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Allen's butterfly effect was nothing short of a storm.
If Allen had remained a background character as in the original storyline—never interfering in Isolte's life—Isolte would have undoubtedly coped with her parents' deaths by immersing herself in daily sword training. By her teens, she would have moved past the grief, her life dominated by the sword to the point where it became inseparable from her identity.
—As a result, she wouldn't have married until her twenties.
That was Isolte's original fate: a prodigious young Water King, personally taken under Reida's wing to the Sword Sanctum as her prized disciple, showcasing the Water God's might to the world.
For context, even talents like Eris and Nina were only Sword Saints at that time. And the future Sword God, Ghyslaine, hadn't yet ignited Reida's interest, still struggling to defeat a few girls back then.
Pathetic, letting little-head syndrome control one's talent.
But in this timeline, despite Allen's butterfly effect stirring chaos in the royal capital early on, Isolte remained singularly focused on the sword—calmer, even.
Because Allen was the same.
In this world, puberty came early, especially in Asura's nobility. Most nobles experienced their first carnal pleasures by age ten, and some noble households' female attendants even earlier. Isolte had overheard whispers of who slept with whom, who was entangled in love triangles, who got caught by a jealous partner, and who was betrothed.
She merely smiled.
None of my concern. I'll just train with the one in my eyes.
But after Allen's "disappearance," everything soured.
When he was here, it all felt ordinary.
Now that he's gone, the longing won't stop.
As she grew older, the talk around her grew bolder—discussions of positions, group arrangements, and how to maximize pleasure. And when Isolte saw Allen alive and well in the forests outside Rikarisu…
Returning to the capital, those words no longer felt distant.
That night, in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, where reason loosened its grip and emotion overpowered the Water God's discipline…
Her "sword training" began.
Half-asleep, straddling the line between dream and reality, she finally understood her own heart. The years of overheard conversations merged with the image of the man she'd just seen again.
And so, she cast herself into those fantasies.
A duet between two:
(See comments)
Given her senior brother's personality, dominance would only make him tense. Better to catch him in the morning, when he's still drowsy.
Allen slept lightly but maintained strict control over his rest. Gentle methods wouldn't wake him—so why not slip under the covers and stimulate him another way?
Mornings could be more enjoyable that way.
Night after night.
Of course, come dawn, Isolte would often flush with embarrassment at her own thoughts and actions.
But exhaustion would drag her back home to an empty estate, the weight of abandonment pressing down.
Emotion would surge, demanding relief.
And so, the cycle repeated.
Night after night after night.
It was always in that half-conscious state—until one morning, she woke early and went to the dojo.
There, she saw her brother's wife astride him behind the dojo doors, shooting her a mocking glare.
Likely her brother had drilled reverence for the dojo into his wife, and this was her absurd, very Asuran noble way of spitting on it.
Isolte showed no reaction. She simply turned and left.
Then, in full awareness…
She reenacted it herself.
And it felt good. Better than the haze—more vivid, more real.
It stoked a deeper desire.
Just like now.
The bathroom was thick with steam, the window shut. Isolte felt no claustrophobia—the cramped, warm space only brought comfort. A self-made cocoon, a remnant of her orphaned childhood.
Unsafe, so she created her own restraints.
The lack of oxygen only deepened the sense of security, of being controlled.
Isolte trailed her fingers across the water's surface, sending ripples outward.
Her gaze drifted.
Strange… Today's threshold is too high. No relief at all.
Is it because of senior brother's words?
"Play around, then sleep."
She giggled, splashing the water lightly—chiding, yet coquettish.
"Senior brother's gotten so shameless. 'Play around'? As if he'd ever tire from something like that with his stamina."
He's just making excuses to keep me awake.
So mean…
Ah, it must be those brothel visits from back then. Grandmother's discipline kept it hidden, but now he's free to indulge.
…I should've gone with him.
Damn North God II for arresting him.
Isolte rested her chin on the tub's edge, her dark eyes glazed.
If I brought senior brother home…
How could I naturally bring up… that?
His words today, choosing a private room—was that a hint?
But he also ordered me to abandon my faith…
So it's inevitable, right?
After all…
All the girls my age have tried it. Shouldn't I catch up? If I surpass them in swordsmanship, I can't fall behind here.
"The bold advance."
Senior brother's words.
If I advance boldly… as he wishes… it'll be fine.
If Roxy objects… at least the morning method I imagined would work.
At least to… quench the thirst.
And it'd ease the transition to the future.
There'll be so many mornings waking him up…
Isolte bit her lip.
…Tonight. If senior brother really comes, I'll just use my words. That way, Roxy won't have grounds to complain.
With a splash, Isolte rose from the water, stepping out of the tub.
She walked to the suitcase in the guest room and pulled out her plain, overly modest sleepwear, frowning.
Then—her eyes lit up.
She grabbed her sword and made a single, precise cut.
A clean slit now ran up the side of the nightgown, high enough to expose her thigh.
She slipped it on and examined herself in the mirror.
The high-cut nightdress transformed from demure to daring with just one alteration.
A slight shift of her hips revealed the shadow of her curves.
Her cheeks flushed.
…Too high?
But it's fine.
She sliced the collar into a V-neck and nodded in satisfaction.
As for underwear…
Isolte tilted her head, recalling the blonde elf's attire. She smiled faintly.
"Ah… I should've worn it earlier…"
His words echoed again—"Play until you're tired, then sleep."
"But taking this off now is troublesome… so…"
"I'll just go without."
She leaned against the door, her expression calm, her thoughts untethered.
Her eyes flicked to the wall clock.
10:51
10:52
10:53
10:54
10:55
…
11:16
Twenty-five minutes. Isolte didn't move.
Outside, her Water God senses told her the hallway was silent.
But in her daze, she thought she'd heard footsteps.
Was it an illusion?
She couldn't be sure. Back in the capital, post-"training," she often hallucinated Allen lying beside her.
But the anxiety was real.
Her brows furrowed, her teeth grazing her thumb.
Twenty-five minutes…
Sylphie's there too… but senior brother's stamina…
Wait longer.
…No, there's no sound. He hasn't gone anywhere.
Did I misread this?
She shut her eyes, trying to steady herself—and failed.
Finally, she patted her cheeks and turned the doorknob.
Just a peek. His room's diagonally across. If he's asleep, I'll take another bath and rest.
…Yes.
The door creaked open. Barefoot, she stepped out—but before she could glance toward Allen's room…
The door opposite flew open.
Sylphie, clad in a scandalously short gauze dress, black cat ears, and heels, rushed out—only to freeze at the sight of Isolte in her deep V-neck and thigh-high slit.
Their eyes met.
Both sucked in a breath.
Then, simultaneously, they stammered:
"I-Isolte! You're still awake?"
Isolte tucked her hair behind her ear, acutely aware of her exposed cleavage. Her face twisted in chagrin.
"Y-yes… You too, Sylphie?"
Sylphie yanked at her skirt, but the white stockings she'd added on a whim kept it stubbornly short. Near tears, she mumbled:
"Y-yeah! Uh—your nightgown is… v-very flattering!"
"Thank you. Yours is… surely senior brother's type," Isolte said, recovering faster. She eyed Sylphie's outfit, her round eyes glinting.
"R-really? I feel so underdressed…"
"Not at all. You look adorable. Did Lady Hilda pick this?"
"Ah! Y-you think so? I was so nervous…"
"Have confidence. Senior brother will love it."
"Th-thank you!"
And just like that, the conversation derailed entirely.
Such is the way of women.
Isolte opened her mouth to speak again—
"Slap."
A sharp sound of skin striking skin came from Allen's room.
Faint, but unmistakable.
Both women paled, whipping their heads toward the door.
"Mmph—"
A muffled moan. Undeniably female.
"Slap."
"Slap."
"Slap."
Their eyes met.
In unison, they rushed to the door—Isolte reaching for the knob, only for Sylphie to grab her wrist and press her ear to the wood instead.
Isolte hesitated, then followed suit.
—
Click.
—11:20.
Inside Allen's room, Isolte's Water God senses immediately detected three rapid heartbeats.
…Senior brother's is accelerating.
She lifted her head, taking in the scene:
The catgirl and the long-eared assassin, both in sheer negligee, kneeling on the floor.
Shameless.
No self-respect.
They retreated once at the bridge after I warned them… yet they dared return.
And still, their eyes were on him.
Some people…
Are too greedy.
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