Chapter 9: Helping Remiel Pluck Feather Shafts (Patreon)

Click.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Remielle leaned halfway out to check the living room. Only once she confirmed Musachi wasn't there did she let out a breath of relief.

The place Musachi rented wasn't bad, all things considered.

The ground floor was the bookshop; the second floor was small but had everything you'd need.

A living room, a bathroom, and two bedrooms.

For a layout like that, the rent came to only four hundred thousand Dennies a month — a great deal even for a somewhat out-of-the-way spot like Sixth Street.

Word was the landlord didn't need the money — she just didn't like letting the place sit empty, so she'd rather rent it cheap to a long-term tenant.

Tiptoeing back to her own room, Remielle finally let out a breath.

Teasing Musachi like that just now had probably gone a bit too far. She could tell — for all his innocent act, he'd never once hidden his desire for her. If she gave him an inch, he'd devour her whole, no question.

Honestly, when she'd first woken, Remielle hadn't planned on getting entangled with anyone.

She knew her own condition better than anyone.

Better never to have had something at all than to lose it later, when the loss was already certain.

Though she felt something for Musachi, Remielle kept herself in check.

Back in her room, she exhaled and let her hair air-dry, settling onto the edge of the bed.

A faint sensation stirred along her wings, and it left her a little troubled.

Every Kindred had its own traits.

As a Winged Thiren, her wings shared many characteristics with bird feathers.

For instance — her feathers grew in so fast that she had to regularly pinch off the quills on her wings.

Quills were the immature form of a feather. Once a feather matured, its quill sheath grew brittle, and only by pinching it open could the new feather emerge.

Of course, even without pinching, the quills would eventually fall off on their own — it just left an itch.

For an animal, that kind of discomfort would just be something to endure.

But people were higher beings, rich with feeling.

And if something was uncomfortable, naturally, it had to be dealt with!

She curled up on the bed with a trash bin set beside her, pinching off the new quills on her broad wings one by one.

But the quills weren't only on one side. She could reach the ones on the inner edge just fine, but the patch along her back was another matter entirely.

Ignoring it wasn't an option — the itch on her back had her frowning.

After a moment's hesitation... she stepped out of her room anyway.

In the next room, Musachi lay on his bed. Remielle's teasing earlier hadn't been light — it had left him a little worked up.

Just as he was tossing and turning, unable to sleep, a knock sounded at his door.

Who'd be knocking at this hour?

Musachi frowned in confusion, but hid the tissue box by his bedside all the same.

"Come in."

"Mr. Shopkeeper, do you have a moment?"

Remielle poked her head halfway through the door, looking at him with a cute, bashful hesitance.

"Sure, I've got time. What's up?"

Musachi sat up, eyeing her with some puzzlement.

A man and a woman alone together this late at night — things could get out of hand fast.

"Yeah, I do. I need a little help with something."

She walked toward him as she spoke, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

At the sight, anticipation stirred in Musachi.

Could it be that tonight he was finally going to...

He looked her over, head to toe.

Fresh from her bath, Remielle wore only a thin white nightdress, her curves perfectly outlined before him.

There was no question Musachi liked Remielle — living under the same roof with a woman this stunning, only a block of wood wouldn't be tempted.

And now, the two of them alone in one room, the air between them turning faintly charged...

"Go on, tell me. Whatever you want, I'm your man — as long as I'm capable of it!"

Musachi put on his most righteous expression, his eyes seemingly free of any ulterior motive.

But of course Remielle knew exactly what was running through his head.

She sighed and stepped closer.

"I can't reach the quills on my back. Could you pinch them off for me?"

she said quietly, looking at him.

"Huh? Oh — sure, of course."

Musachi blinked at the request, then nodded.

It wasn't quite what he'd been picturing, and a flicker of disappointment went through him, but he agreed all the same.

"Sit on my bed — it'll be easier that way."

As he spoke, he shifted aside to make room.

Remielle hesitated. She'd meant to tell him that sitting at the edge of the bed would be fine, but seeing the space he'd made for her, she hesitated again, then smoothed her nightdress with one hand and sat down on the bed with her back to him.

She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

Because of her wings, the nightdress she'd chosen was backless, leaving her smooth, pale back and the graceful curve of her swan-like neck bare before him.

From where he sat, Musachi could see tiny droplets clinging to her long pink hair, and the scent of shampoo and body wash drifted into his nose.

"What are you waiting for?"

Remielle asked, noticing he hadn't started yet.

"Funny, I never noticed shampoo and body wash could smell this good before."

Musachi said, and without further hesitation, got to work.

He'd been itching to touch Remielle's white wings for a while now but had never had the chance — he certainly hadn't expected the opportunity to come like this, tonight of all nights.

He carefully pinched open the quills on the back of her wings one by one, dropping each into the trash bin beside them.

"Um... does pinching off quills really take this long?"

Remielle asked, a little puzzled.

Her heart was racing. Vike used to stroke her wings every single day, and she'd never once felt anything like this. It was just an ordinary touch, and yet the hand on her back felt strangely hot — the mere contact was enough to turn her body weak.

"I can't exactly work for free, can I? A little interest isn't too much to ask."

Musachi said, sounding entirely reasonable.

The feathers were soft and warm to the touch, wonderfully pleasant beneath his fingers.

Still, he didn't push his luck — he saw the task through properly.

Only once every fully matured quill had been dealt with did he finally stop.

"Isn't this over already? Why are you still touching them?"

"I've got to check I didn't miss any, don't I?"

Musachi said again, just as matter-of-factly.

"Well, are you done checking?"

"Not yet. I need to check thoroughly."

he said, the picture of diligence.

He dragged it out for another full minute, stroking — checking — her wings from base to tip, until even he felt he was pushing things too far, and only then, reluctantly, pulled his hands back.

"There. Done."

The moment he said it, Remielle let out a breath of relief.

"Thanks, Mr. Shopkeeper. Well, since that's settled, I'll be taking off~"

Remielle shot off the bed. For some reason, her legs wobbled, and she nearly stumbled straight to the floor.

Once she'd steadied herself, she scurried to the door.

Then she turned back, the earlier shyness gone from her face, replaced with a playful grin.

"Thanks for tonight, you utter beast of a Mr. Shopkeeper~"

With that, she fled, slamming his door shut behind her.

Musachi was left there, laughing despite himself in sheer exasperation.

If he'd known, he'd have actually acted like a beast!