Chapter 436: Obsessions

Nash had already seen a lot of weird reactions to him. Girls who blushed, guys who looked down to avoid his gaze, kids who screamed his name... but never anyone who looked at him like he’d just stepped out of a dimensional portal with a laser dildo.

The girl sitting on the step had her mouth open, red eyes, wet cheeks, and her notebook clutched so tightly against her chest it was probably crushing her ribs. She wasn’t moving anymore, barely breathing, then in short, faster and faster bursts, like an engine about to stall.

She was cute. Even in this state, that was the first thing you noticed. Long pink hair falling to the middle of her back, with a few strands stuck to her damp cheeks. Big bright eyes, too round for her fine face, a small nose reddened by tears, lips that trembled. She must have been about twenty, not much older, and she looked like the heroine of one of those shoujo mangas Jaz and Miko read, a ball of cuteness that had been thrown into the Hell of the Underground by mistake.

He’d seen a lot of things, but this, this thing, was clearly not a local from the Underground.

And once you got past the cuteness, the erotic bomb hit you. Under her open coat, a tight sweater and high-waisted jeans, so fitted they outlined every curve of her hips without her seeming the least bit aware of it. Her generous chest rose and fell with her panicked breathing. Nash made the effort to look back up at her face.

"Hey," Nash repeated. "You okay?"

"N-N-N..."

"N? No?"

"N-Nash... Blaze." Her voice came out in a high thin thread.

Nash blinked.

"Yeah, that’s me. I’m Nash."

She stood up all at once, tripped over her own shoe, and caught herself on the metal railing. Her notebook slipped from her hands and opened on the concrete, pages scattering, revealing dozens of notes written in pencil, arrows, stars, and in the middle of it all, circled three times in red, the word "magnificent."

Nash saw it, and she saw that he’d seen it.

A strange sound came from her throat, something between a squeak and a hiccup. In her head, everything was spinning at an insane speed.

It’s him! It’s really him! He’s here... Just here... Why? Why is he here?... He’s breathing... Oh crap... He’s here in flesh and sweat... Oh crap, crap, crap...

For months she’d been waiting for this moment. She’d rehearsed it in the shower, on the bus, in her bed, eyes on the ceiling. She’d prepared entire sentences.

- Good evening, Nash. Chloé, Juggernauts analyst. I’m a big admirer of your game. Composed, professional, with a small smile. She even had a plan B, more casual, with a joke about his rebound stats.

She’d watched every one of his matches. She knew his shots by heart, his fakes, the way he dropped his left shoulder before a drive. She had a whole binder on him, with colored tabs. She’d even drawn a little heart on the cover, then erased it out of shame, then redrawn it.

And now that he was here, right in front of her, nothing was left. Not a sentence, not a word, just a big ball of weirdness, and her own heart pounding against her ribs.

Is this the place? he thought.

He glanced at the corner of his vision, where the System interface still showed his countdown.

[Location reached]

[Target: 3 meters]

Three meters. And there was no one else here, except this weird girl hyperventilating at the foot of a lamppost.

So... it’s her.

Nash looked at her a second longer.

Her? Really?

This girl in tears, clutching a notebook like a life buoy, was the target. He took a small step forward, just to be sure. 2 meters 72 cm.

Yeah, no shit. It was her.

Okay. Do it gently.

He raised a hand, palm open, like approaching a stray cat.

"Hey. Sorry to bother you, hope I’m not scaring you?"

"N-No! Not at all!"

"Okay, good."

"Well, yes! But not you! I mean..."

She stopped, mouth open.

"Take your time," Nash said.

She nodded way too fast, twice too many. She was clearly not from around here; it wasn’t possible otherwise. She hadn’t been vaccinated by the Underground yet.

"I... I’m... my name is..." She put a hand on her chest; her fingers were shaking. "Chlo... Chloé. I’m Chloé. I work... well I’m... analyst, I... I..."

She was sucking in air faster and faster. Her shoulders rose and fell, and she was starting to go pale.

Say something smart. Anything. Say "good evening." Say "congratulations." Chloé, damn it, you speak four languages!

Her eyes started to sting. She wasn’t going to cry too. Not in front of him. Not now, after all this time waiting, preparing. But the more she tried to hold it back, the tighter her throat got.

He’s going to think I’m crazy. A ridiculous idiot who stutters. He’s going to say "good night" and leave.

She looked like a fish drowning, but weirdly, it wasn’t fear in her gaze, Nash could feel that. He took the two steps that separated them, without rushing, and put both hands on her shoulders. Firmly, without squeezing. He bent slightly to meet her eyes.

"Okay, Chloé, right? Look at me."

She froze.

"Breathe with me. Inhale."

She wasn’t moving at all anymore, mouth slightly open, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Inhale," he repeated in a low, calm voice. "Slowly. There. Now, exhale."

She obeyed. A trembling breath, then a second. Her eyes never left his, huge, wet, shining. He felt her shoulders gradually relax under his palms. They were slender, warm, a little shaky, and her pink hair brushed his hands with every breath. Her chest finally slowed its rise and fall.

"There. I don’t bite. It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s fine."

"Y-you..." She swallowed. "You touched me."

"Yeah.... So you’d breathe."

"You touched me.... Me."

".... Okay, sorry. I should’ve asked, but..."

"NO!"

The shout sent a rat running away. She slapped a hand over her mouth, turned red up to her ears, and stared at a point just beside his shoulder.

"No, it’s... it’s not that... it’s..." She closed her eyes. "Nothing. Sorry."

He touched me.... Omg. Omg, omg. He touched me. Nash put his hands on me. What do I say? Thank him? Apologize? Thank him AND apologize? Oh no.... I shouted no... what if he takes it wrong? I have to apologize... Aah wait, wait, stay calm. He touched you so you’d breathe. It’s medical. It’s purely medical. And his hands are still there... They’re still there!

Her cheeks burned, her big wet eyes darted everywhere without finding a place to land, and her fingers clung to her notebook like a life buoy.

"Chloé? You hear me?"

"Yes! Yes-yes-yes!"

She hadn’t heard a word.

And that’s when the System woke up.

[Trigger condition met: Initial contact with Target] [Rare Quest detected: "Dream Team I: The Eye of the League"]

Nash blinked.

[Objective: Reach 100% Affection, 100% Trust, and 100% Desire with Target: CHLOé WINCHESTER.]

[Reward: ???]

[Failure: ???]

He didn’t move. His hands stayed on the girl’s shoulders, and he kept smiling at her reassuringly, but behind that smile his brain was running full speed.

Okay, no doubt now. It’s her. But a hundred percent? All three stats?

He hadn’t expected this. He’d expected a tracking quest, a recruitment, or a score challenge. Not a girl he’d never seen in his life.

Who is this girl?

She didn’t look like a player. Not like an Underground citizen either. She looked like a good-family student, with her scribbled notebook and too-clean coat. And she’d almost fainted just from seeing him.

And the quest name, Dream Team? It had to be a player for sure.

The name didn’t ring a bell. In term of dream team, there were the prodigies, the generation of guys like Seth, like Snow, like Mirage. The best players in the league, split across rival teams, that he had to face one by one.

And in the middle of them, according to the System, there was a girl who didn’t even look like a player, but had something to do with some so-called dream team.

He thought back to the other quest. The one that had asked him to be friends with Aiko, Crown of a Leader. It had seemed weird at first. Ridiculous, even. An idol who hated him after seeing him pounding the oven with Sarra, and the System wanted him to get closer to her.

And in the end, that quest had given him an entire team. Girls who followed him with their eyes closed. Bonuses that covered everyone. He had almost his whole life here thanks to that.

If the System wants me to take care of her, she’s important. But seriously, who is she???

He still didn’t know why. But he felt it, in the little shiver running down his spine, the same sensation as before a big match.

He brought up her System while keeping his eyes on her face as she got some color back.

[TARGET STATUS VIEW : CHLOé WINCHESTER]

Affection: 34 %

Lust: 12 %

Trust: 6 %

Bond Sync: 0/5

[PREFERENCES]

Love Type: Soft & slow / Gentle possessiveness

Erotic Weakness: Soft compliments whispered in the ear, slow hands under the top, kisses on the neck, prolonged eye contact

Position Preference : Face-to-face, slow cowgirl, spooning

→ IN-SCENE TRIGGER EVENTS

→ Calm her physically with slow firm contact → +10 % Affection

→ Let her explain her analyses without interrupting → +8 % Affection, +5 % Trust

→ Concretely apply one of her ideas → +12 % Trust

→ Remember a detail she mentioned → +6 % Trust

→ Treat her as someone precious rather than just a body → +14 % Affection, +8 % Trust

→ Reduce her only to her body without emotional contact → –15 % Affection

→ Ignore her moments of silence or push her to talk → –10 % Trust

→ Put down Rain or the Falcons in front of her → –12 % Trust

→ RISK FACTOR: Chloé is emotionally confused. Fascinated by Nash, she fights this feeling because she fears betraying Rain, close friend of her teammate Snow. Her Affection will climb easily from Nash’s presence. Her Trust will be much harder to gain. Any attempt too fast will lock her in guilt.

Nash read the sheet little by little; everything became clear. More or less.

Rain.

The Shrimp King. The Falcons’ passer, the one Griffin treated like his shadow. He remembered the look of that guy who was famous enough to be, according to his girls, in Nash’s dimension in terms of passes.

So... she’s torn between me and him?

That explained a lot of things... Or not really. He still didn’t know who she was. What he did know was that he needed to raise her stats as fast as possible.

It was weird; given her reaction and her obsession, her affection should’ve been higher. Though, thinking about it, that simple word summed up the situation.

Obsession.

She didn’t feel affection, she felt obsession. Well, time to change that.

He kept his hand on her shoulder and swallowed a small smile.

Okay. Affection, that’ll come by itself. The rest...

[+10 % Affection (Calming contact)] [Affection : 44 %]

Oh? Ah, yeah... Physical contact, he thought.

"I..." Chloé said, her voice shaky. "I’m sorry. This... this isn’t at all how I wanted to meet you."

"How did you want to?"

"Like... with a classier outfit. And not crying on a sidewalk." She sniffled. "And having a pen."

Nash held back a laugh, too spontaneous to hide. She blushed even more.

"What’s going on with you, exactly?"

She told him everything out of order, stopping every three sentences to catch her breath, but Nash got the gist.

"I work for the Juggernauts," she said. "I’m their assistant. Their analyst, well, the analyst’s assistant, well... I do the stats."

"Okay, okay."

"We came for tonight’s match. It was the clash of the season, you get it? Colossus against you. Playoffs are coming too, and I wanted to see the competition up close. So, technically, I had a good reason to be there, right?"

"Of course," Nash nodded.

She clutched her notebook against her.

"And... it’s the first time I’ve been alone in the Underground. I didn’t dare tell Snow that this city scares me. But because I’m too dumb, I went to the fan zone alone for an autograph, and he... he ditched me..."

"He ditched you?"

"With reason... He was fed up, I was too stubborn." She sniffled. "And me, like an idiot, I left my bag on my seat. My phone, my wallet, my keys, my room card, my money. Everything. Everything’s somewhere buying a guy dinner."

She half-hid her face behind her notebook.

"I’m useless... I’m really stupid. An analyst who loses her bag, it’s ridiculous, right? I’m an idiot."

"Don’t insult yourself," Nash said.

"But..."

"Don’t insult yourself. It’s fine. You got pushed around by a crowd of ten thousand people who all wanted the same thing as you. It happens to everyone."

She looked at him over her notebook, eyes shining.

"... Has it happened to you?"

"I’m almost two meters, it’s gonna be very hard to push me around."

She let out a small laugh.

"So you can’t call anyone," Nash summarized. "You can’t pay any taxi. You can’t get back to the hotel."

"I don’t even know how to get there," she admitted. "I followed Snow by train."

"And your team?"

"They’re not here. Snow and I took our day off to come." She clutched her notebook. "He was right, you know. He told me not to go."

Nash ran a hand through his hair. Part of him just wanted to call her a taxi and pay the ride. The other part, the one that had read the quest, knew he wasn’t going to let her slip away like that.

I have to stay close to her. Establish real contact.

He thought of Victoria, the girls waiting for him at the mansion, the promised tsunami. He also thought about what it would cost to miss a quest of this level.

"Okay," he said. "Tonight, you’re not going home."

Chloé froze.

"Pardon?"

"It’s late, you have nothing on you, and your friend left. I’m going to find you a place to sleep, you’ll get your bag back first thing tomorrow from security. I’ll go with you."

"Y-you’re coming with me?"

"Yes."

"In a... a hotel?"

"A hotel. With two rooms," he added seeing her face turn red. "I’m not a monster."

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"Okay," she murmured in a tiny voice.

The hotel was ten minutes by taxi, a big glass and steel building with a lobby brighter than anything Chloé had seen outside the Spires.

The taxi dropped them at the entrance. Nash paid, got out, went around to open Chloé’s door, a real gentleman. She almost felt like a princess, putting one foot on the sidewalk and standing up in front of Nash.

At that moment a delivery truck came around the corner, drove straight through the big puddle that had been sitting in the gutter since a pipe burst, and sent the whole thing onto her.

Splash.

....

Nash and the taxi driver stared, mouths open.

Gray, greasy, warm water that smelled of frying, sewer, and old pizza had poured over Chloé from head to toe. Her long pink hair had become grayish strands stuck to her face, her tight jeans clung to every centimeter of her thighs and ass, her soaked sweater plastered her chest. She had kept her notebook clutched against her, under her coat, and it had miraculously survived.

"... Chloé?"

"I’m fine," she said in a tiny voice, lifting her head slightly with the simplest and most terrifying of smiles. A piece of something fell from her strand. "I think it came from a non-living being. Yay...."

Nash put a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

The receptionist, a man in a gray suit, welcomed them with a fake smile that froze slightly when he saw the young lady’s state, then widened noticeably when he recognized Nash’s face.

"M-Mr. Blaze!... Congratulations on your victory tonight."

"Thanks. I’d like a suite, with two separate rooms. And express laundry service for tomorrow morning."

"O-Of course." The receptionist glanced at Chloé, who was leaving a small puddle on the marble. "Does the young lady have ID?"

"She lost it. I’ll vouch for her."

"Very well."

Chloé watched all of it without understanding, like in a dream. She followed Nash half a step behind him, clutching her notebook, avoiding the eyes of people in the lobby, leaving behind a smell of frying, and thank God, she was relieved every second that it was frying. It had to come from a kitchen, it had to be something from a kitchen, very fresh.

She didn’t want to hear any other theory.

The suite was on the fifteenth floor. A big living room with a leather sofa, a bay window overlooking the city lights, a mini-bar, and two doors on each side leading to two bedrooms. Nash put his jacket on an armchair, opened the adjoining bathroom, ran the water, and came back.

"Bath. Right now."

"But my clothes..."

"You put everything in the basket behind the door. They’ll pick them up, wash them, you’ll have them tomorrow morning."

"I... I’m giving my..."

"You prefer to sleep like that?"

She sniffed her own sleeve, her face fell.

"... No," she murmured.

"Then go."

She disappeared into the bathroom with a little squeak. The door closed, the water stopped running.

"I have to make a call," Nash said to the closed door. "I’ll be back."

"O-okay!" she answered in a muffled voice.

He stepped out onto the balcony and slid the glass door shut behind him.

"Hello?"

It was Victoria’s voice, a little breathless. Behind her there was noise, laughter, Hina’s voice yelling something.

"It’s me."

"I know, it says on my screen. Where are you?"

"In a hotel."

"Pardon?"

Nash ran a hand over his face.

"Something came up. I can’t come back tonight."

A silence on the other end.

"I see," Victoria said, in a very cold voice. "A girl?"

"Yes. But it’s not what you think."

"I don’t think anything. I’m simply your woman. And the one who has to explain to Fourteen girls in euphoria why they won’t get their tsunami."

"Fourteen... Ah, Dahlia. Listen, it’s nothing serious. I’m on a lead."

"A lead?"

"For Blacklist’s future."

"Can you be more precise?"

"Not yet." He looked at the city lights. "I know it’s weird. But trust me on this one. I’m staying on the field, I’m not letting go. And if I’m not wrong, big things are coming for us."

She didn’t answer right away. He could picture her very well, brow furrowed, hand on her hip, weighing the pros and cons.

"Is this lead dangerous?"

"No."

"Is she pretty?"

"Victoria."

"I’m joking. Half." She sighed. "Okay. I trust you. I always trust you, even when you worry me."

"Thanks." He hesitated. "For the girls... I’m sorry. I promised them. Hina must be furious, Nia too."

"Zayela already asked if you were dead. Twice." He heard her smile again. "Don’t worry. I’ll find them a lie. A meeting with the sponsors, something boring and very serious. They’ll pout, but they’ll survive."

"I’ll make it up to them. Promise."

"I know. You’d better. Take care of yourself, Nash. I want you back tomorrow in one piece."

"I’ll be back, there’s really no danger."

"Good."

They became silent, but neither of them hung up for several seconds. Then Nash smiled.

"Ah, silly me. Love you, honey," he said.

There was a throat noise, very Victoria, like she’d choked and just checked that no one was listening.

"Get back to work, you filthy little rat... Sleep well, dear."

She hung up.

He stayed a moment looking at the lit city, phone in hand, a smile on his lips. Then he went back inside.

At about the same time, somewhere on the other side of the city, Snow was slumped in a taxi seat, hood up, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the window.

A few minutes ago, he was angry at Chloé, but now that he had time to cool down a little, he finally realized his mistake, and he couldn’t think about anything else.

She’s dumb, he told himself. She’s too dumb. I shouldn’t have left her alone.

He’d gone three hundred meters before realizing what he’d just done. He’d managed not to turn around out of pride. Then he’d ended up getting in the first taxi.

Chloé was a klutz. He’d known it since day one. A little upperworld bourgeois who’d learned life from books and stat sheets, who’d gotten desired by half the Underground because she didn’t know how to say no to people. And now this vulnerable erotic bomb was alone, for the first time, in a city where no one would see her more than what she was beneath her clothes.

All because she’s drooling over Blaze. I’m such an idiot.

He pulled out his phone and called.

It rang, rang again, for a few seconds. Then, he got the voicemail. He frowned, hung up, and called again.

It rang all the way through. Still no answer.

"Shit," he muttered.

He typed a quick message: Where are you? No reply. He waited two minutes, eyes glued to the screen. Nothing. There were two gray arrows, meaning it was received, but not yet opened.

The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, Snow was now sweating bullets. He stopped trying, stopped thinking. For the first time probably in years, he felt real fear.

"Where the fuck are you?" He murmured.