Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch.3[B] A Date with Minami

Hayao lay there, his chest rising and falling heavily as the sweat cooled on his skin, Minami’s trembling form pressed beneath him. The air in her room was thick with the scent of their exertion, a musky tang. His mind buzzed, a chaotic swirl of satisfaction and restless energy, as he disentangled himself from her, rolling onto his back. Minami stayed still, her face buried in the pillow, her blonde hair splayed messily across the fabric. 

He could hear her ragged breathing, the soft hitch in it that told him she was still reeling—caught between the aftershocks of pleasure and the bitter sting of self-reproach. For a moment, he considered the options that flickered through his mind: the allure of Tokiko downstairs, her warm curves and inviting smile, or the girl beside him, fierce and complicated, who’d just given herself to him in ways he hadn’t expected. His gaze slid to Minami’s tan-lined back. She was enough—more than enough. He didn’t need to chase anything else tonight.

He sat up, running a hand through his dark hair, damp with sweat, and glanced at her. “Hey,” he said, his voice rough but softer than before. “I’m heading out. You okay?”

Minami turned her head just enough to shoot him a glare, her eyes sharp despite the flush still staining her cheeks. “Just get out,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, laced with exhaustion and irritation. “And don’t let my mom see you looking like… that.”

Hayao smirked, a flicker of amusement cutting through the haze. “Like what? Satisfied?”

She groaned, shoving her face back into the pillow. “You’re disgusting. Go.”

He stood, pulling on his clothes with quick, practiced movements, each piece falling into place as he pieced himself back together. He grabbed his jacket from the chair, giving her one last look. 

“See you around, Minami.”

She didn’t respond, but he didn’t need her to. The door clicked shut behind him as he slipped into the hallway, the faint hum of Tokiko’s voice drifting up from the kitchen. He moved quietly, avoiding the creaky floorboard he’d noticed earlier, and made it to the front door without incident. The night air hit him as he stepped outside, cool and crisp, washing away the stifling heat of Minami’s room. He didn’t look back as he walked away, his mind already shifting forward.

***

The next few days passed in a blur, but Hayao’s thoughts kept circling back to her, Minami. By the time Friday rolled around, he couldn’t shake the itch to see her again. He pulled out his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen before he typed out a message: “Meet me at Hachiko tomorrow. 3 PM. Let’s hang out.” He hit send, half-expecting another curt “No,” but after a long minute, her reply came: “Fine. Don’t be late.” A grin tugged at his lips as he pocketed the phone. She’d show up. He knew she would.

Saturday afternoon found him standing near the Hachiko statue in Shibuya, the iconic bronze dog surrounded by a sea of people—tourists snapping photos, couples holding hands, friends laughing as they spilled out of the station. The sun hung low, casting a golden glow over the bustling square, and the air buzzed with the energy of the city. Hayao leaned against a railing, hands in his pockets, his dark jacket unzipped over a simple black shirt. He scanned the crowd, a flicker of nerves dancing in his gut. This was different—less impulsive than storming her house, more deliberate. A date, even if neither of them would call it that outright.

Then he saw her, weaving through the throng, and his breath caught. Minami looked… different. She wore a pale pink skirt that flared out just above her knees, paired with a white blouse tucked in at the waist, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A small denim jacket hung over her shoulders, and her blonde hair fell in loose waves, catching the sunlight. White sneakers completed the look, practical but cute, a stark departure from the shorts and t-shirts he was used to seeing her in. She looked softer, almost delicate, and for a moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

She caught his stare as she approached, her brows knitting together in that familiar scowl. “What’s with the face?” she snapped, stopping a few feet away, hands on her hips. “You look like you’ve never seen legs before.”

Hayao blinked, recovering with a slow grin. “Just didn’t expect you to clean up so nicely. You look cute.”

Her cheeks flushed, a pink that matched her skirt, but she rolled her eyes with exaggerated disdain. “Oh, please. I didn’t wear this for you, asshole. I just have standards, unlike some people.” She crossed her arms, but the blush betrayed her, creeping up her neck as she glanced away, pretending to study the statue.

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Sure, whatever you say. You still showed up, though.”

Minami huffed, her lips twitching like she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. “Let’s just go. Standing here’s getting old.” The blonde turned on her heel, heading toward the crosswalk, and Hayao fell into step beside her, their shoulders brushing as they navigated the crowd.

They ended up at a small cafe a few streets away, tucked between a boutique and a ramen shop. The place was cozy, with wooden tables and big windows that let in the afternoon light. They slid into a booth near the back, away from the chatter of other patrons, and ordered drinks—iced tea for her, coffee for him. Minami fidgeted with the straw wrapper, twisting it between her fingers as she stared at the table, her usual sharpness dulled by something he couldn’t quite place.

“So,” she said after a sip of her tea, her voice quieter than usual. “This whole thing’s kinda weird, huh?”

Hayao raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the booth. “What’s weird?”

She shrugged, her eyes flicking up to meet his briefly before darting away. “I dunno. You. Me. This.” She gestured vaguely between them. “I thought you just wanted to… you know, fuck me and be done with it. But now we’re here, and it’s… I don’t get it.”

The young boy took a slow sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. “You think too much. I like hanging out with you. That’s it.”

Minami frowned, her fingers tightening around her glass. “Yeah, but why? I figured you’d get bored after—” She cut herself off, her blush deepening. “Whatever. It’s just confusing. You’re not even dog ugly, so I guess you’re… okay. Maybe.”

He smirked, setting his cup down. “High praise from you. I’ll take it.”

She shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “Don’t get cocky. I’m still figuring you out.”

They talked for a while, the conversation lighter than he’d expected—school, her swimming club, the exams they both dreaded. She loosened up as the minutes ticked by, her sarcasm sharpening into something playful, and Hayao found himself enjoying it, the way she challenged him without backing down. At some point, he tossed out an idea. “We’re both free now, right? There’s a new movie playing. Could be fun.”

The young girl tilted her head, considering. “A movie? Like, at the cinema?”

“No, in my basement,” he deadpanned, then grinned when she scowled. “Yeah, the cinema. You in?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. As long as it’s not some shitty romance flick. I’d rather die.”

“Action it is,” he said, and that was that. They finished their drinks, the sun dipping lower outside, and walked back to the station together, the tension between them softer now, less jagged.

They grabbed tickets, popcorn, and cola, settling into seats near the back of the theater. The lights dimmed, the screen flickering to life with explosions and car chases, and Hayao leaned over, his voice low in her ear. “We are going to have fun, you and I.”

Minami stiffened, her eyes fixed on the screen. “Shut up,” she whispered, but her voice trembled slightly.

He didn’t let up, his hand sliding onto her thigh, warm through her jeans. “I mean it. Can’t get you out of my head.”

She swatted his hand away, her cheeks reddening in the dark. “We’re in public, idiot. Stop.”

But he didn’t stop. He leaned closer, his breath brushing her neck. “I want you, Minami. Right now.”

Her eyes widened, a mix of shock and something else flashing across her face. “You’re insane,” she hissed, glancing around at the sparse crowd, mostly focused on the movie. “We can’t—”

“Yes, we can,” he cut in, his tone firm, commanding. “And you’re gonna.”

Minami’s heart pounded, her mind screaming at her to shove him away, but that damn heat was back, coiling low in her belly. She hated how he got to her, how he knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—say no. With a frustrated groan, she checked their surroundings again, then slid down to her knees between his legs, the carpet rough against her skin.

Hayao’s breath hitched as he unbuckled his belt, freeing himself under the cover of the dark. His cock was already hard, thick and pulsing, and Minami swallowed hard, her mouth dry as she leaned in. She took him in, her lips stretching around him, the taste of him familiar now—salty, musky, overwhelming. She worked him with her tongue, her hands braced on his thighs, trying to keep it quick, quiet.

He groaned low, his fingers threading through her ponytail, guiding her pace. The movie’s soundtrack drowned out the soft, wet sounds, but Minami’s pulse roared in her ears, her cheeks burning with shame and arousal. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, and Hayao’s grip tightened, his hips bucking slightly. When he came, it was sudden, hot spurts filling her mouth, and she swallowed reflexively, gagging at the bitterness.

She pulled back fast, grabbing her cola from the armrest and taking a long, desperate gulp, the fizz washing away the taste. “You’re such a jerk,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her voice shaky.

Hayao tucked himself away, a lazy smirk on his lips as he caught his breath. “Maybe. But you did it.”

She glared at him, settling back into her seat, her legs trembling. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I want to fuck you, Minami. Because I like you. And I know you want to fuck me too.”

The words hit her like a shockwave, crude and raw, and damn it, she felt it—that rush of heat pooling between her thighs, her body betraying her again. She clenched her fists, turning her face away, but he saw the flush, the way her breath quickened. “You’re an asshole,” she whispered, but it lacked venom, her resolve fraying.

He slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close despite her weak protest. “Yeah, but you’re still here.”

Minami didn’t push him away, leaning into him instead, her head resting against his shoulder as the movie played on. 

***

The credits rolled to a gentle close, and Hayao and Minami emerged from the cocoon of the cinema into the electric embrace of Shibuya’s night. The shift was abrupt, almost disorienting. Inside, the world had been confined to the flickering glow of the screen, a quiet hum of shared anticipation among strangers. Outside, the city assaulted their senses with a riot of light and sound. Neon signs blazed overhead—pink, blue, and green—their reflections shimmering on the rain-slicked pavement like spilled paint. The air carried a medley of scents: the smoky char of grilled yakitori wafting from a nearby stall, the sugary tease of crepes twirling on a vendor’s griddle, and the faint, damp undertone of the evening’s earlier drizzle. Laughter burst from a gaggle of friends spilling out of an izakaya, their voices tangling with the rhythmic chatter of street vendors hawking their wares. Beneath it all, the low, insistent hum of traffic pulsed like the city’s heartbeat, a constant reminder of Shibuya’s restless energy.

Hayao reached for the pretty girl’s hand, his fingers closing around hers with a quiet confidence that felt both possessive and reassuring. She let him lead, her touch light and tentative, as if testing the weight of his intent. A flutter of curiosity danced in her chest, shadowed by a whisper of unease she couldn’t quite name. Together, they plunged into the throng, threading through the chaotic tapestry of the streets. Couples pressed close under shared umbrellas, their murmurs soft against the din. Tourists clustered at the edge of Shibuya Crossing, phones raised to capture the iconic scramble, their flashes popping like tiny stars. The city was alive, a breathing organism that seemed to surge with every step they took, pulling them deeper into its orbit.

Their path veered toward Dogenzaka, and the shift was subtle but undeniable. The wide, frenetic avenues gave way to narrower lanes, the clamor softening into something more intimate, more charged. The signs grew bolder, their messages less innocent—katakana curling into suggestive promises, hinting at the love hotels that loomed ahead. Minami’s pulse quickened, a staccato beat against her ribs. She stole a glance at Hayao, searching for a clue in the set of his jaw, the tilt of his head. His face was a mask, unreadable save for the faint curve of a smile that played at the corners of his lips. Was it amusement? Anticipation? She couldn’t tell, and the uncertainty gnawed at her, a quiet ache that settled in her bones.

They hadn’t gone far when a cluster of figures caught her eye, bathed in the pale, humming glow of a vending machine. A group of prostitutes lounged against the wall, their presence as much a part of the street as the flickering lights above. Their outfits clung to them like a second skin—miniskirts that barely grazed their thighs, tops that hugged every curve, a calculated display of confidence and allure. One of them, the youngest, a girl with an oval face and a cascade of red hair, locked eyes with Hayao. Her lips parted in a slow, deliberate wink, a playful challenge tossed into the night. Hayao’s stride faltered, just for a heartbeat, his gaze lingering on her—on them—longer than Minami could ignore.

The air between them tightened, a thread pulled taut. A sharp, jagged feeling twisted in Minami’s stomach—jealousy, yes, but laced with something murkier, something that tasted like doubt. She yanked her hand from his, the motion abrupt, and crossed her arms over her chest as if to shield herself. 

“Those are the kind of dirty girls you like, huh?” The words spilled out, cutting and raw, her voice louder than she’d meant it to be. She felt the sting of her own accusation, the heat rising to her cheeks, but she couldn’t take it back.

Hayao turned his head, his eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment. His expression was blank, a wall of calm that gave nothing away—no defense, no apology, no flicker of guilt. He didn’t speak, didn’t rise to the bait. The silence was a weight, pressing down on her, thick with unspoken things. He simply kept walking, his pace steady, drawing her along as if nothing had happened. But something had. Minami’s heart thudded, a chaotic rhythm of anger and confusion. She wanted to shout, to demand he say something—anything—to break the quiet that mocked her. Yet her tongue stayed heavy, the words trapped behind her teeth.

The young man feels a need to do something.

Option 1: Hire the services of one of whores… the redhead looks nice. You will use her to teach Minami a lesson. [DLC option to be added]

Option 2: Continue to a love hotel and punish Minami.