Despite the sheer absurdity of that morning — which included a seductive maid dueling with light crystals as if she were part of some interdimensional ballet — Motohama was genuinely impressed by Rinko's progress. The girl assimilated the fundamentals of Reishi absorption with the ease of someone changing clothes.
Literally.
In less than thirty minutes, she was already summoning her spiritual weapon with confidence, firing Heilig Pfeile directly from the blade with more than acceptable precision, and although she still lacked refinement, the whole set was absurdly promising. She looked like a mix between a period samurai and a celestial sci-fi machine gun.
— Hmm… maybe she's memorizing this through combat instinct… — murmured Motohama, mentally noting that Rinko's "instinct" dangerously sounded like "protagonist cheat activated."
And then came the fun — or, depending on your point of view, catastrophic — part: the training of Hirenkyaku, the legendary Quincy Flying Step.
— Focus the Reishi under your feet, apply momentum and… bam! — he said, vanishing with a buzz and reappearing five meters ahead, nearly falling flat on his face. — And try not to look like a last season CGI dummy.
Rinko tried to imitate.
And failed gloriously.
Not in a tragic way. But in a hilarious one.
She would freeze mid-leap and slide across the ground like a cursed Roomba. On another attempt, she flew half a meter into the air, spun like a drunken ballerina on a carnival carousel, and landed with an audible poof on the grass.
— M-Master… this technique is awful! — she exclaimed, blushing to the nape of her neck as she tried to get up, her skirt spinning like a cheerleader's flag.
— It's not awful, it's just… advanced! — he defended, though he was laughing so hard inside that he could barely maintain a serious tone. — It requires time, practice… and maybe life insurance.
So, they decided to switch to the "normal human tutorial mode" approach. First, walking on walls using only their feet. Rinko learned it in three tries. Then, walking on water.
Two tries.
— This… feels so light… — she murmured, spinning gracefully over the surface of the artificial lake Motohama had created, floating like a mystical fairy.
Meanwhile, Motohama was… two meters away. Sunk waist-deep.
— I'm… still analyzing the local Reishi density — he said, trying to maintain a shred of dignity while floating like a school festival balloon.
When they returned to solid ground, a cruel realization hit him: Rinko was already visibly faster than him… using the diluted versions of the techniques.
— This is only temporary — he whispered to himself. — I still have the complete version of the Hirenkyaku… I'm still the master…
Rinko tilted her head with that polite Victorian lady smile, but with eyes that said, "you've lost."
— Of course, master. I have no doubt. Fufu.
Inside, he wept. On the outside, he smiled.
Nothing more humiliating than training your summoned one… and being surpassed by her before the second arc of the story even began.
— Perhaps the master hasn't realized something? — Rinko asked with a slight smile.
— Realized what? — he asked, practicing his Hirenkyaku.
— Master currently has less spiritual power than me, but your control would already surpass mine if you had more confidence in what you're doing. You can use the Shadow with ease. It's like you know exactly what needs to be done when you point out my mistakes, but you lack the confidence to apply it to yourself — Rinko said, leaping and then making a second jump in midair. — Be more confident. I believe in you, master.
— Right… I'll try to be more confident — Motohama said, looking at his own hands.
— That's it. Now keep absorbing the Reishi slowly as you breathe — guided Motohama, sitting cross-legged behind Rinko, with his palms gently resting on her back. — Use the technique I taught you. Feel the energy being drawn in until it touches the core.
She was flawless. Perfect posture, straight back, eyes closed. Her serene face radiated absolute focus. Even wearing that impractical maid uniform, she moved as if it were a traditional cultivator's robe.
Motohama, on the other hand, was fighting an internal battle worthy of an epic.
— "Focus. This is training. Don't think about the outfit. Or the hair. Or the way she breathes… like a sensual Zen monk… NO! Focus!"
The training was now refining the process of spiritual core expansion — a technique inherited from Eastern Cultivators, mixed-blood Quincy descendants who developed spiritual power by absorbing the Reishi from their surroundings.
For Motohama, this was the perfect key. He had access to a pure Reishi field. An energy paradise. And now he had a partner with the talent to break tutorial limits.
— Your flow is stable. Very good — he praised quietly, almost reverently.
— Thank you, master… — she whispered softly, without opening her eyes. Her breathing was slow, controlled, almost hypnotic. — I'm happy to be useful. I promise I'll train harder so I won't disappoint you.
Motohama remained silent. That phrase… hit differently. After everything she'd been through, she still cared so much about being "useful"?
He sighed softly.
— You don't need to prove yourself. Just being here is enough.
Rinko trembled slightly. But she didn't break her posture. And then, in a whisper that seemed to pierce through layers of emotional armor, she said:
— …But… even so, I want to become someone you can be proud of. I want to be worthy… of being part of the master's harem.
Motohama took an emotional Heilig Pfeil straight to the chest.
The Reishi around him fluctuated. Or maybe it was just his soul briefly leaving his body.
— "H-HAREM?! Did I hear that right?! She said harem?!"
Rinko, unmoved, kept her eyes closed. So serene, so calm… as if she hadn't just casually dropped a thermonuclear romance bomb.
Motohama froze.
— "This isn't even that kind of story! Or… is it…?"
— Did I say something wrong, master? — she asked, naturally.
— N-no! I mean, yes! No… wait! — he stumbled over his words like a horse on roller skates. — I just… didn't expect this. From you. Now.
— But isn't it natural? — she replied, tilting her head slightly. — We talked about it over breakfast. When you said you wanted a harem, I thought it was a real wish.
Motohama turned pale. Then red. Then pale and red — a spiritual fluctuation worthy of mood charts.
— "She… took that seriously?!"
And then he remembered.
Yes. She was wearing an apron. He was sleepy. He had jokingly mentioned wanting a harem like the Taimanin clans. She had taken it as a verbal commitment.
— R-Rinko… that was just a figure of speech!
— Oh… so it was an empty promise?
— I-I didn't say it was a promise!
— Then… was it a lie?
— N-no! I'd love for you to be in my harem! I mean… what do you want?!
She stared at him with the calm of someone pondering a tea recipe and replied:
— I'm still learning about this world. But… if I was summoned by you, if my existence is now linked to yours, then… it makes sense to align myself with your goals. With your pace. With your… priorities.
Motohama blinked. The depth of her answer completely disarmed him.
— So… it's just duty?
— Partly. But not only that.
She turned her face slightly, just enough to glance at him. Serious, calm.
— When you joked about me being part of your harem… it didn't sound dirty. It felt like… belonging.
And for the first time, Motohama understood that his random comment had been kept by her with weight. As something important. Almost sacred.
Rinko sighed.
— I'm not asking for romance. I'm just making it clear: if there's space by your side… I'll take it. Because that's what I choose.
And then she returned to her meditative breathing, as if nothing more needed to be said.
Motohama just stood there, realizing he had just been emotionally knocked out by a Reishi-cultivating maid.
— You say these things as casually as changing the flavor of tea…
— Tea is important — she replied without opening her eyes. — Especially for keeping the mind clear.
Motohama groaned, defeated. He lost all verbal duels to her.
Then, on impulse, he knelt behind her. Carefully brushed aside the strands of hair that hid her neck. Whispered:
— And if… I wanted you in my harem… with romance. With intimacy. If I wanted you, Rinko…?
She held her breath.
The Reishi fluctuated.
Her posture wavered for a second. Her shoulders tensed. Her fingers gripped her knees. But she didn't retreat.
— M-master… — she whispered, more human than ever.
— If it's the master's wish… then… I accept.
And for the first time, her cheeks blushed. Truly.
She turned her face slightly, eyes half-open, and looked at him. Her gaze trembled.
Not from fear.
But from anticipation.
And Motohama, for the first time, realized: this world of battles, reincarnations, and supernatural powers could be a battlefield.
But it was also a field of possibilities.
And Rinko was there.
Choosing to stay.
With him.
…That gaze — sweet and tense, innocent and provocative — seemed to concentrate all the contradictions Motohama had been trying to ignore since Rinko appeared in his life, wearing an apron and an almost assassin-like calm.
The world around them seemed to hold its breath. The Reishi gently fluctuated in the air, as if respecting that moment.
Motohama leaned in another centimeter, without thinking. The heat of Rinko's skin radiated at a dangerously comfortable distance. His lips were too close to the curve of her ear. One more step and—
— Master… your nose is touching my neck… — she whispered, in a soft tone, but with a hint of curious confusion.
He froze on the spot.
One second.
Two.
Three.
— I-I… I'm testing the… the ambient temperature! — he stammered, retreating awkwardly. He tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground with an awkward thud.
Rinko calmly turned around, a slight smile forming on her lips — almost imperceptible, but genuine, like a timid flower blooming in the snow.
— Was that a climate measurement ritual? — she asked, head slightly tilted.
Motohama groaned on the ground, rubbing his head and his ego.
— Only if it's the climate of mortal embarrassment. Ugh…
She approached with light steps and offered her hand to help him up, now with a gentle sparkle in her eyes — serene, but no longer neutral.
— I can apply first aid if necessary. Though I find it unlikely that I can heal a fractured pride.
He took her hand and stood, trying to retain some shred of dignity.
— Rinko… if you keep this up, maybe I'll end up in your harem, not the other way around.
She blinked, surprised. Then a second smile — now a bit more visible, almost mischievous — appeared at the corner of her lips.
— I see… Should I prepare an appropriate outfit for that possibility? Something that brings out your submissive side?
— It was a joke!! — he shouted, completely red.
— I took it seriously. — she said in a calm voice… but there was something else there. Something warm. Something that sparkled.
Motohama looked at her for a moment. Her laughter… wasn't loud, nor provocative. It was soft, controlled, but filled with something precious: a contained, sincere affection. Something she didn't quite know how to express yet, but was beginning to learn with him.
— Thank you for today, master. — she murmured, with more sweetness than he'd ever heard from her before. — You make me smile… more than I thought possible.
Motohama's heart skipped a beat. And then, he let out a resigned sigh.
— I just wanted to train Reishi… and I ended up training self-control.
— It's an efficient method for emotional growth. — she said, smiling a third time. This time, fully. Sincerely.
And Motohama knew, in that instant, that that smile… was a greater victory than any battle.