Why am I so unlucky today...?
Taking the room key—supposedly the only room left—from the receptionist with a strangely knowing smile, Kitahara Sota felt utterly helpless.
If he had the chance to start the day over, Kitahara probably wouldn't refuse Hayakawa-san's dinner invitation.
But he'd definitely check the weather forecast beforehand and prepare accordingly, instead of ending up in such an awkward situation.
However, there was no use thinking about that now—he had no other choice anyway.
Putting away the keycard, Kitahara glanced discreetly at Hayakawa-san. Seeing her gentle smile, perfectly calm and unchanged, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
A mature woman really is reliable. If it were those troublemakers from my team, who knows what kind of fuss they'd make...? Just imagining it is embarrassing enough.
Relaxing slightly, Kitahara stopped hesitating and quickly led Hayakawa-san to the room.
Swipe the card, open the door, glance around.
Exactly as Kitahara had expected, a room in a love hotel certainly didn't offer two separate beds. Instead, it featured a single, spacious bed big enough for three or four people to roll around comfortably.
And it wasn't just the bed.
Soft, hazy purple mood lighting, a subtle, alluring fragrance lingering in the air, discreetly placed "thoughtful" items in various corners, a catalogue featuring peculiar products displayed openly on the coffee table, and a generous stack of brand-new, sealed "umbrellas" (also known as carrot covers) conveniently placed on the bedside table...
Before checking in, Kitahara had wondered why this double room—though at a love hotel—was ridiculously expensive.
Now, seeing it firsthand, he understood: the atmosphere was indeed top-notch. If Kitahara had truly come here for that sort of business, the money spent would undoubtedly be worth every yen.
But the problem was, he hadn't.
So instead of feeling any particular desire stirred by the ambiance, Kitahara merely grew more irritated, feeling his money had been thoroughly wasted.
"You can take a shower first."
Although annoyed at the expense, he still needed to get things done.
Even though they'd carried umbrellas, the rainstorm had still drenched them a bit.
Especially earlier, while rounding a corner, Hayakawa-san—wearing heels—had nearly fallen into a puddle. If Kitahara hadn't caught her in time, she'd have definitely ended up soaked through.
Even though he'd caught her, the sudden loss of balance caused plenty of rainwater to drench Hayakawa-san's clothes.
Though not entirely soaked, the damp fabric clung tightly to her body, outlining a strikingly appealing silhouette.
Particularly now, under the room's hazy lights and sensual fragrance,
Hayakawa-san, simply standing there, exuded an irresistible allure—even without moving at all.
Unfortunately, Kitahara's mind wasn't even slightly focused on such matters.
Seeing her condition, rather than feeling any improper thoughts,
he immediately worried whether she'd catch a cold and how this might affect tonight's treatment, promptly urging her to shower.
Seeing her first attempt go unnoticed, Hayakawa-san felt some mild disappointment.
But she didn't press further. Upon hearing Kitahara's suggestion, she obediently entered the bathroom, followed shortly by the sound of running water.
Once she entered the bathroom, Kitahara sat on the sofa, picking up the catalogue filled with strange products.
Don't misunderstand—it's not like he intended anything strange with Hayakawa-san. He was merely thinking about tonight's treatment, lacking proper tools at the moment.
Thus, he planned to see if the catalogue offered something usable, even temporarily.
Of course, he knew these things weren't exactly suitable.
And certainly, they wouldn't compare to the specialized equipment in his dorm.
But right now, Kitahara had no choice. Although he knew it wasn't ideal, Hayakawa-san's health was far more important than such minor awkwardness.
As for their effectiveness—while the items might not be great,
even a tiny improvement could significantly influence Hayakawa-san's future.
So, despite clearly knowing the awkwardness, Kitahara dutifully flipped through the catalogue and, surprisingly, found some items suitable for treatment.
They really have quite the imagination here…
After finishing the catalogue, Kitahara sighed softly, and then…
he flipped through it again.
Two reasons drove him:
Firstly, to double-check whether he'd missed any potentially useful items.
Secondly…
This is too weird. Let's take another look.
And just as he reached the end for the second time, Hayakawa-san emerged from the shower, wearing a loose bathrobe.
Originally, she'd planned to launch a second offensive immediately upon exiting the bathroom.
However, before she could speak, she caught sight of the catalogue in Kitahara's hand, her footsteps faltering slightly.
Then, before she could further react, Kitahara had already dialed the number listed on the catalogue, calmly ordering several items.
Kitahara-san…does he play around like this privately…?
The thought instinctively rose in Hayakawa-san's mind, quickly dismissed a second later.
After all, if Kitahara truly indulged in such things, those Uma Musume girls would have already devoured him whole, trapping him permanently in some basement, enduring minor pelvis fractures every other day.
Sure enough, after finishing the order and noticing her expression, Kitahara immediately explained his reasoning for ordering those things.
If it were anyone else, Hayakawa-san would've suspected a thinly-veiled excuse.
But coming from Kitahara-san, even if he bluntly confessed to having strange intentions, Hayakawa-san would still doubt her own understanding first.
The misunderstanding cleared, yet due to the unexpected interruption, she missed her second chance for action and had to let Kitahara enter the bathroom instead.
Despite her second attack failing, Hayakawa-san's gentle smile remained undiminished.
Because, long before arriving here, she'd already anticipated the difficulty of conquering this wooden man, preparing far more than just two strategies. It was still far too early to admit defeat.
Time passed steadily.
Kitahara finished showering, and as he exited, the items he'd ordered conveniently arrived, signaling it was time to begin Hayakawa-san's treatment.
And immediately, another awkward problem arose.
Because Kitahara had been so preoccupied worrying about Hayakawa-san's health—and inwardly bemoaning the wasted money—he hadn't realized until now:
Not only was he lacking proper equipment, but Hayakawa-san hadn't brought suitable clothing for treatment, either.
The bathrobe was obviously out of the question—soft, fluffy, and damp.
As for her original outfit, he'd thought she could simply change back into it for treatment.
But after touching it, Kitahara realized that due to colder weather, though outwardly resembling her usual secretary attire,
it was significantly thicker, sturdier, and even lined, making it even less suitable than the bathrobe.
Then that left…
Looking at the elegantly mature figure before him—her body full and enticing, exuding a sweetness surpassing any Uma Musume, like ripe, succulent fruit—Kitahara felt a dull ache developing in his temples.
"Is something wrong, Kitahara-san?" Hayakawa-san softly asked.
"Well, we've run into a slight problem…" Kitahara sighed, honestly explaining the situation.
Originally, Kitahara expected Hayakawa-san to feel embarrassed or suspicious upon hearing him, because clearly, the simplest solution was for her to remove her outer clothes.
But if she did, although her upper body would still have a white shirt—thin enough to be slightly see-through but acceptable—her lower body would only have underwear and black stockings remaining.
Even without seeing it, Kitahara could vividly imagine the awkwardness.
However, before he could worry further, after just a brief pause, Hayakawa-san smoothly replied:
"Then wouldn't it be simplest if I just took them off?"
Kitahara froze momentarily.
"But, Hayakawa-san, wouldn't that be inappropriate…?"
"Why would it?" Hayakawa-san smiled softly, eyes glinting subtly, like a hunter watching prey fall into a trap. "I'm the one who invited you out, after all. It's my own fault for causing this inconvenience. Kitahara-san, you're only trying to fulfill your duties…"
Seeing Kitahara still hesitating, Hayakawa-san directly sat up, calmly beginning to undo the buttons on her robe.
Click. Click. Click…
As each button came undone, her clothes gradually loosened. Just as she finished and was about to slip off the robe completely, Kitahara suddenly spoke:
"Wait, Hayakawa-san! I just thought of a solution."
Looking noticeably relieved, he continued earnestly:
"If you don't mind, why don't you wear my shirt instead?"
Hayakawa-san's fingers froze slightly.
Kitahara didn't notice this small detail. Seeing no objection, he casually removed his own white shirt and handed it to her.
Faced with the offered garment, Hayakawa-san paused briefly before accepting it, quietly slipping it onto herself.
Perfect.
Though Kitahara's shirt was a few sizes too large for her, precisely because of this, it perfectly covered her upper body and even part of her lower half.
Still, while the scene wasn't entirely wholesome, it was significantly better than initially imagined, at least within acceptable limits.
Yet strangely, despite avoiding the worst embarrassment, and despite Kitahara politely turning away while she changed, Hayakawa-san's mood somehow seemed worse than before.
Very odd.
However, focused solely on careful treatment, Kitahara paid no attention to these minor details.
Time flowed quietly onward.
Eventually, the treatment concluded without incident.
Due to frequent treatments previously, Hayakawa-san's body had noticeably improved and adapted, allowing her to remain conscious throughout, though flushed and somewhat limp. After resting briefly, she quickly regained basic mobility.
Not that mobility mattered now.
It was already late, and Kitahara had gently placed her onto the bed, clearly signaling bedtime.
Meanwhile, Kitahara himself politely moved to the sofa, clearly showing no intention whatsoever of sleeping closer.
This blockhead…
Having failed repeatedly, Hayakawa-san's composed expression finally cracked slightly.
Especially noticing Kitahara's breathing on the sofa gradually deepening as he drifted toward sleep, her expression shifted even more visibly.
After a short silence, as Kitahara teetered on the edge of sleep, she quietly coughed:
"Kitahara-san, I'm feeling a little thirsty."
Thirsty…?
Kitahara Sota, abruptly jolted awake, froze for a second before quickly responding.
"Then I'll go out and buy you some water."
"…Sorry for the trouble."
"No worries."
Kitahara waved dismissively, swiftly exiting the room to buy water for Hayakawa-san.
But unexpectedly, after reaching the front desk and inquiring, he learned that all bottled water had sold out. All they had left were various beverages.
Forget it, a drink is still something.
Kitahara thought resignedly, feeling today couldn't possibly get worse, so he simply accepted the drink recommended by the receptionist, paid, and brought it back to Hayakawa-san.
After handing over the drink, Kitahara figured everything was settled and returned to lie down.
Yet barely had he laid down and closed his eyes when Hayakawa-san's voice quietly spoke up again.
"Um…Kitahara-san, there's one more thing I'd like to trouble you with…"
"What is it?"
Not annoyed, Kitahara patiently sat back up, looking over at her on the bed.
Hayakawa-san was silent for a moment before averting her eyes and whispering softly.
"I… I'm a bit afraid of thunder…"
Rumble—
As if on cue, a bolt of lightning exploded outside, illuminating her face, now pale with fright.
Kitahara didn't doubt her, knowing that not just Hayakawa-san but many Uma Musume were scared of thunder—indeed, the excellent soundproofing of Tracen dorms partly existed precisely for this reason.
Realizing immediately what she meant, he sighed inwardly, but still stood up and walked toward the bed.
"Then, I'll stay by your side."
"…Thank you," she whispered gratefully.
Yet even though he got onto the bed, Kitahara remained perfectly respectful, not entering beneath the covers. Instead, he gave the only blanket to Hayakawa-san, covering himself with his jacket and preparing to sleep just like that.
But soon enough, Hayakawa-san gently placed the blanket over him, slipping into his arms while trembling slightly.
Seeing her like this, Kitahara sighed quietly again, wrapping his arms around her slender form. He gently stroked her back, softly comforting her with reassuring words.
After some time, feeling her trembling slowly subside, his movements gradually stopped, consciousness growing hazy once more.
Just as he was about to drift into sleep, half-conscious, he vaguely sensed something soft and moist gently pressing onto his lips.
It felt strangely familiar, instantly bringing back hazy memories of a similar attack by Eclipse in the shaded woods.
Instinctively, he began to counterattack.
Exactly how long the counterattack lasted, Kitahara wasn't certain.
He merely responded unconsciously, continuing until faint whimpers and pleas gradually grew louder. Only then did he slowly realize—Eclipse hadn't accompanied him today.
If Eclipse wasn't here, then just who had kissed him—and whom had he been kissing back?
Opening his eyes, he found a familiar face inches from his own.
Yet unlike her usual composed, gentle self, the normally dignified features were now deeply flushed, her eyes filled with intoxicating desire.
The owner of that face was currently held tightly in his embrace, quietly begging between breaths, her restless body rubbing provocatively against him, creating sensations that were painfully enticing.
…Hayakawa-san…?
Startled awake now, Kitahara instinctively released her mouth, intending to ask exactly what had just happened.
But before he could speak, Hayakawa-san reached out, embracing him tightly again and silencing him even more softly, even more thoroughly.
Only now did Kitahara finally notice the subtle taste of alcohol lingering on his tongue.
Shifting his gaze toward the bedside table, he finally noticed the small letters "alcoholic beverage" clearly printed on the so-called "drink" he'd purchased earlier.
You've got to be kidding me—!
Despite the numerous misfortunes he'd endured today, Kitahara had believed he'd already experienced the worst.
But clearly, he'd been naive.
Yet there was no longer any time for regrets. After holding him even tighter, Hayakawa-san began softly murmuring things like "so hot…" and "no air conditioning…," and slowly reached for the buttons of the shirt she wore.
Click… Click… Click…
With each soft click of a button coming undone, Kitahara felt a sense of imminent doom looming over him.
Even worse, despite looking entirely human, Hayakawa-san's strength far exceeded that of ordinary Uma Musume. Her skillful grasp left him no room to struggle at all.
Hayakawa-san, please calm down…!
Perhaps sensing his desperate plea, or perhaps because his feeble struggles finally registered, Hayakawa-san abruptly paused midway through undoing her buttons, as though suddenly recalling something in her arms. She lowered her head slowly.
Seeing her finally regaining a bit of composure, Kitahara breathed a sigh of relief, immediately preparing to act and restore her full clarity.
But before he had a chance, the soft, warm sensation once again sealed his lips shut.
Sweet, soft, warm—and wet.
Yet this wasn't the end; it was merely the beginning.
Even as she kissed him, Hayakawa-san's hands continued slowly unbuttoning her borrowed shirt.
Her body, which had been lying halfway atop his, began to shift position, inch by inch, fully pressing against Kitahara. She paused momentarily upon encountering something firm, but quickly resumed her gentle movements.
The buttons finally opened.
The white shirt slowly slipped off her body, exposing a pair of fair, delicate shoulders.
Releasing Kitahara's mouth at last, Hayakawa-san straightened her back slightly, sitting astride him.
"…Hayakawa-san…"
In the flickering glow of lightning outside, Kitahara could clearly see the face of the woman straddling him.
But before he could speak another word, her delicate finger pressed gently against his lips.
"Leave everything to me," she whispered in her usual gentle, reliable tone.
Withdrawing her finger, she leaned forward, hands moving slowly to Kitahara's chest, gently beginning to unbutton his shirt as well.
Click… Click… Click…
As the buttons came undone, Kitahara finally couldn't restrain himself any longer.
"Um, Hayakawa-san, please calm—"
"Do you dislike me, Kitahara-san?"
He paused momentarily, instinctively shaking his head.
"No, of course not. But—"
"Then that's enough."
As she finished speaking, the last button opened.
She lifted his shirt open, soft brown hair falling gently forward. Moments later, the warmth of her bare skin replaced the slight chill lingering in the air.
After a while, sensing Kitahara's resistance weakening, Hayakawa-san raised her head once more, gently wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning forward, pressing yet another deep kiss upon him.
Only after a long moment did their lips part again.
Confirming that both of their conditions had reached readiness, Hayakawa-san straightened slowly, her hand sliding down slightly, breathing growing heavier.
It's finally time for the final step…
But just as the thought formed, just as her fingertips were nearly about to reach their destination—
Knock knock knock.
Amidst the howling rain and thunder, that cheerful, oddly nostalgic female voice sounded strangely out of place as it spoke from beyond the door.
"Hayakawa, I've come to pick you up!"
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T/N: AHAHAH COCKBLOCKED!!!