Transmigrated Young Master's Yandere Harem

One month later.

Inside the training hall.

A crescent arc of golden-red fire cut through the air.

It was thin and sharp. Not the blazing, consuming kind of fire. This was precise. Meant to scorch and slice in a single motion, like a blade made of heat.

It flew straight toward the red-haired woman standing across from him.

Arista raised her sword. Mana coated the blade in a thin layer and she brought it down in a clean slash, meeting the arc head on.

BOOM.

The explosion sent smoke billowing across the training ground in a wide gray cloud.

When it thinned, Arista was already walking toward him, her expression open and genuinely pleased.

"Perfect, Azael. You have completely mastered the first form."

Azael stood across from her in his white training outfit, catching his breath. "It comes naturally now. I barely have to think about it."

She stopped in front of him and patted his head firmly. "Good. That is exactly where you want to be." She dropped her hand. "Let’s stop here for today."

"See you later." Azael said as he left the training hall.

---

It was past midday when Azael left the training ground and headed inside.

The past month had settled into a rhythm. Training through the mornings and most of the afternoons, then spending whatever time remained with Isabel.

He had made no effort to seek out Sophia during that time. Getting stronger came first. Getting closer came alongside it, steadily and without rushing.

But something had changed in the last week.

Isabel’s face had been different. Her complexion had gone quieter somehow. Less present. The brightness she carried in her expression most of the time had dimmed down into something that looked very much like sadness she was trying to keep to herself.

Azael had been watching it happen day by day.

He exhaled through his nose as he walked.

’Michel,’ he thought. The name arrived with a cold edge.

He already knew the shape of it. ’Ria had done her job well. The man had not been faithful. Finally, he cheated on her. It showed now in every line of Isabel’s face, even when she was trying to smile.’

He turned a corner.

He might still be a better man than me in some ways,’ he thought honestly. Then pushed the thought aside. ’But he made her look like this. That I cannot overlook.’ Azael joked to himself.

He found her near the end of the main hallway.

She was standing at the tall window, looking out at the garden below. The afternoon light fell across her face in pale strips. A cool breeze moved through the open pane and lifted the loose strands of hair that had escaped her bun, brushing them gently against her cheek. She didn’t seem to notice.

She was wearing her Victorian style maid outfit. The while arpon in front. Those hige breasts perfectly shaped.

But this time Azael’s eyes were gocus on her face. She was somewhere far away in her own thoughts.

Azael walked toward her quietly.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, gentle and unhurried. His chin came to rest on her shoulder.

She flinched at the sudden contact. Then stilled.

She knew without looking. She recognized his warmth now. The particular way he held her. She had grown used to it over the past month without fully realizing it had happened.

"Young master," she said. Her voice was calm but not entirely steady. "We are in the hallway. You shouldn’t hold me like this here."

He tightened his arms slightly rather than letting go. "What can I do. You looked so lonely standing here."

She flinched again, just barely. A small and involuntary thing.

"I have been watching you all week," he said quietly, his voice low near her ear. "Every day you seem a little further away. A little sadder." He paused. "Something happened. I know it did."

"It’s nothing, young master. Please don’t worry yourself over me." She said further

"Don’t lie to me." He said firmly.

She went quiet.

"Isabel." He loosened his arms and turned her gently by the hand. "Come with me. I think you need to talk to someone." A pause. "I hope that someone can be me. I’d like to think we’re close enough for that by now." He looked at her. "Or are we not?"

"No." She shook her head quickly. "That’s not it at all. You are very close to me."

"Then come."

He took her left hand in his right and led her through the hallway without another word.

She also followed her.

---

He brought her to his room and sat her down on the edge of the bed.

Then he crossed to the table, poured a glass of water from the jar sitting there, and brought it back to her.

"Drink first."

She took it without arguing and drank. Set the glass down on the bedside table.

Azael sat beside her. After a moment his hand rested lightly on her knee.

"Tell me what happened," he said. "You have been out of sorts all week. Your expression keeps going somewhere sad when you think no one is looking." He watched her face. "I am looking. I always notice."

Isabel took a slow breath.

Then she turned and looked at him through her glasses. Her eyes were very clear. And very sad.

"Young master..." Her voice was quiet. "Am I not a good woman?"

He looked at her. "What do you mean? You are one of the kindest and most gentle people I know."

"I don’t mean that." She looked down at her hands in her lap. "I mean... am I not beautiful enough? Not appealing enough as a woman?" Her voice hitched slightly on the last words. "Is there something lacking in me?"

"Isabel." His hand moved from her knee to her cheek, his palm cupping it gently. "Why are you saying things like this? Where is this coming from?"

"You are just saying kind things to make me feel better," she murmured. "I don’t... I don’t think I am a good woman."

"Then tell me first," he said, keeping his voice even. "Tell me why you feel that way. What happened?"

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she said it.

"My husband. Michel." A pause that carried a great deal of weight in its silence. "He is having an affair. He has been cheating on me with another woman."

Azael kept still.

Then something changed in his eyes. The quiet and careful expression he had been wearing shifted. Something colder and sharper moved in underneath it.

"How dare he." The words came out low and controlled, which somehow made them land harder than anger would have. He was acting like an angry man. "He is a married man. How could he do something like that." He cupped her face more firmly, tilting it gently upward until her eyes met his. "Look at me, Isabel."

Her eyes were bright. The tears hadn’t fallen yet but they were very close.

"You are not lacking anything," he said clearly. "Not your kindness. Not your appearance. Not a single thing." He held her gaze. "What he did has nothing to do with your worth. Nothing. Do you understand me? That man just didn’t see what I am seeing in you."

"Young master..." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don’t know what to do. I have been carrying this alone for a whole week and I don’t..." She stopped. Steadied herself. "I don’t know what to do with it."

"You should have told me sooner," he said. His voice dropped to something softer. "Why did you suffer alone when I was right here? You know I care about you."

"I know," she said quietly. "I know you do. But I—"

He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

It was gentle. Just the soft meeting of his lips against her rosy plump lips, careful and warm and unmistakable.

Isabel’s eyes flew wide open.

She pulled back instinctively. His arms wrapped around her waist before she could go far, drawing her back in, and he kissed her once more. Like something he had made up his mind about a long time ago.

Her soft heavy mounds pressed perfectly against his hard chest.

He could smell sweet scent of her clearly.

Her body was too soft in his arms.

He wanted to keep hugging her. Kiss her forever like this. He didn’t know what kind of this possessive feeling he was having about her.

But he needed to stop.

Then he let her go.

He looked at her.

Her face had gone completely red. The color rose from her collar to her cheekbones in a deep and total flush. For a moment her expression was so stunned that everything else, all the sadness, all the weight she had been carrying, simply wasn’t there.

"Young master—" Her voice came out small and slightly strangled. "What was that. You... you kissed me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

He looked at her steadily. "You know why, Isabel." His voice was quiet but direct. "Since that night a month ago I have tried to put distance between that feeling and myself. I genuinely tried. But I couldn’t do it." He exhaled.

"I wanted to hold you. To be close to you. But I held back because you were married and that line mattered to me." His expression tightened slightly.

"And now I find out that the man you were faithful to was never faithful to you in return." He shook his head. "The woman I care about is sitting here in tears because of his choices. How am I supposed to stand at a distance after knowing that."

Isabel stared at him.

Her lips parted but nothing came out.

He didn’t wait for words. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, his head tucking against the curve of her neck.

"Just let me hold you for a while," he said. His voice was muffled but she could hear the honesty in it clearly. "Please. And I am sorry if the kiss was too much. If it upset you, I am sorry."

Isabel sat in the circle of his arms.

She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. She couldn’t sort through it quickly enough. The grief of betrayal that had been sitting in her chest for a full week.

The warmth that radiated from the person holding her. The fact that when he kissed her she had not felt the immediate instinct to pull away that she would have expected from herself.

She had felt something else instead.

Something that frightened her a little with how gentle it was.

She thought about Michel. About the cold and empty feeling that had taken up residence inside her chest when she had learned the truth. About the week of smiling at people while something broke quietly behind it.

Then she thought about right now.

About how the cold feeling had loosened, just slightly, the moment his arms came around her.

She lifted her hands slowly and wrapped them around him in return. Her cheek came to rest against his shoulder.

"Young master," she said softly. Not a question. Not a protest. Just his name. Or the closest thing to it she allowed herself.

He didn’t answer. He just held her a little tighter.

They stayed like that in the quiet room while the afternoon light moved slowly across the floor.

Neither of them spoke.

For now, that was enough.