After surviving the most dangerous trial of his life — waking up next to Rinko without having a heart attack from sheer self-control — Motohama put on his black sportswear, determined to focus on training and not on... other things.
It was still very early, and he headed down to the kitchen, guided by the irresistible aroma of breakfast.
That's when he saw the scene that should probably be classified as a World Heritage site… or at least, part of his own personal hell.
Rinko was there, serene as always, her back to him, preparing coffee. She wore nothing but a white apron tied with a delicate bow, perfectly shaping her slender, athletic silhouette. With every movement, the fabric swayed dangerously, revealing provocative glimpses of her pale, firm skin. Motohama stood paralyzed, as if time had frozen just to make him suffer.
And then… she turned around.
Only then did he realize, heart pounding in his chest: besides the apron that barely managed to contain her generous bust — exposing an indecent side slit and a cleavage that defied gravity — she wore only a black thong. Discreet? Maybe. Effective? Not at all! The side strap peeked out from under the apron shamelessly, as if mocking him.
Rinko noticed Motohama's petrified stare and, with that serene, almost clinical expression, tilted her head slightly, not understanding the reason for his shock.
— I'm almost done, Master — she greeted, with her usual impeccable politeness, as if wearing the most modest uniform in the world. — I hope you don't mind… I preferred not to wear my Taimanin uniform to make breakfast. It could get dirty or absorb odors that would compromise my stealth on future missions.
She said it like someone explaining why she put sugar in the coffee. Zero malice. Just tactics.
— I-I… of course… makes perfect sense… — Motohama replied, already blushing, looking away and trying to keep his composure. But he couldn't avoid the treacherous thought: "Why does she have to be so practical… and so damn hot at the same time?!" In the end, he muttered under his breath: — As long as other guys don't see you like this…
Rinko, unaware of his obvious embarrassment, continued with the same didactic serenity:
— Also, as requested, I'm not naked. I'm wearing the apron… and my panties — she added, puffing out her chest with conviction, as if presenting an irrefutable military report.
Motohama pressed his hand against his thigh, as if trying to crush his libido by force, while fighting the instinct to look again—or rather, to never look away.
— R-right… you're… dressed… — he murmured, trying to convince himself. But his mind screamed: "GOD! This trial is too much! I'm going to end up abusing my position as her master!"
Rinko, satisfied with her perfectly logical explanation, went back to preparing the meal, moving the utensils with her usual precision and discipline. But to Motohama, every small movement — every stretch of her arms, every curve of her hips — felt like a direct blow to his already exhausted resistance.
Soon, she served the plate with all the serenity in the world, sitting across from him, maintaining impeccable composure… and utterly unaware that the apron remained dangerously tight, with the "colossi" almost bursting past the containment lines with each breath.
— I prepared a balanced breakfast, suitable for your training — she informed with that elegant tone, picking up the chopsticks with absurd naturalness. — Speaking of which… I thought we could use the time before you head to school. There's a clearing nearby. It would be a good spot to refine our physical exercises.
Motohama took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the rice in front of him… and not on the impeccably feminine figure, unintentionally seductive, sitting just inches away. Every time she moved, the apron threatened to break its truce with gravity.
— N-no need… I have the perfect place for us to train… — he replied, bravely fighting his most basic instincts. — I… have a sort of private dimension. Inside it, there's a special place for training that I renamed Seinaru Shūren-jō… the Sacred Training Grounds.
Rinko raised her eyebrows, interested.
— The time distortion inside isn't very large, but… it will stretch the hour we have before I need to get ready for school into five full hours of training — Motohama added, trying to sound serious, even though his soul screamed: "Help!"
He wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead, trying to ignore the fact that five more hours at this level of exposure… might not exactly strengthen his spiritual power…
While they ate, Motohama tried to concentrate on the meal, but every time Rinko brought the chopsticks to her lips, the apron threatened to give way a bit more, and the discreet panties — which were anything but discreet to him — remained visible at the sides.
He let out a defeated sigh and, in a burst of self-irony, ended up laughing.
— Hahaha… you have no idea how much this would be every guy's dream at my school… — he said, setting the chopsticks down and scratching the back of his neck, somewhat awkwardly. — You know… my friends and I always said it'd be amazing to have our own… harem.
He let out another sheepish chuckle, like it was just some silly teenage nonsense, but soon noticed that Rinko was looking at him with her usual calm and sober expression, as if he'd just commented on the weather forecast.
— Harem? — she repeated, tilting her head slightly, as if repeating a foreign word to better understand it.
— Y-yeah… you know… several girls… at the same time… — he gestured, trying to explain, but his embarrassment only grew. — Like… one guy surrounded by beautiful women… I know it's kinda dumb… but it's sort of the silly dream most guys have…
Rinko took another bite of rice, chewing calmly before replying with that disarming practicality of hers:
— I understand.
Motohama braced for a scolding, maybe a reproachful look… but Rinko just wiped her lips with elegance and added:
— In Taimanin society, such relationships are not uncommon. Given the dangerous nature of our missions and the need to preserve strong warrior bloodlines, there are cases where warriors form… extensive families.
She spoke like she was explaining traffic laws.
— It's not rare for a Taimanin or a Kunoichi to maintain multiple partners, depending on their physical endurance and… willingness — she added, looking him straight in the eyes with total naturalness, as if reciting statistics.
Motohama almost choked on his tea.
— W-what do you mean…?
— It's a practical measure — Rinko continued with that serene tone that was almost cruel to his emotional state. — After all, many of us have… variable life expectancies. Flexible emotional bonds help maintain focus on missions and allow the strongest to leave descendants.
She tilted her head, thoughtful:
— Therefore, the idea of a "harem" isn't absurd. In fact… it's a logical possibility.
Motohama stayed silent for a while, staring at the steaming tea and at the apron that hid absolutely nothing.
— Man… I should've been born into a Taimanin clan… — he muttered, half in shock, half joking, drawing a small, discreet smile from Rinko, who quickly returned to her neutral expression. — If I had… it would be a dream to have a beautiful Taimanin like Rinko… w-wait… did I say that out loud?
Motohama broke into a cold sweat, glancing nervously at Rinko, who had stopped eating and was looking at him, processing what she'd just heard before looking away, bringing a hand to her cheek with a rare expression: a faint blush tinged her pale skin, as if only now realizing the weight of those words.
— U-understood… — she replied, diverting her gaze to the rice bowl as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the world.
Motohama's eyes widened, realizing what had just slipped out.
— I-I… didn't mean… I mean, I did… but… not like that! — he tried to explain, but his words tangled even more, like a fish flailing out of water.
Rinko took a deep breath, regaining her serene expression, though the tips of her ears were still flushed.
— I'm… flattered by the compliment, Master — she said, with her usual professional and polite tone, though her voice sounded slightly softer than usual.
Motohama scratched his head, laughing awkwardly.
— I just… meant that… you're really beautiful. I think any guy would think so.
Rinko fixed her gaze on him again, analyzing every word like it was a high-risk mission, then nodded, as if recording an objective fact:
— Understood. Your evaluation is… logical.
Motohama nearly fell out of his chair at such a cold and practical response, but at the same time, he couldn't help but laugh at the situation.
— Logical…? You talk like you're writing a status report…
Rinko tilted her head slightly, not understanding the humor in his tone.
— Wouldn't it be appropriate to interpret such words as… an attempt at flirting?
Motohama opened his mouth, closed it… then opened it again, utterly lost on how to respond.
— W-well… maybe…? — he finally confessed, shrinking a little.
Rinko folded her hands on the table, sitting perfectly straight as she always did when addressing serious matters.
— I see. Though… I must admit I don't have much experience in that field.
She said it with such sincerity and directness that Motohama was speechless for a few seconds.
— Seriously? But you're… — he instinctively pointed at her, at the apron barely containing her dangerous curves, but stopped midway, realizing how bold that was. — …anyway… you're beautiful, skilled… mature…
Rinko frowned, as if doing some complicated mental math.
— My priority has always been duty, my training, taking care of my brother Tatsuro and our childhood friend Yukikaze. Romantic relationships of this nature… were never part of the training.
Motohama stared at her, half shocked, half impressed.
— Damn… you really are from another world… well… another dimension — he said, then grew serious — Rinko… how do you feel about… me summoning you… making you my master… I took you away from your family and friends…
— I remember… vaguely… Before you summoned me… I was in some kind of void… I… I think I committed suicide… — she continued, with that calm tone that sounded more like self-protection than coldness.
The Taimanin kept her voice serene, but her gaze grew distant, lost somewhere only she could see. Her fingers clenched lightly over the apron fabric, as if suddenly aware of her own vulnerability.
— We were trapped… infiltrated actually… but betrayed… they… modified our bodies, implanted obedience devices… shaped us into sex slaves… as if we had no will, just objects.
She pressed her lips together, and for the first time since he'd met her, Motohama realized her serenity wasn't just discipline—it was a wall.
— I knew… they were going to use my body, take from me what I valued most… my pride… my humanity… — she took a deep breath, her gaze clouded by memory. — And then… I saw it. I saw what would happen… I had a vision… I saw the things that would be done to me… how it would corrupt me… the vile acts I'd commit… the betrayals… so Yukikaze and I… we took our own lives.
Without thinking, Motohama reached out, placing his hand gently over hers, as if to say: "I'm here."
Rinko seemed to snap out of her trance, staring at him wide-eyed, as if only now realizing where she was—and with whom.
— You… you freed me — she whispered, with unexpected conviction. — When you summoned me… I thought you'd be just another master, another owner… but no. You gave me a mission. A choice…
Motohama squeezed her hand tighter, feeling overwhelming anguish but also… deep admiration.
— Rinko… I had no idea…
She smiled softly, almost imperceptibly, but now that smile felt like it carried immense weight, like the first true smile she'd given in a very, very long time.
— You couldn't have known… and there's no need to blame yourself. I… I was already dead. But now… I'm alive again.
Motohama felt a lump in his throat. He wanted to say something—anything—but the knot wouldn't let him.
Rinko slowly let go of his hand, bringing her fingers to her chest, as if confirming her heart was still beating.
— So… to answer your question… — she lifted her gaze, locking eyes with his with such intensity that Motohama held his breath — …I don't regret it. I don't regret ending up here… with you.
Motohama felt the world spin. The heat he'd felt earlier from the suggestive apron was now something else entirely—a human, almost spiritual warmth… a true and unexpected connection.
— Rinko…
She stood up slowly, adjusting the apron's bow, and approached him. Motohama didn't even have time to react. She leaned in, resting her forehead gently against his, in a silent, respectful… and deeply intimate gesture.
— Thank you… Master — she whispered, closing her eyes, like someone finally finding peace.
Motohama remained still, not daring to break the moment.
After a few seconds, she pulled away, returning to her usual impeccable posture, but now… something had changed. She wasn't just a disciplined, cold warrior anymore. She was a woman who, for the first time… seemed to have chosen to live.
She picked up the tray and, with an almost imperceptible smile, said:
— Breakfast is over. Shall we go train… at your… Sacred Training Grounds?
Motohama chuckled, scratching his neck, still somewhat dazed.
— Y-yeah… sure…
And as he followed her into the next stage of the day, he realized that the physical training would be tough… but the emotional one… that had only just begun.
And for the first time, Motohama understood that being her "Master" meant far more than summoning a warrior: it meant being worthy of the trust… and the humanity… she had just regained.