I used my telepathy to probe Tomiko’s thoughts, and what I uncovered sent a jolt of adrenaline through me, sharp and electric.

[I don’t know how long Jack is gonna stay... I can’t miss this opportunity... Now it’s great, he’s already taken a sip...]

Her thoughts were a whirlwind of urgency and something darker—desire, maybe, or desperation. My stomach twisted. Opportunity? What did she mean by that? And then, like a blade twisting in my gut, her next thought hit me with brutal clarity:

[The mixture should work fast... A blend of aphrodisiac and a mild sleeping agent... Just enough to lower his inhibitions, to make him... pliant... But not so much that he’ll be out cold. I want him to feel... I want him to want...]

My breath caught in my throat. Aphrodisiac? A sleeping drug? The warmth spreading through my veins wasn’t just from the chamomile—it was her doing. My body already felt heavier, my thoughts slightly foggy, but my healing factor had kicked in the moment the first drop of that tainted tea touched my lips.

I could feel it working, neutralizing the foreign substances, burning through them like fire through dry grass. The drug was already being purged from my system, my body restoring itself to its natural state.

I had to play this carefully.

Tomiko turned back to me, her expression a perfect mask of concern, but her eyes—oh, her eyes—betrayed her. There was a flicker of something there, something hungry, something anticipatory. Her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh, a nervous habit, as if she were holding back words or actions. The air between us felt charged, thick with unspoken tension.

"Jack?" she asked, her voice soft, her hand still resting on my arm. Her touch was warm, almost too warm, and I could feel the slight tremor in her fingers. "Are you okay?"

I forced my voice to slur slightly, my words deliberate but slow, as if I were fighting to stay coherent. My mind raced, calculating. Aphrodisiac and a sleeping agent... So she wants me to be aroused but compliant? The idea was both unsettling and... intriguing. But I couldn’t let her know I was onto her. Not yet.

"Oba-san..." I said, my gaze locking onto hers, my voice thick. I let my head loll slightly, my vision blurring as if the drug were taking hold. But internally, I was sharp, my mind working overtime. What’s her next move? Would she try to undress me? Touch me? Or was this just a test, a way to see how far she could push?

Tomiko’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening slightly on my arm, her nails pressing into my skin through the fabric of my shirt.

For a moment, her mask slipped—just for a second—and I saw it: the flicker of guilt in her eyes, raw and unfiltered.

But beneath it, something else burned brighter: excitement. A thrill, dark and intoxicating, at the risk she was taking, at the taboo nature of what she was doing. It was a look I’d never seen on her before, and it sent a chill down my spine.

But then, just as quickly, the mask was back in place. Her expression softened into one of calm, almost maternal concern, her voice gentle but firm. "Let me help you to your bed..." she said, her tone laced with a warmth that felt almost too practiced.

I nodded slowly, my voice a murmur, my words deliberately slurred. "Mmm..." I let my body sway slightly, my steps unsteady as she guided me forward.

But my mind was razor-sharp, my senses heightened to an almost painful degree. Every touch, every breath, every subtle shift in her demeanor was magnified, analyzed.

And then I noticed it—she wasn’t leading me to the guest room.

We were moving deeper into the house, toward the hallway where the family’s bedrooms were located. My pulse spiked. Her room. She was taking me to her room.

The realization sent a jolt through me. This wasn’t just about making sure I rested. This was intentional. She wanted me in her space, under her control.

I let my body lean into hers, playing the part of the drugged, exhausted man. But internally, I was calculating, my mind racing.

The warmth of her body against mine was undeniable—her curves pressing into my side, the heat of her skin seeping through the thin fabric of her kimono.

The scent of her perfume—cherry blossoms with an undercurrent of something muskier, darker—filled my nose, and I had to fight to keep my expression neutral, to not react to the way my body naturally responded to her proximity.

As we reached the bed—her bed—I let myself sink onto the mattress, the sheets cool and smooth against my skin.

The room was imbued with her presence: the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the soft, plush pillows arranged just so, the way the moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a silver glow over the space. It was intimate. Too intimate.

Tomiko’s hands were everywhere as she helped me settle—guiding me, steadying me, her touch lingering in places that weren’t strictly necessary. Her fingers brushed against my waist, my back, the side of my neck as she adjusted the scarf, her breath warm against my skin.

Was she testing me? Seeing how far she could push before I reacted? Or was she simply savoring the moment, the thrill of having me here, in her domain, under her influence?

I forced my eyes to flutter closed, my breathing to slow, my body to go limp, as if the drug were finally taking full effect.

But my mind was wide awake, my healing factor already working overtime to purge the last traces of the aphrodisiac and sleeping agent from my system. The effects were fading fast, but I had to sell it. Had to make her believe.

Tomiko tucked the blankets around me, her movements efficient but careful—too careful. Her fingers brushed against my shoulder, her touch lingering, and I could feel the heat of her body as she leaned over me.

The scent of her was intoxicating, and for a moment, I almost forgot this was all an act. Almost let myself get lost in the warmth of her, the way her breath hitched when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.

"Sleep well, Jack..." she murmured, her voice a whisper, her breath warm against my ear. There was a pause, a hesitation, as if she wanted to say more but wasn’t sure she should. Then, her hand brushed against my cheek, her touch feather-light, almost reverent.

And then, her thoughts slipped through, unbidden, raw, and hungry.

[You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this... To have you like this... Helpless... Mine...]

My pulse spiked. This was the real her—the one beneath the mask of the caring sister, the doting aunt.

The one who had been watching, waiting, wanting. The realization was a punch to the gut. She didn’t just want me asleep. She wanted me to be aware. Aware enough to feel, to respond, but not enough to resist.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

Her other hand—the one I couldn’t see, hidden beneath the blanket—traced the line of my thigh, just for a second. Just a brush of her fingertips against the fabric of my pants, but it was enough to make my breath catch, my muscles tense. She was testing the waters. Seeing how I’d react. Seeing if I was truly under the influence.