Leon was well aware of his guilt, and considering he was in Roswitha's room—an away game for him—he had no advantage whatsoever.

Originally, he had been hoping to get away with the excuse of "you can't turn in homework during pregnancy."

But evidently, this dragoness had other methods at her disposal to torment him.

Her silver tail swayed lightly beneath the hem of her skirt as Roswitha took a step forward, slowly walking into the study.

Her captivating eyes rippled with amusement, and her smile, alluring and sultry, made her look like a predator appraising her inescapable prey.

The silver tail tipped gently upward, hooking onto the edge of the door, and closed it ever so slowly.

Click—

The sound of the door lock shutting sealed Leon's path to freedom completely.

Leon’s gaze drifted down from Roswitha’s face, traveling lower and lower until it landed on her delicate, boneless ankles.

He began stepping backward in sync with her deliberate approach.

Until the back of his knees bumped into the armrest of the chair behind him. Losing his balance, Leon stumbled and landed heavily onto the seat.

Leon silently cursed his bad luck, realizing that sitting—or worse, lying down—in front of this dragoness was no different from a helpless lamb straying into the wolf’s den.

Just as Leon was about to stand up, Roswitha moved in closer and then, with an exceptionally graceful duck-sit posture, lowered herself straight onto his lap.

This was her chair, after all—a study chair of neither grand nor petite size, conveniently accommodating the two of them in such an intimate arrangement.

The tantalizing closeness was enough to make one's heart race. Roswitha’s warm breath hovered mere inches from him, her supple body pressed snugly against his.

She never needed extravagant adornments because she knew all too well the breathtaking allure she already possessed.

Her long legs straddled Leon’s thighs from the outside, her insteps resting upon the seat, soles tilted upward, while her tail hung down naturally, its tip playfully grazing against Leon's calf.

Leon gripped the armrests tightly, his tension palpable, something Roswitha could sense all too clearly.

The more he resisted, the more she wanted to tease him—slowly, delightfully.

"So, tell me, what exactly were you sneaking into my room to do? Hmm? Skulking around like that, it couldn’t have been anything good."

Roswitha’s fingertip circled lightly on his cheek, a sly, seductive smile playing on her lips.

Leon turned his face away, refusing to meet her gaze. "Nothing much—just got lost, that’s all."

Roswitha chuckled at his clumsy excuse, leaning in closer until her soft body melded even more tightly with his. Her slender arms draped around his shoulders as her enchanting gaze shimmered. "Oh? You just ‘happened’ to get lost and ended up in my room? Looks like I must mean quite a bit to you somewhere deep down, huh?"

"You’ve got it wrong. You don’t mean a thing to me," Leon replied stubbornly.

"Hmph, well, you don’t mean anything to me either."

"Ha! So, a tie then." Leon smirked, clearly attempting to stall for time with nonsensical banter.

But stalling was all it could ever accomplish. What had to happen would inevitably happen.

Slap—

Roswitha lightly patted his cheek, scolding him with playful authority. "What tie? I’ve got the advantage now. You ought to behave and listen to me."

Leon swallowed nervously. "Anyway... during pregnancy, you’re not supposed to... you know, so there’s nothing you can do to me either!"

"Who said anything about *that*? As long as I can make you submit your homework, does it really matter how I achieve it?"

With those words, Roswitha’s agile tail coiled around Leon’s thigh in slow, deliberate rings.

Her control was impeccable: enough to exert a firm pressure, but never enough to cause discomfort.

Leon’s mind raced. Was this really going where he thought it was?

"Dragoness... don’t... you can’t, you *can’t* use your tail..."

Roswitha hooked her arms around Leon’s neck, tilting her head slightly to the side. Her sparkling silver eyes blinked mischievously as she asked in mock ignorance, "Why not use my tail? Aren’t you the one who just *loves* wrapping my tail around your waist all the time? Hmm?"

As she spoke, a sly grin curved her lips. She leaned in, brushing her heated lips lightly against the corner of Leon’s mouth.

"Remember that night at the hot springs? I’d drawn my tail back, but you insisted I let it show. Fine. This time, I’ll fulfill your fondness for my tail. Thoroughly. *Thoroughly.*"

These two foolishly besotted rivals shared a peculiar, inexplicable dynamic: neither could tolerate the other initiating, yet both loved issuing forceful commands.

Take the matter of the tail, for example.

Leon could order Roswitha to include her tail in their ‘turning-in-homework’ activities, but if she were to use her tail of her own volition? That would be a completely different story.

It all boiled down to one thing: the issue of coercion versus consent.

They both reveled in forcing the other’s hand.

Not to compel hated tasks, of course—just innocuous, contrived power struggles for the sheer *satisfaction* of it.

"Roswitha, stop this—now!" Leon demanded.

Stop the tail? He wasn’t even sure how to phrase it properly. But the point was: *Please stop!*

Struggling a little, Leon found Roswitha’s palm pressing firmly against his chest.

"Don’t wriggle, alright? Oh, mighty Dragon Slayer, my tail’s not like my hands or feet, you know. I don’t have quite the same degree of precision control over it," Roswitha murmured with feigned innocence.

She pushed him back into the chair, her mischievous smile saying it all. "If I accidentally exert *too much* strength... well, wouldn’t that be disastrous?"

"...So you absolutely *have* to use your tail?"

"Why? Are you hinting I should go back to *using my feet* like before?"

Never mind that.

Having to wash your feet afterward during post-nut clarity is too much.

Turning his head away was all he could do to cling to his last shred of dignity.

But unlike on a bed, where he might have had room to dodge, the confines of a chair left him trapped. No matter how he shifted his face, all Roswitha had to do was lean slightly, and her captivating visage would be back in view.

As she moved, the softness on her chest slightly pressed and rubbed, adding to Leon's tension.

All things considered, perhaps it was better not to squirm too much.

Meanwhile, Roswitha’s tail closed the gap toward its true intended goal.

Just as before, it moved with an eerily dexterous elegance, applying calculated pressure. It teased with enough control to amplify Leon’s tension but stopped short of outright discomfort.

However, Roswitha was less than pleased. Leon appeared to have emotionally checked out—like a deflated balloon.

She glanced at his face. Sure enough, he had that meditative air of someone forcing themselves into a disciplined Zen-like composure.

Oh, so that’s how it is, huh, Mr. Dragon Slayer?

Thrown off balance because you’re suddenly faced with a new method?

Or is it simply too monotonous for your admittedly high-strung tastes?

Roswitha pinched Leon’s chin lightly and angled her head against his shoulder. Her warm breath spilled into his ear in tantalizing waves, both ticklish and seductive.

"Your little friend doesn’t seem to have woken up yet, Dragon Slayer. Care to explain why?"

Leon side-eyed her with a sneer, his voice brimming with defiance. "*A mere tail*? You think you can shatter my resolve with that? Keep dreaming."

"Oh, your mouth is as arrogant as ever, I see. Alright then. If the tail alone isn’t enough..." She leaned in closer, her soft lips brushing against the edge of Leon’s ear. "...I’ll just have to add something else."

So, you’ve been holding back this whole time?

Roswitha leaned in closer, her soft lips gently brushing against his heated ear.

The next moment, a tingling dragon's whisper resonated directly into Leon's hearing.

As a top dragon slayer, Leon had to possess a highly sensitive ability to perceive the sounds of dragons, which had saved him from danger on the battlefield multiple times.

Yet, battlefields weren't only those of blood and sweat. At this instant, Leon wished he didn’t even have ears.

Observing Leon’s reaction, Roswitha smiled satisfactorily. "Do you like my voice?"

With a flushed face, Leon gritted his teeth, glaring at Roswitha. "Despicable!"

In a clash of nemeses, who cares about being despicable or not? As long as it works. Roswitha’s cheeks turned slightly red as she gave a captivating smile.

"Judging by your reaction, this trick seems pretty effective. So, shall we... continue?"

Under the resonance of the dragon patterns, Roswitha's "dragon whisper" was far from dry and contrived.

It was filled with deep emotion.

Gradually, Leon found himself lost in the sound. Roswitha smiled knowingly—the next phase could begin.

She controlled her tail with grace and precision.

In fact, she had just been teasing Leon.

The dragons are highly skilled in controlling their tails with incredible accuracy.