Reiko listened with genuine attention, letting Bell's words fill the space between them.
She found it fascinating and sad that a succubus could develop such rejection due to personal trauma.
The conversation allowed her mind to clear of Mara's chaos and the constant pressure of being the "data girl" who always knew and organized everything.
For once, her focus wasn't a problem to solve or a threat to measure—but a friend she simply needed to listen to.
Bell fell silent for a moment, as if afraid she'd darkened the mood too much with her confession or broken the mansion's invisible etiquette.
It showed in the way she avoided eye contact—she didn't want to go deeper into that bad experience.
Reiko, with her usual pragmatism and respect for privacy, chose not to press her.
"I really don't want to talk much about that," Bell added quickly, forcing a small smile that came off more like an apologetic grimace.
"I'm just not interested in anything sexual anymore. I'd much rather be here, talking to you, than down there pretending I'm having fun."
Reiko sensed Bell sinking back into a spiral of negative thoughts, and her instinct—clumsy as it was socially—told her it was time to intervene.
Though Reiko often came across as cold or overly analytical due to her personality and shyness, she genuinely cared about the people in her circle. She just didn't usually express it with hugs or sweet words.
"That's fine, Bell. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. The past is the past, and tonight is complicated enough already," Reiko said, trying to sound upbeat despite her naturally serious tone.
"How about this—so we stop thinking about what's behind that door… how about we play something? I have a riddle for you."
Bell blinked, a bit startled by the sudden change of topic, but nodded with budding curiosity.
"A riddle? Sure, let's hear it. I hope it's hard."
"What travels all over the world but always stays in a corner?" Reiko asked calmly.
Bell thought for a few seconds, wrinkling her nose and staring at the ceiling. "The wind? No… the wind doesn't stay in a corner. The moon?"
"A postage stamp," Reiko replied without moving a single facial muscle.
Bell stayed silent for a second, then let out a small laugh—more at the absurdity and Reiko's seriousness than the riddle itself.
Seeing that her distraction tactic worked, Reiko raised the stakes with jokes that—even by her own admission—were pretty bad, but which she delivered with enviable conviction.
"Do you know why math books are always so sad, Bell?"
"No… why?"
"Because they have too many problems."
Bell laughed louder this time, and Reiko felt a small, strange spark of satisfaction in her chest.
Over the next hour, she told absurd stories, nonsensical riddles, and mundane observations about brothel life, trying to make the succubus forget the noise and pressure from below.
Despite her shyness, Reiko was doing her best to be the support Bell needed.
Eventually, the accumulated exhaustion from travel and the day's tension caught up with them.
"I think it's time we go to sleep, Bell," Reiko suggested, stifling a yawn. "Whatever's happening down there can wait. Tomorrow we'll deal with what's ours—cleaning, organizing the disaster, and restoring order."
"You're right. Thank you for listening, Reiko. Really, I feel much better now. I don't know what I would've done if I'd stayed alone," Bell replied, settling into the bed they'd decided to share so they wouldn't have to step back into the hallway and risk breaking the bubble of calm they'd built.
Just before closing her eyes, Reiko remembered Mara for a brief moment—but this time, the worry was far smaller, almost secondary.
Talking with Bell had put things into perspective in an unexpected way.
Mara was a future enigma, a problem for tomorrow.
Bell was a present reality—a friend who only needed a bad joke to smile. And with that unusually warm thought, Reiko fell asleep.