When I heard my aunt, who lived alone, had collapsed from a high fever, I rushed to her house to care for her. My name’s Kenta. Upon arriving, she greeted me unsteadily, her legs trembling. I steeled myself, her symptoms were worse than I’d expected. As I helped her sit and began wiping the sweat from her body, her soaked clothes slipped, revealing her large breasts. My heart raced. Focus, she’s sick, I told myself, battling the sudden surge of desire. I kept wiping her down, suppressing my thoughts, but then her feverish hands fumbled with her shirt, exposing her bare chest fully. My resolve shook again. Her breathing was shallow, her skin flushed, not just from the fever, I realized. Torn between duty and temptation, I took a deep breath, forcing my mind back to nursing her, determined to stay in control.