“Thorn Witch—Duodori! Versus—rookie Alchemist—Lingcai! Maaaatch—start!” Viola lifted the mic with her pinky like a painted fan, and a bronze gong boomed like thunder.
Duodori looked cute on the surface, but heat curled under sugar. Her black, low-cut backless dress drank the lights like wine, every feline motion a hook in velvet water.
She glanced at Lingcai and tapped a finger to her lips, tossing a kiss like a viper soaking in honey. Her smile slid like silk over steel.
“You’re adorable. A tip for you: we’re about to draw three times in a row. That prophecy is my gift.”
Panic first, breath second—Lingcai’s stomach dropped like a bucket in a well. She shot a helpless look at the Little Moon Sage.
The Little Moon Sage didn’t hurry; under the stage he gave a lazy thumbs-up, a lighthouse in moonlight. You got this!
Got what, exactly…
Dread was a winter draft under Lingcai’s collar, but she knew this was her trial by night wind. If I’m inheriting the Little Moon Sage, I can’t lose face, even if I lose!
And if I do lose? The table-flipping and shamelessness go to the Little Moon Sage!
With that rebellious spark, Lingcai steadied like a blade set back in its sheath. She readied herself.
Once both took their places, Viola cut the air like a conductor. “Rea—dy—go—!”
In the next heartbeat, Lingcai and Duodori chanted together, palms snapping like flags in wind. “You strike, I guard—rock, paper, scissors! Rock, paper, scissors! Rock, paper, scissors!”
The result matched Duodori’s omen exactly. Three straight draws, perfect mirrors.
Lingcai stared, stunned, like a deer in lantern-glow. Her eyes drifted back to Duodori.
Duodori licked a fingertip, her smile the curl of a cat that found cream. Everything was going to script.
“Good!”
The coven roared, applause flaring like dry leaves catching fire. “Lady Duodori! Lady Duodori!”
“Queen of RPS! Queen of RPS!”
“Crush the newbie! Crush the newbie!”
Duodori let the praise wash past like rain on lacquer. Her eyes walked Lingcai’s body like a picker in a garden, and her smile rippled wider.
“Miss Lingcai, this is boring. Want to gamble with me?”
“I don’t have money!” Lingcai patted her pocket, wary as a mouse under a hawk’s shadow.
“Money’s vulgar,” Duodori’s voice sank like dusk. “We won’t bet that. I want to bet…”
Lingcai finally realized what those eyes were staring at; she clutched her collar, shielding collarbone and throat like a pearl in both hands.
Seeing the fluster, Duodori’s smile bloomed like a night flower. “Oh? You’re shy? Let me see.”
“What are you trying to do? I’m warning you—everyone’s watching! Don’t you dare!”
Lingcai’s legs tensed, ready to bolt like a startled sparrow.
Duodori moved like a succubus with a scholar’s poise, every breath a lure. “I just want a bet.” She lifted a knee to the table’s edge and leaned in, her perfume like warm spice. “Each loss, we take off one piece. Until we’re bare.”
A chill sprinted down Lingcai’s back; she hugged her shoulders like a cliff edge. “I refuse!”
From below, the Little Moon Sage whooped like a drunk immortal. “I approve! Do it! It’s just clothes! Wreck her! Don’t wimp out!”
Grief hit first, then outrage—Lingcai’s heart pounded like a drum. Master-ancestor! You’re throwing me under the carriage again!
“Don’t wimp out! Don’t wimp out! Don’t wimp out!”
The onlookers fanned the flames like bellows. Bitter as herbal tea, Lingcai saw the die cast and nodded, going with the river she couldn’t dam.
Quick math flashed through her head like abacus beads. Knee-high boots count as two. Socks, two. Jacket, one. If I can fudge it, the bow tie is one. If all that’s gone, it’s down to blouse or pleated skirt. If those go…
Duodori read her like ink on rice paper and smiled like a helpful demon. “Underwear counts. I told you, until bare.”
Unlucky. Dreadfully unlucky.
But if you think about it, Duodori’s worse off. Besides shoes and thigh-highs, she’s only got one whole dress. By sheer count, I’ve got the advantage.
You can’t gamble this with a perv. Whether you watch the perv undress or the perv watches you, the perv always wins. You lose the whole board.
Reluctance was a thorn in her heel, but the situation was a rushing river. Lingcai accepted.
Then—match, back on!
“You strike, I guard—rock, paper, scissors! Rock, paper, scissors! Rock, paper, scissors! Rock, paper, scissors!”
Minutes later—
Round after round, the stones fell badly. Lingcai lost across the board.
But her hands were fast as a darting swallow. Each time, she snatched the safety helmet and got it on in a blink, clinging to the game like a cliff vine.
Gulp.
She held on, but her clothes thinned like frost in sun.
Across the table, Duodori hadn’t lost once, like she could see the future written on Lingcai’s fingers.
Plop.
Her bow tie hit the floor. One more loss, and she’d have to choose: top or skirt.
Duodori’s tongue moistened her lips; her gaze mapped Lingcai’s body like a starving wolf sizing a lamb. It made Lingcai’s skin crawl like ants.
No. I can’t let this deviant see a thing. Not even Scarlet Leaf has seen my body!
If she really can read minds, then I need a distraction.
But how?
After a long, tight breath, Lingcai chose the thorny path.
Sorry, Scarlet Leaf! My heart is always yours!
Praying loyalty like a vow into winter wind, Lingcai slid a finger to her collar and popped a button. Then she tugged the pleated skirt’s side zipper, baring thigh like moonlight on snow.
She turned her half-shy face toward Duodori, deepened her breathing, and let soft, girlish breaths brush the air like feathers against the ear.
Behold—Seduction Technique.
The X-rated hint from a blushing maiden froze Duodori’s pupils like a snake to a flute.
“You want to seduce me into slipping? It won’t work. My mind won’t waver.” Her mouth was steel, but her eyes became a cat locked on forbidden cream, hunger bright and raw.
She knew it was a trick, but drool still crept from her lip like a leaking nectar jar.
Lingcai wagged a finger, forcing a sweet, shy smile like sugar on a blade. “I know you’re amazing, senpai. So, can you ease up on me a little? I’m not used to showing underwear in front of so many people. If I lose the next one, can I not strip? In exchange, if I get eliminated tonight, then…”
She pushed her voice down to a whisper thin as silk thread. “At. Your. Mercy.”
“Pff—cough—!”
Duodori had never seen a girl with this kind of firepower. The nosebleed she tried to swallow back burst out in a choking spray.
Lingcai pounced on the opening like a hawk on a rabbit. “Too slow and you lose! You strike, I guard—rock, paper, scissors!”
“Ah? Ah?”
Flustered, Duodori threw paper. Lingcai’s scissors cut clean, the night wind at her back.
Next—grab the hammer, bonk her head, knock her out!
But habit ran ahead of thought. Lingcai snatched the safety helmet instead. Duodori, reaching to defend, froze in shock.
“W-wait—?”
“Let me reap your filthy soul! Die!”
Lingcai roared, swinging the helmet in a brutal arc like a falling moon. It smashed into Duodori’s forehead. She crumpled, eyes rolling white, foam pearling her lips.
One hit.
K. O.
