*Ring-ring-ring—*

Genya Ayumu struggled to open his eyes, reaching to silence his phone’s alarm. But as he moved, half his body refused to budge—pinned firmly beneath something warm.

Still groggy, his mind foggy, Ayumu barely processed it. He tugged gently, trying to free his arm.

The motion sent his forearm sliding firmly across something soft and springy. At the same moment, a faint, alluring *“Mmm…”* brushed his ear.

Honestly, even that barely audible whisper cut through the alarm’s three-minute blare like magic. The instant Ayumu registered the feminine sound from the pinned side, he jolted fully awake.

He turned his head. Mizuno Hina’s sleeping face confirmed his suspicion. Last night, they’d been lying on the floor scrolling Weibo—and somehow dozed off mid-scroll. Hence *this*.

Hina’s head rested on his shoulder, her upper body draped over his arm. Even through pajamas, Ayumu felt the startling warmth of her chest. His priority now: extract his arm without waking her. One wrong move, one startled gasp—and explaining *this* would be a nightmare.

*Ring-ring-ring—*

The alarm wailed louder, protesting neglect.

*"Mmm…"*

Amid the clamor, a muffled groan escaped Hina’s lips. A flicker of pain crossed her face—she was stirring.

Thankfully, his phone lay within reach of his free hand. Ayumu snatched it, silenced the alarm, and held his breath.

Hina’s expression softened. She’d slipped back into deep sleep. A small mercy. Now, just free the arm—quietly—and no one need ever know.

But his arm was trapped snugly against her chest. He tried a careful pull. The friction sent a jolt through him, amplifying an already inconvenient morning reaction to near-comical proportions.

Let’s be real: in Ayumu’s forty-plus years (carrying Zhang Chufan’s memories), *this* was a first. A physiological response? Understandable. It didn’t make him a creep. He’d always despised men who disrespected women. Weibo posts about harassment left him hollow. Zhang Chufan—his past self—lacked power to punish every predator, but he vowed never to *become* one. Maybe that integrity kept him single. Unremarkable looks, decent programmer salary, self-proclaimed “gentleman”… really just a shy, repressed guy. All desire, zero courage. A love-life virgin to the end. Yeah. Zhang Chufan, the ultimate straight-laced nerd? Deservedly single.

And Ayumu, inheriting that conscience, felt the same. Curiosity about the female form? Human. But exploiting Hina? Unthinkable. Yet here he was: trapped. To leave, he’d have to brush against her chest—risk waking her, sparking misunderstanding.

His only escape plan? Skip morning exercise. Pretend to sleep. Wait for *her* to wake first. If Hina, out of kindness, played it off… he’d dodge the bullet. Smart? Yes. Guilt-free? No. He knew her gentle nature would forgive him—and that felt like using her goodness.

While Ayumu spiraled in silent guilt, Hina suddenly rolled away.

Freedom.

All that agonizing calculation—wasted. Like punching thin air. Frustrating? Absolutely. But Ayumu seized the chance, springing up before fate pinned him again. *That* would’ve been tears-with-no-shoulder territory.

He watched Hina’s steady breathing. Safe.

From the closet, he pulled a near-black tracksuit—likely his past self’s old workout gear. Perfect.

He stripped off his pajamas and pulled on the tracksuit. Fabric rustled. Loudly.

Loud enough to drown out the soft *gulp* from behind him.

Only after Ayumu left did the room’s other occupant open her eyes.

Hina had woken when he silenced the alarm. Confused, mortified to find herself draped over him, she froze. Missing that first escape window, she endured his careful tugs—each brush against her chest sending shivers. She nearly gasped. Relief washed over her when he stopped… followed by a strange, quiet disappointment. That firm arm sliding across her softness? Unexpectedly soothing. Addictive, even.

Curiosity had tempted her to peek while he changed. Just a glance. *Just his back.*

Yet the sculpted lines of his shoulders left her breathless. She’d swallowed hard without meaning to.

“Ayumu-kun’s physique is just like an athlete’s…” she murmured, dazed, long after the door clicked shut.