Haru's silence said it all.
To Megumi, that silence was the most accurate confirmation she could ask for.
There was no doubt in her mind now—Utaha must've experienced the exact same thing she just had.
No...Maybe not exactly the same.Maybe Utaha hadn't been quite as wrecked as she was.
Megumi recalled how she'd lost control during the massage, to the point where she had to awkwardly ask Utaha to run out and buy her a change of underwear.
That memory was still painfully embarrassing.
And shameful.
Her body was perfectly healthy. Under normal circumstances—even after drinking fruit tea earlier with friends, and following it up with bottled water—this kind of "accident" simply should not have happened.
But Haru's massage technique was just... too damn effective.
That strong, skillful pressure had nearly sent her into a complete state of physical and mental bliss.
Fortunately, she had snapped back to her senses just in time to excuse herself and make it to the bathroom.
Otherwise, today wouldn't have ended with just a change of underwear—it would've escalated into a full-on social death event: "The Great Sofa Flood."
"I get it now," Megumi murmured calmly, her voice soft and composed. "Let's have senpai take over next. I'll handle the observation."
"Observation?" Haru raised a brow, immediately suspecting her motives.
Megumi replied without missing a beat, "I'll monitor senpai's responses. Since I just went through the full experience myself, I'm curious—if she's the one getting the massage, how will she react?"
Haru tried to shift the topic, "Well, technically, you didn't get the full experience. We were barely halfway through this session."
A faint blush rose to Megumi's cheeks, but her voice remained unusually calm. "Oh? Then... do you want to continue?"
Before Haru could redirect the conversation again, she added gently:
"If senpai weren't here today… then I wouldn't mind continuing."
Wait—what did she mean by "continuing"?
Continuing the massage and enjoying the relaxation?
Or… continuing the streak of bathroom emergencies?
Haru had been in the bedroom when everything happened earlier, so he was completely unaware that Utaha had gone out to buy Megumi a new pair of underwear.
From his perspective, Megumi had just been a little too sensitive, gotten flustered by the experience, and escaped to the bathroom before she embarrassed herself with any weird noises.
While Haru and Megumi talked quietly in the kitchen, Utaha lounged alone in the living room, stroking the orange cat on the sofa.
Suddenly, something clicked in her mind.
How long has Megumi been in there?
She instinctively picked up her phone to check the time.
Roughly twelve minutes had passed since Megumi left the room.
That wasn't normal.
She thought back to previous encounters—Megumi rarely ever went to find Haru alone. And when she did, the conversation usually wrapped up in one to three minutes, tops.
Twelve minutes? Something's definitely off.
Utaha couldn't help but glance toward the kitchen.
From her angle, she could only see Megumi's back. Haru, who was presumably still busy inside, was completely out of view.
It didn't help that the entire situation earlier had been so awkward—and worse, it had been her idea to send Megumi in next. Now she couldn't shake a lingering sense of guilt.
Her mind wandered back to Megumi's earlier jab with the keys—a subtle, passive-aggressive retort to her earlier suspicions.
And with that, a bold thought surfaced:
Could it be that Megumi knows I feel guilty?So she's deliberately prolonging her time with Haru, knowing I'd feel too awkward to interrupt them?
The more she considered it, the more plausible it seemed.
And right now, Utaha really couldn't just barge in there. That would only make things weirder.
Unconsciously, one of her long legs, wrapped in sleek black stockings and resting in a slipper, began to bounce impatiently. The repetitive motion caught the attention of the orange cat lounging nearby.
Naturally curious about anything that moved, the cat slowly rose, arched its back, and assumed a playful, pouncing stance.
"What are you up to, Jelly?"
Utaha noticed the little hunter just in time and reached out to gently grab it by the scruff of its neck.
The cat went limp, legs dangling, and let out a soft, confused meow.
Utaha pulled it onto her lap and started to idly pet it while she thought things over.
That jab Megumi made earlier with the keys was still on her mind… Could this be her roundabout way of setting her up to be the next test subject?
And what if, just like Yukino, Megumi's real goal was to record her most embarrassing reactions?
Utaha pursed her lips and glanced over at her handbag beside the couch.
Inside was something she had prepared in advance—just in case.
A certain outfit.The kind that makes boys behave.
"I'll try to dig into the situation later tonight," she muttered. "Doesn't seem like Yukino's coming back today anyway."
With that resolve, they all sat down for dinner.
Later, both girls entered a kind of post-dinner daze.
Strangely enough, Haru didn't call them in for their usual exercise session. Instead, he suggested they just relax.
Part of that was because of how awkward things had gotten earlier—he needed a new topic to reset the mood.
The other part?
He was avoiding Megumi's gaze.
He was fairly certain she hadn't given up on her "I want to see Utaha-senpai embarrassed firsthand" agenda.
And there was no way in hell he was going to agree to that.
Utaha's reaction the first time had already been chaotic enough. If she had to go through that again in front of Megumi… tonight's peaceful evening would turn into a full-blown riot.
At 6:30 p.m., Haru walked Megumi downstairs.
Even now, she was still on that topic. "You looked uncomfortable earlier, didn't you? Next time, I'll talk to Utaha-senpai directly. As long as she agrees, it won't trouble you, right?"
Haru gave a nervous laugh. "You still haven't dropped it?"
"I'm just really curious," she said casually. Then she added with a calm smile, "With Utaha-senpai's self-control, I bet her reaction would be hilarious."
Hilarious, huh?
He could already picture Yukino grinning smugly while rewatching that cursed recording from before. In fact, she'd just shown it to him again the other day—with commentary.
Utaha's Greatest Hits: Personally directed by Yukinoshita Yukino.Now streaming on My Personal Revenge Files.
When Haru returned to the living room, he found Utaha had fully recovered from her post-dinner haze.
The first thing she asked was, "What did she say to you?"
Then she followed it up with, "And I don't just mean in the kitchen. I'm guessing she cornered you again downstairs before she left."
Haru sat beside her and lazily grabbed the remote. "You guessed right. She had quite a bit to say."
"Such as?" Utaha asked, trying to sound casual—but clearly a little anxious.
She had seen how smooth and devastating Megumi's verbal jabs could be.
That serene expression. That gentle voice. That oh-so-innocent vibe… right before she dropped a psychological nuke.
A formidable opponent.
Dangerously so.
"She wants you to be the next massage subject," Haru said plainly.
Utaha rubbed her forehead, groaning. "I knew it."
He chuckled at how genuinely flustered she looked. "So, want to go again?"
"Absolutely not."
Utaha's answer was firm and fast.
Was he insane?
Letting Megumi record her like that would mean adding another humiliating cutscene to her already tragic collection.
She leaned back with a sigh, crossing her black-stockinged legs, deep in thought. "If Megumi told you that, then it means she's not worried you'd relay it to me. She's confident she can win me over herself."
Haru nodded. "Which means you two are now in an open match. You're not gonna lose this one, right?"
Utaha smirked. "Haru, remember this—aside from Yukino, I don't really consider anyone else a worthy rival."
Haru grinned mischievously. "Not even Yukino's sister?"
Her smile froze for a split second, though her voice stayed composed. "We're not close. So even if she's technically more capable, I haven't seen it with my own eyes—so it doesn't count."
He kept poking. "I think Megumi's pretty amazing. Even I can't handle her sometimes. Honestly, she might be above your level—"
"Say that again and see what happens." Utaha's scowl returned in full force—and so did her leg, swiftly kicking at him.
Haru caught her foot effortlessly.
Her stockings were soft. Her skin was warm. She didn't put any real force into it.
She was a literature girl, not a fighter.
If it came to actual physical combat, Yukino could probably hold back with one hand and still wipe the floor with her.
"I should warn you," Utaha said, arms crossed. "I'm starting to get angry."
But the way she said it—low and sultry—sounded far more like a tease than a threat.
It was a move right out of the Lovers' Handbook.
Haru didn't miss a beat. He openly admired her curves and played along. "Should I apologize, then?"
She pouted. "If it's just a verbal apology, I won't accept it."
He responded with mock sincerity. "Then what should I do, senpai?"
Utaha slowly raised her other leg and gently placed it against his chest.
Her expression was still composed, but her lips curled into a dangerously seductive smile.
"I'm going to take a bath. You'll carry me in."
Haru blinked. "Does this include back-scrubbing services? I'm quite skilled."
"No. Just carry me in, fill the tub, and then leave."
"Are you sure you don't want my professional touch?"
At that, her legs dropped from his chest—and her cheeks flushed a lovely rose pink.
She gave a soft, coy laugh. "That... depends on your performance."
Then, as if issuing a direct challenge, her legs swung down once more.
Right. She was loitering at the front gate again.
A clear and deliberate provocation.
Haru loved a good challenge. He swiftly scooped her up in a princess carry and made for the bathroom.
The moment they stepped in, he kicked the door shut—and locked it.
Utaha let out a scandalized laugh, her cheeks still flushed. "Couldn't hold it in, huh? So weak, Haru."
"Where'd you learn that line?" he asked.
"Manga. You don't like it?"
"Oh no, it's great. If you'd just added 'You pathetic scrub!' at the end, it would've been perfect."
"Oh? You want me to call you a scrub—wait, don't take off my skirt! I wasn't done talking!"