Blue Moon Resort: Lovers' Paradise
Located a full seven hours' drive from the Perfumrose Orphanage where Amon and Sonia lived, the Blue Moon Resort was a four-star hotel. As the name suggested, it targeted couples primarily. It was especially popular among those proposing, newlyweds, or having affairs. Amon and Sonia were heading to this lovers' holy site.
One might wonder how two mere orphans could afford such a place, but it was thanks to the boundless generosity of the Squinty Priest. "Thank you, Father."
The original plan had been to smash open their piggy bank for a modest resort trip, but his support upgraded their destination. He even offered to drive them there himself, and once at the resort, Vatican holy knights would escort them. Sonia had been wary of his overly generous favor, but Amon gratefully accepted it. In his eyes, there was ample reason behind the priest's kindness.
'Was it that obvious?'
When Amon had voiced his unease about the Hickzen Group under the guise of confession, the priest immediately requested Vatican holy knights. Before Amon could even mention converting to the Vatican, the priest had intuited their intentions from the mere keyword "fear." To an outsider, it might seem lavish, but to those affiliated with the Vatican, it was shrewd calculation. 'Always so sharp. Can't let my guard down around him.'
His mask of affable kindness occasionally slipped to reveal a keen edge—he was no ordinary priest. But that very nature made him reliable now. Consistency in calculation meant dependability. Securing two divine power users at once made reserving a four-star hotel and providing knight escorts a sound investment.
Thus, Amon trusted the priest—or rather, the Vatican's logic and the current situation. Sonia, however, seemed full of complaints.
Perhaps wary of the priest at the wheel overhearing, she sent a text.
Amon could only manage a wry smile at her whining. He understood her disappointment. For her, a cheap resort alone together would be far more fun than a four-star hotel funded by the priest. He got it a hundred times over. But heading off just the two of them would invite kidnapping by Hickzen Group mercenaries without surprise.
So he silently endured her sulking and soothed her.
He fielded her complaints, arriving every ten minutes, with bland assurances, wry smile intact. 'Dodged a bullet.'
He'd worried how to cheer up her deflated mood, but the Vatican graciously intervened. 'Vatican might be decent after all.'
Amon disliked the Vatican too, but it was the lesser evil. They wouldn't sacrifice people and protected their own reliably. This trip hinged on that. Even if Hickzen went mad and attacked, the accompanying holy knights could handle it.
Bonus calculation: maybe Sonia's favor toward her Vatican benefactors would tick up after a fun hotel stay.
Whoosh.
Lost in thought, Amon felt Sonia's fingers tickle the back of his hand from an angle hidden from the priest's rearview. He intertwined his fingers with hers in playful response. Their hand games continued awhile, resuming with texts when boredom set in. When Sonia dozed off from exhaustion, Amon followed suit.
The priest cast a warm gaze at the sleeping pair in the quiet car. When they awoke, they'd arrived at the resort.
The Blue Moon Resort offered two main courses: Summer Season and Winter Season. Colorado, where the resort sat, sweltered in summer and dumped snow that'd make you curse in winter—perfect for it.
Summer featured pool swimming out front or fishing in the artificial lake. Winter offered skiing on the mountain behind. Prices fluctuated by season. You could pick Winter in summer, but pay for artificial snow in the heat. Summer in winter meant warming the pool and blocking snow—at a cost.
Surprisingly, off-season packages had sustained the resort for decades. Thanks to nouveau riche too timid for elite hotels and influencers.
Amon never dreamed they'd experience one.
"Whoa... a pool in winter..."
Money's power was mighty. A greenhouse mimicked summer temps, refraction barriers conjured sunlight. Across the boundary dividing courses, ski-clad folks shivered enviously. A moment's lapse, and superiority would intoxicate.
'Snap out of it, Amon. You're not here 'cause you're special.'
He scolded himself, suppressing the budding chosen-one urge. Experiencing it explained the parvenus and influencers. In a city where death equalized all, this thrill was rare, addictive, rewarding—not mere vanity.
But Amon couldn't indulge. To him, all were children of the same Mother, his siblings. Superiority insulted Her will.
Waiting for Sonia in the changing room, he bowed his head, crossing himself repeatedly over his bare cardigan. Passing guests eyed him oddly. Nosy women gossiped behind his back.
"New fashion? Shirt and hat at the pool."
"Religious? He's been doing weird gestures."
"Like that Middle Eastern headscarf?"
"Hijab? But he's a guy?"
"Maybe not."
Gender swaps and androgyny weren't rare in cyberpunk. Even these "women" might not be. Their chat was harmless American banter.
But Amon's software was 21st-century Korean propriety. Cardigan and hat stemmed from ingrained habits, hard to shake despite looks. He'd stuck to this style even before the priest, who found it odd.
'Damn. How do I deal with the embarrassment.'
Ignoring his circumstances, their whispers irked. Intellectually, he knew it was cultural; emotionally, it rankled. (Honestly, the gender speculation stung most, fashion be damned.)
To correct them, Amon hardened his face and turned. Meeting their eyes to retort—
"Gasp..!"
They gasped, silencing him. 'What?'
Wondering if he'd scowled, he softened. They squealed dramatically, phones out, approaching.
"Oh my, are you a FacesTok star? We had no idea."
"No? I don't do SNS."
Far from a star, Amon avoided social media. He replied curtly, awkwardly. But they giggled, pressing on.
"Model shoot then?"
"No."
Too leap from his outfit, but his face justified it. Unfamiliar with flattery, it burdened him. 'Model? I'm an orphan kid.'
He nearly quipped back but held his tongue. Their questions barraged. Every curt answer drew positive laughs.
Soon: "Got a lover?"
'Uh oh...'
Amon had none—or did he? No situation to say so bluntly. "No" invites "How about us?"—awkward rejection ahead. High difficulty for Korean Amon. Rejection seemed simple, but hunting was his first. Always Sonia beside him, or folks who knew.
'Right, Sonia.'
He recalled her. Lie she's his girlfriend? Tempting. But... 'Would she play along?'
Unprecedented. Even best friends might find pretending rude. He hesitated.
His quandary resolved by the source.
"Honey, what's going on?"
Her cheerful voice lit his face; he turned, words ready to cue her. But seeing her vaporized them.
White one-piece swimsuit near her silver hair. Modest, covering navel per her dislike—but some pervert designer outlined it perfectly. Healthy thighs below curvaceous hips. Yet paling all: 'Boo... Booba...'
Motherhood's symbol, divinity's font. What else sourced divine power? Loose clothes had undersold her size; the suit hit hard.
'Designer bastard... whoever you are, respect.'
Veil of beauty learned today. Gazing, Amon let his heart race. At 18, packing to leave the orphanage soon, this was fine.
'My childhood friend was this stacked...'
Grateful for Goddess-matched(?) bond. Devout believer, yet man. No doctrine forbade male attraction to females—Goddess-endorsed.
"What do you think is the reason I created women and men separately?"
His pounding heart was doctrinally fine. 'Right. What was I gonna say?'
Her dress blanked his mind white; Booba wallpapered it now. Transcendent reason barely censored output; slip, and it'd spill.
Sonia savored his gaze body-wide. Others' stares leaving the changing room disgusted; his brought bliss, fulfillment. She'd show privately if asked.
His eyes hit her updo, pinned with his gift. Awkwardly: "Yeah, darling. You brought the pin?"
Darling! Pride swelled her chest! Will surged!
Emboldened, she swayed hips to his side, arm-linking to press her prized assets—lately glued to them—against his arm. They squished. His arm stiffened.
NerdTube said guys tense biceps when crushes touch arms. Amon matched.
'Tell him to flex?'
But taboo—guys flex till muscles burst. Her mischief capped; she itched to ditch interlopers for fun with him.
Feigning sudden notice: "Oh, sorry. Were we interrupting?"
Mine's. She glared.
But no jealousy—admiration gleamed back.
"No, no! You have a partner. Didn't realize."
"We'll leave you two!"
"Have a lovely romance!"
They fled. Jealousy needs peers; overwhelming disparity bred envy-free awe.
Not displeased by their cheers, Sonia's lips curved faintly. Then, seductive smile from some book, gazing up: "Shall we?"
Where unspoken. Amon, size belying, yielded to her hand: "Yeah."
His mind brimmed with anthems corralling his stirring junior.
Seize opportunity or lose it. Sonia knew best.
Amon's first carnal interest in her was prime attack window. Thus, shameless acts: pressing breasts en route to pool, hip-bumping hips, breath on ear when speaking.
Strategy aced. His stiffening transmitted via arm.
Next: 'Into the pool like this...'
Splash, feign loose pin, re-updo exposing armpits—heart strike.
But pool entry shattered it.
Splash!
Shoved in by Sonia, Amon surfaced laughing (hating to refuse). Hat gone.
Unveiled looks. Slicking wet hair back nailed her tastes.
'This my type?'
Dripping locks. Sheer cardigan revealing sculpted muscles. Downplayed jawline, eyes now sharp, hair swept.
'That's... a weapon...'
Ravaging women, applauded by men. Pool hushed post-exit.
Sonia, locking eyes, reeled. Brain shorted. Plans erased; capacity burned imprinting jaw, abs. Spare maintained her usual self for him.
No bandwidth for schemes.
While she blanked, Amon fared no better. Unrecognized daily Sonia thrilled him. No returning to platonic—instinct screamed.