Uchiha Puppet Master, Starting from One Piece.

The lips were a little cooler than he had expected, perhaps because they had been exposed to the sea breeze for too long, and had a slightly chilly feel. But the moment their lips touched his skin, that slight coolness was almost instantly swallowed up by the heat of his body, turning into a warm, moist sensation.

Bai Yu's breathing became heavier.

The change was so subtle that Mirajane wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been so close.

But she was too close.

So close that each of his breaths would first brush against her hair before dissipating into the night breeze.

She probably sensed the change in his heartbeat.

Because her hand loosened its grip on his collar, and then, slowly, as if afraid of disturbing something, her hand slid from his chest to his side, finally stopping at a position between his waist and ribs.

It wasn't a caress.

It's not touching.

It's just sitting there.

Bai Yu rested his chin on the top of her head, her hair brushing against his jawline, soft, smooth, and carrying a faint scent of shampoo.

He wanted to say something.

But he didn't know what to say.

At this moment, any language seems superfluous, or even offensive.

There are moments when words are unnecessary. Language can shatter something in the air, like a stone thrown into a perfect mirror-like lake; no matter how beautiful the ripples, it will never be the same lake again.

So he chose to remain silent.

He closed his eyes and focused all his attention on his senses.

The night wind blew from the sea, carrying a salty, fishy smell and some unidentifiable scent from afar—perhaps a school of fish, perhaps seaweed, or perhaps the fragrance of flowers from some distant land, diluted to almost nothing after traveling thousands of miles.

The wind blew through his hair, through his open collar, and through the tiny gaps between him and Mirajane's bodies.

But strangely, even with the wind, he still felt hot.

It's not because of body temperature.

It's because of her.

It was because Mirajane was nestled in his arms, like a fish that had swum from the cold deep sea to a hot spring, instinctively curling up in the warmest place.

Her leg moved.

Previously, her legs were curled up on the chair, with her knees pressed against the outside of his thighs. Now, she slowly lowered her legs and stretched them out a bit. This movement caused her center of gravity to sink down, making her chest press harder against him and her waist and abdomen pressed even more tightly against him.

Then her foot found his ankle.

Her feet were cold.

His socks had been kicked off long ago, and his bare insteps were pressed against his ankles, which were exposed outside his trousers, the warm skin against the cool skin.

She slipped her feet between his ankles, as if searching for the warmest crevice.

Bai Yu did not dodge.

She even subconsciously pulled her ankles together, wrapping her feet in between.

Her feet gradually warmed up.

Then he started to feel his whole body getting hot.

It was a heat that started from the heart, spreading along the blood vessels to the extremities, as if someone had lit a fire deep inside her body. The flames burned along the river of blood, across her chest, abdomen, arms, and legs, finally converging at every point where her body touched.

Chapter 226 Integration

The temperature there is frighteningly high.

Bai Yu even felt that if someone were to place the back of their hand on the seam between his and Mirajane's bodies, they would feel an almost scorching heat.

The boat rocked again.

The more pronounced shaking compared to before was likely due to encountering a slightly larger wave.

Mirajane's body slid slightly into Bai Yu's arms due to the swaying. She instinctively tightened her arms, but instead of grabbing his clothes, she wrapped her arms around Bai Yu's waist.

Two hands came around his waist, their fingers interlacing at his lower back.

This change in posture completely altered the distance between the two people.

Even when they were very close, there were still some tiny gaps between them.

there's no more.

From the collarbone to the lower abdomen, from the chest to the waist, from the thighs to the knees, we applied the patches to every possible spot.

Bai Yu felt as if he had become someone surrounded by raging flames.

It's not the kind of raging fire that burns people, but a kind of fire that you wouldn't want to escape even if you were burned to ashes.

He was willing to burn in this fire, willing to turn into ashes, willing to give every atom of himself to this fire, so that they could rise with the flames into the night sky and become part of the stars.

Mirajae tightened her grip on his waist.

Her face was buried in his chest, her whole posture like a cat that had finally found its nest, curled up, a small and warm presence.

Her breathing became light and slow.

But that wasn't because he was asleep.

Bai Yu could sense it.

There is an almost indescribable difference between breathing while asleep and breathing unconsciously, but close proximity makes that difference incredibly clear.

She was not asleep.

She simply closed her eyes and surrendered her senses to her body.

He glanced down at her.

Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the boat awning, falling on her silvery-white hair and coating each strand with a cold, silvery sheen. Her eyelashes were long, casting a small fan-shaped shadow on her lower eyelids when her eyes were closed. Her lips were slightly parted, revealing a sliver of pearly white teeth.

Her face was very red.

It wasn't the flush from drinking alcohol, but a warm red that emanated from deep within her skin, as if something was burning inside her, the flames seeping through her skin and turning into this pale, almost rose-colored red.

Bai Yu's hand had moved from her waist without her noticing.

It's not going up, and it's not going down.

It's to the side.

His palm touched the small patch of skin on her side that wasn't covered by any clothing. It was a very small patch, only about two fingers wide, but the sensation there made him almost forget to breathe.

smooth.

Warm and smooth.

Like pebbles washed by the sea for millions of years, every inch of them carries the perfect curves and warmth bestowed by nature.

His fingers lingered on that patch of skin for a long time.

No movement.

Just stopping.

But he could feel the veins in his fingertips throbbing, and with each heartbeat, more blood was being pumped to his fingertips, making them even hotter, so hot that he felt he might leave a finger-shaped red mark on her skin.

Mirajane did not speak.

But her fingers tightened around his waist.

It's not a rejection.

It was not an invitation.

It's an admission—an admission that she knew his hand was there, an admission that she didn't mind, an admission that she might even want him to continue.

Bai Yu's hand moved slowly.

It wasn't a conscious decision; the body reacted faster than the brain, like two magnets that, at close enough distance, finally overcame the resistance of static friction and came together with an irresistible force.

His hand slid from her waist to her back.

There was a large expanse of skin that was not covered by any clothing.

The boat continued to rock.

The sound of the waves is like a song without lyrics. Each wave is a sentence, and each sentence is different, but when all the sentences are put together, they are repeating the same thing.

The night wind had suddenly picked up.

It whistled through every crevice of the ship, making the moonlight flicker and the stars dim.

But none of them went out.

The stars are still in the sky.

The moonlight was still on the sea.

Everything is still there.

Mirajane made a very soft sound in his arms.

It is not words.

It can't even be considered a meaningful syllable.

It was just a variation of a sigh, an extension of a breath, a barely audible sound squeezed from the deepest part of the throat.

But that sound made Bai Yu's entire spine go numb.

It was like an electric current running from his tailbone up his spine, through the gaps between each vertebra, and finally disappearing in a place on the back of his head that even he himself couldn't locate.

His hand roamed over her back.

There was no clear route, no specific goal, only an almost instinctive desire to explore—to know what her skin looked like in the moonlight, to know if her body temperature could remain unchanged in the night breeze, to know if the feeling of her in his palm would change over time.

She moved.

She changed from nestled against his chest to looking up at him.

The moonlight fell directly on her face, illuminating all her expressions clearly.