The Bunny Girl wasn't around, but he did encounter the familiar "dragon queen's sitting posture."

Roswitha was perched atop Leon’s abdomen, her knee pinning down his left hand.

As for his right hand, it was tied to the bedhead with that same stocking she had used just a moment ago.

Both of them understood perfectly well that a flimsy stocking, as fragile as paper, couldn't possibly restrain the raw strength of a top-tier Dragon Slayer’s right hand if he wanted to break free.

But Roswitha honestly didn’t believe this shameless man would have the gall to confront her physically after his little scheme had been exposed.

The queen crossed her arms and looked down at Leon, who was now pinned beneath her. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she spoke in a deliberately exaggerated, playful tone:

"I’m just so moved, so very deeply moved, my dear husband. I bet you were on the verge of tears yourself when you said those touching words, weren't you?"

"...I... I wouldn’t dare move."

"And why wouldn't you? Hm? Here in my Silver Dragon Castle—"

Roswitha leaned forward, her ample bosom gently pressing against Leon’s chest. She reached out her delicate hand to pat his face.

"—what is it that Prince Leon Cosmod dares not do?"

Leon licked his parched lips, stammering, "Actually... this is all just a big misunderstanding. Would you hear me out if I tried to explain?"

Roswitha smiled slyly, narrowing her eyes further. “Of course, I’d listen. Anything my dear husband says, I always listen to.”

"Then why don’t you be a good wife and untie this stocking for me first?" Leon shook his right wrist, which was still ceremonially tied up in black silk.

Only the one who started the problem can solve it.

If he dares to break free on his own, he'll likely provoke the already vulnerable dragon, quickly leading to a "homework submission".

After the last encounter in the study, Leon's magic reserves had yet to recover much. There was no way he could afford another "offering" to her.

But Roswitha pouted and shook her head, then—using the gentlest tone imaginable—uttered the most tormenting words:

"That’s not an option, darling. Tonight, this stocking will either stay bound to your wrist or be stuffed in your mouth. If you insist I untie you, then I’ll have no choice but to—"

“Thanks, but no need for the trouble. It’s fine just the way it is,” Leon hastily interrupted.

Roswitha snorted coldly. "So you dare lie to me, Leon? Aren’t you scared your lies will make your mouth rot?"

Leon averted his gaze and muttered, "If anything rots, it’ll only be half my mouth..."

Roswitha furrowed her brows. "What did you just say?"

"I said, even if my mouth rots, it’d only rot halfway. I'm not scared."

"Halfway... rotting? What’s that supposed to mean?"

She was beginning to suspect the implication behind Leon’s words.

But given that this man had literally just sweet-talked her into an emotional corner, Roswitha didn’t commit to her guess immediately.

Leon glanced at her, then quickly looked away. "What I told your sister earlier… it was half true, half not."

The last few words were uttered so faintly, as if he were eager to brush past them quickly.

But Roswitha still caught the phrase "half true, half not."

Her initial doubts largely melted away due to Leon’s obvious attempt to gloss over it.

If he were still weaving lies or trying to trick her, he wouldn’t be so ambiguous about it.

Roswitha’s expression softened a little as she tilted her head slightly. "Half true, half not? I don’t get it. Explain it properly."

“What’s there to explain? There weren’t even that many sentences altogether, and you heard them all just now.”

He wasn’t wrong. The promise he made to Isa was simple—just a single, straightforward sentence.

As for what he meant by "half true, half not," it didn’t refer to the content of the promise itself but rather to Leon’s state of mind at the time.

It was complicated. Awkward.

He couldn’t put it into words, not in this situation, and probably not even if given time to think it over and write it down.

He simply had no way to provide Roswitha with a satisfactory explanation.

"Hmph. So basically, you're just making stuff up, right? Half true, half not? What kind of lame excuse is that?"

Of course, she knew Leon wasn’t just making stuff up, nor was he using some lame excuse.

She said that merely to make him feel uncomfortable.

If he had just tricked her into even the slightest spark of sentimentality with his sweet talk, it was only fair he paid a little price for it.

“Tch. Believe me or not, I don’t care. I’m not wasting my breath trying to convince you.”

Oh, look at him being all defensive now.

Claiming he doesn’t care, but deep down, he's dying for me to understand, isn’t he?

Hmph, Leon, we may be destined adversaries, but that very fact means we understand each other too well.

That little dance of yours is practically written across your face.

Roswitha was quite pleased with Leon's reaction.

She had expected him to snipe back, perhaps escalating things until they reached a boiling point where tension would snap like a taut bowstring.

Instead, his words still carried that signature stubbornness, yet under it, there was an unfamiliar softness—a tenderness she hadn’t seen before.

Roswitha exhaled slowly, deciding that this was as far as she’d take things tonight.

If they moved into "homework submission", it was already too late; in less than three hours, it’d be dawn.

Better to save it for another day.

But just as she was about to let him off the hook, that darn man murmured:

“Who would’ve thought you’d care so much about that promise I made to your sister? Could it be you actually want to turn the fake into reality—mmpf!”

Before Leon could finish his sentence, Roswitha grabbed the oversized stuffed bear from the bed and smothered his face with it.

The Dragon Slayer beneath her struggled furiously, writhing, but Roswitha sat atop him like a mountain, unmovable.

“Murder! Roswitha, this is murder! Mmpf!”

“Ha, how can it be murder when it’s the stuffed bear doing it? This is all on Mr. Bear, darling! May you pass peacefully!”

“Mmpf mmmmf!”

"What? What’s that? I can’t hear you, husband. Bear with it; it’ll be over soon~!"

She hadn’t used much strength during this "attack," and Leon’s struggles weren’t anywhere near life-threatening.

It was nothing more than the usual spice in their lives as a couple.

But as Leon flailed about, his hand suddenly felt something hard on the back of the stuffed bear.

His movements came to an abrupt halt as memories from a long time ago resurfaced in his mind.

That was during the time when Roswitha had been comatose from Blood Enchantment. Day and night, he stayed by her side, caring for her, wiping her face, tending to her needs.

One day, utterly exhausted, he had fallen asleep by her bedside, his hand accidentally brushing against this stuffed bear he had given her.

Back then, he had also felt something hard inside it.

Most stuffed bears are supposed to be soft, filled with nothing but fluff, aren’t they?

Caught in his thoughts, the stuffed bear was pulled away from his face.

"Wow, husband, you’re quite hard to kill,” Roswitha teased, noting his flushed face.

Leon ignored her, his gaze landing on the stuffed bear beside him.

Taking advantage of Roswitha’s brief distraction, he suddenly grabbed the bear, his hands darting toward the zipper on its back.

Realizing what he was doing, Roswitha’s expression immediately shifted. She lunged for the bear.

Oh? Panicking now?

This bear must be hiding something big, something secret.

Using a deft maneuver, Leon slipped out from under her.

Roswitha, in her hurried pursuit, didn’t even bother putting on her slippers before chasing him out of bed.

What ensued was a classic "catch-me-if-you-can" sequence, featuring the Dragon Slayer and the dragon queen circling the bed in a game that couldn’t look more childish, akin to kids chasing each other during recess.

After several rounds, Roswitha stood on the left side of the bed, while Leon was on the right.

Across the expanse of the bed, their eyes locked in a silent standoff.

“Give me back the bear!” Roswitha demanded.

“No—your frantic reaction tells me there’s definitely something good inside,” Leon shot back.

“I’m *not* frantic!”

“Pfft, you’re practically wearing the word frantic on your face.”

At Leon’s taunting remark, Roswitha’s foot tapped the carpet, and Leon took the chance to bolt toward the balcony.

She immediately leapt over the bed barefoot, chasing after him.

But by the time she reached the balcony, the poor stuffed bear had already been subjected to a rather brutal "operation."

Leon stood there triumphantly—clutching… a photograph.

Seeing this, Roswitha hurried forward, swiping the photo from his hand.

Blushing furiously, she hid the picture behind her back, but she was certain Leon had already glimpsed its contents.

For the first time that evening, Leon grew unusually quiet. Rubbing the back of his neck, he hesitated for a moment before saying softly, “I didn’t think you’d still keep that photo.”

Roswitha bit her lip, her voice stiff as she retorted, “I just forgot to throw it out.”

“Forgot to throw it out…? Doesn't really explain why it’s hidden inside the bear I gave you…”

“I *told* you I forgot!”

After snapping back, Roswitha bit her lip again, hesitating for just a second longer this time. Then, resolutely, she tossed the photo over the balcony’s edge.

Watching the photo vanish into the night, her chest tightened for just a brief moment.

But still, she looked up at Leon, her chin raised defiantly. “See? I threw it away. Right now.”

“Wait—you seriously threw it?!”

Leon leaned against the balcony railing, desperately craning his neck to see where the photo had landed.

Unfortunately, it was nighttime. The darkness swallowed any sign of where it had fallen.

“Of course I threw it! Tch, so petty. Now get back inside, it’s bedtime.”

Wearing her pink cartoon pajamas, Roswitha stomped back toward the bed in small, irritated strides, eventually curling up beneath the messy sheets.

Leon, however, remained outside.

Standing motionless on the balcony, his gaze lingered where the photo had disappeared into the night.

Silently, he faced the lonely emptiness that often comes at the end of a rather "eventful" evening.

He couldn’t even remember why he and Roswitha were gazing into each other’s eyes, smiling in that photo.

But the words written on the back of it were something he’d never forgotten:

“May the silver glow always shine in the eyes of those whom we hold dear...”