After circling the room, not finding the clothes left outside, Moen finally set his gaze on a wardrobe that had toppled over due to the earlier collision.

"It's not theft, it's not theft. I'm just borrowing a piece of clothing, and I'll pay back twice—no, ten times the value afterward."

Repeating this mantra in his heart to reassure himself that he was not doing anything wrong, Moen extended his hand and prepared to pull open the wardrobe.

"Huh? Why won't it budge?"

Moen looked at the wardrobe in front of him, his face filled with puzzlement.

Then, his gaze traveled down through the gap in the wardrobe doors, and he was instantly stunned.

"What the heck? So many locks?"

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim indoor lighting, Moen noticed something he hadn't caught earlier...

Hanging on this dilapidated wardrobe before him were at least a dozen locks!

"What is this? Did someone lock up gold bars stolen from a bank inside?"

Moen straightened up and felt a bit troubled.

If someone locked this thing up so extensively, it must contain something very valuable. He absolutely couldn't justify breaking all these locks, could he?

Even though picking these locks wouldn’t pose much of a challenge for him.

"Forget it, I'll think of a different solution. Wrapping myself in a blanket isn't the worst option for appearances."

Moen was preparing to grab some bed linens from the nearby bed for an emergency cover-up when his peripheral vision caught sight of the wardrobe's side.

There, seemingly resulting from the earlier collision, was a crack, through which a piece of dark fabric peeped out.

"So it really is just a wardrobe?"

No matter how many locks you put on a wardrobe, it's still just a regular wooden wardrobe.

Something that could be smashed apart with a single punch—what kind of protection could it possibly offer?

If someone treasures something so much, why not use a safe instead?

"But..."

A trace of delight flickered across Moen's face as he rubbed his hands together.

"You fell out yourself, so don't blame me."

Having said that, he grabbed hold of the exposed corner of fabric and gave it a sharp tug...

And the slight smirk on his lips instantly froze.

"This is... underwear?"

Moen stared at the item in his hand—a familiar-looking pair of men's underwear—and his expression immediately turned a little repulsed.

Women's panties might always stir excitement, but men's underwear... that was something else entirely.

Fortunately, perhaps due to tugging with too much force, the underwear had dislodged more items from inside the wardrobe, revealing another piece of fabric in black.

Casually tossing the underwear aside, Moen grabbed the new fabric corner and yanked again—

And yet…

Another pair of underwear?

Is my luck really that bad?

"Alright, now this is just personal!"

Fueled by annoyance, Moen reached into the crack in the wardrobe without hesitation, abandoning all pretense to carefully sort through its contents.

...

Several minutes later...

Moen stared at the pile of men's underwear stacked into a small mountain in front of him, consumed by existential doubt.

Could there really… be someone who owns this many pairs of underwear simultaneously?

Even the most obsessive neat-freak who changes underwear ten times a day wouldn’t go this far, right?

"Wait a second..."

Moen snapped back to reality.

Never mind the sheer quantity; on closer inspection, the styles of these underwear were all completely different.

Just like how someone can’t date two women simultaneously, a person can’t wear underwear in two different sizes.

Which meant...

Like a bolt of lightning flashing through his mind, Moen remembered what Celicia had said to him before.

"Men's dorm room... where a pervert steals underwear?"

…

At that moment, chills spread from the soles of Moen's feet straight up to his scalp, freezing him in place. A sinister aura, like the venomous coils of a snake, loomed overhead, flicking its malevolent tongue.

With stiffened neck muscles, he slowly turned his head.

The room's door, unnoticed until now, was wide open. A tall figure stood in its darkened threshold, silently watching Moen in the dim light of the room.

The somewhat honest and plain face, however, was filled with undeniable disbelief.

The scene before his eyes had clearly stunned him.

He looked akin to a diligent husband returning home late at night from overtime, hearing strange noises coming from his wife's room.

Moments later, the suffocating silence was shattered by the sound of a low, confused, yet faintly enraged voice:

"Moen Campbell?"

…

"Ahaha, what a coincidence!"

Moen forced a friendly smile, glancing over at Reine who was standing not far away.

"Reine, my dear classmate, so you also popped by for a visit?"

"This is my dorm room."

"..."

Moen’s smile instantly stiffened.

I know it's your dorm room, buddy, but I said that on purpose.

Why not just play dumb and let this awkward moment slide between us? Let’s just brush over it, for goodness' sake!

But evidently, Reine didn’t catch Moen’s subtle intention. Instead, he silently reached for his large, intimidating broadsword.

"So, you’ve discovered it. If that’s the case, there’s no other choice."

Like a sincere man transitioning from temporary anger, disbelief, and hysteria to calmly accepting reality, choosing to move on and grant happiness to others, Reine’s expression also began to shift into tranquility.

"In this room, return to Love God's embrace, Moen Campbell," Reine said coldly.

"Ah, I see."

Moen rose to his feet, a flicker of realization dawning on his face.

Looking down at the scattered underwear on the floor, and recalling past events, he finally understood what the Innocent Gay Association he had previously encountered truly represented. He finally grasped why this group of men had been corrupted by the God of Love.

Holding distorted love could indeed lead to poisoning by the God of Love.

It all made sense now—a cult organized by a group of gay guys.

No wonder.

Reflecting on this revelation, Moen's gaze toward Reine carried an unmistakable trace of pity:

"Do you know what kind of path you're on, Reine?"

"What kind of path? Of course, the path of pursuing love."

Reine ripped apart his clothing to reveal his muscular build and… the signature thong worn by members of the Cult of True Love.

"The great God of Love taught me what true love means, and I will follow them forever."

"And so, as a blasphemous heathen, you must die here today, Moen Campbell!"

"Is that so? Your dedication to faith is quite moving. But do you think you can accomplish that, Reine?"

Moen slowly raised the dagger in his hand, smiling gently.

“During combat training, remember, I… beat you.”

“That was because I was careless and fell for one of your petty tricks.”

Reine glanced at Moen’s seemingly nonchalant fruit knife, his temple veins abruptly bulging.

But this irritation was swiftly suppressed.

No one would trip up in the same spot twice. After being stirred to rage and defeated by Moen’s cunning distraction last time, Reine had spent an entire evening meditating to steady his emotions!

This time, he wouldn’t let anger mess with his head!

"Well then, the older tricks won't work anymore."

Moen sighed lightly.

"Without tricks up my sleeve, I probably can’t beat you. Still, before I meet my end, Reine, could you answer a small question?"

"What?"

"It's nothing really, just something I'm slightly curious about. If Reine is a guy who prefers other guys, why did you get so worked up over my words during combat training?"

Moen, like a curious child, leaned in with exaggerated expression:

"Don’t tell me… Rayne, you just can't find a girlfriend then you decided to try to like men?"

“You bastard!”

Upon hearing this, Reine’s eyes instantly blazed red.