Under Hayashi Maki's gaze, Shiina Mashiro shuffled her slender, pale legs over to him, looking blank and adorable.
"Hayashi Maki, my hair's wet."
"So why did you get it wet?"
"I was just bathing. Mahiru said I have to learn to bathe myself—one Baumkuchen a day as a reward."
"Uh…"
Hearing that, Hayashi Maki instantly understood why Mahiru had shot him a look at dinner. So she'd already been using Baumkuchen to coax and train Mashiro, and he'd gone and bought a whole bag for her—basically undoing Mahiru's effort.
But that wasn't the main point.
"The point is… Mashiro, shouldn't you put some clothes on?"
At that, Mashiro didn't move; instead she said, perfectly matter-of-fact, "Hayashi Maki didn't choose them for me. How am I supposed to get dressed?"
His cheeks warmed as he took in her fair skin. He couldn't help grumbling, "However you dressed before, dress like that now."
"Before, Mahiru chose for me. Mahiru is busy."
She stared up at him, wide-eyed—obviously expecting him to pick.
Hayashi Maki took a slow breath and opened his arms. "Okay, okay—I'll pick. Come here."
Mashiro immediately dove into his arms and let him scoop her up. Cradling the airheaded girl in a princess carry, he drew a deep breath and headed for her room—his didn't have her clothes, after all.
Her body was very soft, and even lighter than Mahiru's. This girl really didn't eat enough.
Cradled like that, Mashiro's cheeks went a touch pink. A strange feeling rose in her chest—like a hand closing around her heart—but she couldn't name it. For Mashiro, it was an unknowable emotion. Just like her name, she was "pure white"—blank. She had no sense for everyday things. Fortunately, she listened to her handler. And at school or when going out, she wore the necklace Hayashi Maki had given her, so there was no worry she'd be taken advantage of.
Holding the petite, delicately built Mashiro, Hayashi Maki sat down on her bed and couldn't resist pinching her cheek.
"Didn't I say not to show your cute body to other men? Forgot what I told you?"
Mashiro answered without a hint of embarrassment: "Hayashi Maki said it's fine for a handler. Mashiro only shows you."
He felt a spark at that—but remembering how half-understanding she was, he kept his cool.
He set her on the bed and opened the wardrobe, pulling out a teal pajama set with little cat prints. "Mashiro, wear this tonight."
"Panties?" she asked bluntly.
He gave her a helpless look. "Can't you pick those yourself?"
"I don't know which one is cuter."
"They're all cute. You're cute—so anything you wear works. Any pair is fine!"
Even as he said it, he opened the drawer and picked up a pair with a blue bow. "These, then. They suit you."
He didn't pretend to be a saint; when else would he get to dress a guileless girl who didn't mind him looking? Be honest with yourself—at home, nobody would call you a creep.
"Mm, then those," Mashiro said with a small nod, happy at being called cute.
Hayashi Maki took her small leg in hand—slender, long, flawless feet—so white, so adorable. He admired the sight, but stayed steady. He might be a demon, but he wasn't going to push it now—he still had to dote on angel Mahiru later.
That said, seeing Mashiro so docile and unguarded, letting him handle and look however he pleased, was a strange, pleasant experience.
He slid the panties over her dainty feet and eased them up, exhaling once they were on. Then came the pajamas. Mashiro didn't resist—she lifted her slim arms to help. He buttoned her top, patted her head, and said gently, "Alright—rest a bit and then sleep, okay?"
With that, he turned to go. If he stayed, he really would be tempted to misbehave.
Watching his back as he left, Mashiro pouted. Hand over her heart, she felt aggrieved. That big dummy! He tells her to sleep nicely here, but he'll sleep with Mahiru. They'd all slept together last night—why was she being shooed away tonight? She'd even "allowed" him to let the "big bug" spit on her…
The more she thought, the more annoyed she felt; she lost any will to draw. Pressing her cheek to the pillow, she sank into a sulk. And… he hadn't kissed her like last time. At that thought, the tight, squeezed feeling returned to her chest. Was this… heartache?
…
Back in his room, Hayashi Maki didn't overthink it. No way had Mashiro come to seduce him on purpose. Impossible. She didn't understand anything—when he took advantage, she was still adorably clueless. Precisely because she was so innocent, he didn't dare be reckless.
Truthfully, he cherished his family. And since Mashiro now lived here under Mahiru's care, she was a member of this home for life. He'd make her his familiar eventually.
Slowly. Once she understood what "love" was, then he—being the wicked demon—would claim her entirely, make her his familiar, his possession. He was possessive. Most men are; if you aren't, maybe the love just isn't deep enough.
While he was woolgathering, freshly bathed Mahiru sat on the little stool in front of him again. He raised a hand, using magic to warm-dry her golden hair, admiring the fine line of her profile. Desire stirred. With Mashiro around last night, he hadn't misbehaved. Now, with Mahiru's delicate face, fair skin, and sweet scent so close, he had to admit it:
He missed her. He wanted to do very, very bad things to Mahiru—things that would leave them both very, very happy.