Tsurumi Mirei tipped backward, landing on the floor. The fall didn’t hurt—but with her bladder full, her face flushed crimson. A soft "Nngh!" escaped her lips.

"Xia Chuan Yuan... could you carry me to the toilet?"

Heat radiated from her scarlet cheeks, almost steaming. She’d reached her limit. No more games—delaying would only make things worse.

I swept her up in a princess carry without hesitation. Earlier, she’d only asked me to turn away. Now? She’d surrendered to her body’s demands. Proof enough: the body always overrules the mind. Control the body, and the mind follows.

*Those who say "You can have my body but never my heart" are fools. What about Stockholm Syndrome?*

Victims bonding with captors. Gratitude replacing fear. Like the 1973 Stockholm bank siege—hostages defended their armed captors, even funding their legal defense. One fell in love.

*Fear has a breaking point. When survival depends on your captor, mercy becomes worship. Your safety merges with theirs.*

...I’d overthought it. For Mirei, those seconds of my hesitation stretched into agony. Her face twisted with discomfort, shame, and desperation—a storm of emotions I’d never seen on anyone before.

I shifted her properly: one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. But the moment I lifted her—

"I can’t hold it!!!" she gasped.

Warm dampness soaked through my sleeve. A splash echoed. I looked down. A puddle spread across the tiles beneath us. Her skirt and underwear were dark with wetness.

*Urinary incontinence?!*

*Oh crap. I’ve messed up big time.*

Mirei’s eyes went blank. Shame drained her face until she simply... passed out in my arms.

Now I stood in the bathroom, cradling her unconscious form, wondering if I should write my will first—or just lose my virginity while I still could. *Wait, focus.*

She’d drunk heavily tonight. Woken briefly on the way here, but alcohol plus trauma often erases memories. *Drunk + shock = double amnesia.* Maybe she wouldn’t remember a thing tomorrow.

...Not reliable enough. Villains in stories always knock out heroines with a chop to the neck for perfect amnesia.

I adjusted my grip, raising my free hand into a blade. Staring at Mirei’s limp form, I hesitated. *Do I really strike a sleeping girl?*