"The weeding's done? Then come inside—I cut up a watermelon."
"Wait, we get fruit now? Are you sure you're the same old hag I know? Did someone swap you out while I wasn't looking?"
"Brat. You just lost your share."
"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that—I take it back… Man, can't even eat watermelon without groveling these days."
In his previous life, Kuroba Akira had never really craved watermelon—he'd just eaten too much of it growing up.
Still, it was one of those quintessential summer fruits, like mandarins in winter. The kind that carried the flavor of a whole season's memories.
But in Japan, watermelon was considered a luxury. Bringing a whole watermelon as a gift when visiting someone's home was a serious show of generosity.
Outside of China, it wasn't cheap anywhere in the world, really. After all, China produced over sixty percent of the world's watermelon crop.
Which was probably why the phrase chīguā qúnzhòng—"melon-eating onlookers"—was born. A metaphor for bystanders watching drama unfold, and honestly, a pretty spot-on one.
"Do you eat watermelon a lot, Akira-kun?"
"Eh, I guess you could say that."
"Obaa-san and I bought this one together. I've never eaten such an expensive fruit before… but when we checked the price today, it was cheaper than I remembered. I could've sworn it used to be way more expensive when I was little… I wonder when it started getting more affordable."
At that, Akira snuck a glance at Kobayashi Mika. She didn't say anything, but he could still catch the hint of pride in her expression.
So the price drop was probably thanks to Kobayashi Tokumasa, huh? Driven by a fellow melon enthusiast's passion for affordable fruit.
No wonder the stingy old lady had been willing to buy it—turns out it wasn't pricey after all.
Truly a great man, Kobayashi-ojiisan… Akira's admiration for the old gentleman soared to new heights.
Since watermelon was now on the menu, Akira figured he might as well speed up the weeding and get it over with. He held out his hand to Shiginomiya.
"Give me the sickle. I'll take care of the rest—you head inside."
"But…"
She hesitated. After all, she'd taken on the job herself—she wanted to see it through with her own hands.
Akira understood that she had a strong sense of pride. But sometimes, efficiency mattered more than pride.
"Come on, listen to me. You've been working under the sun all day—you're probably running on fumes. I barely broke a sweat just sitting through classes, so I've got plenty of energy. Besides, this helps me, too."
He shot her a look that said, You know what we are to each other.
And Shiginomiya, gifted at reading people's emotions, understood immediately.
Right… we're partners. There's no need to keep drawing lines between us.
"Okay… then this too."
Obediently, she handed him the sickle—then slipped off her work gloves and passed those to him as well.
"Alright, you go take a shower. Watermelon tastes way better after a nice cold rinse."
"Mm."
Akira made short work of the rest of the weeding—less than ten minutes, tops.
Shiginomiya had done a meticulous job, so there was nothing to patch up. All that remained was clearing the area around the shed.
Once he finished, Akira put the gloves and sickle back in the storage room and headed into the house.
Mika wasn't in the living room. On the dining table sat half a watermelon and two spoons. The cutting board in the kitchen still had juice stains from slicing, and there were two additional plates of neatly cut slices.
Akira walked over and noticed a note written in Chinese.
"These are for Mr. Hijikata and Miss Tashiro. The two of you eat the ones on the table."
Between the note and the table's spread, Akira figured the rest of the watermelon must've been divided up—some for her, some for Grandpa's altar.
Given the time, Mr. Hijikata was probably still napping, and Miss Tashiro hadn't returned from work yet, so Akira placed their watermelon plates in the fridge to bring to them later.
As he returned to the living room, Shiginomiya had just come downstairs, freshly showered.
"Oh, you're done? Come have some—uh."
Akira froze.
It wasn't like she'd come down wrapped only in a towel—she was still wearing the old-fashioned gym uniform. But where her legs had once been bare, they were now clad in semi-sheer white thigh-high stockings.
Between the ultra-short, tight bloomers and the hem of the thigh-highs stretched a flawless expanse of soft, white thigh. The exposed skin was more enticing than any amount of skin left uncovered.
The slight inward curve of the stockings at the top, the way they pressed in just enough to create a soft, snug silhouette without digging in uncomfortably—
This was the ultimate tier of the Absolute Territory.
In his past life, an outfit like this had nothing to do with actual students anymore. It only existed in lewd cosplay photosets. It had long since crossed into the realm of fetish wear—on par with sheer school swimsuits in terms of visual impact.
But Shiginomiya was the real deal—a genuine, currently enrolled JK. Even if she was half-absent from school, no one was more suited to this look.
And with that body? A white thigh-high gym uniform combo like this was borderline weaponized.
If someone took a cover photo of her like this for a magazine, the issue would triple its sales overnight.
All she did was add two white stockings, and the erotic charge skyrocketed. That innocent schoolgirl aura now carried a dangerously criminal edge.
The power of stockings… the magic of thighs…
And this? This was right in Akira's strike zone.
As he admired the sight, Akira mentally justified himself: I told you—I'm a foot guy.
Being stared at so intensely only made Shiginomiya more self-conscious. She'd already been feeling shy, but now she shrank her shoulders, hands twitching awkwardly. She looked like she wanted to cover herself up—yet didn't want to block Akira's view.
Because, after all, she'd worn this for him.
But Akira's gaze was so hot, it felt like it might burn. Her freshly showered skin already felt like it was starting to sweat again.
So she spoke up, voice soft and uncertain.
"Um… Akira-kun…"
"…Ah."
Akira realized he'd overdone it. He quickly raised a hand to shield his eyes—because if he didn't, there was no way he could look away.
Maybe he'd underestimated Shiginomiya's appeal.
Her beauty wasn't just in her face—that was only the base value. He hadn't taken into account the bonuses from clothing, styling, or presentation.
Now, hit with all of it at once, Akira found himself completely unprepared.
Makeup and fashion could elevate a plain girl into a beauty. Photoshop could take that even further. But for a girl who was naturally stunning? All it took was a little polish, and she became a full-on siren—a heart-stealer who'd enchant everyone she passed.
Akira could already picture the scene: her stepping into the spotlight, every camera in the room snapping to attention, the crowd captivated by her presence. A goddess of the silver screen, born right before their eyes…
But deep down, somewhere in the quietest corner of his heart, a selfish little voice whispered: I don't want anyone else to see her like this.
That possessiveness flared for just a second—then he crushed it.
It wasn't love. It was that thrill of the hunt, a reflexive desire to keep something beautiful to himself. Typical guy behavior, wanting to squirrel a goddess away into a gilded cage.
But Shiginomiya didn't belong to him.
She didn't belong to anyone—and she shouldn't.
That's what made her Shiginomiya Shion.
Utterly unique. Completely free.
---
T/N: was gonna update earlier but got lazy, so im just doing 4 chapters for today's update, should be an update tomorrow too maybe 4 maybe not
Hello. I'm Enkidu.
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