[MashUp] Ch 7: My Half-Russian Neighbor-chan~

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Morning

Sunlight pierced through the curtains, spilling across Mafuyu Kirisu's long lashes.

Her eyes opened slowly.

Deep inside, her body was sore, achingly full, the kind of exhaustion that made her not want to lift even a finger.

Their second night already.

Her gaze drifted downward, landing on the crumpled silk lying abandoned on the floor. Silent evidence of last night's shameful "surrender."

Her cheeks flushed.

But unlike yesterday, she didn't panic, didn't rage.

Instead, something murkier, harder to define, had taken root. An unspoken acceptance.

Mafuyu Kirisu… was she starting to yield?

She threw back the covers and forced herself out of bed, ignoring the way her body protested.

...

In the kitchen, Takuma's familiar back was already busy at work.

The smell of toast and fried eggs lingered in the warm air.

So ordinary. So good.

Mafuyu pressed her lips together and walked past him without a word, straight to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, then quietly sat at the table. Like it was natural. Like this was routine.

Takuma set down a plate before her—a perfect sunny-side up egg, crisp bacon.

"Here."

"…Mm."

Barely audible, the sound slipped from her throat. She picked up knife and fork, nibbling small bites.

The warmth of the food anchored her restless mind.

When breakfast was done, she rose to leave.

At the door, swapping into her shoes, Takuma's voice reached her from behind. "Don't wear heels today. You'll feel it when you walk."

Her body stiffened. Last night's images surged back in an instant, scalding her cheeks crimson.

Yet she didn't argue. For once, she only bent down and pulled out flats from the cabinet.

The next second, the faint scent of bread wrapped around her as his lips brushed her cheek, light and casual.

"Take care, Mafuyu."

Not Sensei. But Mafuyu.

Her mind blanked. She yanked the door open and bolted like she was escaping.

Bang.

The door slammed shut.

In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, panting. Her hand rose unconsciously to touch her cheek. The heat lingered there, stubborn and vivid.

And then—without even realizing—it curved her lips into a small, fragile smile.

…

Inside, Takuma smiled too.

Watching her slip from resistance into something far sweeter was… satisfying.

At that moment, a familiar glow flickered in his mind.

[Host has remained at current residence for over 24 hours. EXP +1.]

[Housekeeping Template Lv.1 (1/1) has maxed out.]

[Upgrading skill…]

[Congratulations! You've obtained the god-tier life skill: Housekeeping Template Lv.2 (0/1).]

Takuma's world sharpened in an instant.

Heightened senses were just the surface.

What truly changed was the instinct. A natural grasp of physics itself: leverage, balance, efficiency.

Cleaning, cooking, organizing—at their core, all household tasks boiled down to matter being broken down and rebuilt.

With Lv.2, mastery over those forces now sat in his hands like second nature.

…

Half an hour later.

Thud!

A heavy crash echoed from below, followed by raised voices.

Takuma stepped to the window and looked down.

A moving truck was parked outside. Movers stood arguing with a girl.

A girl with dazzling silver hair and snow-white skin.

"Sorry, miss." One of the movers sighed.

"The contract says delivery only. Upstairs carrying service isn't included."

Her Japanese carried a faint foreign lilt, frustration sharpening her words.

"This is absurd!"

Emotion spilled over and, without meaning to, she snapped in Russian—voice breaking.

"Blín..." (Dammit...)

(A/N: So 'Dammit' or 'блин' in Russian is pronounced "Blin". I'll be writing what you would actually hear instead of the Cyrillic, similar to how you watch anime, so you can better imagine Alya's voice. At the end of each chapter, I'll add a little trivia section with the Russian words in their original writing for reference.)

"Blin? What does this mean?" One of the movers muttered.

Red-faced, the girl went back to Japanese. "But how am I supposed to carry all this alone?"

"That's your problem, not ours!" The movers shrugged, unmoved.

Her protest, for all its fire, ended like a one-sided performance.

"Enjoy your new home," their supervisor said flatly, bowing out of rote politeness before piling back into the truck.

Leaving the silver-haired girl alone, surrounded by towers of boxes marked fragile.

"Nice."

Takuma didn't budge. He had no intention of going down. Instead, he leaned on the window frame, amused, as if watching a silent comedy.

The girl finally moved.

She went to a half-height box and clumsily tried to lift it. Wrong leverage, no balance—she wasted more strength than she used.

"Urgh…!"

Her delicate face flushed red with the effort. The box barely scraped an inch.

Realizing her mistake, she switched tactics, dragging it inch by inch toward the elevator.

Ten exhausting minutes later, she got it inside.

The elevator doors closed on her victory.

"Not bad~"

Takuma chuckled.

A proud one, this neighbor. Too proud to ask anyone for help, too stubborn to bend. Even if it meant humiliating herself in the process.

Interesting.

…

A faint shh, shh sound drew closer in the hallway outside his own apartment.

It stopped at the unit right next door.

Thump.

Something heavy leaned hard against the shared wall.

Takuma's smile froze.

So. The silver-haired girl… was moving in next door.

Minutes later, her door opened again.

Unsteady footsteps, ragged breathing—heading back toward the elevator. Another trip.

Ding.

The elevator arrived.

She pressed the button for the first floor, stepping inside with unsteady legs.

Just before the doors locked—

A hand slid into the gap, casually pressing the sensor.

The doors sprang open.

She startled, looking up.

A boy stood there, simple black hoodie, casual pants. His silver hair glowed like moonlight under the corridor lights. His face—unreal, almost sculpted.

Their eyes met.

The girl's cheeks blazed hot, all too aware of her messy bangs and sweat-soaked forehead. She whipped her head aside, hiding her face.

A whisper slipped from her lips in Russian, quiet and mortified.

"Kakóy krasívyy…" (So handsome…) 

Takuma didn't understand, but he stepped in, standing calmly at her side.

His sharpened senses told him all he needed: her strength was nearly gone. One more trip and she'd collapse.

Silence hung in the tight space, broken only by her uneven breathing.

She tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear, a tiny motion to mask the pounding of her heart.

Time crawled.

Ding.

The doors slid open on the ground floor.

She darted out like prey escaping a predator, hurrying back to her boxes without once glancing behind.

Another huge carton waited. She braced herself, biting down, ready to wrestle with it.

Then—

A hand appeared on the corner of the box. A low chuckle brushed her ear.

"Keep this up and your pretty arms will end up in tears."

She froze.

And then, impossibly—the massive box rose. Straight up.

She stared wide-eyed.

Takuma stood calm, one hand under the crate, posture effortless, every line of his body perfectly aligned with the weight.

Her blue eyes rounded, lips parting in disbelief.

Where she had flailed and sweated, he stood elegant, composed. Her struggle made ridiculous by his ease.

Not brute strength. Something deeper. Mastery of force itself.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Words tumbled out in Russian, trembling.

"Kakóy sil'nyy…" (So strong…)

He set the box neatly at the elevator doors, then turned, finally meeting her stunned gaze.

His smile was faint, teasing. "Buy me lunch. Consider it payment."

Alisa Mikhailovna Kujou's admiration snapped like a brittle string.

"Huh?!"

Her face flared red with anger and shame.

"You—help out a little and suddenly want payment?!"

"And I didn't ask you to help me!"

Takuma only laughed, amused. He stepped closer, his presence closing in.

"Oh?"

"So what you're saying is— I work, you benefit. You take advantage, and don't want to pay?"

His voice dropped, low and pointed.

"Neighbor-chan, doesn't that sound like… freeloading?"

The word hit like a spark to dry tinder.

Alisa's pale face flushed crimson, heat spreading all the way to her ears. She stumbled back a half-step, eyes wide, flustered.

Russian spilled from her lips, unbidden, trembling.

"Náglyy úblyudok!" (Shameless bastard!)

The air stilled.

Takuma's smile deepened. He didn't know the word, but her tone told him enough.

He advanced leisurely.

"What was that, neighbor-chan? What did you just say?"

Alisa's heart stuttered.

She forced herself upright, lifting her chin, feigning calm.

"Nahh It's nothing"

Her voice came out soft, almost sing-song, lips curling in the faintest mocking smile.

"I was just complimenting you. You're such a… 'principled' gentleman."

She leaned on the word principled, but the tiny twitch of her brows betrayed her, making the act more adorable than convincing.

.

.

. 

Trivia:

- Kakóy krasívyy → Какой красивый

- Kakóy sil'nyy → Какой сильный

- Náglyy úblyudok → Наглый ублюдок