Kafka, let's go to the hot springs

However resentful Blade's gaze was, it still couldn't withstand the power of Kafka's speech spell.

Stelle silently lowered her head, eyes on her nose, nose on her heart.

Blade's pain seemed to have been greatly eased, and his expression was fairly composed now.

He desperately turned away, completely unwilling to look at Stelle.

As the culprit who had originally only meant well—wanting to do something to distract Uncle Blade and ease his pain—but had instead made things worse, she had no awareness of it at all. Her mind was filled entirely with the image of pinning Blade against the wall just now.

Though Blade usually didn't talk much, and his phone was always snatched away by Stelle and Silver Wolf to play with.

He secretly blushed when he got pinned against a wall, too?

—Such high attack and low defense.

That was Stelle's assessment.

Seeing Blade fall asleep, Kafka led Stelle out of the room.

Today was unexpectedly quiet.

After all, everyone except Stelle and Blade had gone out to take care of business and had only just returned.

Silver Wolf had probably gone back to her room to play on her phone nonstop, while Firefly might already have been exhausted enough to sleep like a log.

Kafka was a little more alert, but only to the extent that she wouldn't immediately collapse into sleep.

"A little... tired," the woman said as she leisurely sat down on the sofa. Looking at Stelle standing by the living room doorway, she casually beckoned to her.

"Stelle, come closer."

Stelle obediently walked over and sat beside Kafka, close enough to smell the sweet raspberry scent on her.

Kafka was the only one among the Stellaron Hunters who could match Stelle.

Ever since the day they had come to know one another, the two had gone through countless plans to win each other over.

Both wanted to successfully win the other over, and both wanted to see the other blush in embarrassment.

But neither had succeeded. Both had failed.

Today was precisely a time for them to be alone.

Another perfect chance to launch an offensive!

"Let's go..."

Their eyes met, and they spoke in unison:

"Take a hot spring bath!"

Their voices overlapped so perfectly that it was impossible to tell two people were speaking.

What could be more pleasant than soaking in a hot spring to relax after getting sleepy and tired?

They had thought of the same thing without even needing to say it. They immediately got up and rummaged through their respective rooms for swimsuits.

Off to the hot springs!

Kafka had strict standards for how to relax after a battle. She was the type with high standards and strict demands, never willing to settle.

So even when choosing hot springs as a way to relax body and mind, she had firm requirements.

The environment had to be good, and it had to be a private bath. For that, even a longer trip was no problem.

Stelle voluntarily took on the responsibility of driver and shoved Kafka into the passenger seat.

She drove like she was operating a bumper car. Fortunately, there were barely any people on the road at this hour, and she practically kept the pedal to the floor all the way to their destination with Kafka in tow.

Along the way, Kafka peacefully closed her eyes to rest. It was impossible to tell whether she had fallen asleep from exhaustion or whether she simply had that much faith in Stelle's driving.

They had arrived.

Steam filled the air, mist curling all around them.

Dressed in a swimsuit with a snow-white towel draped over her shoulders, Stelle eagerly gazed at the open-air hot spring in the courtyard outside their room.

Kafka's taste really was impeccable. The setting was incredible.

After taking in the scenery, Stelle went back into the room and came out carrying a small tray—an essential for hot spring soaking.

She unzipped her backpack, rummaged around on the left and right, and pulled out quite a few good things. She piled them all onto the tray until it was completely full.

Stelle carried the little tray into the water with her.

Kafka came a little later. When she changed into her swimsuit and pushed open the courtyard door, Stelle was already eating her fifth Bubble Orange.

On the small tray in front of her stood a stack of Bubble Oranges at least fifty centimeters high, practically forming a mountain.

Just then, Stelle, immersed in her Bubble Orange feast, saw Kafka preparing to enter the water. Happily, she waved the half-eaten orange in her hand.

"This orange is especially sweet. I saved half for you. Come down and have a taste."

Sometimes, Stelle revealed an especially childish side of herself.

Kafka lowered her head and looked at the misty steam drifting over the pool. Remembering how Stelle was still waiting to share her orange with her, she smiled helplessly and indulgently, raised a leg, and gently dipped her toes into the water.

Splash.

The gray-haired girl fed an orange segment into Kafka's mouth as she sat beside her.

"How is it? Is it good?" she asked with a smile.

There was no such twist here.

How could there possibly be some plot where someone ate an incredibly sour orange but pretended it was sweet to trick their companion into falling for it too?!

"Very sweet."

Kafka savored the orange segment Stelle had fed her with great seriousness.

Perhaps the water was a little too warm, but she somehow felt very hot.

After eating the cool, sweet-tart orange, the restless heat seemed to have been soothed away.

Kafka tilted her head slightly and glanced at Stelle beside her.

The girl was delighted that she had gotten an exceptionally sweet Bubble Orange. Like opening a blind box, she casually picked another from the mountain of oranges before her and prepared to peel it open for a taste.

Like a little squirrel eating its winter stores.

So cute.

As Kafka thought that, her hand had already reached out of its own accord.

Just as Stelle finished peeling an orange and was about to put it into her mouth, she suddenly sensed a hand at her side.

Before she could react, the hand moved closer and pinched her cheek.

Stelle:!

Stelle blinked and looked to the side, only to find Kafka leaning against the edge of the pool, one hand casually stroking her cheek.

She had always been the one teasing others!

Stelle put down the orange.

There was no way she would let someone tease her one-sidedly!

Stelle looked at Kafka with blazing eyes.

If it had been anyone else, like Firefly or Blade, seeing Stelle make that expression—

They would definitely feel that disaster was unavoidable and shudder inwardly.

But Kafka was different.

When their gazes met—Stelle's clearly declaring, "I'm going on the offensive"—Kafka not only did not back down, but even returned a calm smile.

As if to say: Sure. Whatever you want is fine.

The showdown between two masters was about to begin!

Stelle took Kafka's fingertips in her hand and moved the woman's mischievous hand away from her cheek.

Stop touching me. Stelle could not understand it. It was just a face—what was so nice about touching it?

If it were her...

Hehe.

Stelle seemed to have thought of a good idea.

Still holding Kafka's hand, she pressed herself against the woman's arm and rested her chin on Kafka's shoulder.

Right before her was Kafka's thin, fair ear. Perhaps because of the rising mist from the water, it was red enough to almost drip blood.

Stelle's breath brushed against Kafka's neck.

She lowered her eyes slightly, leaned in, and gently kissed Kafka's earlobe.