"It's supposed to be fine, right?"

In the silent courtyard, Weier paced back and forth outside the room, a look of hesitant struggle occasionally flickering across her bun-like face.

She wasn't worried about Moen Campbell.

She was worried about the President.

Although she knew the President could become quite ruthless after drinking, upon further reflection, she realized she had placed the drunk President in the same room with a man.

A man and a woman, alone together?

True, she knew the President was in a berserk state, making it not only impossible for anyone to take advantage of her but also incredibly difficult to get anywhere near her.

But...

This was the notorious Moen Campbell after all—who knew what despicable tricks he might have up his sleeve?

If, by chance, he were to tarnish the President's purity...

"No, I have to check!"

Weier took a deep breath, pressed herself against the door, and began to undo the spell sealing the room.

There was no way she could fully unseal it—that would be far too risky.

She only loosened a portion, hoping to first hear what was happening inside.

"Bang!"

But the moment she loosened the seal, a resounding crash echoed from within the room, making her tremble in fear.

"Wh-what's going on?"

Startled, Weier pressed herself closer to the door, continuing to listen.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

"Bang, bang, crash!"

The room erupted with an avalanche of crashes, as if two beasts were locked in a brutal battle, ravaging everything around them.

The forceful commotion was so intense that, even through the door, Weier could sense the entire house shaking.

"This... this intense?"

Weier gulped.

This ruckus far exceeded the previous time the President accidentally drank a sip of wine.

Has the President's tolerance deteriorated even further?

Terrifying.

"Looks like I was overthinking this."

Despite her shock, Weier involuntarily let out a breath of relief.

There's no way anyone could take advantage of the situation—after all, who could exploit a human-shaped tyrannosaurus?

Still...

"Poor Moen Campbell."

Even without witnessing it firsthand, Weier could vividly imagine Moen Campbell being ruthlessly manhandled by the President.

"Please don’t die..."

Listening to the horrifying sounds coming from the room, Weier clasped her hands together, crystalline tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, and sincerely prayed:

"I promise, even if you're still the President's loathed fiancé later, I won't talk bad about you anymore."

Once her prayer was complete, Weier quietly stood up, silently resealed the spell, and just as silently reinforced it.

She welded the door shut completely.

---

As Weier accurately predicted, within the room—now thoroughly sealed—an intense battle was raging.

Yet, after the two unleashed their respective "strongest" moves and both failed spectacularly, the fierce fight began to take an unusual turn.

Gone were the techniques and strategies.

Gone were the powers and abilities.

The two devolved into what resembled a brawl between quarrelsome market wives, tangling with one another relentlessly.

Grabbing hands.

Pinning legs.

Tearing clothes.

Biting.

Rolling across the floor.

Knocking over, pushing aside, and shattering everything in their path.

Interspersing the chaos were occasional roars of frustration.

Like wild beasts, they savaged everything around them, tussling from one end of the room to the other.

The flames of the candles flickered.

Papers scattered from the desk and fluttered in the air.

The room grew increasingly stifling.

And this physical struggle, imperceptibly, began to shift in nature.

Perhaps it was the flash of bare skin when Celicia's clothes were torn, or perhaps it was the accidental brush of lips as Moen fought to suppress her.

It was like a spark igniting the long-fuelled powder keg of alcohol.

A collision of thunder and fire that instantly erupted.

Grabbing hands transitioned into entwined fingers.

Pinned limbs became bodies pressing together.

Biting devolved into kisses landing across every inch of bare skin.

Clothes were no longer torn away—they had already been reduced to scattered shreds. All that remained was the faintest layer of separation.

Celicia's now fully exposed, perfect curves, her purity accentuated by her black undergarments, her skin as pristine as lamb fat jade, were like the most intoxicating venom.

They overwhelmed Moen's senses, compelling him to hug the girl beneath him tightly as though determined to merge her with himself, forever.

The girl, too, writhing like a water snake, surrendered herself to the spiraling surge of hormones and the closeness of their contact.

Her sensitive areas were slowly awakened and teased by Moen, and her desires bubbled to the surface, buoyed by alcohol, lifting her consciousness to dizzying heights, enveloped in a cocoon of warm clouds.

She unknowingly mirrored Moen's movements, even beginning to crave his next steps—anticipating him crossing the final boundary and enveloping her in a storm of passion and release.

But just as the last thin layer was about to be breached, Moen's movements abruptly stopped.

Propping himself up from Celicia’s body, his eyes bloodshot, breathing raggedly, drenched in sweat, he resembled a crazed beast in heat.

Desire burned through him like fire, threatening to consume his will entirely.

And yet, whether it was the alcohol dissipating through his sweat or an inner reserve of self-control, a fleeting moment of clarity returned to Moen’s muddled mind at the critical juncture.

"Damn it, what am I doing?"

He looked down at the girl still panting softly beneath him.

Her name was Celicia.

She was the Empire's esteemed princess.

The Pure White Witch idolized by countless people.

She was noble, aloof, pure.

Men could line up from Belland’s Queen’s Boulevard to the doors of the imperial palace just to kneel at her feet in adoration.

But now, here she was beneath him, twisting her flawless, ivory body, her eyes glimmering seductively, her breath rich with fragrant allure, her movements inviting.

Between them was merely one final boundary.

No, it couldn't even be called a boundary.

Because all it would take was a single forceful thrust, and he could claim her—make the imperial princess truly his, exploring her every moan beneath him.

No one could blame him—it was just an accident.

A beautiful accident.

But.

"If I do this now, how would it be any different from the first time?!"

Just like the first time he had obtained the girl—although it had been due to his foolish schemes—the eventual outcome was a cascade of unintentional events.

Yes, an accident.

But such an outcome was unfair to the girl.

It wasn’t born of her personal choice but was dictated by external forces.

Previously, it had been drugs.

This time, alcohol.

In every way, it was unjust.

"Why... why stop yap?"

Celicia, noticing Moen halting his movements, arched her hips slightly, searching for the previously searing fire.

She lifted her alcohol-dazed gaze, hazy tendrils of steam swirling in her eyes, and looked at Moen with confusion.

"Hiss..."

Faced with this utterly different demeanor—a far cry from her usual coolness—and her continual gestures of yearning, Moen's strained resolve threatened to shatter.

But he gritted his teeth, suppressing the raging inferno within him, and lowered his lips to tenderly kiss her forehead.

"Sorry. I told you before—compared to your body, I care more about earning your affection.

So, Celicia, I won’t do anything to make you hate me."

With these heartfelt words, Moen couldn’t help but let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

The bullet was already in the chamber, yet he held himself back at the last moment—if this were a novel, such restraint would surely earn him the scorn of countless readers branding him a coward.

But that didn’t matter. He didn’t want to see the “adorable” princess suffer yet another blow.

This was enough for him.

Except… Moen failed to notice that the girl's tender body had stopped moving entirely.

“When you truly develop feelings for me, then we’ll continue.”

With this sincere remark, Moen prepared to get up.

Lingering any longer risked losing his self-control entirely.

**Snap…**

But at that moment, a crisp sound reached his ears, akin to the cracking of ice.

No, not "like"—it *was* ice.

Moen slowly turned his gaze to look at his hands braced against the ground.

A thin layer of frost encased them, locking him in place, unable to pull away.

Moen's face stiffened as he tilted his head downward.

Below him.

The girl was silently watching him.

Yet in her famously ice-blue eyes, the veil of hazy steam dissipated into clear water, gradually freezing into solid frost.

Her cheeks were still tinged with red, the scent of desire lingered faintly on her skin.

But her expression had returned to its former frosty, aloof temperament.

Just as Moen had known her all along.

"This is…"

Sober already?

Moen froze for a moment before realizing the truth.

Of course—while his body automatically expelled the effects of alcohol through exertion, Celicia would naturally do the same.

In fact, given her superior power level, she’d recover even faster than he would.

Realizing this, Moen suddenly shivered, his face contorting into an awkward, strained expression.

Because now, the girl remained pinned beneath him.

Both clad only in their delicate undergarments, and even their undergarments was a bit messy because of what they had just done.

“Ce… Celicia, this was an accident, entirely accidental, you understand?”

Moen hastily stammered his explanation:

"I had no intention of doing anything to you—I stopped myself, and I was about to leave—”

Leave.

Impossible.

Celicia held him firmly in icy restraint.

"Celicia?"

Moen managed an uneasy smile. "Could you let me go?"

“...”

Celicia remained silent, simply continuing to study Moen intently.

She examined him closely.

Her gaze lingered on his face, which showed unmistakable efforts to suppress his desires. Occasionally, a flicker of thought crossed her countenance—a contemplation of something hidden deep within.

The cold ice was still freezing.

However, no matter how pure or how hard the ice is, when it melts and refreezes, it will definitely contain some different elements.

And these things frozen within the ice will last longer and have a deeper impact than on ordinary people.

"Celicia... can you melt the ice?"

Moen was still cautiously saying: "I won't do anything to you, I'll leave immediately..."

Before he finished speaking, the ice melted.

Moen rejoiced, just as he wanted to leave, he suddenly felt two soft hands encircling his neck.

Then, a familiar dizziness.

Moen had already been pinned down by the young girl.

"Eh?"

Moen paused in surprise.

What the heck? Again?

"Celicia, what... what are you going to do?" Moen shouted in terror.

Celicia sat upright on Moen, her nostrils flaring, still breathing heavily with desire, her skin gleaming with an enticing luster under the candlelight.

With a wave of her delicate hand, their final barriers simultaneously floated away.

That pair of perfectly shaped breasts were freed from their constraints, revealed before Moen, still standing firm.

"Wha...what?"

Moen stared at the scene that made his mouth dry, dumbfounded:

"You... you haven't come to your senses yet?"

"Moen Campbell, you're such a big man, blabbering on like an old woman. Aren't you ashamed?"

Finally, Celicia spoke, her voice cool and calm.

She lowered her head, staring into Moen's eyes, a trace of disdainful smile curling at the corner of her lips:

"And another thing, when did you start having this illusion... that you could control me?"

As she spoke,

in Moen's suddenly widened eyes, she lifted her hips slightly, her delicate hand gently reaching out, gripping that heated rod.

Then...

her lithe body thrust forward abruptly, accompanied by two simultaneous light gasps, the spear accurately entered the valley, unstoppable.

The girl's silver-white hair danced, her body vigorously undulating, drenched in fragrant sweat.

She raised her proud head, like a princess high above... oh, no, she at this moment more resembled a cold and haughty queen, guiding her one and only knight, continuously charging, charging, and charging again, towards that deeper and further distance!