Pink City and the Breathless Couple – What Happens Alone in the Lovers' Sanctuary?
In Pink City, a boy and girl had shared their breaths. And now, the two of them were alone in a suite at the hotel known as the lovers' holy site. So, what might unfold between them?
"Sleep well, Sonia?"
"Mmmph..."
Amon, who had risen early for dawn prayers as was his routine, stepped out of the shower and asked Sonia. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and grumbled in response. Unlike Amon, who slept and woke early thanks to his devotions, Sonia was weak in the mornings. Morning sunlight bathed her tousled hair and drowsy expression like a spotlight.
The morning after the two had become lovers. The pajamas Sonia wore were cute animal ones. No mistake—they were genuinely animal pajamas. Not nude, not lingerie or a swimsuit, nothing disheveled, nothing easy to remove: just comfortable, cozy sleepwear with zero seductive function.
Even though the young man and woman had evolved into lovers and were alone in the room, nothing "historical" had happened between them. The reasons were varied. First, as devout believers, they valued premarital chastity. But it wasn't just faith. If a child came unexpectedly, they lacked confidence in raising it properly. No parents, no backing, no wealth or home. An unplanned pregnancy could derail their lives catastrophically.
Besides, both had been abandoned by their parents and carried those scars. They wanted to give their own child better than they'd received. So they had to be cautious.
'At least we need a safe home and steady income first.' Until then, they both had to hold back.
But they didn't mind much. They were young, barely months into adulthood. No need to rush.
-There are plenty of other ways to confirm our love!
Sonia had said that too, pulling out her cute pajamas. And so they greeted a peaceful morning. Except this one was a little different from usual. To the newly minted couple, everything was utterly beautiful. The resort's second sunrise, the ordinary breakfast, the poolside view no different from yesterday—all felt fresh and joyful.
Unlike before, they now played happily at the pool as true lovers. A pink aura flowed between them. The sight of the genuinely blissful, handsome pair drew everyone's gaze. Before long, they were the stars of the pool.
Influencers vacationing at the resort snapped photos of the stunning duo and shared them on SNS. One megacorp's image-searching AI flagged them.
> [Target found.]
At Hickzen Group headquarters, in his office, the executive who had posed as an inspector at the orphanage received the report projected there. A cigar in one hand, the other kneading the rear of a woman in flashy clothes.
He paused his groping, waved her out with a gesture. Gone was the polite demeanor from the orphanage; only arrogance remained.
The haughty executive stubbed out his cigar and grumbled, "Damn religious zealots. Hid 'em good."
He tossed the half-smoked butt in the trash, crossed his legs smugly, and mentally replied to the report.
"Prepare the special task force."
"I'll handle it. Move out."
> [Affirmative!]
The moment comms cut, he called back the prostitute he'd dismissed. Kneading her repeatedly augmented silicone-fat-latex triple-layer breasts, the executive muttered, "Soon... the non-believers..."
The whore pretended not to hear. She knew that was how to survive this world.
The city's shadows ran that deep.
The fun at Blue Moon Resort ended after just two days. For an unplanned trip, it had been incredibly enjoyable. Especially since it wasn't their money but someone else's—the pleasure doubled.
They'd had so much fun that as soon as they boarded the return car, they passed out. Sonia leaned on Amon's sturdy shoulder and dozed off. The height was so perfect she thought they were destined. Amon too drifted into deep sleep amid the lilac scent of her crown.
Lulled by the car's gentle sway, Amon dreamed of his past life for the first time in ages. A "past life" dream, but really just one of clocking out from work, booting the PC, and gaming.
'Gonna play Punk City 3 today.' In the dream, it was a 3 day. Why? No clue. Just was.
He clicked the rightmost of the three Punk City icons on his desktop. Familiar company logo, the "This is a work of fiction..." disclaimers flew by. Main menu up, he hit continue.
'Where was I last time?' He often forgot, juggling multiple characters across series on whims.
Load complete: urgent music swelled, scenery whipped past. His character was in a car.
'A car?'
In Punk City, only one scene had a car speeding desperately. Instinctively, Amon glanced right. A cyclops covered head-to-toe in assassination cyberware and magic tattoos rode a bike, glaring with crimson LED eyes.
'Yup.'
Chase scene. Early in game 3, protagonist fleeing corp with precious cargo. If memory served, next: ninja's left arm whirs open, fires armor-piercing rounds.
And right on cue, the cyclops aimed his left arm, hatch popped...
'Huh?'
A sonic gun emerged.
"Duck!!!"
Squinty Priest's shout made Amon reflexively bow his head. He shielded Sonia's too. Crash!—glass shattered overhead. Feeling shards rain down, Amon realized: this was no game or dream.
"Why the hell are ninjas suddenly here?!"
Sonia woke to his lament and screams. Shattered window, ninjas flanking the car—no explanation needed. She snapped alert, reached for her gun.
"Right, the trunk..."
Problem: hers was in the trunk. Same for Amon's. Unarmed.
Amon yelled at the priest, head down. "Father! Do something!"
"I'm an exorcist! Ghosts, sure—not people!!"
"Then what's that left arm?!"
"Can't use it here—big trouble!"
Sealed demon or something. Even in life-or-death, if he wouldn't use it, reasons existed. Amon dropped it.
But hope lingered. "The paladins?!"
"They're why we've only got this few pursuers!"
"Then take off those glasses or open your eyes wider?!"
"Mocking my eyes mid-chase?!"
Nope. Squinty Priest just had small eyes.
Hope dashed, Amon steeled for action. First: "Father! Whose car?!"
"Mine, why—"
Amon kicked the door open. "File a Vatican workers' comp claim!!"
The suddenly flung door hurled the overtaking ninja flying. Cost: driver's door ripped off.
Watching it recede in the mirror, Priest wailed. "Nooo! Payments aren't done!!"
Ignoring him, Amon wrapped his seatbelt around one hand. Before leaning out: "Open the trunk!"
Grief postponed, Priest popped it. Amon yanked the belt taut, leaned precariously out. Belt anchored him as he grabbed a case one-handed from the trunk.
Scraping it lightly on the road, he hauled back inside. Out came Sonia's semi-auto rifle, his tri-fold knife. Used gear, nothing fancy.
But they trusted their skills. Sonia racked the bolt. "Left or right?"
"Left, from my view."
"I'll take right."
As Priest said, paladins kept pursuers to three. One gone via door—two left.
Priest halted their readiness. "Dangerous! Corporate ninjas—not mercs!"
"We know. Hickzen Group, right?"
Priest almost asked how, then stopped. Obvious in context. Too blatant for deduction.
Amon leaned out again, knife between fingers, analyzing. Hickzen hunted them. Goal: capture. If kill, that arm-shot would've been grenade or rocket, not sonic.
'Lucky.'
Escape possible. Even with their talent, beating ninja loaded with corp prototype gear and cash? No. Fleeing? Yes.
He reared back knife-armed hand, skipped it horizontally like stones.
Pfssht!—unbelievable whistle; ninja's bike exploded.
Ninja unscathed, of course. Corp capital's alloy-wrapped protein shook off the blast.
But no ninja outruns a speeding car on foot. Why bikes otherwise?
Left stranded on the highway, he could only gawk at the receding car.
Amon back inside; Sonia too, her right-side ninja's tire popped, pursuit ended.
"Good work, Sonia."
Her door intact, her chest deformed against the frame returning. Amon memorized it quick, praised her.
"Always impressive."
Shooting—and size—compliments. Either way, Sonia smiled.
Ninjas shaken; paladins would mop up. They pressed on. Door gone, windows smashed, scratches and blade marks everywhere—but car rolled.
Priest's heart? Wrecked.
"My payments..."
Exorcists earned well, but not "turn financed car to scrap in a month" well.
Debating Vatican insurance as he drove the near-totaled wreck, backseat chatter intruded.
Sonia stowed her rifle, eyed Amon's empty case sadly. "Not a waste?"
Pricey used blade. Years of pocket money poured in.
Amon shrugged. "Money over life? Nah."
Not lip service—genuine. 'No saves here.'
Had it been his master's graduation gift sword, he'd hesitate. This? Handy folding carry—tossed easy.
Not only that. "And you're more important."
"Amon...!"
Now shamelessly sappy as boyfriend, Sonia blushed; Priest's brow twitched.
Backseat turned pink; Priest, already grieving his rag-car, seethed.
Then Sonia to Priest: "Father, if it's okay... could you buy Amon a new sword?"
That snapped his fraying sanity.
"Miss Sonia."
"Yes?"
"Have you no conscience?"