Ch.24Chapter 24

I returned home after finishing my work. Today, I was practicing writing with paper spread out in the living room. If nothing else, lying on my stomach to write gave me a sense of physical and mental comfort.

I hummed a little tune. I always thought how fortunate it was that I could only not read; what if I couldn’t communicate through speaking and listening either?

According to the Professor’s explanation, Demon Gods instinctively awaken the ability to speak and listen, and I wondered if that applied to me too.

Considering things like appetite, it did seem like my body was being influenced.

Though I had questions, I didn’t think it was worth delving too deeply into them. I focused on absorbing the characters here, along with letters I’d glimpsed in passing on the news or elsewhere.

I might actually have a talent for this.

At this rate, I thought I could probably handle everyday life without problems.

…Though my handwriting was still crooked.

“…Hmmmm.”

No matter how diligently I moved the pen, my handwriting wouldn’t improve overnight. While I was seriously contemplating with an “Ummmm,” I noticed the Professor watching me from the sofa.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just having trouble with my handwriting.”

I dropped the pen with a thud. The Professor responded with a nasal “Hmm.”

“Are you giving up now?”

“Yes, I want to take a break.”

I lowered my body and rolled over. After half a rotation, the ceiling came into view. Finding the position comfortable, I stretched out my arms and lay there.

As I stretched with an “Uweeeeng” sound, the Professor approached and gently brushed my bangs aside. With the hair that had been slightly blocking my vision cleared away, everything felt noticeably cleaner.

“—Ourr, don’t you want to cut your hair? I think it would look prettier if you trimmed it.”

“My hair…”

I glanced away.

The extremely long hair that reached my buttocks took forever to wash and drying it was hard labor. Moreover, it was so long that it was difficult to manage, sticking out in all directions.

I glanced at the Professor’s face and mumbled.

“Umm, no.”

“Why?”

It was awkward to answer the Professor’s question. I kept my mouth shut because it felt strange to say that I wasn’t really me, that this body belonged to someone else.

After placing my hand back in its original position and avoiding eye contact, the Professor just smacked their lips and nodded.

“Well, if you don’t want to, there’s nothing I can do.”

After saying that, the Professor flicked my forehead.

“Ouch.”

Startled, I brought my hands to my forehead. The Professor seemed to find even this reaction cute, raising the corners of their mouth. It felt strange to be constantly called cute one way or another.

I pouted while quietly looking at the Professor, but they got up from their seat saying they had something to do and left. After going to their room, they came back to the living room and settled at the table in the center.

The Professor, leaning back against the sofa, pulled the table close and patted the seat beside them.

“Ourr, want to sit here?”

“Umm, I’d rather lie down.”

Though sitting next to the Professor wouldn’t be bad, I shook my head since I preferred rolling around on the floor. The Professor smiled wryly at my answer, seeming disappointed, then casually asked:

“Really? Then do you want to change clothes?”

“Oh! Right, clothes!”

I snapped out of my daze and opened my eyes wide. After sitting up abruptly, I hurried into the dressing room.

I changed into the clothes and pants the Professor had bought me and twirled my body left and right. The top was a bit loose and fluttered slightly, but it was still comfortable. It was definitely a good thing that my skin wouldn’t show regardless of what position I took.

Legs didn’t matter much though.

“…Ta-da, Professor. I changed.”

I spread my arms wide in front of the Professor, showing off. As I appeared with the fluttering fabric, the Professor looked at me with satisfaction.

“It suits you well.”

“Maybe because you picked it out for me.”

I tilted my head down. Though the pants were short, they were comfortable due to their elasticity, and the fact that they were pants rather than a skirt gave me a sense of security despite their length.

The thought of a skirt slipping off due to my lack of hips and showing my underwear to others brought an indescribable sense of shame.

I shook my head, involuntarily groaning “Ugh.” It was definitely a reality I didn’t want to face.

As I pattered across the living room floor barefoot, I slipped on paper beneath my feet.

“Huh?”

A small gasp escaped me. Come to think of it, there was paper I had scattered earlier while studying. The thought flashed through my mind.

With a “Hik,” I swallowed my gasp and fell face-first onto the floor.

“Ourr!?”

As I crashed down, the Professor was so startled they tried to get up quickly. This caused them to bump into the table they had pulled close, making a loud “Thud!”

“Ow ow ow…”

Having hit their knee on the table, the Professor collapsed to the floor with a groan.

With the added impact to my body, I found it comfortable to just lie collapsed on the floor. It was definitely not because I was embarrassed.

The Professor stopped wincing in pain, pushed the table away with a scraping sound, and rushed over to me.

“Ourr, are you hurt anywhere…?”

“I’m… I’m fine. I’m used to it.”

“How can you be used to something like that!”

The Professor lightly smacked my bottom. Then they placed their hands on my body and flipped me halfway over. I felt like a fish being flipped.

“Uweh?”

While I was dazed with such silly thoughts, I suddenly felt my body becoming weightless. That’s why such a foolish sound came out of my mouth.

The Professor picked me up in a princess carry and quickly carried me to the bedroom, placing me on the bed. I realized that being suddenly lifted and moved without holding onto the Professor was quite heart-pounding.

Do people understand that fear of possibly falling? Is that why people have acrophobia? Anyway.

“…Now, is your knee okay?”

“I’m used to it…”

“Let me see.”

“No, um, what should I say?”

Tired of the Professor’s mother-hen behavior, I curled up my body. Hugging my legs, I rubbed my uninjured knee.

“I landed well…! With my hands like this…?”

“Hmm, it doesn’t hurt?”

After I barely managed to explain while stretching out my arms, the Professor finally believed me. Relieved, I released my legs.

The bed was soft. It seemed nice that no matter how much I fell here, I wouldn’t get hurt or feel pain from impact. Of course, there wouldn’t be any reason to fall on a bed.

“…Shall we go back to the living room?”

“If you’re really okay…”

The Professor thought for a moment, then put their hands under my legs and neck again. Just as I gasped “Huk,” I felt my body becoming weightless.

Unlike before, my arms went around the Professor’s neck. As I held on tightly, forming a ring, the Professor smiled and told me:

“Ourr, hold tight?”

“I’m holding tight. Ah, wooooah?!”

After telling me to prepare, the Professor headed to the living room at a different speed than before. Of course, if I were running myself, this speed would be nothing, but being carried made even this moderate pace feel extremely fast.

Was it because I wasn’t running with my own legs? Or was it the thrill of the impact felt while being carried that made it more exciting?

Feeling a sensation between fear and pleasure, we arrived at the living room. I felt like my hands were sweating from the tension.

“How was it?”

The Professor put me down and looked satisfied. I tightly gripped my legs, which felt like they might give way. I wanted to wash my hands, but my legs wouldn’t move easily.

As I remained crouched there, the Professor put their hands under my armpits and helped me up. Not understanding why, I stared blankly at the Professor, who carefully told me:

“When you sit like that, your underwear shows.”

“Really? Umm, okay…”

Honestly, the Professor sees it often anyway. We’re the only two at home.

We bathe together, change clothes in the same room, so I didn’t understand why I needed to hide it now.

Maybe they were worried I might do this outside too? If the Professor was as worried as a mother, that would make sense.

As I straightened out my pants that had rolled up from crouching, the Professor finally nodded.

“I’ll go wash my hands.”

In the slightly awkward atmosphere, I used hand-washing as an excuse to change the mood and move. When I raised my hands to show them, the Professor nodded.

“There’s hand soap, so wash thoroughly?”

I pouted at the Professor treating me like a child learning to wash hands, especially after I’d just been tense from riding the “special airplane.”

After washing my hands thoroughly and returning to the living room, I saw the Professor back in the same position, working. As I stood watching quietly, the Professor patted their knee.

“Ourr, want to sit here?”

“…Where is ‘here’? Your knee?”

“Yes.”

“I prefer the floor.”

After saying that, I threw myself onto the spot where I had fallen earlier. I surrendered to the hard yet somehow refreshing sensation.

I could see the Professor’s disappointed expression, but I decided to pretend I didn’t notice.