I... I...

F*** you—f*** you!!!

Months later, Adelaide flipped a colossal middle finger in her heart, like hoisting a black flag against a mischievous god.

She knew what that hand sign meant, like a stray spark in dry grass. She also knew the meaning of the pink mark curling low on her belly, like a petal-shaped brand.

Set aside the nasty flavor it had in “Dream” subculture, like mold hidden under sugar. The mark showed up in the “script” too, like a graffiti tag the devs couldn’t resist.

It was a special easter egg. If the heroine lost to a slime, she got branded with it, like frostbitten skin under clear glass. The prince would rush in, hero out of a storybook. The plot wouldn’t change, like a river still finding the sea. But every CG after that put the mark on her stomach, a rose-colored stamp under the moon.

No doubt, it was the dev team’s kink, like a joke etched in wet clay. But even that wasn’t what made Adelaide snap, like a bowstring under too much pull. She’d decided to lay low, to step away from the politics of Balad, like a bird slipping past the capital’s nets. She’d even left the Sarman Empire, like a leaf sailing beyond the garden wall. And still this event triggered on her. What was that—mockery, like a bell rung in a quiet temple? Was that god laughing at her, like thunder chuckling behind clouds?

She imagined that damn god’s snickering, like coins clattering in an empty bowl, and it made her grind her teeth. But anger was a wildfire; the next question was water. What now?

If meeting anyone made her… tip into that state, the problem was a landslide, not a pebble. She didn’t want to turn into the lead in the “Dream” world’s sleazy comics, like a moth pinned under glass.

Good news breezed in fast, like shade under a gate. Wig on, she cracked the coach door. She ran into the driver by chance, like two birds colliding midair. He rushed her with gratitude, eyes shining like winter stars. He praised General Slandor’s keen eye, words pouring like a spring thaw. Adelaide stood there, stunned a heartbeat, then smiled with the same warm curve as always, like sunlight on a quiet pond.

She knew then. He didn’t have that dizzying scent that made her lose reason, like wine vapor melting the knees. And he wasn’t unique. She tested others in the caravan, like dipping a hand into different streams. No more dull ache stirred from her lower belly, no tide pulling at the shore.

In other words, Mira was the outlier, like a red thread knotted in a white loom.

As for why, Adelaide had no clue, like fog swallowing a milestone. The “script” never explained what the mark actually did, like a riddle missing its last line. She sat in the coach and chewed on it, like a fox worrying a bone, until Mira came back.

“No appetite?” Mira stepped inside like quiet rain. The soaked bread she’d left by the bed hadn’t moved, steam fading like a sigh. Adelaide sat by the little table, staring at Mira with a taut look, like a bow pulled to its ear. Her wrist trembled, a sparrow on a winter branch. Her smile was stretched thin, like paper lantern skin.

“Then… I’ll get something lighter?”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m not hungry!”

Adelaide waved it off, a reed against the wind. She knew she was lying, like ink bleeding under a brush. How could she not be hungry? The urge gnawed at her reason, like waves battering a sea wall. Not even when she'd slept a year and woke beside famine had her appetite surged this hard, like fire fed dry pine.

Yes, she was starving. Only the target of that hunger was wrong, like a compass spinning under a storm. She didn’t want to bite the bread soaked in broth. She wanted Mira—more precisely, Mira’s neck, like ripe fruit under silk.

The moment Mira entered, Adelaide’s gaze locked on her throat, like a hawk fixing on a rabbit. The scarf hid it, but in her mind that patch was wrapped soft rice candy, sweet as moonlight. Its fragrance leaked through seams, like nectar slipping from a flower, begging to be unwrapped.

“Are you hurting now? Tell me if you’re unwell. If it gets too bad… I have a way to help.”

A way…? What way? The words rang like a bell behind a closed door. Adelaide felt a bad hunch coil up, like a snake under straw, but didn’t ask.

“Eh? N-no…”

Under Mira’s worried gaze, Adelaide looked away, like a cat dodging lantern light, and swallowed her saliva.

Last time she lost control because she wasn’t ready, like a rider without reins. This time, the moment she saw Mira, she cranked the bracelet’s stimulus to max, like thorns pressed to skin. The sting on her wrist tapped and tapped, a woodpecker on a tree, and she barely held on.

“I’m fine… really. Not a single problem!”

She put the smile back on, a mask lacquered smooth, and met Mira’s concern with the same old face, like a mirror catching dawn.

Yes, like that. She was Mira’s elder sister. She had to wear a sister’s face, like armor sewn from silk.

She told herself this and slid her chair by a corner, like a crab edging sideways, stretching the straight-line distance between them as far as a bamboo pole.

It worked, buoyed by the bracelet’s sting, like a raft held by rope. For the next days, she avoided being alone with Mira in unventilated spaces, like a fox avoiding snares. She spent hours strolling outside the coach, more than last week’s total, like a shadow timing the sun. Mira watched with puzzled eyes, words caught like fish under ice. But the tactic saved Adelaide’s frayed nerves, like cool cloth on fever. She didn’t tug Mira’s scarf again, didn’t lunge like a starving wolf.

Unfortunately, avoidance has limits, like a sand wall before a flood.

A week later, the caravan reached a desert town called Takuri, like a low, sun-baked turtle by the dunes. It was the last settlement near the Sarman Empire’s border, the final well before the desert crossing. The plan said two days’ rest, stock up on daily goods, then go, like a camel bending, then rising.

A small problem rose like dust.

“Outsiders, do not enter.”

The gate guards shouted in rough Imperial tongue, voices dry as wind. Their faces hid behind dust masks, like bandits of the sand. Their tone carried tension and distrust, like taut strings under frost. The caravan leader frowned and lifted a lion-engraved badge high, pure silver catching sun like shattered mirrors in sand.

“We’re here by order of General Slandor,” he said, voice steady as a drum. “We’ve long traded with Takuri. Why turn us away now?”

An elder strode up the wall, joints like old hinges. His gold-embroidered robe marked him as lord, a seal stitched in thread.

“Rumors of plague whirl between wind and shifting sand,” he said, voice heavy as clay. “Takuri’s hearts are trembling. We ask not for gold or glory, only a way to shield ourselves from the Chaos demon’s claws. So we bar the gate. Please understand.”

His voice held helplessness, and real fear, like dusk creeping across a courtyard. The caravan murmured into noise, like bees in a jar. The fear made sense. Even those from the Sarman Empire—Mira and Adelaide included—had heard of the plague’s terror, like a black tide eating shores.

In fact, Mira had made Adelaide swear three rules before they set out, like lines drawn in ash. She worried over Adelaide’s frail health, a candle in wind. So she set a hard line: once they reached the target village, Adelaide would stay with logistics outside, at the temporary camp, not one step closer, like a boundary stone. Adelaide agreed at once. No one wastes their life on pointless risk, like tossing pearls into a well.

From that angle, the lord’s choice was blameless, like a gate closed before storm. Letting in so many strangers only stacked risk, like straw on a camel.

Yet the leader’s brow eased, like shade under palms.

“The general foresaw your worries,” he said, tone clean as spring water. “We brought extra Holy Water activation elixir. Let us in, and it’s yours.”

The lord’s eyes widened, like lanterns in twilight. Guards whispered, reeds rustling by a stream.

The elixir was precious, light-aspected magic strong enough to ward most illness, like sunlight in a dark ward. It was tempting, especially with plague prowling, like a wolf smelling blood.

As expected, after minutes of talk, the lord called down again, voice rolling like a drum.

“Since you’ve shown such sincerity, Takuri will welcome you as before,” he said, pausing like a fan closing. “But before entry, you’ll pass a magical inspection. Agreed?”

“No problem,” the leader answered, honest as steel.

Compared to traveling without supplies, a body check was a feather, not a rock—so Adelaide thought, like a traveler counting stars, until she saw all the inspectors were soldiers. All men, a line of cacti under noon.

They wore gloves etched with diagnostic arrays, lines like frost on windows, and touched each traveler head to toe. Adelaide knew they meant no offense, like doctors under oath. The town’s safety rode on thoroughness, like a bridge on its beams.

Understanding was one thing. Acceptance was another, like heat and flame.

The thought of men touching Mira made agitation spike, like sparks in dry straw. Her thoughts stampede, hooves over brittle grass.

No. Mira was… her little sister. She wouldn’t watch that. Not once. Not ever.

She felt sorry for the diligent guards, a swallow of ash. But she’d use the Dream Eater Spider’s Magic Core to lull them, like webbing sleep over wary eyes, and slip through.

She decided that, like a blade drawn quiet. She lifted her head—only to see Mira already before a guard. Even with the dust scarf, her brows and eyes flashed bright as peacock feathers. The guard froze, stunned by a beauty like a sunrise at arm’s length.

Adelaide flung up her hand. “Wait—”

“Give me the gloves. We’ll inspect each other,” Mira said, voice level as a ruler. “You can watch and confirm we skip nothing.”

She held out her hand. The flat tone landed like a command. The guard shivered, a leaf in shade. He meant to refuse, breath braced like a shield. But her gaze, blue and still as lake glass, met his, and a bad hunch rose, like fog rising off marsh.

He glanced around, furtive as a fox. No one watched. He peeled the gloves off and set them in her palm, like laying down a coin. “F-fine. Be quick.”

Mira nodded and came back to Adelaide, steps light as petals.

“I’ll start.”

She slipped on the gloves. Adelaide watched her long, deft fingers fill the sleeves, like butterflies spreading their wings to warm. A crisp snap marked the fit, like a twig breaking under heel. Adelaide realized then the tide had turned.

“Ready?”

Mira tugged the cuff. Adelaide stepped back without thinking, like tide pulling from shore.

“Uh… um…”

No men’s hands now. But their safe distance was gone, like a bridge lifted away.

Cold sweat pricked her temple, beads like dew on stone. Even before Mira stepped closer, the camellia scent spun her head, like incense coiling in a shrine. Her heart kicked faster, a drum under silk.

There was no retreat now, like a cliff behind the heels.

“F-fine! I’m ready!”

She shouted as if to brace a gate, like a soldier slamming a bar. When Mira nodded and reached, Adelaide squeezed her eyes shut and drew a breath, then held it, like a diver under glass.

It didn’t help. The instant Mira touched her, she let go of air, a bird fleeing a net. Tingling flowed out from every point of contact, like ripples under rain. It answered the dull ache on her lower belly, like a drum echoing a drum, and her knees nearly melted, wax near a flame.

Damn it, how can this be? Even through gloves—like ice through cloth. Have I really turned into… that kind of body?

Despair drowned Adelaide; she cursed that prankster god, using anger like smoke to veil the flame, yet her reason peeled away, layer by layer.

No matter how she fought, the tide kept climbing the shore of her mind.

Even with the bracelet's jolt turned up to the limit, it only scraped at the surface like sand, while desire surged like a buried spring.

At the instant Mira's fingers brushed her lower belly, a breathy moan escaped like steam from a lidded pot.

Warmth rippled outward like rings on water; her knees went soft, and she collapsed into Mira's arms.

"Ha... ha..." Adelaide panted, tears shining like dew in her eyes. "That, that was... I didn't..." she stammered, her voice thin as thread.

"Just a little longer. It'll be over soon." Mira whispered at her ear, her voice quivering like a reed in wind.

A jolt of shame struck like lightning; she's troubled by me...!

Adelaide clenched her teeth and forced herself upright, spine straight as a drawn blade.

Right—just hold on; I'm the elder sister, and an elder sister can't drop her mask in a storm.

Through the rest of the exam, she looped that mantra like a drumbeat and sealed her mind behind it, a gate slammed against waves.

After that, memory fogged like mist; only a blur remained.

She'd held on, then, quick as knife-work, ran the diagnostic gloves over Mira's body.

On the excuse of fresh air, she bolted alone into the town, like a deer breaking from brush.

If she'd stayed even a few seconds more, her heart, a war drum, might really have split.

But the moment she slipped that snare, she stepped into another, like leaving a pit to meet a net.

She stood in a churning crowd, where desert heat swelled in the city like a kiln, and the sun hammered straight down.

Her head swam like a boat on chop, and her cheeks burned dangerously hot.

At this rate she'd cook into heatstroke; she had to find shade and sit, before the sun baked her dry.

She peered around, woozy, when a hawker's cry cut through the haze like a bell.

"Big-plate chicken, big-plate chicken! Only three Tela coins for big-plate chicken!"

At that name, Adelaide froze, as if frost traced a leaf.