Mika could feel it, the way Yelena's body quivered in his arms, hot enough that she seemed to be steaming, as though he was hugging a living furnace.

Her cheek pressed into his shoulder, her breath shaky and uneven, and he swore he could feel the frantic drum of her heartbeat through her chest against his.

He'd seen her flustered before, embarrassed when teased or frustrated when provoked, but this was something entirely different.

This was deeper. Her body trembled, her skin burned, and she clung to him as though his words alone had stripped her of all composure.

And for Mika, that realization made something coil in his chest with dangerous satisfaction.

'This is it. The first step. She's not looking at me like a boy anymore...she's seeing me as a man.'

But there was a problem. He wanted, desperately, to move the conversation toward her body, the part of her that she was most insecure about.

Yet, seeing how fragile she was at this very moment, he knew that if he pushed too soon, Yelena would run—literally scramble away, leaving the belly chain, leaving him with nothing but the memory of how close he came.

He couldn't let that happen...He needed to tread carefully.

But to his surprise, the lifeline he was searching for came not from his own thoughts, but from Yelena herself.

Still nestled into his shoulder, voice muffled but steadying, she murmured something that froze him.

"You said a lot of nice things about my face, Mika…" She hesitated, her tone casual, though Mika could hear the faint edge of nerves under it. "…but it would also be very nice if you said such nice things about my figure too, I guess."

Mika blinked. For a second, he wondered if he'd heard her wrong. His chest tightened, his thoughts sharpened like lightning.

Slowly, he tilted his head down, trying to read her expression. "...What do you mean, Yelena?"

She didn't look up at him at first. Her lips curled into a rueful little smile as she drew back just enough to meet his eyes, sweaty, flushed, yet calmer than she had been moments ago.

"I mean, I appreciate everything you said, Mika. Truly. Every word of it. From now on, when I walk out in public, I'll feel like a new woman. I'll stand tall, because I'll remember what you said about my face."

Her voice softened then, almost wistful, and her gaze dropped again.

"But not everyone looks only at the face. Men, women, anyone...they look at the body, too. They judge it. And that's where it hurts most, Mika. That's where a woman feels most vulnerable as she grows older. My body…" She exhaled faintly. "...my body is what I've been most insecure about."

"So, that's why I thought it would've been nice...if even a fraction of the compliments you gave my face could be given to the rest of me. To my figure."

She let out a small laugh, trying to disguise the ache in her words as she patted his chest lightly.

"But now I'm asking too much, aren't I? You already went overboard with my face, and now here I am, greedy for more. That's just who I am, Mika. Always wanting more."

She expected him to sigh, to tease her, maybe even agree that she was being ridiculous.

But when her eyes flickered back to his face, she was stunned to find him staring at her with a bright, almost jubilant grin, a knowing look dancing in his eyes.

He wasn't dismissing her. He wasn't even pretending. He was waiting, itching, like he had something ready to say.

The exact same look he'd had before he started praising her face.

Her stomach dropped. No...No way. Her cheeks flushed hot again, panic sparking in her chest as she shook her head, stammering.

"No...no, Mika, don't you dare. That's impossible. You can't actually—"

But he didn't answer. He just kept smiling, leaning closer, gaze locked onto her as if daring her to believe him.

"Mika, seriously, stop!" She blurted, her words tumbling over themselves in panic. "It doesn't make sense. My face is one thing, any son could appreciate his mother's face. That's fine. But my body—"

She swallowed hard, heat crawling up her throat.

"That's different. That's wrong...You can't possibly mean—"

"Oh, but I do, Yelena." He cut in smoothly, grin widening, eyes gleaming with unshakable certainty. "You don't understand, Yelena. You have no idea just how fondly I think of your body, and how perfect I actually find it."

Her breath caught like she'd been struck.

"Mika...W-What are you saying?" Her voice cracked with disbelief, trembling as she clutched at his shirt. "You—You can't say something like that to me...you can't!"

But her panic only deepened when she saw it in his face, there wasn't a trace of mockery, not a flicker of a lie. Mika meant every single word.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Mika also watched her, watched the way her trembling hands clutched at his shirt, the way her eyes darted away in disbelief as if she could hide from the weight of his words.

But he didn't falter. Not even once. He let her fluster spill out, let her stammer and panic, before finally exhaling a quiet breath and speaking in a calm, steady voice.

"Yelena...calm down. It's not what you think."

She froze at that, still clutching his shirt, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. He then leaned in just slightly, lowering his tone so that each word brushed against her ears with measured care.

"Listen to me carefully. You're imagining the wrong thing. I'm not saying I'm crossing some line. I'm not saying I look at you the way you fear I do."

"...What I am saying is simple: I admire your body. I respect it. I appreciate it."

Her eyes flickered up at him, confused, desperate, searching for some crack in his composure. "What do you mean by that, Mika?" She whispered, almost afraid of the answer.

He leaned back a little, giving her space, though his hand stayed firmly at her waist, grounding her.

"Let me explain...Think of a painting in a museum."

"Let's say it's made by a famous painter. But that painter also has haters, people who despise him. So every time he creates something, those haters scoff, call it garbage, dismiss it without a second glance."

"They've already made up their minds about him. Doesn't matter what he paints...They hate the name on the plaque more than they care about the art itself."

Yelena blinked, uncertain, but her lips parted faintly as she tried to follow along.

"Now..." Mika continued, his voice smooth, patient, almost coaxing. "Let's say one of those haters walks into a museum one day. They see a painting, new, brilliant, breathtaking. They don't look at the plaque, they don't see the name. They only see the art itself...And for the first time, they're struck silent."

"They realize it's...beautiful. Not just beautiful, but something that takes their breath away. Something they didn't think could even exist. They're enthralled. Completely captivated."

"And they wonder who the genius behind it is. So they look down at the plaque...and discover it's by the very painter they've spent their whole life mocking."

Yelena's breath caught, her fingers tightening on his shirt. Her lashes trembled.

She already knew where this was going, but her heart hammered wildly, resisting the truth that was about to come out of his mouth.

Mika leaned closer, eyes never leaving hers, his tone now sharper as he said,

"And in that moment, they're forced to ask themselves, did I really hate his work?...Or did I just hate the name on it?"

"Did I ever look at the painting for what it truly was?...Or was I blinded by my own assumptions?"

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

"That's exactly what I realized with you, Yelena."

Mika said, his voice low, steady, piercing straight through her.

"For years, I saw the title first. The caring women who raised me from birth. The gentle lady who sacrificed her sleep to rock me in my cradle when I cried at night as baby...The women who is the closest thing I have to a mother."

"I looked at that plaque, that label, and I told myself what I should and shouldn't feel. What I should and shouldn't say...I let the title blind me. And so I ignored the obvious."

His grip on her waist tightened just slightly, pulling her closer, making her shiver.

"But the moment I stripped those titles away, and I looked at you as nothing but a woman...I finally saw it."

"I saw the truth that's been right in front of me all along. That your body, your figure, isn't just fine. It isn't just passable...It's perfect. Perfect in a way that makes my chest ache just looking at you."

"...Perfect in a way that demands to be admired."

Yelena's whole body went rigid. Her breathing hitched, shallow, trembling. She shook her head faintly, unable to handle the gravity in his eyes.

"Mika...stop...don't, "

But he didn't stop. His tone grew even more intense, his words heavier, relentless.

"If another woman had your body, the exact same figure, you know what I'd do? I'd fall in love with it instantly...Without hesitation. Because that's how flawless it is. And I'm telling you right now, without shame, without hesitation, Yelena, I was already enamoured by it with it long ago."

Her eyes widened in shock, her lips trembling as she whispered hoarsely.

"M-Mika...are you serious?"

He didn't hesitate. Didn't blink. His voice was sharp as steel.

"Dead serious."

Yelena's lips trembled. She didn't know what to say, didn't even know how to think. Her whole mind felt scrambled, the world spinning as if it was trying to tilt her off-balance.

And yet, even in that daze, her voice slipped out, small and trembling, because she had to know:

"S-Since when...Mika? Since when did you realize...that you looked at me like that? That you appreciated my...my body in such a manner? D-Do you...do you even remember when it happened?"

Her words quivered out of her throat like she was afraid of the answer.

But at the same part there was some part of her hidden deep inside of her that wanted to know more about how the boy she loved as her son started to look at her differently...