Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 777: Sister Yuko’s Request

I let out a quiet breath, my voice softening as I tried to explain. "I just wanted to give Haruna a surprise," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the weight of the moment. "I only got back from my trip a little while ago. I didn’t even stop to unpack—I came straight here."

Yuko nodded slowly, her fingers still lightly curled around mine, as if she were afraid to let go—like she was holding onto something precious, something she thought she might lose again. For a moment, I let myself believe that this fragile connection could last, that the warmth of her hand in mine was enough to bridge the distance between us.

But then, almost imperceptibly, her grip loosened. Her fingers slid away from mine, one by one, until her hand fell to her side. The loss of her touch was sudden, like a breath held too long finally being released.

She turned away before I could read the expression on her face, her movements quick but not hurried, as if she needed to occupy herself with something—anything—to fill the space between us.

She walked to the kitchen, the soft pad of her footsteps the only sound in the room. I watched as she pulled a glass from the cabinet, her back to me, her shoulders tense but not with the usual rigidity of someone prepared for a fight. No, this was different. It was the tension of someone trying to compose themselves, to find their footing after being caught off guard.

The faucet ran for a moment, and she returned with a glass of water, holding it out to me. "Here," she said, her voice steady but quieter now, as if she were consciously dialing back the intensity of the moment. "You must be tired after your trip."

I took the glass, our fingers brushing briefly as I did. "Thanks," I murmured, meeting her eyes. She didn’t look away, but I could see the shift in her—like she was retreating behind a wall, not out of coldness, but out of habit. It was the same way she’d always shielded herself after letting someone in too close.

She hesitated for a second, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, twisting the fabric absentmindedly. It was such a small gesture, but it struck me deeply. This wasn’t the Yuko who stood with unshakable confidence, the assassin who moved through the world like a shadow.

This was something else entirely—something softer, younger, almost shy. "Are you hungry?" she asked, her voice tinged with an uncertainty I rarely heard from her. "I could make something. It’s late, but..."

I shook my head, setting the glass down on the table beside me. "No, I’m fine," I said gently. "But thank you."

She nodded, but her fingers didn’t stop their restless movement, still twisting at the hem of her sleeve as if it were a lifeline. She stood there, suspended in that strange space between the person she had to be—the unyielding, composed assassin—and the person she allowed herself to be in these rare, unguarded moments. It was like watching someone stand on the edge of a cliff, torn between jumping into the unknown or retreating to safer ground.

I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight of everything she carried pressing down on her. "Sister Yuko," I said gently, my voice low, "you should go back and rest. It’s been a long day for both of us."

Yuko nodded absentmindedly, as if she were only half-listening, her thoughts still tangled in whatever was weighing on her. Without another word, she turned and walked back into her room, her footsteps quiet, almost hesitant.

I watched her go, the door clicking softly shut behind her, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something left unsaid—something lingering just beneath the surface.

I made my way to Haruna’s room, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath my feet a small comfort. The bed was soft as I sank onto it, the weight of the day finally catching up with me. I closed my eyes, but just as I began to drift, a knock at the door pulled me back.

"That..." Yuko’s voice was muffled but clear through the wood, hesitant in a way I rarely heard. "I want to ask you something."

I sat up, pushing myself off the bed. "Come in, Sister Yuko," I said, my voice warm, inviting. "What’s bothering you?"

The door eased open, and Yuko stepped inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, dim light spilling in from the hallway. She paused just inside the room, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the doorframe, as if she needed something solid to anchor herself to.

When she finally turned to face me, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. It wasn’t just curiosity in her gaze—it was something deeper, something searching, as if she were trying to see past my words, past my expressions, to the truth beneath.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak. Then, her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "I’ve been thinking of taking Haruna to meet her mother... to Japan." She paused, her fingers stilling as she studied my reaction. "Can you come with me?"

I blinked, surprised. Yuko had always been so guarded, so reluctant to even mention Haruna’s mother, let alone consider reconnecting with her. The fact that she was willing to take this step—let alone ask me to be part of it—felt like a crack in the armor she’d spent years building.

I looked at her, my surprise giving way to a warm, encouraging smile. "I’d be happy to meet my mother-in-law," I said lightly, though my voice carried the weight of my sincerity. "Just tell me when you want to go. I’ll make the arrangements, okay?"

Yuko nodded, but her expression was unreadable, her fingers fidgeting again as she glanced down. "I’ll talk to Haruna first," she murmured.

"I know that girl doesn’t talk about her mother with me... or ask me to take her back." Her voice wavered slightly, a flicker of something raw passing over her features. "But she misses her. So I decided to take her."

There was a pause, the air between us thick with unspoken emotions. I could see the conflict in her eyes—the love she had for Haruna, the pain of the past, the responsibility she carried. Gently, I asked, "Sister Yuko... don’t you miss her too?"

Yuko’s gaze snapped back to mine, sharp and sudden. She shook her head, her voice flat, almost hollow. "No." A bitter smile touched her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I don’t have a mother."

The words hung between us, heavy and final. It wasn’t just a statement—it was a wound, one she’d carried for so long it had become part of her. I could see it in the way her shoulders tensed, in the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides, as if she were bracing herself against the weight of her own admission.