"Uh... Teacher! Let's talk this through. There's no problem money can't solve! And please stop using that saccharine voice with me—I'm getting goosebumps!"
Her cutesy tone made my skin crawl. It was like seeing an anime girl with a trucker’s voice, or a profile pic of a kawaii idol that turned out to be a middle-aged auntie. Utterly unacceptable.
Hearing me, Tsurumi Misuzu dropped the act. Useless. I’m unmoved by such tricks. Did she think this could tempt me? Ridiculous. I’m no pushover—I’d only budge if she stripped down to her panties!
After my remark, Misuzu’s eyes flashed with anger. But one glance at me, and the fire dimmed. No scheming like this morning. She seemed... oddly proper now. *Hah. Don’t think I’ll fall for that facade. I know exactly what you are.*
I hold grudges. Call me the proud warrior—the last Saiyan!
"*Hnnnng—!*"
She let out a drawn-out, disapproving hum. *As if that’ll make me surrender. Underestimate me much?*
I stared back blankly, dead-eyed, as she performed her little act.
"Xia Chuan Yuan," she chided, "what did I teach you about respecting teachers? When your mentor’s in trouble, shouldn’t you help?"
*Nice night sky. Clear. Stars visible despite city lights. Shangsha’s air quality must be great—real eco-progress!*
"Oh! And as class hygiene monitor, you should lead by example. I think... one year of solo cleaning duty sounds fair. I’ll be your homeroom teacher all year, after all. The class will agree, won’t they, Xia Chuan Yuan? *Heh.*"
"Teacher! Just say what you need! I’ve always revered educators—I’d never disobey! If you’re struggling, I’ll spare no effort to help! Truly, let’s talk reasonably!"
*Damn it. I can’t refuse this.* Of course she hadn’t changed. That "proper lady" act earlier? A mask. I knew it wouldn’t last.
I switched instantly to flattery. *This is the boss I must appease. Damage control time.* Her faint smirk told me I still had a chance.
"Helping a teacher in need is only right, isn’t it?" she pressed.
"Absolutely, Your Majesty! Command me!"
"Good. I’ve lost control of my body—utterly drained. Can’t walk. Your mission: carry me inside. To your place. Rest assured," she added sweetly, "as hygiene monitor, you won’t need to scrub toilets or bins. Others can handle that. Agreed?"
"Leave it to me! Carrying you inside? Easy! Just pick your style: piggyback? Princess carry? Or ride my shoulders like a kid? I’ll serve you perfectly!"
"...Did you just say something weird? Never mind. Just a normal piggyback. No fuss."
*Whoops. She rejected the princess carry. Guard’s still up. Affection level’s probably 75, not 80. But wait—didn’t I princess-carry her at that hotel before? Too many girls... can’t recall.*
*Key intel: She’s not easy. Rejecting my offer means high caution. Her "friendly" act is fake. Now I understand her better.*
Since she wanted a simple piggyback, I complied.
I stepped out of the driver’s seat, walked to the open passenger door, and crouched. "Ready when you are."
Misuzu weakly lifted her torso. I stood, took her hand. A fleeting blush crossed her face—alcohol made her glow. I turned my bare back to her.
She draped herself over me. My hands slid under her stockinged thighs—smooth, cool silk hugging long legs. Without my shirt, every shift sent jolts through me: the soft weight of her chest pressing against my spine, warm and yielding.
Her limp arms looped around my neck, squeezing just enough to make that softness flatten deliciously against me. *Heh. Nice.*
She tucked her face against my back. My abs tensed—*eight packs threatening to become nine. Get it together. It’s just your first time carrying a girl. No big deal.*
What I didn’t see: her hidden face burning crimson, steam nearly rising off her skin.
What I didn’t know: something far more embarrassing was about to happen.
