Extra's Pov: The Goddess Wants Me To Conquer Milfs

The smokers backed off after that. A few of them even nodded at me like I had passed some unspoken test I did not know existed. May did not look at them. She looked at me.

She had changed.

The girl from the academy files, the one with the plain glasses and the quiet posture, was still there, but she had dressed for something more than class. A simple cream blouse tucked into a dark skirt that stopped just above the knee. The blouse sat close enough to show the small, careful shape of her. Her hair was down instead of tied. The glasses were the same, thin frames that made her eyes look larger than they already were. She stood a little too straight, like she had practiced walking out of that house and still did not trust her own legs.

For a slum girl she looked expensive in the way quiet things sometimes did. Clean. Intentional. Like she had spent the last hour choosing every piece so that I would not look at the street behind her and change my mind.

"You came," she said.

Her voice was softer now that the men had gone back to their cigarettes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then seemed to regret drawing attention to her hands.

"You sent the address," I said.

"I know. I still thought you might not." She glanced past my shoulder at the smokers, then back at me, and something shy and fierce moved behind the lenses. "They talk too much. Ignore them."

"They called you their little sister."

May’s mouth tightened. "That is the polite version."

She stepped closer. Close enough that I caught the faint scent of cheap soap and something floral she had put on for me. Her eyes moved over the black shirt, the chain, the way I stood in a street that did not belong to people who dressed like this. Color rose in her cheeks. She looked away first.

"You look..." She stopped, swallowed, tried again. "Different from school."

"Good different?"

She nodded once, small and quick, like the truth had slipped out before she could dress it up.

"We should go," she said. "If we stay they will start asking questions I do not want to answer."

I let her lead. She walked half a step ahead at first, then slowed until we were side by side. Every few seconds her shoulder almost brushed mine and she corrected it, as if contact itself was a decision she had not finished making. The lower district fell away behind us. The air changed. The cigarette stink thinned. By the time we reached the main road she was breathing easier.

I hailed a taxi. She gave the driver an address I did not recognize and then sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring at the passing streets like they might vanish if she blinked.

"You picked the place?" I asked.

"An eatery near the inner line. It is clean. Not loud. I go there when I can afford it." She hesitated. "I wanted somewhere you would not feel like you had to look over your shoulder."

The honesty sat between us, unpolished. I watched her profile. The glasses caught the late light. Her mouth was softer than the file photo had suggested. Introverted, the records said. Rarely talks. The girl in the taxi talked in short, careful sentences, but she talked. For me.

The eatery was a narrow place tucked between a bookshop and a shuttered clinic. Warm light. Wooden tables. The smell of broth and grilled meat. A woman behind the counter looked up, saw May, and smiled like she had been expecting her. Then she saw me and the smile changed into something more curious.

May chose a corner table. She sat across from me and immediately reached up to adjust her glasses, a nervous habit she probably did not know she had.

"Order whatever you want," I said.

"I already know what I want." She said it too fast, then flushed. "I mean. I come here. I know the menu."

We ordered. She chose a simple rice bowl and tea. I took the same so she would not sit there watching me eat something she could not afford on her own. The food came quickly. Steam rose between us. May picked up her chopsticks, then set them down again.

"You looked at my file," she said.

It was not a question.

"My mother did."

May’s fingers tightened around the cup. "The sick mother part. The herb part. That is what she saw."

"Yes."

She stared at the tea. When she spoke again her voice was smaller.

"I did not approach you because of the herb."

I waited.

"I approached you because every time you walked past in the corridor I forgot how to breathe." She let out a short, embarrassed breath that was almost a laugh. "That sounds stupid when I say it out loud. I know it does. I am not good at this. I do not talk to people. I talk to you and my mouth stops belonging to me."

The system pulsed once at the edge of my vision.

[May Yuna – Affection: 92]

Stable. Hungry. The number sat there like a second pulse.

"You claimed me as your boyfriend in front of those men," I said.

May’s ears went red. "They would have followed you. I needed them to stop. It was the fastest word I had."

"Was it a lie?"

She looked up. Behind the glasses her eyes were darker than the file had any right to show. For a second the introverted girl from the records was gone and something sharper looked out.

"I wanted it to be true," she said. "That is not the same as a lie."

The eatery noise faded around that sentence. A spoon tapped a bowl somewhere. A door opened and closed. May picked up her chopsticks at last and started eating like she needed something to do with her hands. I watched her. The way she blew on the rice before she ate it. The way she kept glancing at my mouth when she thought I was looking at the window. The way her knee had drifted under the table until it almost touched mine and then stayed there, trembling, like she could not decide whether to pull back.

The smokers backed off after that. A few of them even nodded at me like I had passed some unspoken test I did not know existed. May did not look at them. She looked at me.

She had changed.

The girl from the academy files, the one with the plain glasses and the quiet posture, was still there, but she had dressed for something more than class. A simple cream blouse tucked into a dark skirt that stopped just above the knee. The blouse sat close enough to show the small, careful shape of her. Her hair was down instead of tied. The glasses were the same, thin frames that made her eyes look larger than they already were. She stood a little too straight, like she had practiced walking out of that house and still did not trust her own legs.

For a slum girl she looked expensive in the way quiet things sometimes did. Clean. Intentional. Like she had spent the last hour choosing every piece so that I would not look at the street behind her and change my mind.

"You came," she said.

Her voice was softer now that the men had gone back to their cigarettes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then seemed to regret drawing attention to her hands.

"You sent the address," I said.

"I know. I still thought you might not." She glanced past my shoulder at the smokers, then back at me, and something shy and fierce moved behind the lenses. "They talk too much. Ignore them."

"They called you their little sister."

May’s mouth tightened. "That is the polite version."

She stepped closer. Close enough that I caught the faint scent of cheap soap and something floral she had put on for me. Her eyes moved over the black shirt, the chain, the way I stood in a street that did not belong to people who dressed like this. Color rose in her cheeks. She looked away first.

"You look..." She stopped, swallowed, tried again. "Different from school."

"Good different?"

She nodded once, small and quick, like the truth had slipped out before she could dress it up.

"We should go," she said. "If we stay they will start asking questions I do not want to answer."

I let her lead. She walked half a step ahead at first, then slowed until we were side by side. Every few seconds her shoulder almost brushed mine and she corrected it, as if contact itself was a decision she had not finished making. The lower district fell away behind us. The air changed. The cigarette stink thinned. By the time we reached the main road she was breathing easier.

I hailed a taxi. She gave the driver an address I did not recognize and then sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring at the passing streets like they might vanish if she blinked.

"You picked the place?" I asked.

"An eatery near the inner line. It is clean. Not loud. I go there when I can afford it." She hesitated. "I wanted somewhere you would not feel like you had to look over your shoulder."

The honesty sat between us, unpolished. I watched her profile. The glasses caught the late light. Her mouth was softer than the file photo had suggested. Introverted, the records said. Rarely talks. The girl in the taxi talked in short, careful sentences, but she talked. For me.

The eatery was a narrow place tucked between a bookshop and a shuttered clinic. Warm light. Wooden tables. The smell of broth and grilled meat. A woman behind the counter looked up, saw May, and smiled like she had been expecting her. Then she saw me and the smile changed into something more curious.

May chose a corner table. She sat across from me and immediately reached up to adjust her glasses, a nervous habit she probably did not know she had.

"Order whatever you want," I said.

"I already know what I want." She said it too fast, then flushed. "I mean. I come here. I know the menu."

We ordered. She chose a simple rice bowl and tea. I took the same so she would not sit there watching me eat something she could not afford on her own. The food came quickly. Steam rose between us. May picked up her chopsticks, then set them down again.

"You looked at my file," she said.

It was not a question.

"My mother did."

May’s fingers tightened around the cup. "The sick mother part. The herb part. That is what she saw."

"Yes."

She stared at the tea. When she spoke again her voice was smaller.

"I did not approach you because of the herb."

I waited.

"I approached you because every time you walked past in the corridor I forgot how to breathe." She let out a short, embarrassed breath that was almost a laugh. "That sounds stupid when I say it out loud. I know it does. I am not good at this. I do not talk to people. I talk to you and my mouth stops belonging to me."

The system pulsed once at the edge of my vision.

[May Yuna – Affection: 92]

Stable. Hungry. The number sat there like a second pulse.

"You claimed me as your boyfriend in front of those men," I said.

May’s ears went red. "They would have followed you. I needed them to stop. It was the fastest word I had."

"Was it a lie?"

She looked up. Behind the glasses her eyes were darker than the file had any right to show. For a second the introverted girl from the records was gone and something sharper looked out.

"I wanted it to be true," she said. "That is not the same as a lie."

The eatery noise faded around that sentence. A spoon tapped a bowl somewhere. A door opened and closed. May picked up her chopsticks at last and started eating like she needed something to do with her hands. I watched her. The way she blew on the rice before she ate it. The way she kept glancing at my mouth when she thought I was looking at the window. The way her knee had drifted under the table until it almost touched mine and then stayed there, trembling, like she could not decide whether to pull back.