Yu’s room felt too small for how much curiosity Claval carried into it.

  She prowled like a cat dropped into a new house—silent steps, head tilted, attention snagging on everything at once. Her gaze drifted over the desk, the shelves, the stacked textbooks with their neat spines and bright covers.

  She ran her fingertip along the edge of a paperback as if reading the texture rather than the title. She pinched the window lock, tested it, then tested it again with a tiny frown, like she didn’t trust something that clicked without resistance.

  Even the floorboards didn’t escape her. She shifted her weight from heel to toe and listened to the faint creak, then pressed down again as if mapping the sound.

  “…Phew.” She exhaled and touched her forehead. “I’m sweating.” Claval said.

  With calm, almost clinical interest, she scooped a bead of sweat off her skin with her fingertip and held it up for him to see, a tiny shining thing catching the room’s light.

  “…Sweat?” Yu blinked before he could stop himself.

  “Yeah.” Claval nodded as if he’d asked something profound. “My chest area feels hot… and my clothes are sticking. This world is humid.”

  And then—like it was the most natural follow-up in existence—she pinched the fabric at her chest and tugged it outward, checking the sensation underneath with the same focus she’d given the window lock.

  Yu’s spine went rigid.

  “H-Hey! Don’t do that in front of people!” His eyes jerked away so fast it almost hurt. His voice dropped into a hiss on instinct, like the walls themselves could report him.

  “Why?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. “It’s hot.” Claval paused mid-tug, head tilting.

  Yu pressed his palm to his forehead and dragged it down his face, already feeling his lifespan shorten.

  We’re not even in public. We’re in my house. And that somehow makes it worse.

  “…Let’s go to the bath,” he said, the words coming out like surrender.

  “Bath?” Claval said.

  The unfamiliar sound made her blink rapidly, lashes fluttering, as if she was trying to catch the meaning mid-air.

  “There’s a room in the house where you soak in hot water to clean yourself,” Yu explained, keeping his tone as casual as he could manage.

  “Eh!? Your family is rich, Yu?” Claval’s eyes lit up so quickly it was almost comical.

  “You have a dedicated hot water room inside your house? That’s noble-tier luxury!” she blurted, leaning forward.

  “No! It’s normal in Japan!” Yu shot back—and immediately winced, “…Just—come on. I’ll show you. Quietly,” lowering his voice to something safer.

  “An unknown facility,” Claval let out a light laugh that sounded far too pleased with his panic.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she said, as if tasting the phrase.

  Yu led her out into the hallway. The house was quieter than his room, the air cooler, the sound of their steps clearer. With every footfall, he imagined his mother turning her head from the living room, asking what he was doing, why the bathroom door had opened, why there was a strange girl wandering their home like she owned it.

  No. Don’t imagine it. Don’t manifest it. He opened the washroom door.

  “This is the dressing area,” he said, “The bathroom is beyond that glass door,” stepping aside.

  “…The smell of water is thick,”Claval stepped in and immediately twitched her nose, sampling the air like a hunting dog. “And soap.” she murmured.

  Her gaze snapped to the mirror above the sink. She approached it slowly, then reached out and traced the surface with the pad of her finger, as if expecting the reflection to ripple or blur.

  “We have mirrors in my world too,” she said, “but… this has no distortion. The reflection is clear. Master craftsmanship,” voice soft with astonishment.

  Yu shrugged like this wasn’t a miracle, even though, hearing it through her voice, it suddenly sounded like one. He slid open the bathroom door. Tile floor. White tub. A wall-mounted control panel glowing faintly with LED light.

  “This is the bathroom,” he said. “Standard equipment in Japan.” He pressed a button.

  A beep sounded—clean, digital—and a synthesized female voice flowed through the room.

  “Filling the bath.”

  Claval froze.

  “…Is someone there?” Her head turned sharply, eyes scanning the ceiling, the corners, the doorway, searching for the person who’d spoken. “It spoke just now. A spirit?” she asked, immediate suspicion sharpening her tone.

  “It’s a machine’s voice,” Yu said, “It automatically fills the tub with the amount and temperature you set,” trying to keep his explanation short before she started interrogating the walls.

  As if to prove him right, hot water began to rush into the tub. Steam rose in soft white sheets, curling upward and clinging to the tile like fog that had decided to live indoors. The room’s temperature climbed fast, warmth pressing into Yu’s face and neck.

  “…Without incantation or formula,” Claval stepped closer, set her hand on the tub’s edge, and stared into it with a kind of reverence. “A mere box fills with water.” she muttered. She dipped her fingers in, then scooped a palmful and let it spill between her fingers in slow droplets.

  “Temperature is uniform too,” her eyes narrowed as she watched the water fall, “more efficient than magic.” She added. She turned her wet palm as if searching for seams in reality.

  “…Truly an unknown mechanism,” she said at last, half impressed, “this world wastes mana on plumbing,” half offended.

  Yu didn’t even have the energy to correct her. He grabbed a towel and soap from the shelf and held them out like a peace offering.

  “Take off your clothes here, in the dressing room,” he said quickly, “Wash your body first with the shower, then get in the tub. Towel. Soap. Everything you need is inside,” moving into instruction mode because instruction mode felt safer than thinking.

  Claval hugged the towel to her chest, cheeks pinking—not from embarrassment, but from steam and excitement. Her eyes shone like she’d been promised treasure.

  “Understood,” she said, “unknown culture… I’ll experience it properly.” oddly formal.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Then she turned back at the bathroom entrance, still holding the towel, and asked it like she was asking whether the sky was blue.

  “I take it off here, right?…I don’t really have a habit of hiding, though.” Her smile sharpened.

  “Don’t,” Yu’s entire soul tried to leave his body, “Just—go. Inside. Quickly.” he said, pointing at the door with all the authority of a boy who had none. Claval’s shoulders shook with a quiet laugh.

  “Fufu. Are you shy?” “Go!”

  She slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Steam leaked out around the edges like the room was sighing.

  Yu stood in the hallway, suddenly aware of how loud silence could be. The house was too calm. Too normal. That made the sound that came next feel amplified, like someone had turned up the volume on reality.

  Sshhhhaaah.

  The shower started. Water struck tile in a steady rush, the sound echoing through the wall. In the quiet house, it was impossibly loud. Yu stared at the door as if it might spontaneously confess his sins.

  Mom is right next door. If she hears—no. If she senses even one percent of the chaos—

  A voice leaked faintly through the door, softened by steam and distance.

  “…Warm…” Claval murmured, “feels like being wrapped…” like she was discovering kindness for the first time. Yu’s heart jumped so hard he nearly choked.

  “I can hear you!” he hissed through clenched teeth, “Lower your voice!” face hot. He pressed both hands over his face and counted to five, then forced himself to breathe. “…Don’t stay in too long,” he called, “You’ll get dizzy,” trying to sound like a responsible guide instead of a panicking teenager.

  No reply. Only water, steady and relentless. Time stretched. The bath continued filling with a quiet, comforting rush, steam thickening until the bathroom felt like a sealed cloud.

  Then the door opened.

  White steam rolled out gently into the dressing area, and Claval emerged like she’d stepped out of a hot spring in some travel brochure—except she was real, and this was Yu’s house, and Yu’s brain was actively failing.

  Wet silver hair clung to her shoulders. Droplets slid down her neck and disappeared into the towel she’d wrapped around herself. Her skin was faintly flushed, the warmth giving her cheeks and collarbones a soft glow.

  “…Phew,” Her eyes were bright, damp with heat. “That felt good.” She said with satisfaction. She gathered her hair with both hands and squeezed water out, the sound of it pattering onto the tile making Yu’s thoughts scatter.

  Yu turned away so fast he nearly twisted his neck.

  “O-Okay, I get it!” he blurted. “Get dressed quickly!” “Are you shy?” Claval asked, amused.

  Yu didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

  She left the dressing area still smiling, towel held secure, footsteps light and careful—careful enough that it almost made him more nervous, because it meant she knew.

  Yu exhaled a long, shaky breath and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind him as if locking himself in would save him.

  Heat enveloped him immediately. Trapped steam wrapped around his skin, thick and wet, fogging his eyelashes. The tub was full, the water the perfect temperature—warm enough to melt tension, not so hot it burned.

  And yet, as he looked at the surface, he felt an irrational awareness, like the room remembered her.

  Not in a mystical way. In a human way.

  A faint scent lingered—sweet and foreign, something like herbs and clean water and the impossible fact that she had been here.

  Yu washed quickly, refusing to let his mind wander, then sank into the tub with a groan he tried to swallow. Hot water climbed up his body, loosening muscles he hadn’t realized were clenched. For a moment, his head went light, and his thoughts slowed.

  “…A bathtub a girl was just in…” his mouth betrayed him.

  His cheeks flared red instantly. Heat crept into his ears—not from the water, but from the thought. His brain tried to reboot and failed.

  Stop thinking that. Stop thinking anything. He sank down to his shoulders and stared at the wall like it held answers.

  Click. The door.

  Yu’s entire body jolted. He snapped his head toward the sound, water sloshing, heart leaping into his throat.

  Through the steam, a figure stepped into the bathroom.

  Claval. She was wearing only a towel.

  “…I got curious after all,” she said, as if she were strolling into a kitchen to grab a drink. Water still clung to her hair. Droplets fell onto the tile and burst into tiny dark specks. The steam blurred the edges of her silhouette, making the moment feel unreal and too close.

  “What—!?” Yu sputtered, “You—what are you doing!? I told you not to come in!” sinking lower in the water like he could disappear if he tried hard enough.

  Claval didn’t stop. She took another step, and another, bare feet quiet on tile. She moved like she belonged anywhere she stood.

  “Stop! Seriously—!” Yu thrust a hand out through the steam, palm open, as if he could physically push her back with air.

  And then the towel shifted. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t slow motion. It was a simple, careless slip—fabric losing grip on damp skin.

  Yu’s mind went blank. For a single heartbeat, his eyes caught a glimpse of something that didn’t match what his brain had filed Claval under.

  Something sharp and shocking enough that it burned itself into the back of his vision before he could tear his gaze away.

  He blinked once. Twice. The afterimage didn’t vanish.…Eh? No. That— That can’t be right. His breath turned choppy. His heart pounded like it was trying to climb out of his chest.

  “Ah… uh… ah…”A sound tried to become words and failed.

  Claval stopped and looked directly at him, unbothered. Not hiding. Not flinching. If anything, she seemed to accept his panic as a natural reaction to new information.

  “…Yu?” her voice was gentle—too gentle for how violently reality had just shifted.

  Yu tried to look away. He did. He made the attempt with everything he had. Too late. His eyes had already seen it. His throat tightened until his next words came out broken.

  “…Y-You… are you… a man…?”

  Steam filled the space between them, thick and white, as if the room itself wanted to blur the question. But the question landed anyway, heavy and undeniable.

  Claval pursed her lips and shook her head slightly.

  “Don’t judge only by the body,” she said, “I want you to look at all of me,” quietly but firmly.

  Yu’s face went so hot he felt like he might melt into the bathwater. Confusion overloaded him in a bright, painful rush. He jerked his face away again, this time hard enough that his neck twinged.

  “I—I didn’t—!” he stammered, which was useless because he very much had.

  Claval stepped closer to the tub’s edge and placed her hand on it, fingers splayed against the slick surface. She leaned down, bringing her face nearer, close enough that Yu could feel the warmth of her breath mixing with the steam.

  Yu’s lungs forgot how to work.

  “Yu,” Claval whispered, voice dropping until it felt like it belonged to the steam itself.

  “I want to connect.”

  Yu froze. The word hit a place in him that wasn’t just embarrassment. It hit the part of him that remembered frames, remembered streams, remembered the way a voice could cross worlds if the conditions were right.

  Claval’s eyes stayed on him—steady, intent, too honest.

  “I cleaned properly,” she added, “Here, too,” as if offering reassurance in the only way she knew.

  The meaning—whatever shape it took in her mind—made Yu’s heart riot in his chest. Blood rushed to his head. His ears burned. His thoughts scattered into pure panic.

  “S-Stop it!” Yu blurted, voice cracking. “Get out! You’ll get dizzy!”

  He shrank back in the water, clutching the tub’s edge like it was a lifeline. His dignity was already dead. All he had left was survival. Claval’s expression softened into something like regret—then immediately twisted into teasing.

  “…Fufu,” she said, and for some reason that little laugh was the most lethal thing in the room. “Yu, you’re bright red. Funny.”

  “Of course I am!” Yu snapped, covering his face with one hand like that could hide the universe. “Get out already! What if Mom notices!”

  “It’s fine,” Claval replied, deliberately whispering now, “I kept my footsteps and voice quiet,” as if she found his fear entertaining.

  And with that, she picked up her towel again, rewrapped it with calm efficiency, and slipped out of the bathroom like a ghost leaving a crime scene.

  The door clicked shut. Steam continued to hang in the air, thick with the echo of her presence. The room felt too warm, too close, as if the bathwater had turned into a trap.

  Yu sat in the tub up to his shoulders, breathing hard.

  “…This is absurd,” he muttered, staring at the tile like it could reset his life.

  His heart still wouldn’t settle.

  Even when he closed his eyes, the scene stayed burned into him—silver hair, steam, that impossible glimpse, and the way she’d said it with a seriousness that didn’t match his panic at all.

  Don’t judge only by the body.

  Yu swallowed, throat dry. He didn’t know what Claval meant by connect. He only knew his world had just gotten more complicated—again.