Transmigrated Young Master's Yandere Harem

Arista set her cup down and leaned back slightly in her chair with the satisfied expression of someone who had eaten exactly what they wanted and had no regrets about it.

Azael watched her.

Then he noticed it. A small dot of chocolate cream sitting at the very corner of her lips. She hadn’t caught it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded handkerchief. Then he leaned forward across the table, quietly and without announcing himself, and brought it gently to the corner of her mouth.

Arista went completely still.

Her eyes moved to his face. He was close. Much closer than he had been a moment ago. Close enough that she could see the small details of his expression with perfect clarity. He was looking directly into her eyes as his hand moved, carefully and unhurriedly, wiping away the cream.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

He held her gaze the entire time.

Then he sat back, folded the handkerchief once, and tucked it back into his pocket.

"Done." He smiled at her. That light and easy smile. "You should eat more carefully, sister. Ehehe~"

Arista looked at him.

He was happy. Genuinely, simply happy. Enjoying the morning, enjoying the coffee, enjoying her company. There was nothing calculated about it. He was just... present. Fully and warmly today.

Her cheeks went red again.

’He really does look too cute when he smiles like that,’ she thought, watching him.

She shook her head at him and said nothing.

---

They stepped back out into the morning street.

The sun had climbed higher and the shopping street had filled with more people now, a pleasant and unhurried bustle moving in both directions. Azael naturally reached for her hand as they walked.

She let him take it.

After a short while Arista slowed and turned them toward a shop on the left side of the street. The window display showed carefully arranged clothing on elegant stands. Clean lines. Quality fabric visible even from outside.

"In here," she said.

---

Inside, the shop was quiet and well-lit. Long rails of clothing lined the walls and a staff member appeared almost immediately with a polite smile.

Arista moved through the shop with a clear sense of purpose.

"Arista," Azael said, watching her pull a dark navy jacket from a rail and hold it up. "What are we doing?"

"Shopping."

"For who?"

She gave him a brief look. "You."

He blinked. "I don’t need–"

"I wanted to get you something." She moved to the next rail. "I asked you several times what you wanted and you said nothing every single time."

"Because I genuinely don’t need anything–"

"So I decided to use my own judgment." She held a deep green shirt up against him briefly, assessed it, and placed it over her arm. "Which is better than yours on this subject anyway."

Azael opened his mouth.

"Don’t argue with me," she said pleasantly, already moving further down the rail.

He closed his mouth.

"This shop...does it have good quality clothes?"

"Hmm..It does have. This place might look normal. Nothing grand or expensive. But this is one of the oldest shop in city."

"Oh.. So it really is good." Azale muttered.

Then she goes to select clothes for him. By the time she was done she had selected four complete outfits. Different styles. Different colors. All of them clearly chosen with some thought. She placed them in his arms without ceremony.

"Changing rooms are at the back. First one please."

Azael looked at the pile in his arms. Then at her.

"Arista–"

"First one," she repeated. The same calm and absolute tone she used when telling him to do another set during training.

He sighed and silently went in.

---

He came out wearing the first outfit. Dark trousers and a fitted charcoal shirt with a light jacket over it. It was uderstated but sharp.

Arista looked up from where she was waiting near a tall mirror.

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

He really did look good. She had suspected it when she picked the pieces out. Seeing it confirmed was still somehow slightly startling.

She gave him a single firm thumbs up.

"Next one."

"You are enjoying this," he said.

"Very much. Go. Hehe~" She giggled at his expression.

He shook his head and went back.

He emerged for the second outfit, then the third, each time standing in front of her with a slightly resigned expression while she assessed him with complete seriousness and sent him back without hesitation.

Each outfit suited him in a different way. He had the kind of build and face that clothes simply decided to cooperate with.

She said as much with her expressions even when she didn’t say it with words.

Finally, he came out wearing the last one.

A well-cut white shirt with a deep burgundy waistcoat over it. Dark tailored trousers. Clean and striking. The kind of outfit that looked simple until you looked more carefully and realized how well everything fit.

Arista nodded slowly as he walked toward her.

"That one," she said. "Definitely that one."

"You say that about all of them."

"Because all of them suit you. But that one especially." She tilted her head. "Though–"

Her eyes dropped to his collar.

The top two buttons of the shirt were still undone. The fabric sat open loosely at his throat. Since he was already tired after weairng three outfits. He didn’t bother to wear fourth one properly.

"Come here. Your buttons."

She stepped forward toward him, heels clicking against the polished floor.

She was almost close enough to reach for the buttons when the toe of her heel caught the edge of the small raised platform in front of the mirror. A quarter-inch lip of wood that was easy to miss and even easier to catch on the wrong angle.

Her balance shifted completely.

Even though she was strong powerhouses herself. Today she was free and was not guarded.

So there was nothing graceful about what happened next.

"Ah—"

She went forward.

Azael had less than a second to react. He got his arms up but the momentum was already carrying her into him and he had nothing solid behind him to support against.

They went down together.

Thud!

Azael hit the floor flat on his back with Arista landing directly on top of him. Her hands were pressed against the floor on either side of his shoulders. Her massive breasts pressed firmly against his. Their faces were separated by a matter of inches. Maybe less.

There was silence.

Complete and total silence in the small changing area.

Azael stared up at her.

She stared down at him.

Her soft mounds could be felt firmly against his chest.

Her amethyst eyes were wide. A strand of crimson hair had fallen forward and hung between their faces. Touching Azael’s cheeks gently.

There faces inches away from each other.

Neither of them moved.

Azael could feel his heartbeat clearly. Steady before, now suddenly not at all.

While Arista could hear and feel Azael’s heartbeat more clear. It was fast.

Her face was very close. Close enough that he could see the faint dusting of color already rising in her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted. Her expression was frozen somewhere between shock and something else she hadn’t had time to identify yet.

Most of the time she would be playful and cheerful around Azael. So sometimes hugging each other made her felt nothing. Because it was her who does it most of the time. So she always had mentally prepared for this.

But today it was different. He was acting like gentleman, as if he was on date with her. Not as sister but...a woman.

Which she somehow felt unconsciously.

And now when she fell on him without any preparation, it made her feel something unknown.

"...Are you alright?" he asked.

His voice came out quieter than he intended.

She blinked.

"I..." She swallowed once. "I slipped."

"I know."

"The platform—"

"I saw it Arista."

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

The floor was very hard. He was going to feel that tomorrow. He was currently not thinking about that at all.

"You should..." he started.

"Yes," she said immediately. "I should."

But neither of them moved for another long second.

Her heart was beating considerably faster than it had any reason to be and she was deeply aware of the fact and entirely unable to do anything about it.

Finally she pressed her palms against the floor and pushed herself upright, straightening quickly and smoothing the front of her dress with both hands in a businesslike manner. She looked somewhere to the left of him.

Azael sat up. Rolled his shoulders once. He stood up.

He looked at her.

The color on her cheeks was still very much present and showing no signs of leaving.

He decided, with some effort, to say nothing.

He reached up and began doing his own buttons.

"I can do those," she said quickly.

"I have it."

A pause.

"Right," she said. "Good."

She turned toward the mirror and looked at her reflection. Straightened a strand of hair. Composed herself by degrees, the way someone reassembles something that has been briefly knocked over and hopes no one noticed the whole thing.

Azael finished his buttons and looked at her reflection in the mirror beside her.

She caught his gaze in the glass.

He smiled. Just slightly. Saying nothing to her.

She pointed at him.

"Don’t," she said.

"I didn’t say anything."

"You were about to."

He pressed his lips together.

She turned away from the mirror and walked back toward the main shop floor, her heels clicking against the floor with perfect composure.

"We’re buying all four," she said, without looking back.

Azael stood in front of the mirror for a moment longer.

Then smiled to himself quietly.

And followed her.

---

[A/N: Arista image in comment section]