Cian's fingers dug into the wooden floor, nails scratching the grain as he fought to stay grounded. But it was useless.
Shirayuki hadn't stopped.
No—she had picked up the pace, faster and more deliberate now. Every motion was devastatingly fluid, lips sealed with impossible warmth, breath brushing against his skin in soft, hungry pulses.
He shuddered, groaning low in his throat.
"Shira… ah—gods, y-you…"
Her hands held his hips delicately, guiding herself with that same innocent devotion she always carried. But this was different. This was bold. Her ears twitched rhythmically, matching each eager motion as if they were tuned to his unraveling.
She wasn't just experimenting anymore.
She knew what she was doing—and that scared him more than any monster ever could.
Cian's hand clutched her shoulder for support—his muscles tense, breath ragged, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. Her snowy hair fanned over his thighs, a soft curtain swaying with every movement, catching the flickering glow of the fire.
"D-Don't… If you keep that up, I—!"
He didn't finish.
He couldn't.
His hips betrayed him, lifting slightly, answering the rhythm she set. And Shirayuki—oh, she giggled. A quiet, muffled sound that sent a jolt through him, straight to his core.
The ding of the system window chimed in mockery.
> [SYSTEM]: WARNING — Vital signs nearing euphoric overload. Proceed with caution. Or don't. We're enjoying the show.
Cian's eyes twitched.
"You… s-shut up…"
Then she leaned in deeper—no hesitation, no mercy. Her mouth moved like a dream, her tongue sending sparks racing up his spine. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched, barely holding back the flood threatening to break free.
His world narrowed to just her—her warmth, her breath, the softness of her body nestled between his legs, and the impossibly innocent look in her eyes whenever she glanced up.
And just when he thought he'd completely lose control—
She stopped.
Pulled back with a quiet pop, her cheeks flushed, panting softly, lips parted with the faintest trace of warmth still connecting them.
She tilted her head, ears flicking, tail swaying gently behind her.
Her expression was so pure. As if she hadn't just turned his world inside out.
Cian collapsed backward, arm flung over his eyes, gasping for breath.
"Wh-What… kind of adorable hedgehog are you…" he whispered.
Shirayuki crawled beside him with a satisfied hum, nuzzling his shoulder like a sleepy pup. No shame, no teasing—just comfort. Like what she'd done was completely natural. Normal.
And then—
Crackkkkkle.
The meat in the pan let out one final hiss, scorched and forgotten.
Dinner was ruined.
So was Cian.
As the stars began to sprinkle the night sky, Cian stirred the bubbling pot over the fire with tired arms, his body aching from the day's training—and everything else. He'd only managed a simple soup, with a few herbs and slivers of Furbull meat tossed in. The aroma was cozy, even if it wasn't anything fancy.
Solaira sat nearby, her tail softly swaying as she watched the firelight dance. Shirayuki curled beside Cian, her cheeks slightly pink, occasionally sneaking shy glances at him through her snowy bangs.
When the soup was ready, Cian handed them each a warm bowl. They ate quietly, the silence filled with little sips, content sighs, and the occasional clink of wooden spoons. Solaira giggled for no reason, her eyes sparkling like she was remembering something. Cian looked away quickly, face flushing red.
The system, ever the mood-ruiner, chimed in.
[SYSTEM]: Wow, soup after all that action? You're either a gentleman or completely insane. Either way, respect.
Cian sighed. "Just… let me have this peaceful meal."
And for a moment, under the stars, everything felt warm.
The first week flew by in a blur of sore muscles, burning lungs, and endless sword swings under the old man's sharp eyes. Every day was a storm, but each one had its own strange charm.
Day 1:
Cian's hands blistered after just an hour. The weight of Kureha threw off his balance every swing.
"Why is this sword so heavy?!" he gasped.
The old man chuckled. "It's not. You're just weak."
[SYSTEM]: Day 1: Muscle: 0. Dignity: -2. Progress: Debatable.
Day 2:
He woke up aching in places he didn't know existed. When he tried swinging, the blade flung out of his hands and landed in a bush.
Solaira jumped into the bush and retrieved it with her mouth, tail wagging proudly.
[SYSTEM]: Day 2: Weapon thrown. Sword retrieved by a lizard. Respect level: lizard > you.
Day 3:
Rain poured all morning. Still, the old man made him train shirtless.
Cian slipped on mud at least four times.
Shirayuki sat on the porch, watching with innocent, unblinking eyes while munching on steamed mushrooms.
She tilted her head, ears twitching cutely.
He groaned. "Even she's judging me now…"
Day 4:
The sword finally stopped feeling like a metal tree branch.
Cian managed ten clean swings before collapsing face-first into his rice bowl during lunch.
Shirayuki gently nudged him with her nose. Solaira curled up on his back like a nap-loving scarf.
Day 5:
He yelled, "Hyaah!" with every swing, channeling his inner warrior.
The old man scowled. "You sound like a chicken sneezing."
[SYSTEM]: Day 5: New Title: Sword-Swinging Chicken.
Day 6:
Shirayuki mimicked his training swings with a twig while Solaira dramatically rolled down a hill.
Cian laughed for the first time mid-swing. It threw off his rhythm, and he smacked his own foot.
He limped the rest of the day.
Day 7:
At last, the old man nodded in approval. "You swing less like a drunk now."
Cian grinned weakly. "That's… progress?"
That evening, they all shared dinner under the stars. Shirayuki curled up beside him, tail flicking gently. Solaira flopped on his head with a satisfied sigh.
He smiled.
Hellish? Yes.
Unforgettable? Absolutely.
The old man tapped his pipe on the wooden step but didn't light it. He stared long and far, eyes glazed like he was looking beyond time itself.
"You ever heard of the boy who ran away from heaven?" he asked suddenly.
Cian blinked. "...No?"
The old man chuckled lightly, eyes still locked on the fading light. "He was born in a temple. Raised by monks, fed by rituals, taught to smile even when his heart was breaking. Everyone said he was blessed. But he was just... tired."
He leaned forward, hands resting on his knees.
"One day, he stood at the cliff behind the temple and shouted up at the sky. Said he didn't want to be chosen. Didn't want to carry the burden they gave him. Then he jumped—not to die, mind you. But to be free."
Cian leaned in, quiet.
"He landed in a river. Broke half his ribs and lost his name to the current. But he lived. Crawled out covered in blood, with no god left watching over him. And for the first time… he laughed."
The old man smiled to himself.
"They say he wandered the world with no destination. Slept under bridges. Ate with wolves. Fell in love with a lady thief and broke bread with assassins. And though no one knew where he came from, people followed him. Not because of divine power—but because he made them feel alive."
Cian exhaled softly. "That boy was you?"
The old man just smiled, leaning back against the cabin.
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe I just liked the story."
[SYSTEM]: Plot twist? Life plot armor? Or just a river-washed badass origin story? Either way… Grandpa's lore runs deep, bro.
Just as the old man finished the final words of his bittersweet story, a soft, muffled voice echoed from inside the cabin.
"Mmm... Cyaaaan~... Cianyan... C-cinnamoroll..."
Another followed suit, drowsy and just as muddled.
"Cinyawn... Ci-chuuu~..."
The two men froze. Eyes slowly turned. A long pause stretched between them—one of disbelief and mild existential crisis.
The old man cleared his throat. "Boy… are you secretly a love potion peddler?"
Then the system chimed in, far too delighted.
[SYSTEM]: "Oho~ two girls moaning your name in their sleep? Someone's been polishing more than just swords, huh?"
Cian sputtered, face red as an overcooked tomato. "I—I literally just made soup!"