Divine Milking System-Chapter 67 - 6-7 | The Investment Calculation

I laughed. "Are you threatening me for Naomi’s honor?"

"Maybe I am." Belle’s eyes sparked with something that might have been amusement. "Someone should."

Before I could respond, she pivoted again, holding the crossbow up. "Help me with this. I want to try shooting at the target dummies, but I can’t figure out the safety."

The conversational whiplash was dizzying. One minute she was threatening me with the crossbow, the next she wanted help using it? Belle operated on her own frequency.

"Sure," I said, setting my spear aside. "Let me see it."

She handed over the compact crossbow, our fingers brushing during the transfer. The weapon was lighter than I expected, made of some composite material that felt almost like plastic but had the rigidity of metal.

"Safety’s here," I said, pointing to a small switch near the trigger guard. "And the cocking mechanism is this lever underneath. Pull it back until it clicks."

Belle watched intently as I demonstrated, her eyes tracking each movement of my hands. When I handed it back, she mimicked my actions perfectly, cocking the crossbow with a satisfying mechanical click.

"Thanks." The smile she gave me that time was smaller, less rehearsed than the ones she’d been deploying all morning. "Want to see if I can outshoot you?"

"Different weapons," I said. "Not exactly a fair comparison."

"Life isn’t fair." She gave a small shrug, the movement doing interesting things to her already-strained uniform top. "I grab every advantage I can find. Sue me."

There was a whole personal philosophy packed into those two sentences, and it explained a lot about how Belle Fox had gotten this far on a D-rank ability and a lot of nerve.

"Alright," I said. "But when I win, you have to tell me the real reason you came over here instead of staying with the rest of your group."

Her eyes narrowed to sharp amber points. "And when I win, you tell me exactly what you and Naomi have been doing in those so-called one-on-one training sessions."

The way she said it left no room to pretend she was asking an innocent question. She already had a working theory. Probably two.

"Deal." I reached down and picked up my spear. "Three throws each. Best accuracy wins."

Belle nodded, already shifting her stance and lifting the crossbow to eye level. Her transformation was immediate—the calculated flirtation vanished, replaced by tight focus as she sighted down the barrel at the training dummy twenty meters away.

She squeezed the trigger.

The bolt flew straight and true, hitting the dummy’s chest with a satisfying thunk. The impact display flashed "92% optimal placement" in bright green numbers.

Belle lowered the crossbow, a small smile playing at her lips. "Your turn."

I gripped the spear, aligned my stance exactly how Tsukishima had shown me, and launched it forward in one smooth motion. The practice spear struck the dummy’s torso just left of center, triggering a "78% optimal placement" reading.

"Not bad," Belle said, already snapping a fresh bolt into the crossbow’s loading track with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent real time at a range. "For someone who couldn’t even hit the dummy five minutes ago."

Her second shot came after barely a pause, the kind of stillness that wasn’t hesitation but control. The bolt buried itself in the dummy’s throat. "96% optimal placement."

I threw again, adjusting my grip based on where the last one had landed. The spear hit closer to center this time, but not close enough. "83% optimal placement."

Belle gave me a look that was equal parts pity and satisfaction before she raised the crossbow again. "Last round," she said, and even those two words had an edge to them, competitive in the way that people get when they’ve already decided they’re going to win and just need reality to confirm it. She pulled a slow breath in through her nose, held everything still, and fired.

The bolt punched straight through the dummy’s forehead, dead center, zero deviation. "99% optimal placement."

The smug smile she gave me was almost worth losing for.

Almost.

I aligned for my final throw, feeling the weight of the spear, the balance point Tsukishima had shown me. Something clicked—maybe the Silver-tier essence, maybe the hours I’d spent watching Naomi train with her Wave Motion, maybe just dumb luck. I launched the spear with more force than before.

It struck the dummy’s head with a solid impact. "97% optimal placement."

"I win," Belle announced immediately, practically bouncing on her toes. "Now tell me about these special training sessions."

I leaned against the wall, watching her. "You know, you never said why you really came over here."

"I won, so I ask the questions." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to ensure privacy. "Are you sleeping with her?"

Direct. Uncomplicated. Pure Belle.

"Yes."

Her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected the honesty. "Since when?"

"Recently."

Belle processed this information, her head tilting slightly. "And your ability... it really does enhance hers?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." Belle tapped her finger against the crossbow. "And does this... enhancement... work on other abilities too? Or just Naomi’s?"

And there it was. The real question. The investment calculation.

"Theoretically, it should work on most abilities," I said carefully. "Why? Interested in some training yourself?"

Belle didn’t blush. Didn’t look away. Just held my gaze steadily, the calculation transparent in her amber-brown eyes.

"Maybe I am," she said. "If there’s something in it for me."

"Like what?" I asked, though I already knew.

"Like access to better treasure rooms during gate runs. My ability is useless in a fight, but if I can locate the high-value items, and you can make my detection range better..." She shrugged. "Seems like a fair trade."

Pure transactional thinking. Belle’s natural habitat.

"We could discuss it," I said, watching her face. "Maybe after Misato’s training session today."

Belle smiled, victory secured. "Perfect. I’ll bring data on what I want to improve."

Of course she would. Belle without a spreadsheet was like Jordan without laziness—theoretically possible but contrary to natural law.

She turned to leave, then paused, looking back over her shoulder. "One more thing."

"What’s that?"

"Be good to her. She thinks you’re worth something."

Before I could respond, Belle walked away, the crossbow held confidently in her hands, her blue hair swaying with each step.

I watched her go, a slow smile spreading across my face.

All according to plan.