“Ling, I brought back all the Beastfolk slaves from the Ailusen Empire and those small states—like scattered birds herded to a single roost. They’re settled where I arranged. Only the Moser Empire and the Ulu Empire still have Beastfolk we haven’t retrieved.”
Finishing her report, Rafi dropped onto the couch, like a leaf falling after a long wind; a white “ghost” of pain rose off her back, its face as drained as hers.
“Anyway… thanks for the grind.” Alicia’s tone was soft, like warm tea under fog. “But why not let us go report right now that they ‘need Beastfolk slaves as exchange’?”
Ling had wanted that the instant Rafi returned—like sending a hawk with a message—but Rafi shot it down, then got dragged off by other matters before explaining.
Now Ling and Alicia waited in the receiving room, patience fluttering like paper lanterns, for Rafi to come back.
“Ah, you mean that. It’s nothing big,” Rafi said, voice calm like a still pond. “It’s to raise the odds of success for this plan.”
“What do you mean?” Alicia’s brows drew together, like clouds gathering.
“When I went back to Elusen, I picked up a thread of intel—thin as spider silk but strong. These three nations haven’t cut ties yet; they still pass messages like river boats between piers. If the queen named Dorado keeps her wits, she’ll report this to the other two. Then those two will get time—clear as winter air—to think it through, to decide whether to trade their Beastfolk slaves.”
It sounded tight as a woven basket. Ling found it convincing, like steady rain on parched soil. But Alicia felt a snag, like a thorn under silk.
“You can’t guarantee Dorado will pass it on. If she keeps her mouth shut, your plan dies on the vine.”
Rafi, lounging on the couch, gave a lazy smile—light as a cat’s purr—but certainty flashed in her eyes like a blade catching sun.
“She will. She absolutely will. If her brains are real, she’ll use the intel like coin, trading it for gold, food, weapons, or favors—things that stack like grain. I’ll bet on it. That clever fox won’t miss this chance.”
“Even if she spreads it, it won’t force a decision.” Alicia’s doubt hung like mist. “Beastfolk slaves are a nation’s muscle. Without them, progress slows like carts in mud.”
Rafi beckoned. The secretary walked over, her shadow long as a willow. Two elegant hands began working Rafi’s back, pressure rising and falling like tides.
From her waist upward they moved, one hand gliding to the shoulder like a warm wave. Each gentle pinch from those five slender fingers drew a sound from Rafi, her lips spilling heat; a flush rose and refused to fade, like sunrise held in place.
Yes, the flush was blood moving, not shame burning.
“True… mm~ that’s a problem.” Her voice trembled like a plucked string. “But if we fix the root, the branches settle, right? Ow—easy~” A breath shivered, then steadied like a reed in wind. “I’ve already assigned a set portion of the Demon Elite to each zone. They’ll replace the Beastfolk as the new labor, like iron ants cutting through stone. (rapid chant) …Ah! Bliss!”
Alicia watched Rafi melt under skilled hands, like wax near a flame. Her own shoulders started aching, a dull tide rolling in.
She thought for a heartbeat—one plum blossom falling—then set Ling down and lay back, copying Rafi’s pose. She pointed at her back, a silent plea wrapped in a smile.
“Ling, step on me.”
Ling got it at once. A tiny girl’s weight is light as dew; Alicia wanted that gentle pressure, not a storm.
But who was Ling? You think you can order her so casually and she’ll obey?—Yes, absolutely.
Bare feet, smooth as porcelain and bright as moonlight, pressed onto Alicia’s back. She stepped right onto the sorest spot, like a needle finding a knot; Alicia cried out, “So good—!” Her blush climbed to her ears like fire up a wick.
“Rafi… ah~ I won’t pry too much.” Alicia’s breath came in waves. “Just tell me—hah—what’s the success rate here?”
“High… hah… of course. I’m confident.” Rafi’s answer was firm as stone under rain.
They left it there, sealing the talk like closing a fan. Tonight, they’d rest—body and mind like fields lying fallow. Tomorrow morning, they’d finish this task that chewed strength and spirit.
—
“♪ dum→dum↗ dum↘ dum↗ dum↘ dum↗ dum-dum don~ ♪”
A loli with cute Beast ears lifted like new leaves walked a long corridor, her steps landing on notes like sparrows. Blue candle flames trembled on the walls, a ghostly sea hemming her in.
She held a small basket, lid closed, but the aroma curled out like steam dragons; inside was dinner for her beloved sister.
Nina’s heart was bright tonight, like lanterns in a festival. Her sister was tired, worn thin as paper from rain, so she could cook herself—no firm hands pushing her back to the couch, no forbidding her from touching the dangerous fire.
Rafi’s hand stroking her hair rose in her mind, soft as velvet. Warmth bubbled in her chest, and her steps quickened like a stream.
—Here.
It was a moment, but it felt like crossing a year—snow melting, seeds waking.
Her small hand touched the knob; she already saw her sister’s smile blooming like dawn—
“Ah~ don’t~ feels so good, 1919~”
Nina froze. Her pupils widened like ink spilled in water; the whites retreated to a thin ring, a halo on the edge.
Unpleasant scenes flickered to life, cheap film reels whirring—Rafi × someone, “Amateur Ms. Rafi,” titles crawling like ants.
Her hand slipped into the basket—left, right—then drew out a blade a meter longer than the wicker, metal shining like cold moonlight.
She gripped the knob again. With her wrist as the center, she turned it gently, as if spinning a lullaby.
Click—crack.
