Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 177: Clandestine Sleepover

After dinner, the lingering warmth of shared food and forced conviviality gave way to the practical tyranny of cleanup. With a glance that brooked no argument, Oathran herded Lazuardi and Stevan toward the sink.

It seemed one of his minor, unspoken wishes had been fulfilled in this constructed world. The mundane, tactile understanding of human domesticity. The knowledge implanted in his mind had granted him not just the theory of how food was made, but a visceral appreciation for it. Good stuff.

And with that appreciation came an equally crucial piece of wisdom.

No matter who cooked, no matter who savored the results, no one loved to do the dishes.

In this world, as in his true existence, he was not skilled at cooking. But he loved the food, especially when it was made by Cecilia’s hands. So, he appointed himself to the task everyone else dreaded.

The scrubbing of plates.

What precious real-life knowledge, he mused, plunging his hands into the soapy water with a sense of satisfaction. Good work, Cecilia’s patron god.

He nodded in acknowledgment to whatever capricious entity had engineered this painfully detailed mirror world.

The evening bled away in warm, if slightly strained, conversation. Eventually, the hour grew late. Lazuardi, perhaps grateful for an escape from Oathran’s unsettling proximity, offered to escort the princess and her boyfriend back to school. Serayu also took her leave for home.

As the house settled into a quieter, emptier state, Cecilia stretched. "Tomorrow is still finals week for us too," she reminded the room. "We must wake up early to go to the nearest teleportation gate."

From beside her, a sound emerged that was so normal it was almost shocking. A long, teenage groan of complaint. "We can skip homeroom class..."

Cecilia turned to look at him. How could he be this normal?

Even if it was sweet, it was also aching in her throat. It wasn’t an act. In this skin, with these memories, part of him was just a tired student dreading an early morning. It made her smile.

"Good night, Professor," she said, turning to Baswara, who was watching them from his armchair like a grizzled guardian god.

The old man grunted, not looking up from the tome open on his lap. "No pre-marital sex in my house," he said. "Do it somewhere else if you want to."

A burst of genuine laughter escaped Cecilia. She raised her hands in surrender. "Yes, Professor."

Oathran, meanwhile, fixed the professor with a glare that could have frozen a lesser man solid before turning to follow Cecilia down the hall.

Internally, however, beneath the facade of annoyance, a flicker of giddiness danced. This was his space. Even if his true consciousness had only inhabited this reality for a handful of days, the fabricated memories laid down by the world were twenty years deep.

The room at the end of the hall held the weight of a lifetime of borrowed solitude, and now, it would hold her.

"By the way," Cecilia asked as they reached his door, her curiosity a soft probe in the hallway’s dim light, "why did you enter the school, Oathran?"

He shrugged, "Professor Baswara suggested it. For me to have the experience before I die."

Again, he just casually said something sad.

Then, his hand found the doorknob. He turned it, pushed the door open for her, and followed her inside.

Click.

The sound of the lock engaging was soft but definitive in the silent house.

"BRAT! DON’T LOCK THE DOOR! UNLOCK IT!"

Oathran froze. With a sigh, he reached back and turned the lock.

Click.

"Fuck."

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, a flush of pure, human humiliation creeping up his neck. "That old man is embarrassing as fuck..."

Cecilia stifled her laugh. A four-hundred-year-old Dragon Lord being scolded about his bedroom door by a retired schoolteacher.

They took turns using Oathran’s bathroom. Cecilia didn’t ask permission before opening his closet to rummage for something to sleep in. Her fingers brushed past the neatly hung uniforms and a few finer pieces before settling on an old, soft shirt of thick cotton.

She pulled it out. It was more than twice her size, worn to perfection with age and countless washes. She slipped into it, the fabric falling past her hips, drowning her slender frame in a cloud of his scent. Clean linen, faint ozone, and something uniquely, indefinably Oathran.

With a small, squeally sigh of pure contentment, she launched herself face-first onto his bed, burying herself in the duvet.

Oathran, having changed into simple sleep pants, stood at the foot of the bed and narrowed his eyes. The shirt was so large it had ridden up, exposing a devastating length of her bare legs. He sent a silent, desperate prayer winging towards Isaiah, or whatever power was listening... Spare me my dignity tonight.

"Lay down properly," he said, his voice strained with attempted neutrality. "Give me space."

Cecilia obliged, rolling over with a series of small, breathy purrs that vibrated in her throat as she arranged herself on her side of the bed, the oversized shirt twisting around her.

Oathran’s eyes narrowed further. It seemed Isaiah was determined to test him to the absolute limits of his endurance. "Are you a cat or something?" he asked, the question half-exasperated, wholly fond.

Finally, he slid in beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. A long, slow breath escaped him.

Ahhh... The teenage romance experience package. Complete with clandestine sleepovers, either in her dorm under the manager’s averted gaze, or here, in his room in his guardian’s house, under the old man’s thunderous disapproval. This was the life.

The quiet settled around them. He turned his head on the pillow to look at her profile, etched in the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

"How’s your experience with Eastiel?" he asked. The woman beside him, already snuggling closer, seeking his warmth, stiffened for a fraction of a second. "When did you do it?"

"The night before we got the news about Ruby’s plan," Cecilia answered, her own voice soft, matter-of-fact. There was no point in secrets here.

"Ah," Oathran nodded, the timeline clicking into place. "And... how’s your experience with him?"

Cecilia turned her head, her blue-green-grey eyes glinting in the dim light as she fixed him with a mock glare. "You guys love to talk about each other, huh?"

"Why?" Oathran’s lips quirked. "Eastiel is my favorite of your husbands." He said it with such absolute, casual conviction. "Of course I want to know."

"Huh?" Cecilia’s eyes widened, genuine surprise cutting through the playful annoyance. "Not Arkai?"

Oathran was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. "Well... I would rather entrust you and my life to Arkai rather than Eastiel," he admitted, the words carefully measured. "But... I am more similar to Eastiel than I am to Arkai. I relate to him more." He paused, considering. "I am sure Eastiel, too, would rather entrust you and his life to Arkai rather than me... but..."

"Awwww," Cecilia cooed, her voice dripping with sweet, teasing sarcasm. "What a big brother you are~"

"Heh," a soft chuckle escaped him. "Is that a compliment?"

"No." Her answer was swift and dry. "Both of them would be offended if they heard this."

"Pfft."

The silence returned, softer now. Cecilia shifted, her hand coming to rest on his chest, over his heart. "It’s strange," she murmured. "More than all of you, I relate the most to Arkai."

Oathran nodded, his hand coming up to cover hers. "Yes. Both of you are very responsible people. And very flexible too." His thumb stroked her knuckles. "Don’t you feel the safest with him?"

Cecilia shook her head, the motion subtle against the pillow. "I feel the safest when all of you are with me."

Oathran raised his eyebrows, considering this. After a moment, he nodded again. "Hm. Fair."

"Ah," Cecilia’s voice brightened slightly, as if remembering a shared joke. "We also... talked about sex."

Oathran blinked, his train of thought derailed. "What talk?"

"About... your cocks."

Comprehension dawned instantly, flooding him with embarrassment and ridiculous male amusement. "Ah! Right!"

"Sssshhhh!" Cecilia’s hand flew from his chest to clamp over his mouth, her eyes wide with mock horror in the dark. "Shut uuuup...!"

He laughed, the sound muffled by her palm, and wrapped his arms around her in a teasing, crushing embrace. "It’s novel, isn’t it?" he whispered against her fingers, his voice brimming with mischief. "Having a human cock inside you?"

Cecilia scowled, but even in the faint light, he could see the bright, shy blush blooming across her cheeks. "It is..."

Attacked by a wave of cute aggression he couldn’t resist, Oathran ducked his head and took a big nom at her lips, swallowing her next protest in a kiss that was all affection and absurd humor.

"Mmmph..."

"Mmh..."

"Mm..."

When they finally parted, breathing softly, Oathran’s voice was a whisper meant for her alone. "Now that we talk, Richard’s gone."

Cecilia’s eyes flew wide open. "It’s Richard?!"

The top cock?!

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