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"Slurp... suck... taste..." The alley was deathly silent—except for the wet, rhythmic sounds of a struggle that had long since turned one-sided. Kenta noted, with a dazed sort of detachment, that the last time he had been forcefully kissed was precisely the time before.
Kafka's kiss was not gentle; quite the opposite, it was a domineering invasion. But unlike Seele's clumsy, desperate demands back in the Underworld, Kafka was a virtuoso of the craft. Her lips didn't just press forward; she toyed with him, sometimes releasing to maintain a maddeningly subtle distance, changing angles with practiced grace, and then suddenly intensifying, launching a passionate fervor that left Kenta's brain short-circuiting.
Kenta struggled violently, finally finding a microscopic gap to catch his breath.
"Hah... Hah... How are you... so practiced at this..." he managed to gasp out, a weak complaint against the sheer competence of the woman.
"Heh... Hah... Darling, you can't rest yet..." Kafka ignored his question entirely, her eyes shimmering with a dark, satisfied light as she blocked his lips once more.
Her hands were wrapped tightly around Kenta's neck, their bodies pressed so close that the rapid thrumming of their heartbeats became a single, frantic rhythm.
"...Hah—it's useless! I won't surrender!" Seizing another half-second of air, Kenta firmly declared his resolve to resist to the death.
The woman offered that same gentle, devastating smile and leaned back in.
"Mmh..." After what felt like an eternity, Kenta struggled to lift his head. "I already said... I won't... Mmh..."
"..."
"...I... won't... surrender..."
"Darling, why do I feel like you're starting to enjoy this?" Kafka whispered against his lips.
"..."
Kenta couldn't possibly admit that he was deliberately resisting because he had discovered that every time he spoke out in opposition, the "Kafka Boss" would launch an even fiercer phase of her attack.
Kafka chuckled, the sound vibrating against his chest, and resumed her offensive. The sunglasses perched on her head were now askew, and this "bad woman" was no longer satisfied with his lips; she had begun a slow, agonizing assault on the sensitive skin of his neck.
Kenta seemed to be succumbing, but was that the truth? Well, he was slightly enjoying it, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Kenta's tactical mind was still operational. He noticed the Spirit Speech restraining his movements was beginning to show faint signs of fatigue. He judged that in less than forty seconds, the "Silence" debuff would wear off.
Enjoy this a little longer... No, endure for another 35 seconds. After 35 seconds, I'll declare victory...
He counted the beats of his heart. The minute and a half finally ended.
He exerted force with both hands, and a burst of Black Flame suddenly erupted from his pores, shocking the still-intoxicated Kafka and forcing her several steps backward. The purple threads wrapped around him melted into nothingness under the rising heat.
Kenta used the back of his hand to wipe his lips, which felt slightly numb and swollen. His eyes held a flicker of mockery. "You seemed to be having a lot of fun just now. Well, now it's my turn!"
Kenta's voice was filled with the arrogance of a comeback king. He had been caught off guard before, his active skills stripped away by a surprise round. But now that he was fired up, Kafka's little tricks wouldn't save her.
Seeing this, Kafka raised an eyebrow, her expression unbothered. She prepared to use her Spirit Speech again. "[Listen to me], you—"
But Kenta was faster. He snapped his hand toward her, his fingers clenching the air in a lightning-fast gesture.
Kafka felt a sudden, searing warm current sweep through her throat, and then—she lost her voice. She opened her mouth to speak, but only silence emerged.
Kenta breathed a sigh of relief, a smug grin forming on his face. "Muda Muda! Your next word has been burned away by my Black Flame before it even left your lips! You have no recourse now, Kafka!"
What perplexed Kenta was that Kafka didn't look panicked. In fact, her smile grew even more playful. Right before Kenta's astonished eyes, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, high-tech voice recorder.
She pressed the play button.
"[Listen to me], Kenta. You are currently unable to move and unable to offer any effective resistance."
The recording of her own Spirit Speech filled the alley. Kenta felt a familiar, crushing weight clamp down on his limbs. It wasn't as strong as the direct version, but it was enough to stop his momentum cold.
Kafka let out a soundless laugh, then whispered—her voice miraculously returning as the flame's effect dissipated—"Darling~, you used that exact trick on me once before. Did you think I wouldn't prepare for it?"
Kenta: "..."
I thought Star Rail was a turn-based game?! Kafka, are you ignoring the action economy? You're cheating!
"Damn it! What kind of joke is this! Past Me, stop leaking my move-set to the enemy!" Kenta screamed internally. The information gap was killing him.
Before he could complain further, Kafka closed the distance. Kenta was paralyzed. Her index finger traced a slow, agonizing line across his chest, then pressed down slightly.
Bang! Kenta fell backward onto the hard ground.
He looked up at the woman now straddling his waist, and his expression turned to pure, unadulterated terror.
"!!!" No good! My kidneys! Kenta's internal alarm bells went into overdrive. "Wait! Stop! Time out! Yamero! I'm just a simple Trailblazer, spare my life!"
It was useless.
One hour later.
Kafka appeared at the alley entrance, perfectly composed, her clothes straightened and her sunglasses back in place. Kenta was still lying on the ground, staring up at the narrow strip of sky between the buildings.
"Alright, all good things must come to an end," Kafka said, looking back at him one last time. "According to the [Script], I should go and get myself captured now. Don't worry, the Spirit Speech will wear off in two minutes."
With an elegant wave, she waltzed away, leaving Kenta alone with his thoughts.
"Did I just... get violated?" Kenta felt like crying, but he was too dehydrated for tears. "Wuwuwu, the Xianzhou is too dangerous. I want to go back to Belobog—"
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