CHAPTER 82: HOW TO TRAIN YOUR QUEEN

I watched my parents shuffle around the kitchen, Luka’s massive frame dwarfing Mom as she handed him plates to dry. The domestic routine they’ve settled into over the years still feels alien to me. In my previous life, "family dinner" meant yakuza lieutenants arguing over sake about which hostess club had the best girls.

"The water pressure in the shower is terrible," Luka complained as he wiped a plate with his massive hands. "I’ll check the pipes tomorrow."

"You said that three days ago," Mom pointed out, scrubbing a pot.

"Did I? Well, tomorrow for sure then."

I scrolled through my tablet, researching the VHC Gala. The guest list was impressive—guild representatives, government officials, top-ranked Hunters. Perfect hunting ground for someone like me. Especially since one name stood out: Celeste Vance, younger sister of Seraphina Vance, the VHC President.

My fingers traced over her academy profile picture.

Long, silvery-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and that hint of aristocratic disdain that all Vances seem born with. According to public records, she’s a second-generation Hunter with a B-Rank wind manipulation Aspect.

Movement caught my eye. Natalia stood in front of the entertainment center, arms crossed over her chest. She changed into loose-fitting shorts and an oversized t-shirt—casual lounge clothes that somehow make her look more appealing than half the lingerie I’ve seen.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

Natalia shifted her weight, a slight furrow appearing between her eyebrows. "Our teamwork is lacking. We haven’t trained our synergy outside of the gym." She gestured toward the television. "We should watch a movie. To... analyze combat choreography."

I closed my tablet slowly. "An excellent idea, Princess. Pick one out. I’ll get the snacks."

Relief flashes across her face before she can hide it. "Something with realistic fighting scenes. Not that fantasy wire-work nonsense."

"Of course," I replied. "Only the most educational content for us."

In the kitchen, I grab a bowl and fill it with popcorn. Mom looks over her shoulder at me.

"Movie night?" she asks.

"Combat analysis," I corrected. "For the entrance exams."

Mom’s eyes flicked toward the living room where Natalia was scrolling through streaming options. "That’s... dedicated of you both."

"Excellence requires sacrifice," I replied solemnly.

Luka laughs. "That’s the spirit! Though when I was your age, Saturday nights weren’t for studying."

"Times change," I said, echoing Mom’s earlier sentiment.

Back in the living room, Natalia queued up "Sovereign’s Wrath," a film about an A-Rank Hunter’s revenge against a gate-spawn that killed his partner. Subtle.

The movie started with a bang, literally, as the opening scene featured an explosion at a Gate site. The sound system made the floor vibrate.

"The CGI is decent," Natalia commented. She’s sitting ramrod straight, like she’s at a job interview rather than watching a movie.

"Mmm," I hummed noncommittally, slouching into the cushions.

Ten minutes in, the first major fight scene erupts. We both reach for the popcorn simultaneously.

Natalia’s entire body shivers visibly, her breath catching in her throat. She yanks her hand back as if scalded, knocking a few pieces of popcorn onto the couch.

Interesting.The [Consort’s Touch] trait is even more potent than I realized. That minimal contact shouldn’t provoke such an extreme reaction unless...

"Cold?" I asked innocently.

"I’m fine," she snapped, tucking her hands under her thighs.

On screen, the protagonist stalked through an abandoned building, hunting a creature that can mimic human form. The soundtrack built tension with low, rumbling notes.

I stretched casually, extending my arm along the back of the couch behind Natalia. Not touching her—I’m not that obvious—but close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from my skin.

The move is straight out of the teenage playbook, embarrassingly cliché, but classics work for a reason.

Natalia’s eyes remained fixed on the screen, but her attention was now split. I could tell by the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the slight tilt of her head away from my arm, the way her fingers dig into the fabric of her shorts. She’s hyper-aware of the small gap between us, of how easy it would be to close it.

The protagonist corners his prey in what appeared to be a dead end, only for the creature to burst through a wall in a shower of debris.

The sudden explosion of sound gave me my opening.

"Did you see that ridiculous wire-work?" I lean closer, my lips near her ear. My breath ghosts across the sensitive skin of her neck. "No real Hunter moves like that. The weight distribution is all wrong."

Natalia’s entire body goes rigid. From this close, I can see goosebumps rising on her skin, can smell the faint strawberry scent of her shampoo. Her pulse visibly jumps at the side of her throat.

"Y-yeah," she managed, her voice tight. "Completely unrealistic."

I lingered for a moment longer than necessary before finally pulling back. "The choreographer should have consulted actual Hunters. This looks like a dance routine, not a fight."

Natalia nodded slightly, not trusting herself to speak. Her knuckles are white where she grips her own thighs.

For the next hour, I employed every little trick in the book to maintain the tension without crossing any lines. A casual shift that brought our legs centimeters apart. A low chuckle at a particularly bad line of dialogue that she feels more than hears. Leaning forward to grab my water bottle in a way that flexes the muscles in my arm.

By the time the credits roll, Natalia looked like she might spontaneously combust in flames. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing irregular, her entire body wound tight as a spring.

Throught this whole time, I never touched her, not really, but she’s more affected than if I’d spent the past two hours with my hands all over her.

I stood up, stretching my arms above my head. My shirt rode up slightly, exposing a strip of skin above my waistband. Natalia’s eyes track the movement helplessly.

"Good analysis session," I said, feigning a yawn. "Very productive."

Natalia stared at me, disbelief and frustration warring on her face. "Is that it?"

"What else would there be for us to do?" I asked, the picture of innocence. "We watched the movie. We analyzed the combat. Mission accomplished. Good job team!"

"You...you little..." She struggles to find words, her pride battling with her desire. "You’re doing this on purpose, asshole."

I raised an eyebrow. "What did I do?"

Her jaw clenched. She won’t say it, won’t admit what she wants. Not out loud. Not yet.

"Nothing," she finally says, standing. "I’m going to bed."

"Sleep well, Princess," I reply, my voice low and smooth.

As she stalked past me, I caught her wrist. The contact is brief—just long enough for my [Consort’s Touch] to send another wave of sensation through her—before I released her.

"What?" she demanded. It would be intimidating if she wasn’t blushing like a tomato.

"You had popcorn in your hair," I said, showing her a kernel between my fingers.

Natalia looks at me for a long moment, something dangerous flickering in her eyes.

Shit, did I push her too far?

Then she turns and walks away, her movements stiff and controlled.

I watch her go, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth. A slammed door down the hall is my applause.

Good. Anger mixed with desire is a potent combination. It makes people reckless, impulsive. It makes them break their own rules.

As I cleaned up the popcorn and turn off the television, I heard a door slam somewhere down the hall. Probably the bathroom. Poor Natalia, taking out her frustration on innocent architecture.

I checked my phone. A new message from Emi:

Can’t wait for Sunday! I made some flash cards for gate classifications. Is that too nerdy? 😅

I typed back: Not at all. I appreciate the preparation. Looking forward to it.

My phone buzzed again. This time it’s Natalia:

This isn’t over.

I smile at the screen. Of course it isn’t. That’s the whole point.

Sweet dreams, Princess, I text back.

As I headed to my room, I caught sight of Mom watching me from the kitchen doorway. Her expression was thoughtful, her eyes seeing more than I’m comfortable with.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Just a productive study night," I replied, keeping my tone casual.

Mom studied my face for a moment. "Be careful with that girl, Satori."

"Which one?" The question slipped out before I can stop it.

Something shifted in Mom’s eyes—a flash of concern, maybe suspicion. "Whichever one has you smiling at your phone like that."

I forced a sheepish laugh. "Just excited about the study date."

"Hmm." Mom doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. "Goodnight then."

"Night, Mom."