* * *

As always, the hero didn’t give me a clear answer.

I was really curious—why doesn’t he ever say anything?

Is it because he thinks I’m too lowly to talk to?

I mean, as a sinner, all I can do is wonder in silence.

Since he didn’t want to hear my apologies, I decided to explain the situation instead.

“I didn’t mean to. I was half-asleep and mistook you for someone else…”

I needed to make it clear that I had absolutely no dirty thoughts toward the hero and would never make a move on him even if we traveled together.

My reputation was in desperate need of saving.

“Mistook me?”

“Uh, uh…”

Why does his expression look even worse?

Why does his voice feel like ice now?

His cold tone sent shivers down my spine, making me feel like prey in front of a predator.

At least I could tell I’d said something wrong.

Was this even a conversation or a dungeon trap test?

It was almost ridiculously difficult, and one misstep spelled doom.

Did the word “mistook” bother him?

I guess comparing the hero to an ordinary adventurer might be offensive.

I didn’t like the idea of lying to him, but keeping quiet about my discomfort was far better than completely ruining our relationship.

“No! I was flustered and misspoke. I didn’t mistake you for someone else—I just confused a dream with reality!”

If that doesn’t work, I’ll just change the story again!

“Hm.”

The hero’s expression softened slightly.

What a relief.

I did my best to put on a bright, friendly smile.

I hoped it conveyed that I had absolutely no intention of harming him.

But seriously, why had the hero come to my house?

He’d been so furious earlier that he’d flung me into a tree.

The idea that his anger had dissipated without any reason was just absurd.

Should I ask?

Or would it be better to wait until he decided to tell me, just to avoid upsetting him further…?

I racked my brain for a solution, but I couldn’t reach a clear conclusion.

Every time I tried to concentrate, my gaze kept drifting elsewhere, no matter how hard I tried to control it.

“Why doesn’t he button up his shirt?!”

It was his perfectly sculpted chest.

Broad, thick, and so enticingly touchable—it even felt amazing when I had the chance to press my face against it.

Damn it. Stop thinking about it.

Of course, he wasn’t obligated to button up.

It’s summer, after all, and while he’s thoroughly armored outside like a proper adventurer, it makes sense he’d want to relax indoors.

I respected his right to stay cool.

Truly, I did.

But my eyes kept wandering to his chest, and if that annoyed him again, it’d be the end of everything.

So please, just let this slide once.

You wouldn’t like it if some random adventurer stared at your food with such longing, would you?

“Anyway, it won’t happen again. That must’ve been surprising for you, huh? You haven’t even had time to straighten your clothes…”

With an apologetic tone, I reached out and boldly touched his shirt.

Maybe this way, it wouldn’t seem so weird if I buttoned it for him!

It’d look like I was trying to fix things!

The hero caught my wrist.

Was I too bold?

Did I cross a line by daring to touch him again?

My whole body started trembling the moment he grabbed my arm, no matter how much I tried to suppress it.

“W-why, why?”

Great. Now even my voice was shaking.

I probably looked ridiculous.

But I forced myself to smile despite the tension.

“Um, is it because it’s hot? It is a bit warm, isn’t it? It’s summer, after all. And, well, my house doesn’t have any cooling devices…”

Not that adventurers—especially those without noble blood—typically owned such expensive luxuries anyway.

The hero didn’t agree with me or say anything like “It’s hot” or “Don’t do that again.”

He gave no clues as to why he’d grabbed my hand.

Maybe it wasn’t because of the heat after all.

Then why?

Was his chest so big that keeping his shirt buttoned felt stifling?

Ugh.

I hate to admit it, but I really am a shameless bastard.

If I kept staring at his godlike chest, who knows what indecent thoughts would flood my mind.

Letting the hero free from the gaze of this unworthy scoundrel seemed like the only ethical choice.

With newfound determination, I mustered my courage once more.

“Look, I’m really sorry, but… when you’re like that, it makes me flustered…”

The goal was to assure him I had no inappropriate intentions, but here I was, blurting out something like this.

Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if the hero had any affection left for me at this point.

It’s probably already plummeting to rock bottom, isn’t it?

But if that’s the case, why was he still holding my wrist?

Why hadn’t he let go or walked away?

Clinging to that faint hope, I pressed on.

“Like I said, I like men, so… could you cover up a bit…?”

I’d done it.

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear my own voice.

I wanted to run away, but with the hero still holding me, there was no escape.

I could only endure, cheeks burning with shame.

“Does that mean you want to touch me?”

Thankfully, the hero’s expression didn’t sour.

Unfortunately, his question was immensely troubling.

“Like before?”

When I couldn’t answer right away, the hero pressed me further.

Why was he asking this?!

Did he need to confirm it, or was this some sort of final blow?

I could feel my face and neck heating up in embarrassment.

How had it come to this?

Of all people, the hero—did I really have to admit to him that I was attracted to him?

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But with the hero, of all people…

The truth is, I did touch him earlier.

And honestly?

I’d love to touch him again.

Denying it would only seem like a lie, and being branded both a pervert and a liar would be worse than just being a pervert, right?

Would it really be worse…?

“Yes…”

I’d done it again.

Even though I thought it was the best choice, saying it aloud unleashed a whirlwind of emotions.

He’ll be disgusted, won’t he?

Or worse, horrified?

He already called me repulsive before—what if he thinks I’m monstrous now?

What if he leaves right this instant?

Why did this have to happen?

I should’ve lied.

If I’d just been convincing enough, maybe the hero would’ve believed me.

Instead, I’d dug my own grave.

“I see.”

The hero’s voice was surprisingly calm.

His expression remained composed, even though he’d just learned that the man who angered him earlier was now lusting after him.

You’re not upset?

I wanted to ask, but the hero spoke first.

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m curious, too.”

With that, he guided my hand to his chest.

I gasped.

“Do what you want.”

I bit my tongue.

Was this really happening?

My mind struggled to process it.

I couldn’t even slap myself to confirm reality—he still had hold of my hand.

The pain in my tongue told me I wasn’t dreaming.

This was real.

Then… could it be true?

“Uh, um…”

Had the hero really just given me permission to touch him?

Was this a dream?

* * *