"All day long—can’t I even catch a breath?"

Zeming strolled down the school corridor, hands buried in his pockets.

Physical exhaustion was nothing new. After all, he was a Cyborg, enhanced and strengthened. But the weariness in his heart far outweighed any bodily pain.

*"No. Here, you should’ve prioritized destroying the circuit breaker beside you while rescuing the hostage on the left."*

Eira had ruthlessly corrected him on the rescue scenario.

*"This chemical formula’s wrong. At least balance the valences—this would turn the mixture into explosives."*

She’d actually held back this time. Earlier mistakes went unmentioned. Truth was, everything he’d been "teaching" since morning was just bomb-making methods.

*The manly art? Explosions. Explosions. And more explosions.*

Striking a pose with your back to the flames after the ultimate blast—that was true art.

A teacher’s greatest joy was passing on their skills. Watching students master your life’s work. Sure, body modifications weren’t advisable… but the rest? That had to be shared.

"Zeming, you… got this wrong. That’s…"

Eira approached, her face shadowed, whispering sharply into his ear.

"Huh?"

"This? It’s elementary school math. And your calculation’s off midway. Fix it. Now."

"No way!!"

Again. Crushed. He still couldn’t accept this horrifying truth!

So terrifying!

He’d wanted to investigate the intruder from days ago—the one whose power nearly blanketed the whole school. No ordinary foe, that. Probably…

And why had those low-key operatives suddenly appeared that time?

*Think of something else.*

All day, errors dragged him down. He owed Eira for covering him during the principal’s inspection—but damn, the embarrassment!

That invisible pressure forced Zeming’s head low as he shuffled forward, utterly unable to lift it.

*Squelch~*

They say watch where you walk. He never expected his downturned face to meet something soft.

Something unyielding. Something dangerous.

Warmth bloomed against his cheek as he looked up through that comforting softness.

"Hey! You!"

Zeming’s gaze climbed upward—and froze on a pair of enormous… no. A tall woman. Those generous curves beneath her crisp military uniform were just part of the package.

Silver hair. A spine-straight posture. A figure sculpted for both power and allure. She stood like a revered statue, radiating unexpected authority.

Her deep green eyes pinned him like a wolf’s in dead of night—silent, lethal.

This fear eclipsed even facing Eira.

"Y-you! Hello, Boobs—no! Hello, Commander!!"

The immaculate uniform, paired with stockings and a short skirt, evoked Norse Valkyries—untouchable, divine.

"You touched me just now."

Not a blush on her.

"Sorry!!!"

"Whatever. I don’t care."

Though she claimed indifference, her hand shot out, yanking Zeming’s head up into the air. She glared, veins throbbing on her temple.

"If you care, just say it! I won’t mind! But… could you loosen your grip? It hurts."

*My skull.* It wasn’t just his brain trembling now—it felt like his entire head would shatter, brains sloshing out like overcooked porridge.

"You!!!"

"You’re furious!"

"Hardly. I won’t stoop to your level. So get lost."

She dropped him. He crumpled like wet clay. She sighed, looking down at the mess.

"Why… why did you trick my little sister? Disgraceful."

*Sister?* His blood ran cold. *Her sister… Eira?*

Zeming lifted his head slightly from the floor. Silk-stockinged legs stood side by side. Higher up, the shadowed hem of her skirt teased his vision. Heat flooded his face as a dangerous thought struck—

*If she said "my sister"… that means Eira!*

"You must be—!"

"Tch. I’m Elusa. My *son-in-law*." Her gaze turned icy, amused. "You’ve been staring at my legs since I arrived. Satisfied yet?"

Zeming scrambled up, panic shredding his thoughts. *Suicide now or wait for Eira’s execution? Same difference.*

His hands flapped wildly, meaning nothing.

Elusa’s eyes narrowed further, dripping contempt.

*She thinks Eira and I are naturally in love… If she finds out—*

*If she finds out…*

"By the way," she snapped, frowning at his rumpled collar. "A teacher who can’t keep himself tidy?"

Her fingers reached out to adjust it. Up close, the swell of her chest brushed his arm. The scent of her perfume filled his nose.

"A-ah, I’m just—"

"Quiet!"

*If she finds out!* Why was he still stuck on that?

*…Would it really matter?*

"Zeming! Vivian’s hungry. We should—"

Eira rounded the corner, Vivian in tow. Her eyes widened at the scene.

Zeming whipped his head around.

*Riiiiip—————*

"Eh?"

"EHHH?!"

"What?!"

Three stunned faces locked together. In Zeming’s hand: a torn strip of fabric.

Panic had made him lose control.

He stared at the shredded collar in his grip. Then at Elusa.

Her chest heaved. Black lace underwear gleamed in the open air.

*Torn off… completely?*

"You," Elusa murmured, eyes fixed on her exposed skin. A smile curled her lips, cold as winter steel. "Want. To. Die?"

"U-uh—"

He wanted to deny it. But hands clamped his shoulders from behind. Fingers dug in—*crack*.

*My shoulder… dislocated?*

"My husband," Eira whispered, her voice glacial. Her grip tightened. "What did you do to my sister?"

"Uuuuuh…"

Zeming finally looked at her face.

It had gone pitch black.