The restroom.
Shin, who was washing his hands in preparation for dinner, turned and saw Mikoto standing at the door, so he stepped aside for her.
"Go ahead."
Mikoto looked at him with a half-smile. "I never expected the Hokage to know how to cook. Were you in the kitchen so long just now helping Miss Ayano prepare dinner?"
The implication in her words was obvious, making Shin raise a brow slightly.
Mikoto stepped up to the sink, bent slightly, and began rinsing her hands beneath the tap. As she leaned forward, her skirt was stretched tight, instantly outlining her alluring curves.
Shin's gaze could not help lingering on the two full, rounded mounds below her lower back.
After washing her hands, Mikoto turned to look at him. It was unclear whether she had noticed him sneaking a look at her. Holding out her dripping wet hands, she asked, "Do you have a towel?"
Shin gestured toward a light-colored towel nearby. "That one's mine."
"Then forget it." Mikoto did not take it. Instead, she directly wiped her hands on the brown knit sweater over her chest. Shin could clearly see glistening droplets clinging to the fuzzy threads of her sweater.
After wiping her hands, she brushed past Shin and left the restroom.
Shin inhaled the lingering fragrance she had left behind and could not help curling his lips.
This woman really knew what she was doing.
It seemed Fugaku had indeed done as Shin instructed.
For a man, being driven to this point was undoubtedly more painful than death. But who told him to be a father? Among the choices Shin had given him, Fugaku could only choose his children.
And Shin had always been especially fond of mature women forced to swallow their pride for the sake of their