Kuroha carried the two breakfasts down the quiet hallway.
His mood was oddly calm.
Last night's tenderness had looked a little ridiculous on the surface, but in truth, it also felt… like something that had simply arrived when it was meant to.
After all, he and Fumino had known each other for a long time. And during this half-year overseas expedition, they'd been together day and night—constantly working, constantly grinding, constantly rubbing up against each other in the way people do when they share pressure and time.
On top of that, neither of them was especially old. Two young, attractive adults building up feelings over time—there was nothing strange about that.
The only thing Kuroha hadn't expected… was just how directly Fumino would strike last night.
Thinking about the way the usually serious, steady Fumino had made that shy, utterly mortified expression, Kuroha couldn't help wanting to laugh.
Soon, he reached Fumino's door.
Before he even pushed it open, he heard faint rustling inside.
"Tss—ow…" Fumino's voice—thin, restrained—let out a quiet cry.
Kuroha walked in. The "Prince" who normally carried herself so boldly was now completely without dignity, poking out from under the blanket—smooth pale shoulders and a soft, curved fullness exposed—as she struggled to reach the phone on her nightstand.
"Don't move around. I told you I'd come."
Kuroha set the breakfasts down on the table, handed her the phone, then looked at her with an amused expression.
"Who was it last night that wanted to take the offensive? And now you're hurting?"
"Y-you… shut up!"
Fumino shuddered and immediately dove back under the blanket, leaving only a pair of eyes glaring at him—embarrassed and furious.
"Are you a monster? I was begging and you still— And don't laugh!"
"Okay, okay. I won't laugh."
Kuroha stepped closer and gently patted her head through the blanket. His voice, unusually, was soft.
"Eat a little, then go back to sleep. We'll push the return trip back two days."
"Mm… and don't worry about Creek, either. I don't know what's up with her, but it feels like she won't have the energy to come looking for you today."
"Creek?"
The moment he said it, Fumino froze—then a terrifying thought slammed into her.
"Wait. Creek lives next door… S-she didn't hear anything, did she?"
"…"
Kuroha was silent for a second.
His mind flashed to the cafeteria—Creek's dark circles, her limp, miserable look, her expression like she wanted to bury her face in the bowl.
"I feel like the soundproofing is pretty good," he said slowly. "But… you really didn't manage to keep it down last night."
After a moment of contemplation, he nodded as if reaching a conclusion.
"So… yeah. It's possible. Maybe even likely."
"Kill me… I'm not going back to Central. I'm applying to settle down in Hong Kong forever!"
Fumino let out a muffled wail and buried her face completely under the blanket.
Kuroha chuckled, opened the breakfasts, and started cleaning up the battlefield from last night.
Among the mess, one thing stood out the most—a white handkerchief marked with faint traces.
After he'd finished, Kuroha lazily slid under the blanket.
His hands met a smooth, intoxicating warmth—yet by his ear came the steady, even breathing of a sleeping beauty.
Kuroha blinked, startled for a moment. But he quickly recovered, smiling in quiet acceptance.
He leaned in and kissed Fumino's forehead gently, then slipped back out of the covers, carefully adjusted her sleeping posture, and tucked the blanket over her.
Last night—even Creek had been able to hear it clearly.
So there was no need to even mention the "other party" on the battlefield.
"Rest," Kuroha murmured with a soft laugh. "You worked hard."
Whether he meant the "battle" or the half-year they'd endured together… only he knew.
…
Three days later, Hong Kong International Airport.
With a massive roar, a silver passenger jet lifted into the sky, carrying the history-making team back toward Kōun.
Inside the private flight, Oguri sat by the window with a bag of potato chips, casually popping one into her mouth every so often.
For this ash-gray horse girl, the legendary expedition seemed to have left almost no mark at all.
Kuroha sat beside her, flipping through international briefs from the past few days:
"Shocking! The Pinnacle of Asian Horse Girls! Oguri Dominates the Hong Kong Mile Championship!"
"The Battle for the Summit: Extreme Violent Aesthetics vs. Total Technical Suppression!"
"Mystery! Revealing the Training Logic Behind Kuroha's Expedition!"
"…Feels like paparazzi are the same everywhere," Kuroha muttered, staring at the sensational, controversy-bait headlines with a tired look.
One "pinnacle" here, another "pinnacle" there…
Where exactly does that leave me? he thought.
"What are you reading?"
A pale hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
It was Fumino, leaning across the aisle to peek over.
She looked like her usual capable self again, but the chilliness in her eyes had vanished completely. In its place was something inexplicably gentle whenever she looked at Kuroha.
"Checking how other people are hyping me up," Kuroha joked, folding the paper and handing it to her.
"Hm? Let me see?" Fumino's interest was piqued. She opened it and started reading.
Behind them, Berno Light and Super Creek were seated together.
Berno Light was animatedly telling Creek about everything she and Oguri had seen around Hong Kong over the last three days.
Unlike Berno Light's excitement, Super Creek wore a strained smile, looking half-asleep.
Originally, per Kuroha's plan, they would've returned two days ago.
But the violet-haired beauty beside him had developed a taste for it. Even if she could barely get out of bed that morning, by night she'd tug Kuroha right back under the blanket again.
Completely forgetting the possibility that Creek might hear.
Round and round it went, dragging things out for two extra days—until today, when they finally locked in the return trip.
Of course, over those days, Kuroha and Fumino's "two-person dance" had netted its share of pleasure, and Oguri and Berno Light had toured Hong Kong and had their fun, too.
Only Super Creek had spent three days listening to the wall next door.
(End of Chapter)
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