiding in a gift box."
Even as she said it, she began picturing the scene.
Her cheeks flushed red.
"Absolutely not."
---
Meanwhile in the kitchen, Noah was preparing food. A sizzling steak popped in the pan. Beside it, flour, strawberries, sugar, and cream were arranged neatly.
He glanced at the automated assistant nearby.
"Update the grocery list. Add strawberries, high- and low-gluten flour, heavy cream, and some ready-made strawberry jam."
The robot beeped.
"Order logged. I can also download a cake piping module if needed."
"No thanks. Just get the stuff."
He turned back to the food, mumbling.
"…Let's make strawberry pancakes with whipped cream. She likes those."
Then added: "Also, don't tell Herta. If she asks, say it's for a commemoration day, not a birthday."
"Understood. Reason adjusted."
The steak sizzled.
"You've got about fifteen seconds before the meat moves from 'well-done' to 'burnt.'"
"…Why didn't you say that earlier?!"
---
He hurried to get the steak off the heat.
But just as he plated it, the kitchen door slid open.
Herta appeared, hugging a square gift box in her arms. Her hair was slightly messy, cheeks faintly flushed.
Their eyes met.
Noah blinked. "You're up?"
She nodded lightly. "Mm."
"Hungry?"
"…Mm."
"What's in the box?"
"Nothing."
"...Is it for me?"
"No."
"…Got it."
He smiled, gesturing to the table.
"Well, come eat. Pancakes with fresh cream and strawberries. And steak."
She sat down quietly, placing the box beside her.
Picked up a fork.
"…Where's the spoon?"
"…It's pancakes."
"…So?"
"…I'll go get one."
---
Later that night, the tension finally broke.
Noah was about to clean up when Herta looked at him and said:
"Since you made dinner for me… I've decided what I want for dessert."
He turned.
She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze sharp.
"I want… you."
Before he could react, she walked over, stood on tiptoe, and whispered:
"Since I've already chosen my meal… shouldn't you pick yours too?"
Noah blinked. "…Huh?"
She leaned in closer.
His heart skipped.
And then—
She squeaked: "You're not having steak."
"Huh?"
"You're having me."
In one swift motion, Noah swept her into his arms.
"Wah—!?"
Her legs kicked in the air as she struggled.
But Noah only chuckled.
"Not steak. Something better."
"My dear Miss Herta, tonight's main course… is you."
He gently kissed her on the forehead.
Her cheeks flushed crimson.
Her legs stopped kicking.
Slowly, she hid her head in his chest, like a flustered little ostrich escaping reality.
Noah grinned.
He carried her through the hallway and into the bedroom.
On the way, he even reached out and switched off the robot butler.
Click.
-----
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