Chapter 22: Scent (Part Two).

It wasn’t any named perfume or synthetic note—just a clean aura rising from skin and marrow, like the purest spring valley breeze carrying newborn sweetness and coolness.

So faint, a gossamer veil—only caught up close, in an unguarded shift or fabric brush.

Yet after hours hustling, Kaoru had worked up a light sweat.

Instead of masking, it activated his scent: micro-salt in perspiration catalyzed the soap-clean, crisp plant, faint fruit—elevating to ultimate fresh under saline wrap.

To Rika—nose perhaps sharper, angle different—psychological boost made him uniquely “fragrant sweat.”

Kaoru, sipping oolong to hide unease, lashes casting fan shadows, had no clue Rika secretly drowned in his invisible allure.

He, meanwhile, honestly judged her nearby assault:

[Stinks…]

Abrupt, rude thought—instinctive.

Heavy post-labor salt-acid, charcoal tar—complex.

Even for scent-fetish few, it’s perversion: arousal from specific odor.

But olfactory nerves work fine—universal “stink,” not “fragrance.”

Normal: hours in steamy kitchen = inevitable odor. Sweat odorless; skin bacteria break it down.

Fragrant sweat? Possible metabolic red flag.

Kaoru’s own: normal mild sour—thinner than most, fused with innate base.

Interplay made Rika perceive exceptional.

Now: Rika like a banked furnace—scorching residual heat, tangy sweat forming invisible wall, invading his thin clean air territory.

Nose unhappy, inwardly whining—he couldn’t shift away.

Too obvious, rude—equivalent to “you reek” to coworker, owner’s granddaughter. Instant awkward explosion.

[Toilet excuse? Or pretend fix umbrella stand outside?]

Brows knit, fingers absently stroking cold bottle, plotting natural escape from suffocating “odor siege”…

“Ding-a-ling—”

Crisp wind chimes—door pushed, cool night air entering.

Familiar graceful figure, heels clicking “tap, tap.”

“Aina, you’re here…”

Seeing girlfriend for pickup, Kaoru bolted up—relief like pardon.

Aina caught his eager, almost fleeing rush—clear eyes flashing subtle surprise; warmer than usual.

Trusting, she smiled softly—no suspicion.

“Ten minutes to close. Wait a bit? Early leave daily isn’t good.”

Arms around her waist, cheek nuzzling cool shoulder dependently, then up.

“Mmm, fine.”

Aina hugged back, palms feeling familiar warmth through cloth—slight frame. Day’s fatigue melted in embrace; steadiness and contentment filled her.

Then eyes lifted over his shoulder—spotting the blonde leaning bar, gold hair striking, gaze meeting.

Instinct: arms tightened behind him, fingertips digging fabric—silent claim, wary of wild woman too close, ready to snatch her love.

APP’s undeletable torment had her jumpy, nerves frayed.

She’d taken phone to repair—pros stumped: maybe super-virus.

Only fix: brutal format…