"Trying things you've never done before might give you a special kind of feeling, don’t you think?"
This was what Hisoka had once said when he tried to follow Meruem into the bathroom.
Though Meruem never admitted it to Hisoka’s face, his words weren’t entirely wrong.
There were many things Meruem hadn’t tried in either the "real world" or this one—like using toys, or getting intimate with another girl.
With her hands bound behind her back by Nen threads, Machi wrapped her arms around Meruem from behind, pulling her into a tight embrace.
Machi’s technique was unusually delicate. Though the effect was slow, the teasing sensation it produced was maddening.
Meruem’s breathing grew uneven, and the same dizzying feeling she got when Hisoka used toys on her began to rise.
In Meteor City, given Machi’s typically unreadable demeanor, the girls who played these games with her were always surprised by her gentleness—and then demanded she treat them more harshly. They enjoyed it more that way.
Intuition—again, intuition—told Machi that Meruem was like those girls, craving the feeling of being dominated during the game.
Machi pressed one hand against Meruem’s neck, forcing her to tilt her head back.
Wait—the yukata didn’t cover her neck. Marks couldn’t be left in exposed areas. The pressure of the Nen threads had to be controlled.
As the threads tightened, Meruem instinctively curled her toes.
Girls understood girls best. Tremors ran through Meruem in Machi’s arms.
The hot spring inn Chrollo had booked was currently occupied only by Chrollo (who was engrossed in researching ruins), Pakunoda (who had already retired for the night), and Machi and Meruem, who were secretly playing their game. In such silence, even the slightest sound would stand out.
Both Machi and Meruem heard the attendant at the entrance greeting Hisoka and the other two as they returned.
But the arrow was already nocked—and the tension only heightened the excitement.
The lights in the room had long been turned off. As long as they didn’t make any strange noises, no one would find it odd for two close girlfriends to share a room.
Past the entrance hall, through the common lounge, around the central courtyard—then came the guest quarters.
Phinks’ room was closest to the entrance. He lingered at his door, watching Hisoka and Feitan continue down the hallway.
Hisoka walked straight past his own room. Feitan’s room was opposite Hisoka’s, but since Feitan was walking behind him, Hisoka had already passed an empty room by the time Feitan reached his door.
Chrollo’s room was at the corner—the midpoint of the circular guest wing. Hisoka stopped outside it, while the rooms further down the hall remained silent, as if everyone inside had fallen asleep. After carefully sensing the auras along the way, Hisoka confirmed none of the rooms they passed held any presence. That meant Meruem was likely in the sleeping area—or perhaps she had gone out. At the very least, she hadn’t chosen to be with Chrollo or the others.
Hisoka raised a hand and knocked, asking if Chrollo needed any help with his work.
Feitan watched Hisoka enter Chrollo’s room and was about to retreat into his own when Phinks, still brimming with energy, slung an arm around his shoulder and whispered, "Come on, turning in this early isn’t like you."
He jerked his thumb toward the other end of the hallway—the inn’s entertainment area.
"No. Wrong guess." Feitan coldly shrugged off Phinks’ enthusiasm and opened his door.
Inside Chrollo’s room, Hisoka picked up a book and flipped to the indicated page. "Let me see… second paragraph, right?"
Meanwhile, drenched in sweat, Meruem and Machi finally found a rhythm that suited them both and began their second round.
Machi mused that her dry spell must have lasted too long—she was losing herself in it, unwilling to stop even after hearing the others return.
No, tonight wasn’t the right time. She had to at least give Hisoka some face—they hadn’t officially broken up yet. Despite her restraint, the thin red marks left by the Nen threads on Meruem’s pale skin were… still far too obvious.
Machi undid the threads and stroked Meruem’s hair, whispering, "Let’s stop here for today."
Meruem reluctantly licked Machi’s chin, prompting Machi to hug her and pat her back reassuringly. "We can do this privately another time. While they’re all in their rooms, let’s go wash up and clean up."
Keen perception, paired with intuition, was the perfect weapon for avoiding unwanted attention. The guest wing was circular, allowing them to bypass the male members’ rooms entirely and enter the women’s bath from the other side.
In the baths, the two shared a brief moment of intimacy before returning to their respective rooms.
Meruem didn’t turn on the bedside lamp until she reached her bedroom.
In the dim light, the figure standing beside the lamp looked like a shadowy specter at first glance—enough to startle most people. But Meruem ignored it and sat on the edge of the bed, summoning a comb into her hand to leisurely smooth out her hair.
"Did you have fun?" The shadow twisted the lamp’s brightness dial, flooding half the bed with warm light and illuminating the speaker’s features—surprisingly delicate for a man with such a raspy voice.
...It was Feitan.
Meruem glanced at him out of courtesy. As fellow Spiders, they were bound to work together—it was only right to maintain basic civility.
After Phinks left, Feitan had exited his room, circled around the inn’s exterior, and used *Zetsu* to conceal his presence before climbing in through Meruem’s window. Finding the room empty, he had waited until now.
Meruem’s gaze followed Feitan as he stepped directly in front of her.
Setting the comb aside, Meruem summoned pen and paper, but Feitan tilted his chin up. "I can read lips."
With Meruem seated on the bed, the usual 10cm height difference between them (165cm vs. 155cm) vanished—in fact, Feitan now stood slightly taller.
"I asked if you had fun." His tone unchanged, Feitan took another step forward, closing the distance until their knees nearly touched.
Meruem put the pen and paper away without answering—nor did she ask why Feitan was here. She picked up the comb again.
As a model bandit, Feitan saw no issue with breaking into someone’s room uninvited. If anything, he radiated oppressive aura with full justification, his tone bordering on interrogation. "Well? Your answer?"
Protected by a strong *Ten*, Meruem resisted the malicious intent, her hand gliding smoothly through her hair without pause.
Hmm. Not a single tangle in her long curls—perfectly smooth.
Feitan’s gaze shifted from the comb to Meruem’s neck—unmarked, pale as untouched snow, begging to be sullied.
Leaning in, Feitan pressed closer, prompting Meruem to shift her legs aside in mild annoyance. His knee only caught the hem of her yukata.
But perhaps that was enough. The fabric slipped open, revealing the evidence Feitan had suspected—thin, vivid red marks on Meruem’s thighs, likely left by thread.
"..." Feitan immediately thought of a certain Nen-thread-wielding comrade. "...Machi?"
Meruem neither confirmed nor denied it, nor did she try to cover up. Instead, she flipped the comb and pressed its smooth back against Feitan’s mask-covered lower face. His lips—thin and currently pressed into a displeased line—twitched beneath the fabric.
They parted. "Stop playing dumb."
The comb tilted, grazing Feitan’s chin.
"Some questions… should be asked by Hisoka." Meruem mouthed. "I have no obligation to answer you."
"Tch." Feitan’s eyes remained fixed on the spider faintly visible past Meruem’s lips as she spoke. He scoffed and turned his head, freeing himself from the comb. His mask fell back into place. "You’re lying."
"..." Meruem withdrew the comb and rested it against her own chin, then crossed her legs, hiking the yukata’s hem higher.
"You don’t care." His tone was almost certain.
His sharp gaze lingered on her thighs, now fully exposed by her posture. The marks formed a seamless ring—a slender ouroboros biting its own tail.
Back in Meteor City, she had been so thin that even her thighs held little fat. Now, though still lean, her curves had filled out where they should.
Feitan pressed a finger to the center of the marks, then his palm.
The calluses from years of wielding weapons stood out starkly.
Meruem could count every one without effort.
The difference between a man’s and a woman’s hands was staggering. Machi’s had been slender and soft—Feitan’s were the opposite.
...And so were his actions.
Bold from the start, his grip tightened without hesitation, fingers sinking in, warping the marks beneath his touch.
Meruem raised a hand, pressing her palm to Feitan’s forehead.
"Stop." She mouthed.
"Hisoka can’t satisfy you." Feitan leaned into her touch, his bangs brushing her skin. "Am I wrong?"
The pressure on Meruem’s leg vanished—he had indeed "stopped." This time, it was his cold lips that made contact.
He traced the marks with kisses, his scorching breath a stark contrast. The temperature difference was so pronounced that Meruem almost flinched, her fingers twitching against his shoulder.
Feitan didn’t miss the reaction. He dropped to one knee, lifting Meruem’s leg with both hands until her bare foot rested on his thigh, giving him a better view of the ouroboros.
Near the inner thigh, he gripped her ankle and bit down on the crimson thread.
Meruem’s hand slid from his shoulder to his neck, poised to push him away at any moment.
But he abruptly softened, licking the indents his teeth had left.
Still dissatisfied, Meruem raised her leg higher, shifting her foot from his thigh to his shoulder as Feitan stood, forcing her onto her back.
"Fun?" Feitan’s mask was tugged down again, revealing his smirk. He caught Meruem’s wrist. "Finally bothered by it? But this cloak isn’t designed to be removed like this."
Without zippers or buttons, the cloak had to be pulled off over the head.
Stripped of the black fabric, the man beneath was all lean muscle—surprisingly well-defined, his waist taut with power.
A vibration came from the cloak’s pocket just as Feitan reached his waist. Scowling, he fished out his phone.
...Hisoka was calling.
Meruem sat up. Feitan showed her the screen before tossing the phone onto the pillow and resuming undressing.
This time, he moved faster, shedding the cloak before the call ended.
The ringing stopped—only to start again seconds later.
Before Feitan could inspect the marks on Meruem’s shoulders, his peripheral vision caught the caller ID on the screen.
"..." This one couldn’t be ignored.
A second call likely meant something important. And it was the Boss.
After a brief pause, Feitan answered. "Boss?"
"Am I interrupting?"
"No. I was just showering."
"There’s something I’d like to ask you. Can you come over now?"
"Sure." Feitan loosened Meruem’s obi. "I’ll be right there."
Hanging up, Feitan pushed Meruem back down as she tried to rise.
"I’ll be right back," he repeated hoarsely.