God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

Serafina was a tough nut to crack, perhaps the toughest Kafka had ever come across.

He had always been known, in one way or another, for his ability to connect with women. Sooner or later, whether through charm, humor, or sheer persistence, he would usually find a way in.

It had been like that his whole life. Women who started wary of him often softened in time, drawn in by the mix of gentleness and strength that defined him.

But Serafina...she was different. She was the outlier.

No matter how many times Kafka tried to strike up conversation with her, to make her smile with a joke, or even to dig around for her interests, she never budged.

Her replies were always the same, stiff, measured, professional. She treated him like a commander and nothing more.

Always composed, always cold, as if any ounce of warmth might weaken her.

At first, Kafka had assumed it was because she was the leader of the Church of Lesser Demons, raised in an environment where softness was a liability, duty and discipline hammered into her until it became second nature.

But sometimes, he wondered if it was something deeper. If maybe she genuinely hated him. After all, he had taken over the church. Maybe she hadn't forgiven that.

He sighed, pushing those thoughts aside, and looked her way.

"Sorry for the mess I created, Seraphina." He said at last, his voice gentle, earnest. "Because of me, you and the others have to work overtime cleaning this up."

Serafina's expression didn't waver. She shook her head once, her tone cool and even when she finally spoke.

"It isn't a worry. It is our duty to clean up anything that crosses our path. You don't need to apologize or thank us. We are simply carrying out our job."

Kafka blinked, almost disbelieving. That stiff, stoic answer again. No chink in her armor.

He couldn't help the awkward laugh that slipped out of him, scratching at the back of his head. It was like speaking to a stone wall.

Lyra, on the other hand, clearly noticed the atmosphere between them. Her eyes darted between her sister and Kafka, her lips pressing together as if holding back words.

Finally, she gave up on her restraint and leaned forward, calling out cheerfully,

"Sera, don't you have something to give to Kafka?"

The words made Serafina freeze, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly before she turned slowly toward her younger sister. Lyra pressed on, undeterred.

"You've been preparing it for a while, haven't you? You said you wanted to give it to him, right? So why not now?"

Kafka raised his brows, a flicker of curiosity breaking through. He looked between the sisters, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh? You have something for me?" He asked, tilting his head playfully. "Seems like it might be something nice."

For once, Serafina's composure faltered. Her gaze shifted between them, faint hesitation flashing in her eyes.

For a heartbeat, it looked as though she might actually produce something. Kafka and Lyra both leaned forward slightly, anticipation written on their faces.

But then...she shook her head. Her voice was steady again, as if she had slammed a door shut.

"My sister is mistaken. She's talking about the files you requested earlier. The names you needed. They've already been prepared. I will deliver them to you later."

Kafka blinked, then let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Oh...oh, you meant that." He rubbed at the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly. "For a second, I thought you were going to give me a gift or something."

He shook his head, laughing at himself.

"Stupid of me. I shouldn't have even thought that. There's no chance of something like that."

Lyra stared at her sister with wide, almost dumbfounded eyes, like she couldn't believe what she'd just done. But Serafina didn't react, her gaze locked forward, as if nothing had happened at all.

Not wanting to let the awkward silence linger, Kafka cleared his throat and steered the conversation elsewhere. He glanced back at the bench where Olivia sat, her figure calm and still in the distance.

"The truth is..." He said, lowering his tone slightly. "Olivia saw everything. Every single thing I did back there. She watched me...kill them all."

At that, Lyra's playful smile dropped. Panic flickered across her face as she leaned closer. "Oh no. What happened? Is she alright?"

Kafka let out a dry chuckle, raising one brow.

"That's the problem. I thought she'd be horrified. Traumatized, maybe. But she's reacting in a very...different way."

Lyra frowned. "Different how?"

Kafka jerked his chin toward the bench. "See for yourself."

Both sisters turned, their gazes landing on Olivia. And there she was, sitting serenely, her body relaxed, her face flushed yet peaceful, her eyes fixed solely on Kafka.

Lyra blinked, then let out a soft gasp. "What in the world...Kafka, why is she looking at you like that? It's like she's falling in love with you all over again."

Even Serafina's stony face shifted slightly. Her eyes narrowed, then softened by a hair's breadth as she studied Olivia's expression.

"Her gaze is steady. Calm. And very warm." She said, her voice quiet but certain. "She's staring at you in a way that is...almost dreamy."

Kafka sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Exactly. That's what I don't understand. Normally, someone would be shaken, disturbed, after watching something like that. But Olivia…" He trailed off, brows furrowing, genuine confusion lacing his voice. "Olivia's looking at me like this instead. And I don't know what to do with it."

Lyra tilted her head, her tone thoughtful but edged with curiosity.

"Well, it is rather strange for her to react like that. Honestly, this is probably the softest I've ever seen her look since I started spying on her. It's strange, she looks so gentle, so warm...and if I didn't know any better, I'd even say there's something lustful in her eyes."

Her words made Kafka blink, startled, but Lyra only leaned closer, her grin sly.

"Usually, she's as cold as ice. Hardly a smile, hardly a flicker of emotion. But this...this isn't bad, Kafka. If anything, it's a lot better than her being traumatized or disturbed by what she saw."

She crossed her arms, adding with a shrug,

"Honestly, she probably hasn't even realized they're all dead. The alleyway was dark, the fight didn't look like anything she's ever seen before. To her, it probably looked like you just knocked them unconscious. So don't worry about it too much."

Kafka exhaled, relief washing over his features as he chuckled lightly.

"You're right. You're right. I shouldn't worry at all. And even if she does have afterthoughts later...I can deal with them easily enough. That won't be a challenge."

A genuine smile tugged at his lips as he nodded at Lyra.

"Thank you for that. I really needed it."

Lyra returned his smile, her eyes warm. But then she turned, her expression sharpening as she fixed her sister with a stern look.

"Sera...are you really not going to give him what you wanted to give?"

Serafina froze under her sister's gaze. Slowly, she turned her eyes toward Lyra, her usual mask perfectly in place.

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, she shook her head once, firm.

"There's no need to rush." Kafka waved it off with his usual good-natured ease. "It's not like I need those files immediately. You can give them to me later."

He glanced down at his watch, clicking his tongue.

"Speaking of later, I should get going. Olivia's still waiting, and I need to handle her properly. I'll see you both soon."

He lifted his hand in a casual wave before turning and walking back toward Olivia. Lyra waved cheerfully in return, but her smile quickly faded once his back was turned.

She watched him go, then glanced at her sister, who was already striding briskly into the alleyway to inspect the aftermath.

With a huff, Lyra followed.

When she judged they were far enough that Kafka couldn't hear, she quickened her pace until she caught up with her sister, who was crouched beside one of the fallen men, thinking of how to clean the mess.

"Sera..." Lyra hissed, her voice low but urgent. "What was that? What was that?!"

Her tone brimmed with frustration, like she couldn't believe what had just unfolded.

"I gave you a perfect opportunity! I set you up so neatly, you just had to go with the flow and hand it to him...But instead, you screwed it all up! You said you had nothing! Files, Sera? Really? Files?"

Serafina's hands stilled over the corpse. For a long moment, her back was to her sister. Then, slowly, too slowly, she turned her head.

And Lyra's breath caught.

Her sister's face...was different.

The stoic mask was gone. In its place was something Lyra hadn't seen in years: faint color rising in her cheeks, her eyes wide and uncertain, her lips parted like she didn't quite know how to speak.

She looked flustered. Embarrassed. Almost...shy.

If Kafka had seen it, he would have sworn it was an imposter in Serafina's skin. The cold, unshakable leader of the Church of Leaser Demons looking like a timid schoolgirl?

Impossible.

Serafina averted her gaze, staring down at the ground as though it held the answers. When she finally spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, hesitant.

"I know, Lyra...I know you helped me. I should have gone along with it. I should have given him the gift." Her fingers curled into fists against her thighs, trembling faintly. "But when the moment came, I just...I got too embarrassed."

She exhaled shakily, her blush deepening.

"For so long, I've been avoiding him. Looking away whenever he speaks to me. Keeping up this cold front. And then to suddenly...give him something so personal, out of nowhere…" Her voice trailed off, soft with shame. "I didn't know how to feel. I got too flustered. I couldn't do it. Even with your help."

Lyra groaned, dragging her hands down her face in exasperation.

"Exactly, Sera! That's why you needed to do it! That gift could have been the bridge between you two, the breaking point where everything changes! Instead, you hide behind your cold mask and mumble about dumb files? Ugh, you're hopeless."

Her words only seemed to wilt Serafina further. Shoulders slumping, her eyes downcast, she looked smaller than Lyra had ever seen her.

And yet, the truth was clear, clearer now than ever.

Unlike what Kafka believed, unlike his quiet fears that Serafina hated him, or resented him for taking over the church, none of that was true.

The truth was far more complicated. Far more fragile.

She didn't dislike him. She didn't hate him.

She loved him.

Loved him so much that she had spent days preparing a gift with her own hands, summoning all the courage she could muster to maybe, just maybe, build a bridge toward him.

But when the moment finally arrived, all that courage evaporated, leaving her paralyzed by shyness and fear.

And so, instead of a gift that could have changed everything, all Kafka received was the stiff promise of "files later."

Now, in the dim light of the alley, both sisters stood in silence, Lyra frustrated and exhausted, Serafina downcast and embarrassed.

And had Kafka seen this scene, his unflappable Serafina blushing like a maiden, Lyra scolding her like a fed-up teacher, he would have been utterly baffled, unable to comprehend the truth hiding right in front of him...