No, Mira. Don’t sink like a stone in a night lake.

You carry a heavy charge; anchor your gaze to the task in front, like a ship to harbor.

Even for your sister’s sake, you can’t let midnight curtains hide that indulgence.

Next morning, she handed the blanket to the hotel cleaner. The woman wore that “I get human needs, we all do” smile, like fogged glass showing mercy. Mira remembered it, and her resolve hardened like ice.

She came here to win political leverage for her sister; she had to wear a professional, reliable mask, like lacquer that never chips.

She must not—must not give them the chance to say, “You’ve worked so hard, want us to install a dating app?” like handing a sugar stick to a crying kid.

She swore, like burning incense before fate. After that little oath rally, she really did hold on…

Two days.

In those two days, Mira caged herself like a sparrow behind bamboo. Even when her sister sent a photo marked “bathed the kitty,” she kept her finger still, like a monk before a bell, and didn’t tap.

Passing that trial, she believed she’d found a talisman against the demon called “roleplay.” She thought the night wouldn’t steal her dignity again.

Sadly, she miscounted, and underestimated the teeth of technology.

On the third day, Mira and Lin Shushu went to inspect the branch campus site. Fresh-built teaching blocks rose like white cliffs, and they passed a classroom that felt odd, like a door with a secret hinge.

“Multimedia,” the sign read, plain as chalk. Yet every desk had a goggle-like tool, like windproof visors laid out for a storm. That hooked Mira’s gaze.

She asked Lin Shushu what they were. Lin ahhed, eyes bright like lanterns.

“These are next-gen communication slates, inspired by the gods. They’re called holographic glasses.” She popped one on; beep-beep chimed like little sparrows. “I only learned on this trip the Fana Family cooked up this beauty. Since we know, we’ll use them at our branch—Miss Lian Ke is backing us, so money’s flowing like a spring. Our Holywell Academy won’t lose to any university on teaching tools!”

Hearing that annoying name, a small thorn pricked Mira’s heart. She said, “Relying too much on outside investment isn’t always wise. If it’s not necessary, we should save, like patching a roof before rain.”

“I get you, I do. But trust me, Headmaster Mira, this is worth every coin. Try it. It’s not a toy; it’s the future.”

Her eyes were fully covered by the VR shell, yet Lin moved like there was no veil, grabbed another pair, and pressed them into Mira’s hands. Her warmth landed like a sparrow’s tap, urging the headmaster to test it.

Seeing her enthusiasm, Mira put them on, half-believing. Then the scene stunned her like lightning through mist.

Complex magic circuits hummed the instant she wore them, like runes waking under frost. The stony exterior turned one-way transparent, the world outside clear as water, as if the slate had never been.

Prompts popped at the edge of her vision, like fireflies. She couldn’t touch them, yet her gaze alone swelled them to readable size, like a scroll unfurling.

That mind-reading feel left her wordless. “It’s… marvelous,” she breathed, like steam on winter glass.

“Right? And you haven’t seen the real claws,” Lin said, grinning like a fox.

She introduced the features: physics simulations like a wind tunnel in a bottle, instant translation like a bridge thrown over a river, smart note assistant like a quiet scribe, virtual projection like moonlight cast on a wall. Mira, seasoned in education, saw their classroom weight at once. She nodded, like a bell struck true.

“This is a bargain. On the way back, I’ll bring samples to our board and see if we can equip the mother school.”

“Really?!” Lin lit up, like a child praised in class. “And it’s great for personal use too, super smooth. It even has this—”

Joy carried her too far. She didn’t ask permission. Her finger tapped the button at Mira’s temple, like a dragonfly on water.

“Wait—hey, you little—”

“Tadah! Look! It syncs straight with your communication slate!”

Seeing the slate’s icons bloom in her view, Mira flinched, like a deer catching scent. She shifted her gaze, and tiny buttons and pictures, once strangled by screen size, expanded like museum scrolls on the wall.

“This… is indeed convenient.”

“Right? It plays films, too. And near the ear, the frame holds two integrated sound-mimic arrays, theater-grade, like thunder rolling inside silk.” Lin raised her nose, pleased. “It’s a treasure. Headmaster, take one today, play with it. Our next meetings will use the glasses for projection anyway. You can get the feel.”

Mira nodded. “All right, I’ll—uh—eh?!”

Her voice snagged like thread in a thorn. Lin turned, confused, and saw her headmaster freeze like a statue mid-step. “What’s wrong?”

“…”

“Ah, did the glasses glitch? Want me to take them off—”

“N-no! Don’t!”

Mira’s voice stumbled like feet on pebbles. Because her view was no longer a hallway in a teaching block. A familiar ceiling replaced it, like a ghost stepping through a doorway.

Why…

An instant before Mira bit her tongue, a new-message prompt popped at the top right, like a silver fish breaching.

She saw the sender’s name and the attachment’s title. She knew at once—it was the taboo she must not touch, like a red string on a temple gate.

On the slate, she’d have closed the screen, then shoved it deep into the inner pocket, like hiding a ember from wind. She’d kept that ritual for days, and it worked like a charm.

But the glasses didn’t use fingers.

By the time she realized it, her eyes had parked on the icon too long, like a moth against a lamp.

The attachment opened, automatically.

And then, this scene.

The familiar ceiling.

Familiar, because it was the ceiling of the bedroom she shared with her sister, warm as milk.

A bright ding-ling-ling chimed, like a bell on a kitten’s collar. Another presence she knew appeared in the frame, towering over the lens, gaze dipping like moonlight.

[Master… you haven’t played with this kitty for two days… meow…]

That presence spoke in a sweet voice she knew too well, but with a grammar she did not, like a fox wearing bells.

[E-even this kitty… gets lonely… meow!]

Poof!

Mira’s vision fell into darkness. A soft shadow whooshed over the lens, a plush thump like a pillow kiss.

The shadow lifted slowly. The cat-cat returned to view, face blushing red like a cherry about to drip.

[Bad Mas… Master, meow… you’re too bad!]

The shadow tapped the lens again—the cat-paw glove. Its cotton-candy plush met the screen with a gentle puff. The cute paw pads squashed for a breath, then sprang back, making soft pupup sounds. Mira snorted a puzzed puh-ha, and clapped her hand to her nose like a fan.

“Headmaster Mira… your nose… is bleeding? Are you okay? I should take the glasses—”

“I’m fine!”

Her free hand pushed the air, a don’t-come gesture like a paper fan. She shouted.

If Lin saw what played inside the lenses, that would be a second witness to a cat-cat that belonged only to Mira like a hidden talisman. Worse, her dignity as an educator would fly like leaves in a storm.

So no help. She had to close this herself.

It’s fine. I swore a poison oath. I can endure this. She stared at the cat-cat’s clumsy, shy motions, and steadied her heart like a stone.

One! Two! One! Two!

This is not the day I lose my teacher’s dignity before my staff!

She gritted her teeth, riding the pop-pop temptations, and forced her eyes away from those twitching ears, scanning for the exit button like hunting a moon in water.

But when the cat-cat stopped pawing and stood up, Mira realized—

She had overestimated herself.

[Bad Master… daring to ignore me. I’m furious… meow!]

A small white-pink foot stepped into frame, like a petal landing on ink.

Mira’s brain shut down, clean as a power cut.

The white silk hugging that little foot was thin and airy, skin-tight like dew on jade. It traced out the curves Mira loved to her bones, a lure like a river bend.

A single thought filled her skull.

Ah, angle must’ve hid it in earlier photos.

The soles of those cat-cat white silks… have paw pad patterns.

Like a real kitten testing a paw, the foot’s toe tapped the lens, a light press like rain on paper. Toes curled. Skin blushed pink under silk. The paw pads shifted with the motion, a tender squish like jelly.

[S-step… step on you, meow…]

The cat-cat stammered. She turned her head like deciding to jump off a ledge. The screen fell under shadow again.

Swish. Swish-swish.

Silk pressed tight to the lens, a friction that melted the spine, like a bow sliding over strings. The three paw pads rode up and down across the glass, battering Mira’s eyes like sugared arrows.

[Bad Master… hit you… hit you…]

Ten breathless seconds flew. The paw changed back to the soft glove, playful taps like petals, then switched again. The pink paw pads on white silk crossed the lens in a steady dance.

Voices from outside still tried to reach her, like waves against a cliff. Her ears filtered them to silence. She heard only two sounds.

[Step… step on you…]

Swish.

Swish-swish.

[Hit… hit you, meow…]

Poof.

Poof-poof.

[Step…]

Swish.

Swish-swish.

[Hit…]

Poof.

Poof-poof.

Swish.

Swish-swish.

Poof.

Poof-poof.

“?! H-Headmaster?! Why are you suddenly on the floor?!”

“Ow. Slipped.”

Long after the video ended, Mira finally answered, face blank as a porcelain mask.

She rose slowly, reluctant as if leaving a warm bath. She filed away the vision: a one-sixty-seven goddess with snow-white hair, ruby eyes like pomegranates, thighs wrapped in white silk with paw pads, cat ears perched like jade leaves, cat-paw gloves soft as clouds—a cat-cat so perfect that millions—no, billions—of villains would try to snatch her to their basements. Mira must protect her with all her strength. The sweetest, deadliest cat-cat pressing those soft feet onto Mira’s chest, a phantom weight like kneading bread, drifted out of her mind like incense smoke.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“…Really?”

A lie.

She was not fine.

She needed the bathroom, like a thirsty pilgrim.

—

“(Hey, don’t you think… the headmaster’s face looks a little scary?)”

“(Ah… d-does that mean she thinks we’re useless? That we can’t help?)”

“(Uh… y-yeah. We did dump a lot on her. She must be under crushing pressure.)”

Whispers rustled nearby, like grass in wind. Mira turned and looked at the muttering colleagues. They jolted like shrimp in boiling water, heads down, spines bent.

“Eek!!! S-sorry!!”

“Headmistress, thank you for all your hard work!” The chorus rose like a flock of larks lifting at dawn.

“It’s all thanks to you these days!” Their praise rolled in like warm surf on a quiet shore.

“We’re all really grateful for your effort!” Gratitude shimmered like sunlight on a river.

“I’ve got kids and elders at home—please don’t fire me, boo-hoo.” Panic clung like wet leaves in a storm.

“I’ll work even harder!” Determination snapped taut like a drawn bowstring.

“Stay close,” Mira said, voice low as mist before rain. “It’s about to start.”

“Y-Yes!” The reply hit like a drumline before battle.

Her colleagues wore martyr faces, like soldiers walking toward the gallows in fog. It wasn’t on them; it was the storm simmering behind Mira’s eyes.

Yes—terrifying. Her mood hung like a thunderhead, and even her silence felt like ash blowing from a distant blaze.

Once, she’d been cool toward everyone but her sister, like frost on jade. Now, black stress-lines scribbled across her face like inky thorns, and a chill miasma seemed to seep off her like smoke.

In a way, they weren’t wrong. This darkened aura was pressure carved into stone.

Only, the pressure didn’t come from work. It came from a two-person war waged in shadows, like a chess match at midnight.

More precisely, it was one person versus one “cat,” a dance of feint and counter, like paws batting a dangling bell.

To dodge Adelaide’s “kitty pics,” Mira tried everything, like a fox weaving through thorns—set her communication slate to ghost mode, never tapped attachments, stayed powered off unless needed.

If a message from her sister appeared, she’d hit herself with cold water first, like plunging her head into a mountain stream, then breathe until the ripples stilled.

But the other side kept escalating, like an arms race lit by oil. If Mira went offline, Adelaide used festival blessings as bait, like lanterns luring moths back.

She stopped sending tap-to-open pictures, and instead wrote “teasing the cat” scenes you couldn’t unsee, like incense smoke curling straight into the mind.

She sniped the exact minutes Mira needed her slate for meetings, like an archer hitting a falling petal—someone was leaking Mira’s schedule to the minute.

She timed image drops while Mira cooled herself at the sink, like a wave catching bare ankles just as you step back.

She buried videos in “work files,” so Mira’s habits would click them open, like a fish nibbling a hook disguised as bread.

And so the game kept scaling, like towers rising brick by brick. The black lines on Mira’s face crowded like brambles, and her body—on all fronts—flagged like a banner in rain.

Her spine wasn’t as straight, like a willow drained of spring sap. Her pressure mounted like a volcano capped with concrete, ready to blow rock and sky.

It was fine. This torment would end soon, like night thinning toward dawn.

Her tasks for this trip were nearly done; counting this one, only three meetings remained on her calendar, like the last tea cups cooling on a tray.

Survive a few more days, and everything would turn, like frost melting off the eaves.

She told herself that, steady as a monk bell. Then a tremor buzzed in her pocket like a trapped bee.

She snapped open her Time Domain, and the world froze like a pond under sudden ice. Only then did she ease out her communication slate and open the chat.

Spring has arrived.

Feels like it’s that time, too.

They’ve… gotten bigger.

…?

She wasn’t sure what her sister meant, and she refused to think, like shutting a window against a gust. Brain off, trap avoided.

No attachment came with it, so the safety line still held, like a rope around her waist.

She exhaled and released the Time Domain. Using that for this felt like chipping a temple bell to make coins, but at this point she didn’t care.

She closed the chat, entered the meeting room, and took her seat, motions crisp as folding paper cranes. She slid on her holographic glasses for the 3D projection, their frame cool as moonlight.

She laid out her documents in order, like tiles aligning on a go board, and finished her final prep with the care of a scribe.

She drew a long breath and shut her eyes, counting one, two, like waves kissing shore, and settled into calm.

Ding-ding. The alert threaded in from the micro sound-mimic array on her glasses, like a cricket chirping in grass.

Mira opened her eyes. A tiny attachment prompt gleamed at the upper right of her vision, like a lone star at dusk.

Seeing it was from her sister, she moved to close it by reflex, like slamming a door on winter wind.

“Luckily,” she glanced again at the file note before she could. Holywell Academy Branch—South Campus—Third Multi-Function Building—Pipeline Map.

So it was an engineering file. Her shoulders dropped like a kite finding wind.

She smirked at her own hair-trigger paranoia, like laughing at a cat fluffed at its shadow. She opened the attachment with a quick flick of gaze.

A pure black image filled her view, like night with all lamps doused.

Huh? She figured the glasses had hiccupped, like a lantern sputtering. She closed and reopened; it stayed dark as ink.

Why would an engineering file be blank? Her brow folded like a paper fan. She reached to ask her sister what went wrong.

Just then the Magic Crystal Stone lamps dimmed, like twilight laying a hand on the room. Only the main screen stayed lit, signaling the meeting’s start.

With the overall light dropping, the contrast shifted, like a moon slipping from cloud. Something faint bloomed on the black.

She narrowed her eyes and focused on the lower half, like a hawk stooping on a glint. A strange halo surfaced.

It was shaped like an omega, its base kissing the bottom edge. On both sides, two subtle bulges rose, like twin melons hanging together.

Wait—twin melons, pressed together, with odd little rises…?

Mira swallowed. Her pupils jolted like struck bells.

No, no, no. She was overthinking. Who would be so evil as to disguise that as an engineering file and send it mid-meeting? It had to be a mis-exposed pipeline map.

She comforted herself like a monk stroking prayer beads, then cranked the image brightness to the ceiling, like throwing shutters wide to noon.

And saw the classic view she always got when someone was riding her, a vista burned into memory like sunlight on snow.

Ah. So it wasn’t dark because of exposure. It was dark because the “kitty” wore nothing, and lying facedown meant gravity drew those abundant fruits to cover the candle behind her like twin curtains.

That made perfect sense—like hell it did!

“So the thing that ‘got bigger’ was this?!”

“Eh?! Headmistress, what are you—what got bigger?” The colleague beside her squeaked like a mouse under a broom.

Mira slammed the table, thunder cracking off wood. The colleague dove under the desk at light speed, like a rabbit down a burrow.

Mira snapped open the Time Domain, wiped her nosebleed clean like whisking away spilled ink, then released time and sat prim as a crane.

“Nothing. Just sighing about how the costs for opening a branch have ballooned,” she said, voice smooth as lacquer.

“Uh… b-but didn’t we keep the budget tight?” The reply peeped out like a chick.

“Did we? Then it’s all thanks to everyone,” Mira said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, like a mask painted too bright.

Under the holographic glasses, her cheeks burned hot enough to smelt iron, like a forge at midnight, shame and anger tangled like vines.

Sis, this isn’t funny!

You!

Serious!

You’re interrupting my work!

If you do this again, I’ll block you!

Idiot!

She hammered the replies out like nails. It was the sternest tone she’d ever used with her sister, iron in silk.

It seemed to work. For dozens of minutes, no new picture arrived, like rain finally easing.

Halfway through the meeting, a video came in, the filename: “Sorry, my bad…” It hovered like a moth at the edge of her sight.

Mira stared coldly as the prompt faded, like winter watching a withered leaf. Just before it auto-dismissed, she bit her lip, quick glance sweeping the room like a lighthouse.

Everyone stared at the main screen, their focus a net she could hide behind. She lifted her cup and pretended to sip, opening the attachment like sliding a letter under the table.

If her sister truly knew she’d crossed the line and apologized on video, Mira would forgive her—so she dreamed, as fragile as frost.

The first frame shattered that fantasy like ice under a boot. No empty black this time—orange candlelight flowed through gauze, a warm river across the screen.

It was only brighter because the figure had gone from prone to supine, like a flower turning to the sun. Those full fruits no longer fought gravity, but pooled to either side, soft tides parting.

The light fell with nothing to block it, bathing all in honeyed glow, like amber poured over porcelain.

In other words, both they, and their owner, were on full display, like moon and lake with no cloud between.

“Sorry… Master, I didn’t mean to…” The voice trembled like a harp string.

“But it’s spring, and I feel so uncomfortable… meow.” The plaint was rain on silk, warm and shameless.

She cupped one of her breasts, and that not-useful-but-so-very-useful softness yielded like dough, pale warmth spilling between fingers like cream.

“Here… it’s swollen, meow…” The word swelled like a tide licking shore.

Pfft— The water Mira had just sipped sprayed back out, a fountain in panic, and cold swept her like a legion spell of ice.

She couldn’t even open the Time Domain, mind frozen like fish under winter lake. Bad… very bad…

Watching the girl play with herself, Mira’s own hands felt the phantom weight, like chains of silk, pinning her in place.

She’d handled that softness too many times; that memory had been carved into her soul like a seal—not that this was something fit for a soul!

Worse, the video hadn’t even ended. “And the place that’s… uncomfortable… isn’t just up here,” the voice cooed, like wind teasing chimes.

The other hand slid down, slow as a shadow at sunset. It settled lightly over the twin shells below, like palms on closed clams.

“Here, too…” Fingers moved, dipping into places the lens could not follow, like minnows darting under reeds.

A sweet voice filled Mira’s ears, breath breaking into quick rhythm, like a bird’s wings beating, then smoothing into a rising wind.

She lifted her hand again, and in the candle’s dreamy haze, a strand of silver gleamed, a thread that wouldn’t sever, like lotus fiber refusing to break.

Beyond that glint, Mira remembered only one line from the rest of that day. Not the soft, smoldering, “Master… I’ll be waiting for you to come back, meow,” which came later.

But this, from earlier—“Someone help! The Headmistress—Headmistress Mira fainted with a nosebleed!” The cry rang like a bell in a temple.

**

“I… I really overdid it this time.” Adelaide saw shame in her own face, rare as snow in summer, and it pricked like thorns.

“What do I do, what do I do…” She drew circles on the table, her finger a little runner doing laps, like an ant on a rim.

Her panic ran in circles with her, smoke chasing its own tail. Yes, she knew she’d crossed the line this time, plain as a red thread.

She shouldn’t have disturbed Mira’s work, like tossing pebbles into a still well.

“Uwaaa… I’m doomed! Anisa, this is all your fault!” she groaned, hugging her head like a storm-tossed cat.

But she knew, deep down, she couldn’t pin this on the poor little maid. The suggestion was a match; she’d built the bonfire.

Well… not entirely, right? She argued with herself like a sparrow pecking grain.

Adelaide had known Mira’s trip would be heavy as an anvil. Forcing her to “play” was childish, a little woman’s willfulness, like stamping a foot at the moon.

So at first, she tried not to bother her during work, only sending slightly risqué things in the cracks between meetings, like slipping sweets between pages.

But Mira was too busy; breaks were just thin slivers, ten minutes at most, like dew that vanished at dawn. Cross-border mana lines lagged like tired mules.

Photos and videos took longer than the breaks themselves, which made the plan a paper bridge in the rain.

And more importantly… Adelaide found that if she sent a selfie during a meeting, Mira’s replies stretched, like taffy, and grew flustered, like a dove fluttering inside a cage.

That made her imagination bloom like night flowers. She pictured Mira in a meeting, face pink as peach blossom, heart racing under brocade, trying not to show it.

The thought made Adelaide lose control, like a hand slipping on silk. That… that wasn’t my fault, right?

Besides, once there’s a first time… the second comes like a shadow at noon.

Fine, cards on the table: it started as an accident mid-meeting, but then I asked Menglan for Mira’s schedule and loosed messages like arrows at clock ticks, a one-way shame game.

I got high on it; each send slid further, until the last—first a fake engineering file, then a fake apology video—and her replies fell silent like winter snow.

Cold dread pooled like meltwater in my chest; no, she’s definitely angry.

What do I do, what do I do—the thought buzzed like trapped bees.

I pushed up from the desk on shaky legs, drifted to the full-length mirror, saw myself in that same cat outfit, and raised soft paws, forcing a cute pose like a puppet on strings.

If I knelt with my forehead to the floor in this outfit before my own sister, would she forgive me, like rain finally breaking a drought?

“Forgive me, my good master, meow—” I blurted, then winced; that would read as a spark tossed on oil, pure provocation.

Face burning like a boiled crab, I lowered the faux paws; what was I thinking—she might not even like this, a question mark hanging like a storm cloud.

I’m in my thirties, still wearing shameless things; maybe Mira’s heart never stirred, her gaze a cold lake holding disdain.

Just picturing her looking at my photos without blush, only that cutting look, made me wilt like a flower under frost.

Forget it—she’s still on her way back; I’ve got roughly a month, enough to carve a steadier apology that fits my age and station like a tailored coat.

Click. The sound behind me sliced the air like a blade drawn.

I was about to peel off this age-inappropriate, shameful catgirl suit when the door opened like a hungry mouth.

Eh…? The syllable fluttered from my lips like a moth.

I turned stiffly, and there stood the person who’d judged me in imagination, the real deal framed in the doorway like a painting.

Except her expression was nothing like the one I pictured; it was the mirror flipped to night.

Not angry thunder, not bored frost, but a predator’s heat—eyes fixed on prey like sunlight focused through glass.

I even saw bloodshot lines spidering her whites, red threads like cracks in porcelain.

“M-Mira…? Weren’t you still on the road like a long river—eek!”

She reached me in two strides, pushed me onto the bed like a wave knocking down a sandcastle, pinned my shoulders, and her gaze burned like a brand.

Wait, wh-what is happening—my thoughts scattered like startled sparrows.

“I drove half the way under Time Domain acceleration,” she said, her voice low, like thunder kept in a jar.

Eh? The sound fell from my mouth like a pebble into a well.

So, no replies—was it because Mira had been sprinting full force the whole time, a runner chasing the horizon?

Was it? Was it? My understanding leaked away like sand through fingers.

My head swam; all those selfies, yet I’d never braced to face her in this shameful getup, and now I was pinned, blood rushing like a tide—calm was a mirage on hot stone.

But— the word snagged like a frayed thread.

“More importantly,” Mira said, tugging her tie loose and flicking it aside like a shed snake skin, “I heard you brought a cat home from the market.”

“So that naughty little she-cat who refuses to stay put, scheming to seduce her owner like a fox sniffing the henhouse—”

Snap—the first button at her collar came undone; then the second, then the third, each click a countdown like a fuse burning down.

“Where is she now?” Her words dripped like warm honey and struck like a hammer.

With every button sliding lower, I swallowed hard, the gulp loud in my ears like a stone dropping into a pond.

Wait, let’s talk; today I’m not ready—my hands are empty, bare like winter branches—

Please, give big sis a chance to grab the materials to strengthen my body, the armor I need like bark on a tree.

I begged in my heart, Mira—like praying to a storm to spare one tree.

All that was what I knew I had to say, the lifeline I should throw like a rope.

If I didn’t strengthen my body, facing Mira with bloodshot eyes like embers, I might actually die—no exaggeration.

And yet, knowing it, I still trembled; when my lips finally parted, what spilled wasn’t any of that, but—

m…mi—meow~

That little she-cat is right here.