After roughly an hour of "first round" chaos, Venelana's bedroom finally slipped into a quiet intermission.
On the bed, Bokue lay between them with the casual ease of someone who had long since stopped being intimidated by high-ranking women.
One arm wrapped around Venelana's waist, holding her close.
His other hand traced slow, absent strokes along Sheila's back, where the nightmare woman had curled against his torso as if she belonged there.
Venelana reclined on her side with her head resting on Bokue's shoulder. Her fingers—flushed faintly pink from warmth and lingering excitement—idly traced his cheek, as if drawing invisible patterns.
Then, with a tone that sounded almost casual, she asked:
"Hey, Bokue… how are things going with her?"
"…Her?" Bokue paused mid-stroke, confused by the lack of context.
Sheila exhaled a soft breath against his neck and shifted closer, her fingertips gliding across Bokue's chest in a slow, teasing line—shaping a few characters in demon script, neat enough to be legible.
"Obviously," Venelana said, eyes sparkling. "The newly arrived queen."
"Exactly, exactly~" Sheila chimed in, smiling like she'd been waiting for this topic. "Yesterday morning you got a message asking you to 'help take care of someone,' right? So what happened?"
Bokue hesitated for a fraction of a second.
He had originally intended to say La Folia was the one who sent the message, but—honestly—there was no real contradiction in blaming the queen too.
Those two had clearly coordinated. Whether the bait came from one hand or the other didn't matter. The intent was the same.
"About that…" Bokue began, then sighed. "Yeah. It was exactly what you think."
Sheila's eyes lit up instantly.
Venelana and Sheila were both frighteningly smart women. The moment they'd heard about that "care request," they had obviously sniffed out the lie.
If the message was real, then the "patient" couldn't have been Kanon.
And if Kanon truly was sick, then "nobody is available to help" would have been nonsense.
So either the message was fake, or the situation was staged.
Or both.
Now Bokue's answer confirmed it: the "care request" had been a trap, and the queen was the one who wanted attention.
Sheila's smile turned sharper, full of implication. "So that night… you ended up staying with the queen."
Venelana's usual mature composure melted completely into gossip-mode excitement. "And? Who did you choose?" she pressed. "The holy maiden? The princess? Or the queen herself? Maybe… all of them?"
Bokue didn't bother hiding it. "Honestly? All of them."
Both women inhaled sharply.
That answer carried far too much information at once.
Even Venelana and Sheila—despite how bold they could be in private—still had to maintain appearances in public. They had spent a long time practicing restraint, distance, "proper behavior," and the exhausting discipline of acting like nothing was happening.
And yet the queen had arrived and pulled off in one night what they'd been tiptoeing around for ages.
It was… annoying.
But it was also enlightening.
Because "everyone together" wasn't just a fantasy.
It was possible.
"Mmm. I didn't expect that queen to be so shamelessly effective," Sheila pouted, sounding offended on principle. "If things get complicated later, do we go ask her for advice? What do you think, Sister-in-law?"
Venelana hesitated, then smiled with a slight awkwardness, the kind that suggested she'd been thinking about this more seriously than she wanted to admit.
"As for me…" she said slowly, "…I've been looking for a solution for quite a while."
"And you found one?" Sheila's eyes sharpened.
"…Mm." Venelana nodded, cheeks warming. "I have an approach. It's reliable, as long as the preparation is done properly."
Sheila's voice softened into pure curiosity. "What do you need?"
Venelana quietly listed several names—medicinal herbs and uncommon ingredients Bokue had never heard of.
Bokue's unfamiliarity didn't matter.
Sheila's eyes widened with recognition as she listened.
Those weren't "explosive" materials. They were the opposite: calming agents. Sleep aids. Mental stabilizers. Substances often used to soothe stress, soften mental resistance, and keep emotions from spiraling out of control.
But if you applied them to this kind of situation…
Sheila swallowed.
In her mind, a door opened.
Not because the plan was dirty—
But because it was clever.
And because it suggested Venelana wasn't merely indulging herself.
She was planning for the future.
Planning for something that could be called "legitimacy."
❁❁❁❁
At the same time—inside the beachfront villa's first-floor living area.
Serafall returned from shopping with a cheerful hum, carrying bags like it was a victory parade. She set the purchases on the table and turned toward Sona, who was already unpacking with methodical seriousness—yogurt, ice cream, milk, and other cold items moving from bag to freezer in clean, efficient rhythm.
"Alright, So-tan," Serafall said brightly, "just leave it for now. We can organize properly tomorrow morning!"
Sona didn't even turn her head. "If Onee-sama wants to go upstairs, please do. I'll finish this quickly."
"If we leave it overnight," Sona added, voice mild but deadly, "everything will melt. Does Onee-sama intend to drink warm milkshakes tomorrow?"
Serafall waved a hand, utterly confident. "Worst case, I'll freeze them again."
"That is not how texture works," Sona replied, sighing softly. "Go ahead. I can handle this alone."
"Is that so? Then I'll go first~"
Serafall nodded and headed for the stairs.
Sona paused, fingers hovering over a carton for a moment.
Something felt… off.
Usually, even when Serafall was lazy, she still insisted on "helping"—or at least creating chaos while pretending to help.
Tonight, she had retreated too quickly.
Suspiciously quickly.
Upstairs, Serafall climbed with light steps, humming again, moving like someone who had somewhere specific to be.
Because while she'd been shopping, Venelana had called.
Bokue was there tonight.
Serafall's pace had quickened the moment she heard that.
But as she reached the second-floor hallway and her view cleared, she spotted a scene that made her eyebrows rise with delighted surprise.
Two girls were crouched outside Venelana's door, cheeks red, bodies angled toward the gap beneath it like professional spies.
Ravel.
Rossweisse.
"Oh my," Serafall murmured, lips curling upward.
In the next instant, her silhouette vanished—then reappeared directly behind them.
Neither girl noticed.
Serafall casually grabbed both of them by the back of their collars.
Ravel and Rossweisse stiffened in shock.
Before either could react, Serafall pushed the door open and marched inside, dragging them along as if she'd just collected two lost kittens.
"Sorry I'm late!" Serafall announced cheerfully to the room. "But don't worry—I conveniently brought two more girls who looked very interested in joining the evening's… discussion~!"
Ravel's face turned bright red.
Rossweisse looked like her soul had left her body.
And somewhere deep inside the villa, Sona paused mid-unpacking and felt—without any logical reason—an intense, ominous premonition.
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