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The black and white figures crouched on the floor—
—Sylphiette and Isolte.
They had clearly been eavesdropping by pressing their ears against the door.
Of course, Allen's keen senses had already detected them.
The earlier commotion must have drawn the two girls' attention.
So, Allen chose the most straightforward method—opening the door to prove his innocence.
See? Not a prostitute. An assassin. Look, I didn't even take off my clothes.
Right?
That's how it should have gone.
That's how it was supposed to go.
In Allen's mind, this was the only logical outcome.
But—
At that very moment, as Sylphiette and Isolte tumbled onto the floor, their white and black hair trailing behind them, Allen casually glanced at the two girls before turning back to the assassin, ready to explain the situation.
But! The instant his gaze shifted away, his eyes widened. He whipped his head back toward the two on the floor.
Allen's mouth, which had been about to speak, hung open uselessly, opening and closing like a fish.
????????
Wait, Miss Isolte! Miss Sylphiette! What the hell are you two wearing?!?!
Huh????
The assassins were just as stunned.
They stared at Isolte and Sylphiette, their expressions frozen in shock.
Then they looked up at Allen.
Their mouths fell open. The catgirl assassin on the floor even forgot about the dagger still lodged in her foot.
...So this is how it is, huh?
All that talk about "meaningless" earlier...
"Meaningless"? Yeah, right!
Damn, you're even wilder than us professionals!
Two at once?!
One, a cold beauty who draws her sword in public but wears this to "serve" at night?
The other, an innocent-looking girl who's actually into these kinks?
You trained them well!
Silence. Dead, suffocating silence filled the room.
Even the ticking of the pendulum clock sounded deafening.
Click.
—11:20.
Click.
—10:50.
The inn's hallway was eerily quiet. The clock on the wall swung steadily.
Thirty minutes had passed since Allen and the others had entered their respective rooms.
The only downside of expensive things was their price—a universal truth, even for this upscale inn in the Water Capital.
What kind of inn could afford to place a grandfather clock at the end of the hallway?
The carpets were replaced weekly. Between each room, the walls were adorned with candelabras for lighting—though too much brightness would ruin the ambiance.
So, the glass shades were all etched with enamel patterns, diffusing the candlelight into a hazy, orange glow.
The floor looked as if draped in a veil of sunset, carrying an almost... indecent warmth.
The inn's receptionist—a completely harmless, adorable girl—had even proudly patted her ample chest and assured them:
*"The soundproofing is absolutely flawless! Our inn, funded by the city government, prioritizes guest privacy. We've even sacrificed space to add a 50-centimeter soundproof gap between rooms—double walls with a mechanical soundproofing layer in between."*
"Even if you sing at the top of your lungs—whether alone or with others, for hours, until dawn—there's no chance the neighbors will hear a thing."
After saying this, the receptionist blinked, glancing between Isolte, Sylphiette, and Allen—tall, muscular, clearly brimming with stamina—before her eyes briefly flicked toward Eris, whose resemblance to Allen was uncanny.
Then, with a knowing smile, she pulled out—
—Aphrodisiacs.
Allen scoffed and waved her off, as if insulted.
But then he subtly glanced toward the girls...
...and the corner of his lips curled faintly, betraying a hint of anticipation.
—Excerpt from Sylphiette's POV.
Splash!
Sylphiette, lost in thought about what had just happened, slipped and fell into the bathtub. She quickly resurfaced, shaking the water from her hair, and looked to the side.
In the mirror, her white hair clung to her face, her long, pointed ears twitching.
Like a drenched puppy.
This was the first time she'd seen a bathroom with a mirror right in front of the bathtub. Even in Hilda's room at the Boreas estate, she'd never encountered such a setup.
But she hadn't seen enough of the world to question it, assuming it was just a standard feature for Asuran nobles.
She blinked at her reflection, spat out the water in her mouth, and then—
Splash!
—stood up, gripping the handrail on the edge of the bathtub as she stepped out.
(Why the bathtub had a handrail, Sylphiette didn't question—it was just convenient, probably another high-end design choice.)
Drip. Drip.
Water droplets rolled down her pale pink skin, splattering onto the floor.
She stared at her reflection—her flat chest, her hand sliding down without any obstruction—and her expression twisted into something between frustration and despair.
When she first saw that elf woman, her immediate thought hadn't been embarrassment—
—but "Oh no... Even at that age, elves still don't fill out much... Lady Hilda was telling the truth... T_T"
Sylphiette had a competitive streak.
After confirming she was part of the same "adventuring party" as her teacher, she had consoled herself with the thought that, at the very least, her figure was better than Roxy's.
That way, even in front of her teacher, she wouldn't feel completely inferior.
She sniffled, then pinched the soft flesh of her thigh.
"Ow... T_T Not a dream."
Well, aside from her hips and legs, she had no advantages left.
But Lady Hilda had once told her—"The Boreas family may prefer beastfolk, but they have high standards for figures. Aria's the same as you, and Allen always scares her off."
What do I do?! If that's the case, after we get marr—
—Allen will just stay at Isolte's place all the time!
I should've... never accepted her!
...Or so she thought, but that was just frustration talking.
The real reason she had accepted Isolte was simple—
She had recognized her heartbreak.
Six months ago, Sylphiette had been the same.
Isolte was kind. Like her, she had tried to suppress her feelings for Allen, to step aside for his sake.
So Sylphiette couldn't just leave her to cry alone, could she? Besides, talking to Isolte was enjoyable. She was considerate, even if Sylphiette occasionally caught glimpses of resentment—but Isolte always restrained herself, maintaining her distance from Allen.
Especially the way she looked at Sylphiette...
Her dark eyes held envy—just like Sylphiette's own, back then.
So Sylphiette embraced her.
She gave Isolte a chance—the same chance she had once wished for herself.
After eavesdropping on Allen's "thoughts" in the hallway of the Mortal Love Inn, the two had whispered in bed, making a pact—
They would accept each other... but only after Roxy, the first in line, returned and gave her approval.
And when Sylphiette solemnly explained this to Isolte—
The other girl cried.
She, too, had accepted the part of herself that longed for what she couldn't have.
Roxy had given Sylphiette a chance.
Now, Sylphiette would do the same for Isolte.
Girls help girls—the self-propelled harem of the Unemployed Incubus (?)
But right now, Sylphiette couldn't feel happy at all.
She stared miserably at the mirror.
The problem was...
Allen...
Seemed like he couldn't hold back anymore!!!
The look he gave when refusing the aphrodisiac was terrifying—like he could see right through her clothes. T_T
And the way he looked at those mature women...
It wasn't his usual gaze. More like a hunter eyeing prey.
And his response to Isolte's suggestion to stay at her place—
"Let's play for a bit, then rest."
"Play"...
What exactly does Allen want to plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay?!
From what Lady Hilda had told her about noble customs, the only "games" a household head played with women were... those kinds of games!
And Allen had never insisted on separate rooms before—so why tonight?!
Was it because... with more people around, it'd be inconvenient?
She'd heard that during those times... it was hard to hold back moans...
And once they reached the royal capital, living together would mean even more obstacles...
Come to think of it, when Allen heard about the soundproofing, he refused the aphrodisiac and immediately suggested separate rooms...
It all made sense now.
What do I do... Teacher...
It looks like Sylphiette... is going to be eaten by Allen before you...
But... but there's no helping it! If I refuse... he'll hate me, right?! Then after we get married, he'll definitely neglect me...
B-But... maybe I can talk to him... Just cuddling to sleep should be fine... right?
So... when you come back, you have to scold Allen properly... okay?
Her face burning, Sylphiette—lost in layers of misunderstandings—mentally prepared herself. Her pale skin flushed deep red.
After two deep breaths, she used wind magic to dry herself off.
Then, with newfound determination, she stepped out of the bathroom.
Walking across the plush carpet, she reached her luggage.
Opening the hidden compartment, her face instantly turned scarlet.
Inside was—
A transparent, seductive silk lingerie set.
A long, plug-in tail.
A sheer, low-cut nightgown with a scandalously short hem.
Hair clips adorned with beastman ear decorations.
And high heels strung together with silver chains and pearls.
A full set.
Nothing like Sylphiette's usual style.
A "battle outfit" prepared by Hilda and Lilia, combining the preferences of Boreas men.
A mother always knew how to look out for her son. Over the past year, Hilda hadn't just taught Sylphiette "knowledge"—she'd also armed her with tools of war.
A comprehensive training strategy.
If Allen wasn't going to make a move, his mother would do it for him.
Blushing furiously, Sylphiette held up each piece, comparing them to her body.
Then, hesitantly, she began putting them on.
First, the black cat-ear hairclip—a stark contrast against her white hair.
Next, the nightgown—swish—the hem barely covering her bottom.
Then—
She stared at the tail, her eyes spinning.
"Th-This... Lady Hilda said to use it after a few times... to 'spice things up'... Too... too shameless! Why do nobles like this stuff?!
Perverts!"
She skipped the tail and picked up the silk panties instead—but then remembered the elf woman from earlier and hesitated.
Should I... wear them?
No! I have to! Even if it's just sleeping together, not wearing them would be weird!
(Completely forgetting that "just sleeping" didn't require any of this "equipment," Sylphiette's brain was already overheating.)
Rustle, rustle.
She stepped into the panties, tying the strings around her hips, the bands digging into soft flesh.
Then the heels—the silver chains and pearls coiled around her toes, making her feet look even smaller.
She turned to the wall clock.
—11:00.
Hmm... A little longer...
Allen should come soon... right?
She covered her face again.
——
Creak. Creak.
A hand gripped the bathtub's edge, fingers digging in tightly.
Splash. Splash.
The water rippled violently.
"Sen... pai..."
Finally, the waves stilled. The fingers relaxed. The bathtub stopped creaking.
Isolte slumped over the edge, her black hair half-floating in the water. Her legs, which had been tightly pressed together underwater, loosened. Her other hand surfaced, gripping the rim.
"Hah... hah..."
Panting, she lifted her gaze to the mirror.
This inn's bathroom design was very convenient.
(Even if the handrail and mirror had other intended uses.)
She brushed the wet hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.
The woman in the mirror had flushed cheeks and dazed eyes—mature, almost unfamiliar.
For a moment, Isolte didn't recognize herself.
Has it really been two and a half years...?
Two and a half years ago, the Isolte who had starved herself for days upon hearing of her senior's "death"—that young, grieving girl—had vanished like foam on water.
Her hair, now longer, draped over the curves of her chest.
She sighed.
When did I pick up this... bad habit?
Two years ago? One?
She couldn't remember.
But it was definitely after Allen left the royal capital.
She lifted her hand, examining the calluses on her fingers.
These were from daily sword training.
The liquid between her fingers?
Also from daily "sword training."
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