Chapter 29: Sora’s Rant

The evening had settled over the Academy island, and the air in Jun’s dorm was cool and fragrant, scented with the lingering aroma of sandalwood and the clean smell of fresh linens. Jun was relaxing in his bedroom, the lights dimmed to a soft, amber glow that cast long, lazy shadows across the walls. He was lost in thought, reflecting on the day’s events, when a soft, hesitant knock sounded at his door.

He didn’t need to ask who it was. He knew the rhythm of her knock.

“Come in,” he said.

The door slid open, and Sora stepped inside. She wasn’t the “Iron Lady” of the boardroom, nor was she the poised guide of the shopping district. She was wearing a thin, black silk nightgown that clung to her voluptuous curves like a second skin. The fabric was dangerously sheer, barely concealing the swell of her large breasts and the flare of her wide hips. The thin straps rested precariously on her shoulders, and as she walked, the hem of the gown danced around her thighs, leaving very little to the imagination.

She didn’t say a word at first. She simply walked toward the plush velvet sofa in the corner of the room and sank into it, her shoulders slumped. She looked exhausted, but not from physical labor—it was the emotional fatigue of a woman who had spent her entire life fighting the expectations of a society that viewed her as a trophy.

Jun watched her, his gaze lingering on the way the black silk contrasted with her luminous, pale skin. He moved toward her, his voice low and steady.

“You look like you’ve had a long day,” he remarked, standing beside her. “Do you want a drink?”

Sora looked up at him, her eyes slightly glazed, her expression a mixture of frustration and longing. “Do you have any Wild Chick?” she asked, her voice a bit breathy. “The ten-year vintage? I need something strong… and rare.”

Jun chuckled. He had a vast collection of high-end spirits, and a bottle of ten-year Wild Chick was a prized possession in any cellar. He stepped over to his bar and retrieved the bottle, pouring a generous measure into a crystal glass and placing it on a bed of crushed ice.

He returned to the sofa and sat beside her, the proximity causing Sora to shift slightly. She took the glass, her fingers brushing against his, and took a small, tentative sip. The liquid was gold and potent, burning a trail of heat down her throat and settling in her stomach.

Jun noticed the way she was fidgeting, her gaze drifting toward the window. “What’s on your mind, Sora?” he asked. “You’re still thinking about that guy from the restaurant, aren’t you?”

Sora didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tilted the glass back and downed the rest of the drink in one single, bold shot. She slammed the glass back onto the table with a soft clink and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice softening. “About today. I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with the baggage of my social circle. You’ve been so… patient with me, and I hate that you had to endure that idiot’s lecture on ‘purity’ just because I’m associated with the nobility.”

Jun shrugged, his expression relaxed. “I told you, Sora, I don’t care about their rules. Their ‘purity’ is just a word they use to feel superior. It doesn’t change anything between us.”

Sora looked at him, her eyes shimmering. “It’s just so stupid,” she began, her voice rising as the alcohol began to take hold. “The nobility, the purists… they act as if we’re museum pieces. ‘Oh, look at the Crown Jewel, she must be preserved for the sake of the bloodline!’ It’s exhausting. Even my own family doesn’t restrict me that much—they care about power and profit, which I understand—but these Kyoto fossils… they think they can dictate who I should desire.”

As she continued to rant, Sora became more animated. She began to gesture with her hands, her voice growing more passionate and fragmented. She spoke of the crushing weight of expectations, the endless cycle of social obligations, and the sheer absurdity of judging a man’s worth based on his “purity” rather than his character.

As she spoke, the physical effect of the drink became apparent. A soft, rosy glow climbed from her chest up to her cheeks. Her eyes grew heavy, and her movements became fluid and uncoordinated. In her excitement, she shifted her weight, and one of the thin black straps of her nightgown slipped, sliding slowly down her shoulder to reveal a glimpse of her creamy, bare skin.

She didn’t notice. She was too caught up in her indignation, her words spilling out in a stream of consciousness. “And the worst part is,” she slurred slightly, a small, dizzy smile forming on her lips, “they think they’re the ones in control. They have no idea… they have no idea what it’s like to actually be… taken.”

She stopped abruptly, her breath hitching. The rant had exhausted her, and the alcohol had stripped away the last of her defenses. She leaned back against the sofa, her head lolling slightly, looking up at Jun with a gaze that was no longer cold or authoritative. She looked vulnerable, alluring, and completely open.

Jun didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. He leaned in, his presence filling her vision. He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip.

Sora’s breath hitched. She didn’t move; she simply waited, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Then, Jun closed the gap.

He pressed his lips to hers in a deep, commanding French kiss. Sora let out a muffled moan of surprise and pleasure, her body reacting instinctively. She reached up, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as she opened her mouth to welcome him. The kiss was visceral and hungry, a collision of desire that had been building since the moment they entered the room.

Jun didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. He leaned in, his presence filling her vision. He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip.

Sora’s breath hitched. She didn’t move; she simply waited, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Then, Jun closed the gap.

He pressed his lips to hers in a deep, commanding French kiss. Sora let out a muffled, needy moan of surprise and pleasure, her body reacting instinctively. As their tongues clashed, she felt a wave of heat crash over her, and she clung to him, her voice a breathless whisper against his lips.

“Mmm… Jun-sama…” she whimpered, the honorific escaping her as a soft, shaky moan.

The kiss was visceral and hungry, a collision of desire that had been building since the moment they entered the room. Jun’s hand moved from her cheek, sliding down her neck and then dipping lower. He reached under the thin fabric of her nightgown, his palm cupping one of her large, heavy breasts. He squeezed firmly, his fingers kneading the soft flesh, and Sora let out a sharp, needy cry, her body arching into his.

The world outside the bedroom vanished. The nobility, the purists, and the Academy’s rules were all forgotten. In this moment, there was only the heat of their bodies, the taste of the Wild Chick on their breath, and the overwhelming urge to move beyond kissing.

Jun pulled back just an inch, his gaze dark and focused on her flushed face. “I think you’ve had enough talking for one night,” he whispered, his voice a low growl.

Sora could only nod, her eyes hazy with lust, her body trembling with anticipation for what was coming next.