Chapter 11: Misunderstanding
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**Zane POV**
The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting golden stripes over the tangled sheets. My eyes snapped open, muscles frozen. *Why is there warmth on my—*
Nana's cheek pressed against my thigh, her breath ghosting over a *very* compromised area. My Six Eyes flickered involuntarily, analyzing the disaster: *Heart rate elevated. Pupils dilated. Blood flow redirected south. Abort mission.*
I inched backward, but the mattress creaked. Her lashes fluttered.
*No no no—*
"Mm… Zane?" She nuzzled closer, lips grazing fabric.
*Sweet Satan.*
"M-Morning!" I teleported to the ceiling, clinging like a panicked gecko. "Sleep well? Great! I'll make pancakes!"
Nana sat up, blinking sleepily. Her gaze drifted downward.
*Abort. Abort. ABORT.*
"Darling," she said, tilting her head, "why are you—"
"**Pancakes!**" I vanished in a crackle of violet static.
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**Nana Sitri POV**
The kitchen smelled of burnt vanilla and regret. Zane stood at the stove, spatula in hand, ears crimson.
*So he* does *find me attractive.*
I hid a smirk, adjusting my silk robe. "Need help?"
He flinched, nearly dropping the batter. "Nope! Totally got this! Unless… you wanna learn?"
*Perfect.* "Teach me."
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**Culinary Chaos**
Zane's "lesson" involved more physics than cooking.
"Gently fold the batter," he said, demonstrating with telekinetic precision. "Like you're coaxing a contract out of a stubborn human."
My spoon gouged the bowl. "Why is it… *lumpy*?"
"Because you're stirring like you're stabbing Rias." He covered my hand, guiding the motion. "Soft. Circular. *Graceful.*"
His breath warmed my neck. My devil crest tingled.
"Zane," I murmured, "the stove is—"
**WHOOSH.**
Flames engulfed the skillet. He yelped, dousing it with a teleported fire extinguisher.
"Lesson one," he coughed, face smudged with soot. "Never trust a devil near open flames."
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