"Ah~"
Seijirou groaned in pure, unadulterated satisfaction as he sank into the depths of the plush sofa.
The cushions seemed to mold themselves to his frame, a welcome relief after a day that had felt like a marathon of social and spiritual gymnastics.
He sat with his arms spread wide across the backrest, his posture radiating the relaxed authority of a man in his own castle.
He was dressed down for the evening, wearing only his comfortable black boxers and a form-fitting black tank top that showcased the lean, functional muscle he had cultivated through years of disciplined training.
In the kitchen, the atmosphere was warm and domestic.
Yuko was moving with a light, rhythmic grace, humming a joyful tune that harmonized with the bubbling of a savory stew on the stove.
The scent of garlic, ginger, and slow-cooked meat drifted through the air, anchoring the penthouse in a sense of peace.
