Kenta stood in the cobblestone alley, swallowing hard. The strange, minty tingle still coated his throat. He cleared it once, testing the sound. It felt different-richer, deeper, carrying a subtle, vibrating resonance in his chest that hadn't been there a minute ago.
He picked up the heavy wooden bucket of Emily's milk. He didn't go to a new house. He marched directly back up the street, zeroing in on a specific cottage with a small, slightly overgrown garden.
It was the house of the exhausted housewife holding the crying toddler. The one who had been too terrified of Madame Valerie to even take a free sample.
Kenta walked up the wooden steps and knocked firmly on the door.
A moment later, the door creaked open. The toddler was no longer on her hip, probably put down for a nap, but the woman looked even more exhausted than before.
Elara She had a wonderfully sweet, calm face, framed by messy chestnut hair that clung to her damp forehead. She was wearing a simple, worn-out brown dress that did an absolutely terrible job of hiding her incredibly lush, curvy figure. Her breasts were genuinely huge, resting heavily against the tight bodice of the dress. A bead of sweat trickled slowly down her slender neck, sliding over her collarbone and disappearing into the deep, shadowy valley of her cleavage.
When Elara saw Kenta standing there with his bucket, her sweet face instantly morphed into an angry, stressed scowl.
"You again?" she hissed in a harsh whisper, gripping the doorframe tightly. "I told you to leave! I don't want your milk! If Valerie's girls see you standing on my porch-"
"I know, miss," Kenta interrupted.
The moment the words left his lips, the air around them seemed to shift. Kenta's voice didn't just exit his mouth; it vibrated. It possessed a low, hypnotic, almost purring frequency-the Lesser Incubus Whispers.
Elara froze. The angry rant died in her throat.
She didn't know what was happening, but the sound of his voice hit her like a physical wave of heat. A sudden, intense shiver ran down her spine. Beneath the rough fabric of her dress, her huge breasts suddenly felt incredibly heavy and painfully sensitive. Her nipples, previously soft, instantly contracted into hard, aching peaks that strained against her bodice. A deep, wet throb pulsed between her thighs.
Her eyes widened in sheer confusion. She was a married, respectable woman, but simply hearing this stranger say three words had just aroused her body to the point of trembling.
Kenta noticed her breath hitch. He saw her pupils dilate. The System wasn't lying. The magic was working perfectly.
"I will not force you to buy it," Kenta continued, his voice wrapping around her mind like warm silk. He stepped a fraction of an inch closer, holding her gaze. "I am just here to give it to you for free."
Elara blinked, her anger completely replaced by a sudden, dizzying infatuation. She looked at his dark eyes, suddenly noticing how handsome he was. How broad his shoulders were.
"F-free?" she stammered, her voice breathless and weak. "Why? You... you will bear a terrible loss if you do that."
Kenta offered a warm, incredibly charming smile. It was a weaponized expression.
"Because I saw you earlier," Kenta purred, his hypnotic voice effortlessly bypassing all her logical defenses. "I saw how hard you were working, doing the house chores, taking care of the child all by yourself. You are so hardworking. And looking at you... it feels like no one appreciates the hard work of a woman as beautiful as you."
Elara's breath hitched again. A massive, furious blush exploded across her cheeks, turning her face bright red. No one had called her beautiful in years. Her husband was a brute who worked at the lumber mill and only ever demanded dinner and silence when he came home.
"Take this as a gift from me," Kenta whispered, lowering his bucket slightly. "I know you won't buy it, because you're scared of the syndicate. But at least take it. You deserve something sweet."
Elara's mind was swimming. The rational part of her brain-the part terrified of Madame Valerie-was completely silenced by the overwhelming, magical crush the Incubus skill had instantly implanted in her chest. She wanted to please him. She wanted to hear him speak again.
"I... I can take some," Elara agreed, her voice trembling with an eager, submissive undertone. "Wait here. Let me... let me get a pot."
She practically ran into the house, her wide hips swaying heavily, and returned a moment later with a large, clean clay pot.
Kenta lifted the heavy wooden bucket. He carefully tilted it, letting the thick, vanilla-scented white milk pour into her clay pot in a smooth, creamy waterfall. The rich, intoxicating aroma of Emily's magical milk filled the space between them.
As he poured, Kenta kept his eyes locked on her flushed face, occasionally letting his gaze drop to her massive, heaving cleavage.
"You really are stunning, you know," Kenta murmured smoothly, the Incubus frequency vibrating in his chest. "That dress doesn't do your gorgeous figure any justice."
Elara practically melted against the doorframe. Her knees felt weak. The intense, aching arousal in her chest and between her legs was driving her crazy. She clutched the clay pot tightly as the heavy milk splashed inside.
"I... I am actually married," she whispered, a weak, pathetic attempt to defend her honor, though her eyes were practically begging him to keep talking.
Kenta chuckled-a dark, velvety sound that made her heart race. He didn't even acknowledge the husband.
"If you love this milk, Elara," Kenta said, guessing her name wasn't important, just the connection. "I request that you share a little bit of it with your friends in the village. The other women. It would be a great help to me."
He finished pouring, having given her nearly a quarter of his precious supply. He pulled the bucket back and placed the wooden lid on top.
"Thank you for your time, beautiful," Kenta said, taking a step backward down the porch stairs. "Now, I have to go."
Elara panicked. The thought of him leaving, of taking that intoxicating voice away, felt like physical withdrawal.
"Go?" she gasped, stepping out onto the porch, clutching the pot of heavy milk to her massive breasts. "So... so you will come back every morning, right?"
Kenta stopped on the bottom step. He perfectly executed a look of deep, vulnerable sadness, letting his shoulders slump.
"I can't say for sure," Kenta sighed, his hypnotic voice laced with tragedy. "If my business is finished because no one will buy my milk... I don't think I will be able to return. I might have to leave the village forever. But... thanks for asking."
Elara's heart shattered. The magical infatuation in her mind screamed at the thought of him failing, of him leaving.
She stood there, absolutely speechless, her chest heaving as she stared at him. She wanted to beg him to stay. She wanted to promise him she would buy his milk, Valerie's wrath be damned.
But before she could find her voice, Kenta offered her one last, devastatingly charming smile, turned on his heel, and walked away down the cobblestone street.
As he turned the corner, out of her sight, the vulnerable, sad expression instantly vanished from Kenta's face. A dark, victorious smirk replaced it.
Hook, line, and sinker, Kenta thought, looking down at his bucket. Once she tastes that milk, and once the other lonely housewives taste it... Madame Valerie won't know what hit her.