Beneath the covers, Roy could feel it clearly.
Something warm and feverish pressed tightly against his slightly arched back.
An arm slid naturally around his waist, creeping forward
until it rested on his chest, fingertips trembling faintly.
Roy’s eyes darkened.
Otherwise, the boy showed no particular reaction.
As if allowing Sister Aisha’s boldness.
Aisha, the initiator, screamed inwardly:
*Be proper!*
*Aisha, maintain your dignity!*
But it was futile.
The boy’s effortless, unparalleled charm flowed through her like poison,
overriding her will.
Her surface consciousness clung to modesty,
but deep down, her primal desires had already surrendered.
She clutched him desperately,
golden hair spilling wildly, her plump bosom—flushed pink—flattened against his back,
a sweet burden Roy bore silently.
She noticed nothing.
Until his voice cut through the haze.
“Sister Aisha?”
Affectionate, yet laced with confusion.
Aisha jolted awake—as if struck by lightning.
Her soft body stiffened.
But it changed nothing.
The truth remained: she’d shed her robes, nearly bare,
coiled around the boy like a greedy serpent.
*What right did she have to scorn Dreamland Village’s succubi?*
*Was she any different?*
If a crack existed, she’d have crawled into it.
She couldn’t face her Goddess of Light anymore.
She could barely face the boy.
Yet Roy didn’t blame her.
The innocent youth carefully turned over.
In the warm dark beneath the covers, his eyes opened—bright as ever.
Their gentle glow made Aisha dizzy with shame.
“Sister Aisha… were you cold?”
His voice was clear as springwater, concern softening his gaze.
“If you were cold… would this help?”
He wrapped his arms around her slender waist.
But their positions forced his cheek into the soft valley of her chest.
Flustered, Roy’s face flushed crimson to his ears.
“Mmm… ngh!”
He tried to pull back but only sank deeper.
Settling for finding air between her warmth, he gasped:
“Hah… sorry, Sister Aisha…”
Aisha’s heart shattered.
*She* had erred.
*SHE* had drowned in desire, burdening him—
likely dragging up painful memories.
Yet he comforted *her*.
Even now, trapped in her “trap,” he apologized.
Such a pure, gentle boy.
*I’m crying.*
She hugged him tighter.
“Mmm… ngh!”
This blissful suffocation—what was it?
This time, Aisha pulled back with restraint.
Almost like a reward.
“Thank you, Roy…”
“I’m not cold anymore.”
Her gaze cleared, regaining a nun’s serenity.
Even half-naked, ribbons straining to hold,
she refused to taint his innocence with her filth.
“Good,” Roy smiled lightly.
After a pause, he shyly looked away.
“But… could you hold me like before, Sister Aisha?”
“…”
Surprised, she fell silent—then agreed warmly.
“Yes.”
She wouldn’t ask why.
If Roy needed it, she’d give anything—even her body—
Roy sensed her curiosity. He lowered his eyes.
“It’s… not a secret.”
“Being held by you… feels like my mother’s embrace.”
“A warmth I never want to leave.”
“Mother…”
Aisha’s expression dimmed with quiet sorrow.
*But maternal warmth isn’t bad,* she told herself.
*Roy needs a wise, gentle older sister—a nun named Aisha.*
*What luck… I fit perfectly.*
She knew his past. Her nose stung.
She pulled him closer.
Yet Roy wasn’t the only one warmed by this embrace.
Aisha found solace too.
Their shared loneliness drew her to him naturally.
“Sister Aisha…”
“I understand. I feel it too.”
“Feel what…?”
“You’ve always wondered why Airi fell ill.”
Aisha’s voice dropped, heavy with memory.
Everyone has moments of weakness.
Roy had his. So did she.
They healed each other that night, clinging in the dark.
This closeness wasn’t just for passion—
it was for sharing buried truths.
Roy’s eyes flickered.
“Yes. I want to know about Airi’s illness.”
“Maybe… I can cure her.”
Aisha sniffled, nuzzling his hair.
“Good boy.”
“Then I’ll tell you the sad story.”
“Long ago, on that farm night… what Airi and I truly encountered.”
Roy held his breath, focus sharpening.
This was the secret he sought.
The key to breaking Airi’s curse.
