CHAPTER 49: GHOSTS OF DREAMS AND GYM DAYS

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I felt her weight on me—warm, soft, familiar.

Her breath ghosted against my collarbone as her fingers tightened over my chest. My arms were wrapped around her waist like they belonged there. It felt too natural... too right.

And then she whispered my name.

At first, I thought it was Mei.

But the voice wasn’t hers.

It was softer. More hesitant. More distant.

"Ren..."

I frowned in my half-sleep, reluctant to open my eyes.

"Ren..."

Again. Faint. Foggier. And yet... that voice stirred something inside me.

That wasn’t Mei.

My eyes flew open.

I was in my bed. Alone.

Chest rising and falling rapidly.

No one on top of me.

No warm breath, no soft skin.

Just my blanket clutched tightly in my fist—and the taste of a name I didn’t want to admit on the tip of my tongue.

Mei.

I sat up too quickly. My vision swam. My heart pounded. My body was reacting like I’d just lived the entire night again—only this time with someone else entirely.

What the hell was wrong with me?

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

But it felt real.

The way she straddled me... the way I kissed her like I needed to... how close we were to—

"Dammit," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

I slid out of bed, my steps unsteady. Cold water. I needed cold water.

But no amount of splashing my face erased the sensation of Mei’s skin against mine in that dream. No amount of denial could wash away the guilt of what I wanted to do.

And worst of all, I couldn’t even blame the dream on some weird system glitch.

This one was all me.

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The rest of the morning passed in a blur. I skipped breakfast. Avoided the living room. Hid out in the study for a while until I was sure no one would come looking.

When I finally emerged, I ran into Rin in the hall.

She blinked. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

I managed a half-hearted smile. "Didn’t sleep great."

She tilted her head, but didn’t press. Thank the gods.

I turned the corner—and nearly collided with her.

Mei.

She looked up at me, expression unreadable.

And just like that, my body went stiff. My mouth dried. My feet froze.

She opened her lips—maybe to greet me, maybe to ask something.

I didn’t give her the chance.

I stepped around her with a quiet, "Sorry," and kept walking.

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did... I’d see the confusion on her face. The concern. Maybe even the hurt.

And I wasn’t ready to face any of it.

Not when I couldn’t trust myself around her.

Not after that dream.

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I couldn’t look at her.

Every time I tried—every single damn time—my brain would conjure the image like it was tattooed behind my eyes.

Mei. Naked. Confident. Crawling toward me on the bed with that little smirk like she knew I’d lost control.

And the worst part?

I had.

Not in real life—thank every god above—but in that dream? I’d gone too far. Way too far.

I could still feel her weight on me. Her warmth. Her voice, that damn voice, teasing me just before I woke up in a sweat-soaked mess.

So now?

Now I was doing everything in my power not to make eye contact with her. Or stand too close. Or speak unless I absolutely had to.

She’d said good morning.

I’d dropped my spoon.

She’d asked if I wanted orange juice.

I’d nearly screamed.

I wasn’t subtle. Not even a little.

And everyone noticed.

"...Is Ren okay?" Rin asked at one point, peeking at me over the rim of her teacup.

"He’s twitching like he saw a ghost," Ayame added, eyebrow arched.

Mei just looked amused. Not offended. Not flirty. Just... calm, like she had no idea how messed up I was inside. Or maybe she did. Maybe that was part of the torment.

And Elira?

She hadn’t even shown her face since last night.

She’d made a break for her room the moment the game fell apart—and hadn’t been seen since. No meals. No morning greetings. No smug jabs or playful eye-rolls.

Nothing.

Honestly, I didn’t blame her. We’d definitely crossed a line. And the way she clung to me, the way she looked before we were yanked apart by the system’s alert—

It wasn’t just a game anymore.

It felt real.

That was the scariest part.

I was standing by the kitchen window, lost in thought, pretending to admire the lemon tree outside when a loud slam echoed from the hallway.

Footsteps. Angry ones.

Akane.

She was stomping toward Elira’s room with a determination I hadn’t seen since our last sparring match.

Rin peeked up from the couch. "Uh oh."

"Should we stop her?" Ayame asked, though she sounded more curious than concerned.

Mei sipped her tea. "Let her try. That girl’s been locked up since last night."

I stayed silent. My head was a hurricane of guilt, tension, and inappropriate flashbacks I couldn’t unsee.

I heard Akane pound on Elira’s door. "You’re not skipping another meal!"

No response.

"Don’t make me break this door down, princess."

Still nothing.

Five seconds passed.

Then ten.

Then—

Click.

Door creaked open.

We all listened.

"No," Elira’s voice finally came, muffled but clear. "I’m not hungry."

"You’re coming anyway. I don’t care if I have to drag you by your tail."

"I don’t have a tail—!"

"Don’t test me."

We all waited.

Then we heard soft steps, shuffling, reluctant.

Moments later, Akane reentered the room like a general who’d just dragged a prisoner into camp.

Behind her was Elira—messy-haired, red-cheeked, wearing a hoodie three sizes too big and socks that didn’t match. She looked like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner.

She refused to look at me.

Good. Because I wasn’t ready to look at her either.

She took a seat beside Rin, head ducked low, arms folded.

Akane sat across from her, satisfied.

"Now we can all eat like normal people," she declared.

Everyone slowly resumed their meals.

Except me.

Because across the table, Mei caught my eye.

Just for a second.

And in that second—boom—the memory of her shirt sliding off flashed so vividly it nearly knocked the air out of my lungs.

I choked on my toast.

Everyone turned.

Mei raised an eyebrow.

"You alright?" she asked innocently.

I nodded, red-faced. "Swallowed wrong."

She smiled. "That happens when you stare too hard."

I looked away so fast I got whiplash.

Everyone stared at me. Rin snorted. Ayame whispered something to Akane, who nodded like a conspirator.

This day was going to kill me.

And it was only lunch.

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I didn’t think she’d actually say yes.

Not after I spent half the morning trailing behind her, asking questions like some obsessed fitness journalist.

"What’s your split like?"

"How many sets of squats do you usually do?"

"Do you drink protein shakes or just rely on—"

"Ren," she finally said, turning with a raised brow, "do you want to come with me?"

And just like that, my mouth went dry.

"Yeah," I managed to say, trying to play it cool, "I mean... if you don’t mind."

She grinned. "Then let’s go. Now."

I didn’t expect the now part.

So, ten minutes later, I was walking down the street with Akane, still catching my breath—not from exercise, but from how natural it felt to walk beside her like this. Somewhere along the way, she reached for my hand. Or maybe I reached for hers. I honestly couldn’t tell. All I knew was her fingers were warm, and she didn’t let go.

Heads turned.

A few passersby slowed. A guy on a bike nearly crashed into a parked car staring at her.

And I couldn’t blame him.

Akane didn’t just walk—she moved with purpose, like every step was part of a rhythm she owned. Her workout leggings hugged her legs just right. The breeze tugged at her loose top and lifted her ponytail in smooth, rhythmic sweeps.

"What?" she asked, catching me staring again.

I blinked. "Huh? Oh. Nothing. Just... admiring your stride."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You’re such a dork."

"But a motivated dork," I grinned. "Very committed to fitness."

"You’re going to beg for mercy after ten minutes."

"That’s not true," I said confidently. "Twelve minutes. Minimum."

She laughed, and I felt it in my chest like a win.

The gym came into view—sleek glass doors, bright signage, and the subtle thrum of music leaking out. A guy at the entrance noticed us holding hands and did a subtle double take. Akane didn’t even glance his way. She tightened her grip on my fingers and pulled me through the doors like I belonged.

Cool air wrapped around us. The familiar smell of sweat, rubber mats, and disinfectant filled my lungs. Machines clanked. Weights thudded. And people paused their reps just long enough to look.

But she didn’t slow down.

She walked straight to the front desk, signed us in, and looked over her shoulder.

"You ready?" she asked, already moving toward the squat rack.

"Ready," I lied, pulling my shirt down and whispering to myself, "What the hell did I just sign up for?"

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