Chapter 28 – Emma Got What She Deserved
Early the next morning.
In the bathroom.
Emma tucked an empty glue bottle into her pocket and strolled out looking completely innocent.
She walked over to the church window and sat down gracefully.
"Here's your breakfast,"
Gideon Black set down a plate of bread and milk.
After all, she was technically the client's daughter — basic hospitality still applied.
As for himself, after years of spiritual discipline, Gideon had little need for regular meals anymore.
"Good morning,"
Emma greeted him with a bright smile, as if nothing had happened the day before.
Since her bathroom plan had failed, she hadn't made any further moves overnight — leaving Gideon's many precautions unused.
"Aren't you eating?"
Seeing him watching her, Emma took a bite of bread and asked casually.
"Already did," Gideon replied offhandedly.
Emma nodded while chewing.
Her body was still small and growing — she needed proper nutrition if she was going to pull off her next plan.
She finished her breakfast quietly.
But... Gideon was still watching her.
His eyes hadn't left her once.
Something felt… off.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she frowned.
"It's about time," Gideon murmured, ignoring her question.
Emma was just about to press him again when—
Suddenly, her stomach lurched. A sharp pain twisted through her gut.
"What did you put in my food?!"
She clutched her abdomen, face contorting in discomfort.
"Just a little laxative in the milk," Gideon replied cheerfully.
He had a full day of spiritual study ahead — and couldn't afford interruptions from a certain demon child. So, he figured he'd schedule her distraction for him.
"You...!"
Emma raised a trembling finger at him — only for her legs to clench.
Something was about to explode.
She didn't dare stay another second. Gritting her teeth, she stood and made her way to the bathroom with stiff, calculated steps.
She couldn't walk too fast.
If she did… disaster.
Off to the side, Gideon nodded in satisfaction at his handiwork.
With Emma occupied, he could finally begin his spiritual lessons for the day.
---
In the bathroom.
Emma stood frozen over the toilet, face dark.
Earlier that morning, before anyone had woken, she had smeared industrial-strength glue all over the toilet seat.
She'd been prepared.
Learning from yesterday's failure, she had sabotaged both bathrooms in the church — a backup plan, just in case.
Now, though, she faced an unfortunate dilemma.
To sit, or not to sit.
That was the question.
A loud gurgle from her gut answered it for her.
Expression grim, Emma lifted her skirt and planted herself firmly on the toilet.
---
Elsewhere.
Gideon had completed his morning devotions.
His study of sacred doctrine continued to refine his spiritual strength. He could feel a growing power deep within — something the scriptures referred to as holy energy.
When crafting holy water, he could now channel this power through prayer to produce waters of varying "vintages."
The same went for other blessed objects.
After a brief meditation beneath the chapel's statue, Gideon headed into the reception room.
By his estimate, the dosage he used should be kicking in about now.
But the church was oddly silent.
Emma hadn't made a sound — and when a kid that troublesome goes quiet, it usually means something's up.
Gideon was immediately on alert. Starting from the reception area, he began checking the building inch by inch, scanning for any new traps.
After 10+ minutes of searching—
"Strange… no ambush?"
Puzzled, Gideon headed toward the bathroom.
---
Inside, Emma's hands were clenched into fists.
She had finished her business more than ten minutes ago.
But now, the nightmare she feared most had arrived:
She couldn't stand up.
She'd tried everything — peeling, pulling, scraping herself off. Nothing worked.
Even worse?
In her hurry earlier… she had forgotten the most essential item: toilet paper.
There was some available… but she'd placed it on the sink during her sabotage.
And the sink was juuuust out of reach from where she sat.
Which meant—
Emma had now spent several long, miserable minutes locked in contemplation:
Do I call Gideon for help and suffer instant social death?
Or wait until he finds me… and still die of shame anyway?
A moment later, fate made the decision for her.
Knock knock.
"You planning to live in there?" Gideon called, voice faintly amused.
He rubbed his nose, half wondering if he'd overdone the dosage.
Then came a weak voice from inside:
"I… I need your help."
Emma's voice trembled. There was even… a hint of hesitation?
Gideon instantly stepped back three full paces from the bathroom door, putting a safe distance between them.
"Emma asking me for help? Do I look like a chicken?" he muttered suspiciously.
Out of basic human decency, Gideon finally asked what was going on.
Emma then explained the entire situation.
When he finished listening, Gideon's mouth twitched.
This girl… really asking for it.
To any civilized human being, the home toilet is undeniably a trusted comrade-in-arms.
When you've experienced the battlefield of public restrooms during the morning rush—hundreds scrambling for the same few stalls—or when you're out shopping and suddenly struck by an upset stomach, silently praying the next stall you enter won't scar your soul,
you learn to appreciate the sanctity of your own toilet.
It's always there, clean, waiting just for you.
"Reckless youth," Gideon muttered, shaking his head.
Thankfully, his needs in this area had greatly diminished thanks to years of spiritual training.
"Put your clothes back on," Gideon instructed calmly.
Creaaak.
He gently pushed the bathroom door open, cautiously peeking inside to make sure nothing dangerous awaited him—starting with behind the door, then glancing up at the ceiling…
Even if Emma looked innocent right now, her reputation demanded vigilance.
Originally, Emma had turned her head in embarrassment when Gideon entered.
But after a long pause, she noticed something odd:
This shameless priest… was still standing at the door!
Worse—he had stuffed tissue into his nostrils, as if preparing for a biohazard zone.
The shame was overwhelming.
Emma's face turned crimson.
Five minutes later, Gideon finally deemed the bathroom secure and approached her.
She sat upright on the toilet, legs dangling off the edge. Her skirt was still hiked up, but at least nothing indecent was exposed.
As Gideon glanced over, Emma snorted coldly and turned away.
He merely shrugged, checked her condition, then rummaged around the bathroom and found a card scraper.
Before attempting to separate Emma from the toilet seat, he habitually flushed.
A few moments later, Gideon frowned. The glue wouldn't budge.
Of course not. Emma had specifically chosen the strongest adhesive she could find, hoping to immobilize him—and now the trap had backfired.
After a few more failed attempts, Gideon gave up with a sigh.
He removed the tissues from his nose—they were getting uncomfortable anyway.
Phew…
Just as he took a breath, his expression darkened.
"You… didn't wipe?"
He stared at her, horrified.
Upon learning she hadn't, Gideon instinctively recoiled like a soldier dodging a grenade.
Emma, seeing his disgust, clenched her teeth in silent fury.
Her self-image—elegant, clean, flawless, mature—was completely shattered in this humiliating moment.
Her hatred for Gideon deepened even further.
"I'm going to buy a hairdryer."
Gideon bolted from the bathroom like his life depended on it—well, mostly to try a new solution.
Before leaving, he handed Emma some tissues and told her to clean herself properly.
---
When he returned...
Emma was much calmer and no longer embarrassed in front of him.
Fortunately, the hairdryer worked.
With a bit of careful application, Gideon managed to free her.
"I'm getting up. Turn around," Emma said coldly.
"What kid would want to look at you?" Gideon replied casually as he walked off.
Emma quickly got dressed, though there were still some glue remnants on her legs—she'd need a full shower to get them off.
---
Meanwhile, outside the bathroom...
Gideon heard a knock at the door.
He walked to the window and spotted a familiar figure.
---
"Hey, Gideon! Long time no see!"
Gordon greeted him with a friendly punch to the chest—a classic guy-to-guy gesture.
Gordon was a tall, muscular police officer with a thick mustache and a gleaming smile that always looked freshly whitened.
"What brings you here?" Gideon asked, steadying himself.
In the past, a punch from Gordon would've sent him staggering a few steps. Today, he barely flinched.
"Oh, nothing big... just a homicide case down at the precinct..."