"Mahahaha. Not bad! Not bad!" I laughed, letting the sound echo across the training ground. Peter was practically on the brink of death—bruised, wheezing, soaked in sweat—yet even then, he still tried to strike me.
[Trynda applauds loudly, crumbs of dessert still stuck on their face.]"Even so… a hit is a hit, and I…"
I glanced down at Peter, who was now collapsed on the ground floor, gasping like a fish out of water, eyes still burning with stubborn light. For a moment, I actually felt a flicker of surprise. With a sigh, I tossed my wooden sword back into the rack.
"You did hit me. And for that, you earn the congratulations." I placed a hand on my side, where the faint scratch marked the only evidence of his effort. From the start, this had been completely in character for him—and somehow, he managed to leave me… satisfied.
We're tangled in uncertainty, Peter and I. Both entangled in the future, bound by roles neither of us asked for. But I can admit this much: he's become good. Good enough that Adele would've lost outright if it came down to it. So, in that regard, this wasn't too bad of a showing. Not bad at all.
After a moment, Peter forced himself up with trembling arms. He staggered toward the fountain, scooped up water with his hands, and splashed it across his face. Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked right back to me. Before I could react, he reached out and gently grabbed my hand as he kissed the back of it.
And I slammed him straight into the ground.
"This punk…" I muttered darkly, planting my foot on his side and grinding down for emphasis. Then I kicked him again. And again.
Because you won against me? Because you managed a single scratch? I did say I'd grant you anything if you hit me—but that didn't mean I'd let you enjoy it. So I vented by repeatedly kicking his ribs, my arms folded in annoyance.
"There's a limit to what you can request, you know!"
But Peter didn't resist. He didn't fight back. He just lay there, accepting every strike with a strangely satisfied expression on his face.
[Trynda: "…Is this… is this what people call kink?"]
"Ugh, seriously—men these days." I scowled, delivering one last kick for good measure.
Peter only smiled faintly, as though enduring my abuse was victory enough. And honestly? That smug, satisfied look of his annoyed me more than anything else. Still, I knew one thing for certain: he wouldn't ask for something trivial. The next time, whatever request he makes, it'll be higher than just a spar.
[Eros smirks, lounging in the divine gallery.]"Oh, I'm sure he'll ask for something bigger. Maybe even your hand."
"Shut it," I muttered. "This isn't some damn otome game or shoujo manhwa—"
[Xipe interrupts: (This is a novel, you know.)]
"Yup! I know! A novel. But still—if it's supposed to be a shoujo route, then why is he skipping Adele and heading straight for me? He's completely off-script!"
[Xipe: (Maybe the flags got scrambled. Happens sometimes.)]
"Scrambled my ass. He jumped straight like a sheep at a banquet."
I dropped onto the nearest chair, exhausted but still irritated, legs swinging lazily as I watched Peter roll over, still alive somehow. A banquet's coming in a few days. My plan needs to be ready by then