Morning light—cruelly clear—pierced through the enormous stained-glass window of Victoria Housekeeping's reception hall.
Crimson, cobalt blue, and gilded gold were filtered into heavy, stagnant patches of color across the expensive Aubusson carpet, like frozen icons watching the people beneath them with silent judgment.
The rich aroma of black tea intertwined with the sweet warmth of freshly baked scones, yet it did nothing to ease the dense atmosphere—so thick it felt touchable—an uneasy blend of embarrassment, anger, grievance, and wary scrutiny.
Qianye and Lina were fully dressed now, seated side by side on the central sofa: a wide, deep piece upholstered in dark green velvet, its back carved with the Victoria crest.
Lina—the head maid who usually wore perfection like a second skin—still sat with her spine straight and her hands elegantly folded on her lap.
But if you looked closely, her fingertips were pale, and the corners of her lips—normally soft with composure—had tightened into a single strained line. She avoided looking in certain directions, gaze lowered as though she were studying the carpet's intricate weave with academic seriousness.
Qianye looked dazed.
His silver hair was slightly messy, a few strands hanging over his forehead and making his already pale face appear even more washed out. Emerald eyes still held traces of shock and lingering confusion; his gaze drifted—uncontrolled, involuntary—toward Wise, who sat on a single chair off to the side, and toward Belle, pressed close to Wise and nearly swallowed by the armchair's broad cushions.
He seemed to be trying to remember why the two of them had appeared so abruptly in Victoria Housekeeping's reception hall at dawn.
Silence rose like a tide, threatening to drown the room.
In the end, it was Lycaon who broke it.
As the undisputed mediator of this place and moment, Lycaon moved with measured ease, setting the delicate white porcelain teacup back onto its gilt saucer.
A crisp clink rang out in the overly quiet room—like a formal signal that the proceedings had begun.
His silver-gray ears turned by the smallest degree, catching every frequency of emotion in the air.
Those calm red eyes, weighted with years and discipline, swept across every face present like a precision scanner—then settled on Qianye.
"Sir Qianye," he said, his voice low and steady, professional to the point of severity, yet carrying invisible pressure like a hand on the back of one's neck.
"The cause of this incident was Miss Belle contacting Miss Corin via Knock-Knock early this morning."
His gaze shifted to the small figure in a dark green maid uniform—trying desperately to shrink herself into nonexistence.
Corin flinched as if pricked by a needle. Her head, already lowered, dropped even further until it nearly touched her chest. Both hands clutched the lace at her skirt so hard her knuckles lost all color and trembled.
She drew a breath, as though it took immense courage just to make a sound. Her voice was thin and wavering—yet it carried cleanly through the silent hall.
"Y-yes… Um… Miss Belle—she… invited me… to go out… shopping…"
The words came in broken fragments, and there was a strange tremor in her tone—like she could still feel how hard she'd tried to be brave and polite in that moment.
"…But I refused," she continued, "because… because you, Doctor Qianye… were still asleep… and there was no one… to take care of you…"
As she said it, her voice trembled with something almost self-congratulatory—like her own sense of responsibility and thoughtfulness had moved her in hindsight.
But when her story inevitably reached the next part, the calm surface cracked.
Her shoulders began to quiver uncontrollably, and her voice caught with the edge of a sob.
"I… I thought Miss Lina had taken care of you all night… she must be… must be very tired… so I quietly… pushed open the door to the guest room next door… thinking maybe I could help… even just check in…"
She stopped.
It was as if an invisible hand had seized her throat.
Her whole body locked up—because in that instant, the overwhelming visual shock and emotional tsunami surged back over her again.
For Corin, it wasn't just anger.
It felt like a collapse of faith—like the sea had split open beneath her feet and revealed a swallowing abyss.
Her mind had held only one thought then:
How could it…? How could Miss Lina…? Doctor Qianye… that scene… it shouldn't be like that. Liars. Everyone's lying—
But right before that annihilating rage could smash through what little reason she had left, her eyes caught something else:
Even in sleep, Lina's brows were faintly drawn—as if bearing a weight of fatigue and pressure too heavy to explain.
And deeper still, Corin remembered the gentleness Lina had shown her in everyday life—patient guidance, warm tolerance for Corin's clumsiness.
Even deeper—at a level Corin didn't want to face—was a subtler feeling, one she couldn't bear to name:
Not long ago, when she'd been tucking the blankets around them, she had stolen something—like a trembling thief tasting forbidden fruit.
Holding her breath, she had leaned in and pressed a few quick, feather-light kisses to Qianye's pale lips—shaking, salted faintly with her own tears.
I… I stole it too… so why… why was she first…? It isn't fair…
That mix of guilt and secret yearning became a strange shackle that forced her fury and accusations back down into her chest.
She remembered how she had walked forward without a word—mechanically—hands shaking as she pulled the velvet blanket up again, tucking it around them with a tenderness so careful it felt like handling fragile glass.
She moved lightly, afraid to wake them, and even more afraid of what waking them would mean.
When she was done, she drifted out like a ghost and closed the door gently behind her.
Then, as if the strength she'd been holding finally detonated, she shook awake Ellen in the next room—Ellen had been asleep from sedative tea—and, through Knock-Knock, sent Belle a frantic, crying, barely coherent message:
Come—now—something happened.
She also forwarded the location to Wise and Belle.
And that was how the morning's chaos had been ignited so perfectly: a full-blown "caught-in-bed" explosion that left everyone's dignity in ashes.
Now, in the center of the storm, Lina knew she had to speak.
She had to offer an explanation—something that could calm the outrage, or at least divert its focus.
She inhaled deeply. The gesture was small, but it carried the weight of resolve. The slender fingers interlaced on her lap tensed until her knuckles rose and paled, tinted bluish-white.
She lifted her eyes toward Qianye beside her. Something flashed there—protectiveness, self-sacrifice, and a fierce determination to shoulder everything herself.
Her lips parted, ready to take the blame and responsibility onto her own shoulders—
And in that exact moment, a warm hand gently covered the back of her clenched hand.
Qianye's hand.
He stood.
Not abruptly—yet the motion carried a quiet force that drew every gaze like a magnet.
His emerald eyes, like a lake after a storm, were still tired and faintly lost, but something inside them had steadied—a resolve that refused to hide.
He looked around at every face: anger, grievance, worry, confusion, scrutiny, shock, disappointment.
Then he spoke, clearly and evenly, shattering the defensive wall Lina had tried to raise.
"Everyone," he began, apology in his tone but no self-abasement, "I'm sorry. Because of me, you were worried—and… this has caused all of you so much trouble and embarrassment."
He paused, gathering the courage to say what needed to be said.
"The responsibility is mine. It has to do with… a power that awakened in me recently—one I still can't fully control."
Another pause, as if he could feel the air tightening into a stretched wire.
Then, word by word, he dropped the bomb:
"It has a strong… 'charm' component. Last night, Miss Lina's loss of control… is very likely connected to that influence."
He turned his gaze outward, holding it steady.
"She is… a victim."
The confession hit like a boulder dropped into already churning water—no gentle ripples, only a crashing wave.
Belle and Wise reacted almost simultaneously.
Belle sucked in a sharp breath, clapping a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened in disbelief, then her other hand lifted—almost unconsciously—to touch her special eyes, her expression twisting into a strange mixture of realization and deeper confusion.
Wise's expression lost all leftover awkwardness in an instant. His brow knotted tight, his concern locking onto Qianye like he was trying to see straight through flesh and bone and re-evaluate the change that had occurred inside him.
Among Victoria Housekeeping, aside from Lina and Ellen—who already knew—everyone else fell into a silence so deep it was nearly dead.
Corin jerked her head up. Tears clung to her lashes. Her violet eyes were filled with pure, world-shattering disbelief, her mouth slightly open as if she'd forgotten how to cry.
The silence didn't last.
Lycaon rose from his seat.
His tall frame carried its own pressure even at rest; now it stood firm as a mountain. In his eyes, there was no longer only restraint—there was solemnity, and a heavy, unmistakable remorse.
He inclined his torso toward Qianye in a controlled, formal bow: the highest level of apology a butler could offer.
"Sir Qianye," Lycaon said, voice deeper than before, each syllable weighed like forged metal, "first, allow me, as Victoria Housekeeping's external representative, to offer our most sincere and profound apology for Lina's serious breach of decorum and boundaries."
"This behavior violated our core principles of service, and betrayed the trust you placed in us."
He straightened. His gaze cut to Lina—firm, uncompromising—then returned to Qianye, voice sharp with vow-like finality.
"I, Von Lycaon, swear upon my personal honor and upon Victoria Housekeeping's name: from this moment forward, I will impose strict restraint on all members."
"No one will ever again, without your explicit, conscious consent, exploit any reason—any circumstance—to violate your will or abuse your trust."
His eyes swept over Ellen and Corin like a blade.
"This kind of act will not be tolerated within Victoria Housekeeping. There will be no second occurrence."
The vow—so absolute, leaving no room for ambiguity—hit Ellen and Corin like a bucket of ice mixed with despair.
Ellen's fist clenched hard enough to crack her joints. Her shark tail slammed the floor once with a dull thud. The lollipop stick between her teeth snapped with a sharp crack.
Corin's tears surged again, but now they weren't simple hurt—they were disappointment and something like being sentenced. She bit her lip until she couldn't cry out loud, her small body trembling like a leaf in a gale.
They had just tasted the bitterness of losing.
Now it felt as if even the tiniest remaining possibility—future hope, however faint—was being forcibly extinguished by Lycaon's ironclad "principle."
And today, Lycaon's stance was harder than anyone had ever seen it.
Those red eyes held a light that permitted neither argument nor appeal.
Seeing the room's tension grow sharper rather than easing—new conflict brewing beneath the surface—Wise chose the moment to stand.
He reached out and patted Qianye's shoulder in a calming gesture, then addressed Lycaon with careful, rational restraint.
"Mr. Lycaon. Thank you for being candid and taking responsibility. But… it seems everyone is overwhelmed right now. Maybe… everyone needs time to cool down and process this—this information."
His phrasing stayed cautious.
"Some of this… involving Qianye's sudden ability… is extremely complicated. It might genuinely take time to untangle."
Lycaon held Wise's gaze for a long moment, then looked to Qianye and Lina—complicated shadows shifting behind his composure.
Finally, he nodded once, accepting the proposal. His posture remained straight and distant.
"Agreed. Until we have clearer understanding, further discussion is unwise. Then today's meeting ends here."
On the drive back to Sixth Street, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Belle couldn't keep her composure any longer. She flopped face-down onto the spacious back seat like her bones had been pulled out, then burst into loud, wailing sobs—wrapping both arms around Qianye as she cried into him.
"Waaah—!! It's gone! It's all gone! The purest, cleanest Qianye energy! It's contaminated! Completely contaminated! I'll never be able to absorb it again—waaah!"
It didn't sound like embarrassment or anger.
It sounded like the collapse of a belief system—like a priceless treasure she'd hoarded for years had been irreversibly tainted.
Wise's hands were locked tight around the steering wheel. Veins stood out along the back of his hands.
In the rearview mirror, he watched Qianye's heavy silence, and his brow tightened into a hard knot.
He forced himself to maintain driving calm, but the rigid line of his mouth and the whitened knuckles gave away the storm inside him.
The moment they returned to Random Play—the familiar, dimly lit video store—
The shelves of tapes caught faint reflections like countless silent eyes watching them.
Wise turned around. In the low light filtering through a curtain gap, his expression was more serious than Qianye had seen in a long time. His gaze was fierce and unwavering.
"Qianye," Wise said, dropping all pleasantries, his voice heavy. "Right now—immediately—tell me. Do you know what you should do next?"
"Think carefully before you answer."
Qianye met his stare without hesitation. His answer was simple, direct, and stubbornly earnest.
"I know. Regardless of whether it started because of my uncontrollable ability, the fact is—I had sex with Lina."
"Since it happened, I have to take responsibility."
"And I can be sure her feelings for me are real—not purely driven by ability. For me… that's enough."
Wise exhaled hard, as if he'd just heard something both infuriating and painfully inevitable. He rubbed his forehead with force, like he could massage away the headache.
"That's not what I'm talking about! I'm not asking whether you should take responsibility for Lina!"
"I'm asking you—" his tone sharpened, a frustrated urgency rising, "—are you really so sure that the rest of your life, your emotional destination, should be tied down this early, this decisively, to Lina alone?"
"Can't you just… stop and look around you?"
"At the bigger forest outside that one tree?"
He stepped closer, dropping his voice as he stated what he considered an undeniable reality.
"Trigger. An old friend we've known for years. Don't tell me you can't feel how she is toward you."
"And Ellen, Corin, Nicole, Anby, Koleda, Grace—oh, damn it—"
"In any case, there are more people I won't list. Anyone with eyes can see how they feel about you. And then there's—"
He cut himself off mid-sentence, as if he'd struck a forbidden nerve.
His gaze flicked—silent, complicated, worried—toward the closed door to the second floor.
Belle's sobbing had weakened, but the broken, intermittent sniffles still threaded through the air like cold spider silk.
Qianye fell silent.
The silence stretched long, weighted as if a thousand pounds sat on his throat.
At last he spoke, voice bitter and raw with self-doubt.
"Trigger…" he repeated the name like chewing something too sharp to swallow.
"I… can't be sure."
"I'm even… terrified that maybe long ago—before I ever noticed—this damned ability I was born with… had already… 'charmed' her without my knowing."
"If I can't even confirm whether the foundation of that feeling is her true, pure free will… how can I consider her?"
"How is that any different from using my power to trick someone?"
Pain and confusion filled his eyes—a deep interrogation of his own existence.
Wise's anger flared, mixed with a helpless kind of ache. He grabbed Qianye by the shoulders, his voice harder than ever.
"Listen to me, Qianye! I'm not telling you to become some two-timing scumbag right now!"
"I'm telling you not to use the word 'responsibility' to nail yourself to a relationship you haven't even fully understood yet."
"Until you fully control that damned ability—until you can clearly distinguish what portion of every person's feelings is truly their own and what portion comes from this cursed charm—don't promise anyone your whole life."
"That's what real responsibility looks like."
"To you. To Lina. To Trigger. To everyone who might care about you."
"Do you understand?!"
Qianye jolted, like a blunt strike had finally landed.
Wise's words were brutal, but they cracked open the mental lock Qianye had built out of guilt and duty.
He stared at Wise, emerald eyes churning with violent internal struggle.
He didn't argue.
He simply swallowed the warning—word by word—and sank into an even deeper, heavier contemplation of himself, of feelings, of what "responsibility" truly meant.
Meanwhile, back at Victoria Housekeeping's opulent but frigid residence, a different low-pressure storm brewed.
Lycaon, with near-command authority, granted Ellen—who wore open defiance—and Corin—eyes swollen from silent crying—a "paid leave" and all but forcibly escorted them out through the main doors.
They were ordered not to return until their emotions had stabilized and they had thought things through.
Inside a vast, richly appointed study, Lycaon sat opposite Lina.
His red eyes were sharp under the shifting sunlight, and his tone was the most serious it had ever been—almost interrogative.
He used no honorifics this time. He called her name directly, emphasizing the gravity of the conversation.
"Now there's no one else here. I need you to set aside personal emotion and answer honestly and accurately."
"Can you guarantee that Sir Qianye can effectively control that power? Or at the very least, that he clearly recognizes it and is consciously resisting and trying to control it?"
Lina met his gaze without flinching.
Her back straightened, and she answered firmly, clearly.
"I can be certain, Lycaon. He not only recognizes the existence and danger of that power—he also resisted decisively when it tried to influence him and me."
"His willpower is far stronger than most people ever realize. I believe he is actively seeking a way to control it."
Lycaon fell silent.
His long, bony fingers tapped the carved armrest of the mahogany chair in a slow, deliberate rhythm—thud, thud—like an internal scale weighing outcomes.
Firelight danced in his pupils, reflecting deep calculation.
Then his tapping stopped.
He raised his head. A decision—coldly computed—lit his eyes.
"If that's the case… Lina," he said, voice lowered into confidential gravity, "then about the 'Oni' specimen we brought out of the Hollow using Sir Qianye's case…"
"It may be able to serve a larger purpose."
"But everything must be built on Sir Qianye's consent. And in the short term… Victoria Housekeeping's internal problem cannot be solved cleanly."
Lina let out a helpless smile, then looked at Lycaon seriously.
"Lycaon, my mistake should not be shifted onto others in Victoria Housekeeping."
"Ellen and Corin… they have the right to pursue happiness."
"And…" Lina's face suddenly flushed. She lifted a hand and gently touched her lower abdomen, then fell silent.
Even though it had been her first time too—
Facing Qianye's freshly unsheathed "blade," she'd collapsed within only a few rounds.
If she didn't have help…
Then the next time she faced that already-drawn weapon—
She definitely wouldn't be able to take it.
"Hold out?"
At PubSec's branch office on Lumina Square, a conference room fell into a collective silence as leaders and commanders stared at the latest report.
"It doesn't make sense," one of them said, setting down his teacup and rubbing his chin. "In that rainy-day strike, we hit them hard and they lost a lot of manpower. Mountain Lion should be at the end of the road by now."
"But instead of hiding to lick their wounds, they're fighting us like their lives depend on it."
Another officer picked up the thread, pushing his glasses up as he traced a red line across the holographic map with a fingertip.
"Even stranger—they actually held against PubSec's full encirclement."
"That doesn't match their usual style."
A middle-aged commander's expression darkened. He opened a classified file.
"…A third party has entered the field. We don't know the full picture yet, but it's highly likely the Choir is involved."
"It's time to pull our mole from Mountain Lion. If she keeps going, it'll be too dangerous."
"I've already requested support from headquarters. And Airborne Sixth—famous as they are—will also be backing us."
"It's time to send someone to bring her back."
"As for who—"
He lifted his eyes.
"Captain Zhu Yuan. Why don't you have your Criminal Investigation Special Response Team 'capture' Mountain Lion's boss—Jane—and bring her in?"
"Captain Zhu Yuan?"
"Captain Zhu Yuan?"
"…Huh?! Yes! Understood—guaranteed mission success!"
Join here to read ahead.
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Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
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Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
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Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
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Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 225
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Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 76
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
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The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 115
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 130
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 105
I Can Copy Unique Skills 100
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Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 100
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The Most Filial Son Under Heav 75
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Hell-Difficulty Dungeon? 55
Transmigrated as Sukuna 71
Checking In in Demon Slayer 75
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 80
I Refuse to Become a Heroic 66
My Best Friend Into a Slime? 58
A Saiyan Stands Above Marvel 65
What Do You Mean by Using a Lab Mod to Be the Hero? 63
Tanya Starts from Re:Zero 59
Why did they assign me to Uma 55
MYGO Beauties 56
DanMachi: Emiya the Giant Hero 45
The Gacha Merchant Who Started 49
Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 36
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 35
The Uma Musume Who Became 30
I'm Definitely Not the King of 35
After Maxing Out Every Class 35
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