You lift her hand and press your lips to her knuckles. "My Hinata," you say quietly, meeting her pale eyes. "Strip away your clothing. I want to accept you, hiding nothing from me."

  Her breath catches--not from fear, but recognition. An order. Her first order.

  She steps back carefully, fingers trembling as they reach for the zipper of her jacket. The fabric slides down her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Her movements are precise, practiced--kunoichi discipline transting into deliberate exposure. The hooded top follows, then her undershirt, revealing pale skin and modest curves bound by a simple white bra.

  Her hands pause at the csp, vender eyes searching yours for reassurance. You nod once.

  The bra falls away. Her breasts are small, firm, rising and falling with her quickening breath. She slides her combat pants down her hips, stepping carefully out of them. The simple white panties follow st, leaving her completely bare before you.

  She stands still, vulnerable, trembling slightly--not from cold but from the weight of the moment. Her eyes return to yours, unguarded and waiting.

  You step forward and wrap your arms around her, fingers sliding beneath her breasts, supporting their weight gently. Your lips meet hers--slow, deliberate, giving her control.

  She kisses back hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. Her hands lift to your shoulders, fingers gripping tightly as she leans into you. The kiss deepens, her breathing quickening, before she finally pulls back, flushed and wide-eyed.

  "Hinata," you say softly, "I think I know the answer, but there's a dumb part of me that's still hopeful to hear you say it. Are you a virgin?"

  Her face flushes deeper, but she nods. "Y-yes," she whispers. "I've never… with anyone."

  You kiss her again, gently this time, then guide her backward toward a sturdy furniture dispy--a low wooden bench with cushioned seating. "Sit on the edge," you instruct. "Lift your legs."

  She obeys immediately, sitting carefully and raising her knees together, arms braced behind her for bance.

  "I want to savor your purity," you say, hands sliding down to grip the back of her calves. "But I'm giving you an order I'm hoping you'll accept: You may not lose your virginity until I have pleasured you at least six separate times. Do you accept?"

  Her eyes widen, breath hitching as she processes the command. Then she nods, voice barely audible. "I… I accept."

  Hands lifting her calves high. You massage gently, fingers working the tension from her muscles, then begin kissing your way down--first one leg, then the other, alternating between slow deliberate kisses and teasing brushes of your lips.

  By the time you reach her thighs, her breathing has turned ragged. You kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other, working your way upward with agonizing patience.

  Only when you reach the apex of her thighs do you spread her legs, still holding her calves, exposing her completely. She gasps softly, fingers tightening against the bench, eyes squeezed shut as she waits for what comes next.

  Her scent is clean, fresh, faintly sweet. Your breath ghosts across her folds, and she trembles violently, thighs twitching under your grip.

  You lower your head slowly, breath ghosting across her exposed flesh. Hands moving from calves to thighs, Hinata's entire body trembles--not from fear, but anticipation ced with vulnerability.

  Your tongue traces a deliberate path along her inner folds, soft and exploratory. Her gasp is immediate, sharp, her fingers clutching the edge of the dispy bench so hard her knuckles turn white.

  "Brad--" Her voice breaks into a whimper as you continue, methodical and patient, learning the map of her sensitivity. Her hips jerk involuntarily, instinct warring with the discipline she's spent years cultivating.

  You pause, lifting your head slightly. "Hinata," you say quietly, meeting her wide vender eyes. "You're doing perfectly. Just let yourself feel."

  Her breathing steadies fractionally, trust overriding nervousness. She nods once, releasing a shaky exhale.

  You return to your task, tongue circling her clit with deliberate pressure. Her reaction is instantaneous--back arching, a strangled cry escaping her lips. You hold her calves firmly, keeping her legs spread as you work, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on the bundle of nerves that makes her entire body shudder.

  "Oh--oh gods--" Her voice rises, desperation threading through the words. Her thighs quiver against your grip, tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

  You increase the pace slightly, tongue flicking rapidly as your hands massage the backs of her legs. Her breathing turns ragged, broken gasps punctuated by helpless whimpers.

  "Brad, I--I can't--"

  "Yes, you can," you murmur against her skin, the vibration adding another yer of sensation. "Let go."

  Her climax hits like a tidal wave--body going rigid, back bowing off the bench as a keening cry tears from her throat. Her inner walls clench rhythmically, wetness flooding against your tongue as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her.

  You don't stop immediately, easing her through the aftershocks with gentler strokes until her body finally goes limp, trembling and hypersensitive. Only then do you pull back, hands sliding up to cup her breasts, massaging gently as you help ground her back in her body.

  "That's one," you say softly, thumb brushing over her nipple. "Five more before your allowed to lose your virginity."

  Hinata's eyes flutter open, dazed and unfocused. Her lips part, but no words come--just shaky breathing and the faintest hint of a smile.

  You help her sit up slowly, then gather her clothing. She's still trembling as you guide her white panties slowly up her legs, caressing as you run your fingers under each band to make sure it's smooth, a kiss on her tit shocks her as she's watching you dress her. You pce her combat pants on her ankles crumpling the legs before slowly pulling them up, taking the chance to squeeze your fingertips slow and deep into the soft skin of her butt.

  She gasps panting, her arms shivering unsure if she should interrupt."I-I ca-" A gentle kiss on her lips silences her.

  "Shush." You gently fasten her pants, making sure nothing is caught or folded. Her simple white bra held up in front of her until she pces her hands through the straps, you lean in cupping and groping her hot breasts for a moment before setting the bra in pce, your lips kissing hers while you fumble behind her back with the csp.

  Her breathing is ragged again, but the nervous-embarrassed smile is worth it.

  You colpse her undershirt in your fingers, before pcing it slowly around each of her hands and guiding it up her arms, over her head and back down her chest, letting it unfurl as you trace her outline. Her arms through her jacket sleeves, smooth her hair back into pce. By the time you're finished, she looks almost normal--save for the flush still coloring her cheeks and the soft, satisfied glow in her eyes.

  "Ready?" you ask.

  She nods, voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

  Together you step out of the alcove. C.C. and Riveria are waiting near the loading dock, several crates already stacked beside them. C.C.'s knowing smirk is immediate.

  "Well," she drawls, green hair catching the emergency lighting. "That took exactly as long as I predicted."

  Riveria gnces between you and Hinata, jade eyes analytical. "You appear refreshed," she observes neutrally, though there's a hint of curiosity beneath the words.

  Hinata ducks her head, flushing deeper, but says nothing.

  C.C. gestures toward the crates. "We've been efficient. Four hundred pounds of furniture staged. Shall we continue, or would you prefer another... break?"

  You pce a hand over your heart with theatrical solemnity. “Oh, C.C., please--don’t tempt fate. I barely survived the first time you predicted something today.”

  Hinata makes a tiny squeak at that, mortified but secretly warmed that you took responsibility for the teasing rather than pcing it on her.

  You continue, pointing lightly toward the crates: “And you--don’t pretend you weren’t timing us with a stopwatch in your head.”

  C.C.’s smirk widens to something sharper, more amused. “Please. I didn’t need a stopwatch. You’re remarkably predictable… in surprisingly pleasant ways.”

  Hinata’s blush hits a shade previously undocumented in the natural world.

  Riveria looks between the two of you, takes a slow breath, and files away several conclusions without a word.

  You move toward the stacks of boxed furniture, cpping your hands once.

  “Alright, team. Back to work. Fastest path to the dock is along the left aisle. Hinata, take the lighter crates--C.C., heavy ones--Riveria, inventory confirmation.”

  Hinata answers instantly, voice small but resolute. “Yes, Brad.” Her tone is different now. Committed.

  She walks with calm purpose, almost floating, her movements sharper and more controlled than before. C.C. watches her for half a second, recognizing the emotional shift. Riveria notices too, though she interprets it as spiritual stabilization, not anything romantic.

  C.C. moves beside you, lifting a wide wooden crate with casual ease. “So,” she murmurs, low enough that only you hear, “are you pnning to give every woman on the team a private appointment? Or is Hinata simply… special?”

  You don’t answer immediately. You focus on adjusting the angle of a long boxed mirror before pcing it on the rolling cart. “We’ll have conversations,” you say. “One at a time. About pasts. About choices. About futures.”

  C.C. hums. “How noble. How responsible.”A beat. “How infuriatingly attractive.”

  She walks past you with her crate, utterly satisfied with your reaction.

  Riveria, meanwhile, is carefully examining a boxed dining table. “This will require disassembly for efficient loading,” she announces. “It appears to be solid hardwood. Excellent craftsmanship.”

  You catch her eye, offer a small smile. “Good find. That’ll go in your room.”

  Riveria pauses. Just a fraction. Head tilts. Eyes soften in the smallest, most elegant way imaginable. “…Thank you.”

  Hinata looks over at the exchange, cheeks still glowing but now with calmer warmth rather than embarrassment. Her movements stay precise, focused--she’s channeling the emotional storm into purpose.

  Crates shift. Dollies roll. The loading zone becomes a flow of synchronized motion.

  For a moment, everything is working smoothly. Calm. Cooperative. Efficient.

  And beneath the surface-- three very different women processing three very different reactions to the same man.

  After a few minutes of loading, You ask across the Telepathy Web: "Hinata, may I speak of the oath you gave me, publicly, with the others present?"

  There’s a pause before her reply: "My... timeline. My potential selves. My possibilities."

  You recognize the hesitation. She’s not refusing outright--she’s asking for discretion. "I would speak of them. With you. Before the others."

  You nod inwardly. Her phrasing is careful, almost formal. She’s giving permission to discuss her knowledge of potential timelines, but wants the conversation private first. “If you wish to discuss my homend with the others… I will consent.”

  "I will wait, We'll have a conversation privately once we're settling in on the ship. No one else will know until you are ready." you send, crifying that you’ll honor her preference.

  She rexes slightly at your reassurance.

  The moment ends with mutual understanding. Your intent to eventually address the group remains, but for now, Hinata’s privacy and comfort are prioritized.

  Kenshin’s box truck idles silently at the loading dock, its rear door still open as the st crates are tied down. You help Hinata lift the final dining-table box--her movements precise and steady, the same disciplined composure she had minutes before despite what just transpired between you. C.C. lounges against the truck’s side panel, one knee bent, watching the scene with her usual catlike amusement.

  “All loaded,” Riveria confirms, tapping through the inventory manifest on her phone. “Four hundred seventy pounds. Estimated twelve thousand dolrs retail value. Secured for transport.”

  “Excellent work,” you say. “Everyone in. Kenshin, next location.”

  Kenshin nods from the driver’s seat, red hair catching the emergency lighting. “This one drives well. Your enchantments make it smoother than any carriage I’ve ever handled.”

  You climb into the passenger seat. C.C., Riveria, and Hinata settle into the extended cab’s rear bench. Kenshin eases the truck forward, tires whispering over cracked asphalt as he navigates the darkened luxury district.

  You reach out through the Telepathy Web, directing your thoughts cleanly.

  “Albedo. Next destination.”

  Her reply is immediate--crisp, controlled, almost militaristic.

  “Lingerie boutique. Three blocks east. ‘Silk & Lace.’ Kurumi, Shinobu, and Musashi are already on site securing the perimeter. Estimated inventory value: eighty thousand dolrs. Team Rotation Five begins upon your arrival.”

  “U-Understood. ETA… two minutes.” You catch yourself stuttering--not from fear, but because your brain is still processing the combination of Kurumi, Shinobu, and Musashi in a lingerie boutique. That trio is dangerous in a battlefield. In this setting? Potentially catastrophic.

  C.C. notices the hesitation immediately. “Ah--so even you recognize the hazard level.”

  You exhale slowly. “Those three, in a pce like this? Best-case scenario: mild chaos. Worst case… a full diplomatic incident in transparent panties.”

  C.C. smirks. “And you’re going to walk straight into it. Delightful.”

  Riveria tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. “Why does a specialized intimate-wear shop require that level of tactical allocation?”

  "Because," C.C. expins with barely suppressed glee, “Albedo has arranged tonight's operations around something she calls 'feminine appeal demonstrations.' Apparently she believes that coordinated looting should double as... social bonding exercises."

  Hinata makes a very small, soft sound, something between surprise and mortification. You catch her gaze in the mirror. She blushes, but she holds the look with that quiet kunoichi confidence she swore to you, a tiny nod, a kunoichi’s silent encouragement.

  C.C. shifts forward between the seats, green hair slipping over her shoulders. “Lingerie shopping with a time-fractured spirit, an ancient vampire, and a legendary swordswoman. This should be… instructive.”

  The truck turns onto a narrow street. The boutique comes into view, a once ornate storefront, gold-script signage, now just stripped mannequins frozen in dramatic poses: arms raised, bodies twisted mid-dispy, the remnants of once-beautiful arrangements.Half the front racks are empty--looted days ago by scavengers--but enough inventory remains deeper inside to justify the stop.

  Three figures wait outside: Kurumi, gothic lolita dress ruffles in the night breeze. Shinobu, perched on a decorative pnter, elegant and eerily still. Musashi, leaning against the entrance with rexed confidence, one hand resting lightly atop her sword hilt.

  Kenshin slows to a smooth halt. “We have arrived.”

  You step out. The air smells faintly of perfume leaking from a cracked dispy case inside.

  Kurumi turns first, smiling with polished mischief. “Ara ara… Brad-kun. Perfect timing.” Her eyes shimmer--gold and crimson, wicked and inviting. “Albedo-san briefed us. Tonight involves rather… educational demonstrations.”

  Shinobu hops down with inhuman grace. “A modern lingerie establishment. I have not worn such things in a very long time.” She gnces at a window dispy, expression unreadable but undeniably curious.

  Musashi straightens, adjusting her sword belt. “I was told we’d be retrieving textiles for the women. No one mentioned they would be this--” her eyes linger on a ce set, “…minimal.” She clears her throat, trying for stoic and nding somewhere near cautiously intrigued. “Still, even warriors in peacetime had customs of adornment.”

  “Three very intense women, one very intimate store, and Albedo’s political instincts behind the curtain. Your composure is about to be evaluated, Brad.” C.C. leans in beside you one st time. “Good luck,” she murmurs. “You’ll need it.”Then she turns to Kenshin, Riveria, and Hinata. “Come on. We have our own assignment.”

  The truck pulls away, leaving you with three highly dangerous women--and what remains of a looted lingerie boutique.

  Kurumi gestures toward the boutique door with a theatrical bow. “Shall we?”

  Shinobu’s eyes narrow with (for her) open fascination.Musashi looks between them, sensing the competitive energy brewing before either admits it.

  You inhale once. This rotation… will be something.

  The door creaks softly as Kurumi pushes it open, the hinges compining into the silence. Shadowview floods your vision the moment you step inside--your anchoring band interpreting every wavelength of remaining light, turning what should be pitch bck into crisp, fwless visibility. You let the door fall closed behind you. The interior in muted crity-- sharp-edged, every detail crisp but without light.

  Inside, the boutique feels like a shrine abandoned in the middle of worship. Mannequins stand in half-twisted poses--arms outstretched, torsos arched, heads tilted at impossible, dramatic angles. Their outfits are mostly gone, stripped by earlier looters, leaving only a few scraps of ce or broken straps clinging like remnants of a forgotten ritual.

  Kurumi glides in first. Her heels don’t click--they whisper. Her skirt sways like she’s deliberately setting the mood. “Ara… even emptied, it still has atmosphere,” she murmurs, trailing a fingertip along a toppled dispy counter.

  Musashi steps in behind her, boots more deliberate. Her eyes scan the racks automatically, clearing corners the way a swordswoman clears ambush points. She exhales once, the faintest upward curve touching her lips. “This pce has… spirit,” she admits. “Strange spirit. But spirit.”

  Shinobu enters st, almost silent, the faintest scent of sweetness trailing behind her. Her golden eyes roam over the dispys with unfiltered curiosity. “Hm. The materials used in this era…” She lifts a discarded bra strap, rubbing it between two fingers. “So soft. Synthetic fibers, perhaps? Humans of your time enjoy comfort in ways the older generations could not even dream of.”

  Kurumi’s smile widens. “Oh, Shinobu-san. You sound almost impressed.”

  “I am,” Shinobu says simply. “This would have been… decadent, in my time.”

  You step in, letting the door fall closed behind you.

  The silence deepens.

  “Brad-kun… come here.” She gestures to a rack deeper inside. “These survived. Isn’t that fortunate?”

  They have. Half-buried beneath fallen mannequins and cracked hangers lies a rack of untouched lingerie--mostly delicate pieces the first wave of looters didn’t bother with or didn’t notice in the dark.

  Musashi approaches the same rack at the same time as Kurumi. Their shoulders brush.

  Kurumi leans in slightly, “accidentally” close enough that her hair brushes Musashi’s cheek.

  Musashi stiffens--not in fear, but in challenge. “I was examining this first,” she says quietly.

  Kurumi titters. “Were you? My my… territorial already?”

  Musashi steps forward, turning her body just enough to reassert presence without drawing steel. Her voice stays level. “I simply don’t intend to be outmaneuvered in a pce like this.”

  Kurumi’s smile becomes sharper. “Oh? Does that mean you wish to compete?” Her tone makes compete sound like a suggestion for something far more intimate.

  Before Musashi can answer, Shinobu appears between them, holding a piece of lingerie she has just examined. “This one is structurally sound,” she informs both of them. “Lightweight. Smooth. Breathable. Designed to entice through delicacy rather than exposure.”

  Kurumi blinks. Then ughs, soft and delighted. “Ara ara. Shinobu-san, you speak like a schor discussing ancient scrolls.”

  Shinobu tilts her head, entirely unbothered. “Is that not appropriate? This is cultural study.”

  You feel all three sets of eyes turn toward you.

  First Kurumi--hungry, sparkling, waiting to see how you react to the tension she’s crafting.Then Musashi--controlled, firm, but evaluating you with the same seriousness she gives a swordmaster.Then Shinobu--calm curiosity, like she is measuring how your presence shifts the air itself.

  Kurumi steps closer, her voice honey-slow. “So then… Brad-kun.” Her finger traces the edge of a bck satin strap still hanging from the rack. “Which one,” she asks, “do you think would look best?”

  But before you can speak, Musashi interrupts--subtly competing. “You should consider durability. Some garments here would not survive repeated use.”

  Shinobu adds softly, “Comfort should be prioritized. A beautiful garment that hinders movement is… inefficient.”

  Kurumi beams, triumphant. “Oh, how fascinating. They’re already arguing for my sake.”

  You exhale. This is exactly what C.C. predicted--times three.

  And you haven’t even reached the back racks yet.

  SnafuSam