Dominance Evolution System: Sweat, Sex, and Streetball-Chapter 225: This Is Not a Date! Baka!

The cafe door closed behind them with a dull thump, that little bell above it jingling like always. The air outside hit them right away, cold, kinda gross, smelling like old food stands and the weird electric smell from the vents.

Aiko was already grabbing Nash’s sleeve before he could even take one full step. Her fingers dug into the fabric like she was trying to strangle it, and then she just started walking forward, basically dragging him along behind her. Her twintails bounced with every angry step, and honestly? She looked ridiculous.

Her face was so red it was almost funny, full tomato mode. Cheeks burning, ears pink, even her neck was flushed. She looked like she’d just sprinted through a sauna in a winter coat.

"This doesn’t mean anything," she said at nobody in particular, her voice way too loud for the empty street. "Nothing. Zero. I’m only coming because you’re too dumb to be left alone. You’d probably walk straight into trouble or trip over your own shoelaces and end up as fish food. That’s it. Damage control, got it?"

Nash didn’t even try to pull away. He just let his arm swing with her tug, keeping pace like it was nothing. And then that stupid grin of his showed up, the one that always made her even madder.

"Got it. You’re my guardian angel. How cute."

"Don’t make it weird!" She whipped her head around to glare at him, but her grip on his sleeve only got tighter.

She kept stomping ahead, waving her free hand around like she was trying to conduct an orchestra that didn’t exist.

"And just so we’re clear, this isn’t me saying yes to your dumb Blacklist idea. No way. I’m not joining your little team or whatever. This is temporary. Like... emergency backup. You fix our debt, I help you, and that’s it. No strings."

Nash laughed. Overhead, the streetlights flickered on, switching from harsh white to a weird purple that made everything look like a cheap nightclub. Vendors were starting to pack up their stalls, rolling down tarps over piles of junk and glowing bottles.

"Temporary, huh? Sounds like you’re already planning the next round."

Aiko’s foot caught on a cracked tile, and she yanked his sleeve hard to keep from face-planting.

"Shut up! It’s not like that! You’re the one who got us into this mess with your stupid bets and your stupid confidence. If you screw up at Pier 9, that’s on you, not me!"

He shrugged, like he always did when she got like this.

"Fair enough. But hey, at least you’re stuck with me now."

"Stuck with you? Ha!"

She finally let go of his sleeve, throwing her hands up like she was surrendering. Then she crossed her arms and puffed out her cheeks, looking like an angry chipmunk.

But she didn’t step away; if anything, she walked closer, her shoulder almost touching his arm now.

Nash slowed down after a block, forcing her to stop too. She spun around, hands on her hips.

"What now? You chickening out already?"

He nodded ahead toward the mall entrance, a mess of neon lights glowing like a broken rainbow in the dark.

"Told you already. We’re not going to Pier 9 like this. You stick out like a sore thumb in that skirt and those twintails. We need dark clothes, hoodies, stuff that doesn’t scream ’look at me.’ Let’s make a quick stop."

Aiko looked down at herself, the stupid white hoodie and shoes, her silver chain practically glowing. She bit her lip, then huffed.

"Fine. But this isn’t a date. And I’m picking my own clothes. You’d probably choose something dumb like a potato sack."

Nash grinned.

"Potato sack? Nah, I’d go classier. Like a garbage bag."

She smacked his arm lightly.

"Idiot. Let’s just get this over with."

They pushed through the mall doors. This wasn’t one of those fancy shopping centers; it was a dingy, cramped maze of stalls and flickering lights, everything tinted red and purple by the busted overhead lights.

Kids darted through the crowd, while vendors yelled about "authentic" stuff that was definitely fake. The whole place was full of this kind of chaos, like everyone was just waiting to go home.

They ducked into Black Thread Surplus, this tiny shop crammed between a sketchy holoscreen repair booth and a stall selling energy drinks that probably gave people heart attacks.

Inside, it smelled like old fabric and dust. Racks sagged under faded black jackets, patched-up hoodies, and cargo pants that looked like they’d been through a war. The lights overhead gave an eerie glow to everything.

Behind the counter, a girl, Paz, according to her crooked nametag, was slumped over, scrolling on a cracked tablet. She had black hair chopped unevenly, eyeliner smudged like she’d given up halfway, and more piercings than seemed necessary. Her nails were chipped black polish, and she didn’t even look up when they walked in.

"Yeah?" she mumbled, voice totally bored. "What do you want?"

Aiko was already digging through a rack of clothes.

"Dark stuff to look uncute."

Paz rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful.

"Wow. Revolutionary. Knock yourselves out. Changing rooms in the back if you wanna play dress-up."

She went back to her tablet, but her eyes lingered on Nash for a second too long. Like, okay, he was kinda hot, but come on, this guy looked nothing like the average, nor even the special dog in the Underground.

Nash grabbed a plain black hoodie and some cargos, nodding toward the changing stalls, just curtains and scuffed mirrors.

"After you."

Aiko snatched up a whole pile of black clothes, hoodies, tank tops, leggings, cargo pants, and a couple of cropped tops that she didn’t even mean to grab but somehow ended up in her arms anyway.

She walked toward the changing room stalls like she was heading into battle, shoulders squared, chin up.

The curtain closed behind her with a sharp swish, leaving Nash leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed, one boot propped lazily against the chipped baseboard. He looked completely at ease, like he had all the time in the world to wait.

Inside the dim stall, the flickering violet light from the cracked bulb overhead made the foggy mirror look like a hazy purple window. Aiko dumped the clothes onto the rickety bench and stood there for a second.

She peeled off her white cropped hoodie, then turned sideways, eyes flicking down her body, slim waist, soft curve of her hips, the swell under the bra, her pale skin almost glowing under the neon lights like she was made of moonlight someone forgot to turn off.

Not bad, she thought, then immediately scowled at herself in the mirror. Not that it matters! Not for him...

Her fingers brushed the waistband of her tiny black shorts, barely covering.

I’m doing this for stealth. For practicality. Not because I want his stupid opinion on how I look.

She huffed, grabbed the oversized black hoodie, and yanked it on over the sports bra. It swallowed her whole, the sleeves dangled past her fingertips, the hem hit mid-thigh like a dress. She paired it with the same bike shorts she was already wearing, then stepped out.

Hood up, twintails messily tucked inside. She tugged the sleeves up and planted her hands on her hips.

"Shadow ninja. Total stealth, right?"

Nash tilted his head, with this infuriating grin spreading across his face.

"You look like a kitten wearing its dad’s bathrobe. Adorable, but useless for anything."

Aiko’s cheeks burned under the hood.

"It’s cozy! And, and hidden!"

From behind the counter, Paz muttered without even looking up.

"Looks like you’re hiding inside a trash bag. Try tighter if you actually want him to see something worth seeing."

Aiko shot the curtain a death glare, retreated back inside, and yanked the hoodie off.

Tighter. Fine. Not because she said so. Just... better range of motion.

She stared at her reflection again, longer this time. Ran her hands down her sides, smoothing over her ribs, waist, hips.

Her fingers lingered under her chest, adjusting the pink bra so it sat higher, fuller.

I’m not trying to be sexy. But if he notices... whatever. His problem.

Next try, a tight black tank top. She pulled it over her head slowly, the fabric stretching across her breasts, clinging to every curve. Low scoop neck, not obscene, but low enough that the edge of the pink bra peeked out when she moved.

Then came the ripped black jeans, high-waisted but torn at the thighs, flashing her pale skin through the jagged strips every time she shifted.

She turned in the mirror, checking the back. The denim cupped her ass perfectly. Strong legs, good for running. Not for... showing off. Her pulse ticked up anyway.

She stepped out, arms crossed under her chest, just slightly pushing things up more than necessary, chin high.

"This one has pockets. And mobility. Better?"

Nash’s eyes closed halfway. He took his time looking at her face, her throat, the way the tank top clung to her, the flashes of skin through the rips on her thighs.

Was she trying to be more seductive? His idea was just stealth clothes, but it really looked like she was deliberately showing skin for no reason.

Usually, he would enjoy it, but what happened with Dahlia in the Midnight Rest wasn’t something he could pull off everywhere, especially not for this quest.

"Effective," he said, voice lower. "Very distracting. In the worst way."

Aiko’s heart pounded against her ribs. Distracting?

"It’s practical! Stop looking at me like, like you’re cataloging parts!"

She spun back inside before he could even get another word out, and the curtain closed behind her.

She leaned her whole back against the flimsy divider thing, her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to jump out of her throat.

Oh god. He noticed.

The thought kept spinning in her head like a dumb song you can’t stop humming.

Like, actually noticed-noticed. Not just his usual stupid face. He looked... really interested.

Her face got even hotter, like someone turned up a dial, and the blush spread down her neck until even her ears felt like they were on fire. Surprise, embarrassment, and this weird little thrill of victory all crashed together inside her.

Stupid Nash. Absolute idiot!

She turned toward the steamed-up mirror, breathing way too fast, like she’d just run a marathon. The pink sports bra still clung to her like a second skin, straps digging faint pink lines into her shoulders.

She stared at her reflection, watching how every inhale lifted her chest way too obviously, the fabric stretching with the motion. If just that much had made him react...

Her fingers hovered near the clasp.