The King of Tokyo Freeloaders [166]

Aizono Momo covered her face with both hands, her cheeks scorching beneath her fingertips.

This gesture was an instinctive defense, a futile attempt to isolate herself from the outside world and evade the shame that haunted her relentlessly.

Her eyes squeezed shut, desperate to erase the memory of what had just happened, yet the scene replayed mercilessly in her mind, deepening her embarrassment.

Her throat tightened, blocked by an unbearable lump that refused to disappear no matter how many times she swallowed. Tremors ran through her body, every cell echoing her humiliation.

This… is definitely something I’ll remember for the rest of my life…

Like a stake driven deep into the foundations of her memories, it would resurface every time she visited the restroom, forever bringing back this same excruciating embarrassment.

Those with low self-esteem rarely held onto pleasant memories—instead, mistakes, embarrassments, and shameful incidents stayed vividly etched, haunting them constantly.

And Momo was exactly that type.

So she would never be able to forget what had just happened. In fact, the harder she tried to forget, the clearer and more permanent the memory would become.

Amid her repeated mental replays, something Kuroba Akira had said suddenly resurfaced.

Oh, right… Kuroba-kun said I should finish up properly…

Even in a moment like this, Momo still prioritized Akira’s instructions, afraid to disappoint him.

And truthfully, she hadn’t completely finished earlier. After Akira had lifted her, she’d desperately held back to avoid leaking onto him.

Now, she could finally let it all out.

This time, she was in the correct location—the toilet—and using the correct posture: sitting down, as was proper.

The relief that washed over her was accompanied by a strange, trance-like sensation.

Everyone knew interrupting midway felt unpleasant—it could easily kill one’s mood completely.

Thankfully, the interruption had been brief enough that her discomfort hadn’t entirely faded, so resuming now brought her quickly back into the rhythm.

Don’t misunderstand—this was purely about the act of relieving herself.

For girls, holding it in brought a certain thrill due to the pressure, and releasing it afterward brought another wave of relief, creating a uniquely intense cycle of sensations.

Today, she’d gone through holding back, partially releasing, holding again, and now finally fully letting go. This double round of tension and relief unwittingly sparked a mild addiction to the sensation.

Besides the flood of dopamine from her physical relief, Momo experienced a profound psychological shift as well.

Her mind filled completely with Akira’s face, his expression crystal clear—she could’ve sketched a perfect portrait on the spot.

She remembered it vividly because Akira’s nonchalant attitude had shocked her deeply.

Initially, she’d been consumed by shame at having caused trouble, but Akira had immediately covered for her without hesitation.

For a girl terrified of mistakes, this was nothing short of being spoiled by supreme kindness.

Even that filthy liquid I can’t stand myself—Kuroba-kun touched it…

But Kuroba-kun didn’t even flinch; he accepted everything so casually…

It must have been filthy and gross, yet he still willingly carried me…

Does that mean he doesn’t hate me? It’s not just my imagination, right?

If he truly disliked me, he definitely wouldn’t have helped afterward… Even I can see that clearly.

Kuroba-kun… you’re really kind…

It’s probably because he’s so strong that he doesn’t care about such minor things…

“Hehe…”

A low giggle slipped uncontrollably from between her fingers, the corners of her mouth curving upward involuntarily.

A dark, twisted joy began fermenting deep within her.

She had always feared people discovering her weaknesses, always belittled herself, sacrificing her desires to please others—obedient, broken, numb.

But now, Akira knew her biggest secret. He’d seen her at her absolute worst.

Even her most shameful, dirty fluids had gotten onto him.

Yet he’d accepted it all.

He hadn’t looked down on her.

Even though Momo knew rationally that Akira probably didn’t care at all about something so trivial…

For her, it was the first time in her life she’d ever felt completely liberated.

She didn’t have to fear rejection or abandonment, didn’t have to second-guess his thoughts.

Precisely because Akira was someone who valued money over people, his straightforwardness put her at ease.

If he disliked something, he’d say so outright. If he found her disgusting, he wouldn’t have helped her. If he felt troubled, he’d have simply walked away.

Unlike Anri Hitomi and Shiroi Shiori, who genuinely cared about her feelings, she didn’t have to worry about disappointing Kuroba-kun.

Even in front of her family, she had never fully opened up—she had secrets she hid from her parents, embarrassing doujinshi she’d never want them to see. Yet even if Akira discovered those secrets, she felt it wouldn’t bother her that much.

Momo gradually realized that in front of Akira, she could finally stop hiding. She could even show him the pathetic sides of herself without fear.

“Fufu… Kuroba-kun… hehe…”

This realization prompted another round of quiet giggling.

The humiliating incident had finally provided an outlet for all the pent-up emotions she’d suppressed until now.

Kuroba Akira was that powerful existence capable of accepting her insignificant self.

Someone to whom she could expose everything about herself without reservation…

What should I call someone like that?

Akira’s earlier words floated back into her mind again:

“My dear Aizono-san, my cute Momo-chan, surely you haven’t forgotten your promise to become my exclusive illustrator, right?”

Exclusive illustrator… exclusive… illustrator…

The word “exclusive” captivated her most. From the moment she’d first heard it, she’d secretly fantasized about scandalous scenarios like “exclusive Nihonbashi.”

Now, recalling this term at this particular moment, the far-from-innocent Momo instantly thought of an especially fitting title.

But the next second, she shook her head vigorously, her hair whipping wildly against the restroom stall partition.

Her face burned crimson with shame, lips pressed tightly together, shaking her head as though fighting against her own instincts, protecting the very last shred of her dignity.

But limits existed precisely to be crossed—especially when no one was watching.

Anyway, there’s no one else here. Kuroba-kun won’t hear either… Maybe just trying it out wouldn’t hurt?

Once the thought took hold, she couldn’t resist acting on it.

Her tongue darted out, lightly wetting her dry lips—a tiny gesture, filled with hidden nervousness.

Her fingers unconsciously brushed across her lips, feeling their slightly rough texture, and slowly, carefully, she opened her mouth.

In the silent room, she clearly heard her own voice.

“…Master…”

Some lines, once crossed, had no turning back.

Even if it was only a single word.

Once branded, the mark remained forever.

—

T/N: OUGHH I REMEMBER WHY I PAUSED THIS AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

This is a fan translation of 东京软饭王 by 夜幕下的鬼 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!