After Leon caught Roswitha in the bathtub, the battlefield shifted from the bathroom to his bed.

They went several rounds. But it seemed that Teacher Leon found the bed too small and unsatisfying, so he carried Roswitha into her room.

During the break, Roswitha, her face flushed rosy red, asked, "Do you really need to move around so much? If it's the bathroom, stay in the bathroom. If it's your room, stay there. Aren’t you afraid someone might notice with all this back-and-forth?"

Leon was nonchalant. "You're the Queen, and I'm the Queen's husband. Whatever we do is perfectly natural."

Roswitha narrowed her eyes and ground her teeth. "You’re so... shameless!"

Leon scratched his head. "If anyone's shameless here, dear Melkevi, it might be you. When you're resting, you tell me to stop. But once we start, you say, 'Don't stop, keep going.' If we’re keeping score, it seems like you've got me beat."

Roswitha was left speechless, clutching a pillow to her chest, crumpling its surface as her fingers tightened their grip.

She glared at Leon, her emotions churning with both embarrassment and anger. The past couple of days had undoubtedly been the darkest period in her life as the Silver Dragon Queen.

And yet, this mess ultimately stemmed from her own reckless misuse of Blood Enchantment.

Who would have thought that decision would lead her to this point today?

The more Roswitha thought about it, the angrier she became—angry at her own carelessness, and just as livid at Leon’s smug satisfaction as the triumphant captor.

Her ample chest rose and fell with the surging tide of her unyielding frustration and indignation.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to calm down and think logically.

In this situation, mere anger was useless.

If anything, her frustration would only embolden Leon to behave even more brazenly, putting her already declining family "rank" into irreparable freefall.

She had to come up with a strategy—find a way to turn the tables in this seemingly hopeless scenario.

After a moment of thought, Roswitha decided to retry a plan she had attempted at 2:30 AM once before.

Her plan hinged on Leon’s odd habit of muttering honest truths when sound asleep at that specific hour. She aimed to probe him for the whereabouts of the backup photos.

If she could locate and destroy those backups, her miserable days would finally come to an end!

But this strategy depended on Leon being asleep before 2:30 AM.

Roswitha glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was a little past eleven at night.

She lowered her gaze to Leon, seated beside her.

The insufferable man showed no trace of fatigue; his breathing was even and steady, his energy practically overflowing. The night’s prior "combat" seemed to have not worn him down in the slightest—he looked ready for several more rounds of battle.

Seeing this, Roswitha internally kicked herself. This guy was insane! From now on, she swore to be vigilant, never letting him seize the initiative so easily again.

But she was no lamb waiting for the slaughter. Adjusting her emotions, Roswitha softened her tone and asked,

"Feeling tired yet?"

Leon spared her a glance and didn’t answer directly. Instead, he countered with a question of his own. "What? Are you tired?"

Roswitha rubbed her arms and dropped her silver gaze, shaking her head. "I’m only worried about you."

"Worried about me?"

Since when did this dragoness start worrying about him?

"Of course," she replied. "You humans have a saying, don't you? Something like, ‘Fine wine is best enjoyed in moderation.’"

Roswitha went on, "Even the body of the strongest Dragon Slayer can’t handle nonstop exertion day and night."

As she spoke, she even leaned in closer.

Roswitha lifted her hand, her soft, warm palm resting on Leon’s shoulder.

Her chest pressed lightly against his arm, and warm breaths fanned his ear, tickling faintly.

"I’m fine with whatever," she said, her voice tinged with a trace of vulnerability, "You can come to me as many times as you want. After all, the power dynamic clearly favors you, and I don't even dare resist you."

With a faint sign of deference, she added, "But you should care for your health, shouldn’t you? I’m not going anywhere, so you can find me whenever you want. Like they always say, slow and steady wins the race—there’s no need to stay up so late every single night."

If Leon hadn’t earlier caught her sneaking into his room to search for those hidden photos, he might’ve almost believed the performance by this dragoness.

There were only two scenarios in which Leon would consider buying into Roswitha’s words:

1) Roswitha had been thoroughly and utterly "conquered."

2) Leon had "conquered" her so thoroughly that he’d lost himself in the process.

In any case, as long as both of them retained their wits about them, Leon wouldn’t believe even a punctuation mark from her mouth.

He wasn’t about to let his newly won household authority falter so easily due to her pitiful act.

That said...

He decided to humor her for now and see what she was scheming.

Feigning hesitation, he finally said, "You make a fair point. In that case... we’ll call it a night."

Roswitha’s eyes lit up, and she let out a soft sigh of relief.

However, she knew better than to expose her emotions too blatantly. Instead of looking like she was granted a reprieve, she acted as though she were reluctant. "Mmm... but if you’re not fully satisfied, we could...maybe take a shower together?"

Ah yes, The Most Sensible Roswitha™ initiation episode—

Too bad Leon wasn’t dumb enough to get reeled in by that act.

Internally snorting with derision, he shook his head, got out of bed, and stood up.

"Rest well. See you tomorrow."

He dressed quickly and left Roswitha’s room.

Click—

The sound of the door closing brought immense relief to Roswitha. She exhaled her tension with a deep breath.

Good. The first step of her plan was a success.

Now all she needed to do was quietly await 2:30 AM.

Roswitha covered her face with her hands, rested briefly, then got out of bed. She headed to the bathroom.

Turning on the faucet, streams of warm water cascaded downward, flowing over her body.

Standing before the mirror, she surveyed herself.

From her waist upward, her pale skin was littered with faint marks—a testament to Leon’s earlier "conquests."

And, of course, Leon himself bore similar marks.

Thankfully, with cooler weather, she hadn’t had to wear anything too revealing lately; otherwise, Anna and the others would undoubtedly notice, and she’d never hear the end of their gossiping chatter.

"Jerk… could you at least bite a little more gently?" she muttered, her voice low.

Roswitha pressed a hand to her abdomen, focusing momentarily until a faint glow emanated beneath her palm.

This was a necessary precaution after "absorbing" Leon’s... contributions. Otherwise, in ten months’ time, these contributions might just become "fruit of love" instead.

Once that was taken care of, Roswitha exited the bathroom, dried herself off, then climbed into bed, quietly waiting for 2:30 AM.

...

Several hours passed as Roswitha tiptoed into Leon’s bedroom.

He lay sprawled out like a starfish atop the bed, his breaths slow and steady, clearly fast asleep.

Roswitha crept to the bedside, watching his sharp, defined features illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window.

"Hmph, so even the mighty Dragon Slayer lies utterly defenseless in his slumber."

She glanced toward the wall clock.

2:29 AM.

Roswitha took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Tick-tick-tick…

The seconds dragged by in sync with her beating heart until finally—it arrived.

2:30 AM.

"Leon Casmod, where did you hide the backups of my Bunny Girl photos?" Roswitha asked.

No answer.

She waited silently.

The last time this trick had worked, there’d been a short delay before Leon responded.

But after long seconds passed, there was nothing but silence.

Roswitha frowned slightly. "Leon, where are the photos hidden?"

Still, there was no reply.

The spark of hope she’d ignited moments earlier was instantly snuffed out.

Her mentor had told her that asking questions at 2:30 AM "might" elicit truthful answers.

But clearly, "might" was not "always," nor even "often."

It seemed pure luck had been on her side that prior time when she had struck gold.

And today, of all days, when the stakes were highest, fortune had spurned her completely.

Disappointed, Roswitha turned to leave the room.

But then—a sudden thought occurred to her.

She stopped mid-step and turned back to Leon, pursing her lips before softly demanding,

"Leon, take me to where you're hiding the photos."

Her mentor had also mentioned an alternative to eliciting truth: sometimes, “dares” could also compel action.

Holding onto the slimmest shred of hope, Roswitha gave it a try.

She anxiously awaited his reaction.

C'mon, c'mon… Move, Leon… Move already, Leon!

"...Mmm..."

Leon murmured, and to her astonishment, he began to stir.

Roswitha’s heart leaped with excitement. There was still hope!

Leon groggily sat up before sluggishly shuffling to his feet, his movements slow and unsteady as though in a trance. He staggered toward the door.

Roswitha trailed behind him with the barest of smiles pulling at her lips.

"Hah, stupid man. Enjoy your two days of thinking you were in control. By morning, you’ll find yourself knocked right off your throne and back to square one!"