The lewd, revealing catgirl outfit was far too challenging for Ouyang. Silently, he scooped up the maid uniform from the left box, swallowing his pride as a soft, reluctant whisper escaped his lips: "I’ll take this one..."
His masculine dignity had been trampled underfoot by relentless demands. Forced into women’s clothing with no right to refuse, he gritted his teeth. Since he’d chosen this path, he had to push through. Ouyang’s throat tightened. He fought down his revulsion and asked firmly:
"Just wearing it means I pass, right?"
His heart sank when Claudia shook her head.
"Of course not. You’ll wear the maid uniform while learning to become a proper maid. This is to correct the nasty habits left over from your youth. A true maid maintains perfect posture and grace at all times. She obeys her master’s commands without question, hides her emotions, and completes every task flawlessly. Only then can she be excellent."
"Nasty habits..."
The harsh words filled Ouyang with helpless anger. He sighed quietly, a trace of sorrow darkening his eyes.
"Inside the box is a hotel keycard. Tomorrow at 7 a.m., a white van—license plate North B886—will pick you up downstairs. Change clothes before you go. Brother Long has already arranged your leave. And don’t think choosing the maid outfit lets you skip the catgirl one. The boxes only decide the order."
Claudia finished her instructions and left the mirror maze, leaving Ouyang standing alone, dejected. Before leaving, she’d reminded him to try on the uniform tonight and send photos before tomorrow’s ride.
It was already late when Ouyang reached the hotel address Claudia provided. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned away. Distrusting hidden cameras, he booked a standard room at a nearby hotel instead. One betrayal taught him caution. He couldn’t forget the Black Book’s records—he refused to be treated like an animal for their evaluation.
The hotel room reeked of dust. Ouyang flung open the window, breathing deeply. Standing there, gazing at the night sky, a chill settled in his chest. He felt no joy about the life ahead.
Since his transformation, Xiaomo no longer saw him as human. Her coldness felt utterly alien. Anxiety gnawed at him—where would Claudia take him next for this terrifying, mysterious training?
They’d rushed him straight from the mirror maze to this second test. Xiaomo’s faction seemed desperate, eager to forge him into a weapon against the Mosterians.
His eyes fell on the cardboard box on the coffee table. With heavy steps, he approached it. Reluctantly, he pulled out the white thigh-highs, black hairband, round-toe platform shoes, and the scandalously short maid dress. Staring at the clothes, he froze. Unable to move forward, he collapsed onto the bed, clutching a pillow as he wrestled with his crumbling resolve.
An angel and devil whispered in his mind.
The angel soothed: *"You’re doing this to destroy the Mosterians. Endure it, little one. Things will get better."*
The devil hissed: *"They’re using you. Run. Disappear where none can find you."*
Lying on the bed, Ouyang stared at the pitch-black window. His heart mirrored that darkness—no hope, only obedience to Brother Long’s orders.
Suddenly, two crimson dots pierced the blackness. Outside, a soft *whoosh-whoosh* of wings grew louder. The tiny black sphere flew straight toward his window. Ouyang sprang up, lunging to shut the gap just as it neared. *Plop!* The fluffy black ball smacked against the glass—a ridiculous sight.
*That cursed phone the Bloodkin Prince gave me must have a tracker.*
He’d chosen a thirtieth-floor room to avoid street noise. Yet this creature had flown all the way up.
Sticking out his tongue, Ouyang flashed a mischievous grin and mouthed *"Serves you right!"* before yanking the curtains shut, blocking the troublesome orb.
The Bloodkin Prince’s arrival banished the devil’s whispers. Ouyang grabbed the thigh-highs and slid them onto his smooth, slender legs. He tossed aside the delicate white lace panties Claudia provided, replacing them with safe shorts.
Someone must have measured his chest while he was unconscious—15 centimeters. His pale cheeks flushed as he held up the pale blue, ultra-thin 3/4-cup bra. Bandages would’ve failed Claudia’s test. With a sigh, he fastened it. The tight squeeze felt alien, the outline painfully obvious. Breathing deeply became difficult.
Finally, the maid dress. He stepped into the skirt, wriggling it upward. His head popped through the narrow collar, arms sliding into the sleeves. He reached behind his back to zip the dress—but his wrist lacked the strength to pull the zipper all the way down. Switching hands, he fumbled—
A pair of icy fingers brushed his spine. The zipper glided shut, the cold touch making him shiver. He whirled around, snapping:
"Damn it! Can you walk through walls now?!"
Warm breath tickled his right ear. The Bloodkin Prince chuckled softly behind him. "I can do many things. If you wish to learn, I’ll teach you personally."
"Really?!" Ouyang wasn’t meeting a stranger online—he’d never even seen the Prince’s face. The man always pinned him in place, hiding his features. It felt unnerving. "Then teach me how to break free of your control. Or better yet—how to control *you*."
"Such a skill is simple," the Prince murmured, his voice light with amusement. He circled Ouyang slowly, inspecting the frilly maid uniform. "Since you’re dressed for the role... why not start by calling me *Master*?"
