"Thanks for the treat~"

Nainai licked her fingers with relish, holding the freshly made, still-unsealed milk tea cup. She strolled lazily out of the shop and vanished in an instant.

The barista left behind sat slumped on the floor, eyes vacant. He looked utterly drained—as if a dozen hefty women had taken turns exhausting him. For the first time in his twenty-plus years, he’d plunged deep into "sage mode." Monastic life beckoned; worldly desires meant nothing now. Chanting sutras at a temple seemed perfectly reasonable.

*What… did I just do?*

After a long while, he shuddered involuntarily, barely snapping back to reality. He stared around blankly, wrestling with life’s big questions:

—*What the hell did I just do? What was I even doing? What’s wrong with me?*

His body felt hollow, as if he’d frantically relieved himself a dozen times in ten minutes…

He seemed to have forgotten the "spring night’s fleeting moment," and the peach-colored little succubus who’d visited him entirely.

*Ah, my pants—why…?*

The moment he shifted, he noticed the inexplicable mess inside his trousers. Flustered, he sprang up and scrambled backstage to deal with his soiled underwear…

---

Truthfully, Nainai hadn’t done much. She’d simply stroked the barista’s stomach, drawn out the pink flame of desire from his chest, devoured it in one gulp, then skipped off with the unpaid-for milk tea.

Having one’s desire plucked away naturally plunged the victim into monastic detachment and near-total amnesia about Nainai. Harmless if not done too often—like a thoroughly satisfying release…

*But that guy’s desire quality was seriously trashy.*

Leaning against a traffic light on the sidewalk, Nainai rubbed her flat, soft tummy with a frown. To last a week without "hunting," her body demanded ever-larger portions of desire.

Still… even if low-grade, the *quantity* just now was decent. Yet one bite left her stomach utterly empty. Ridiculous.

*Maybe that’s just how pathetic "rootless desire" is.*

*Ugh—what do I do now…?*

Her grumbling stomach creased Nainai’s little succubus face into a pink dumpling of worry.

But the thought of proper, high-yield desire sources still made her queasy. She was a girl now—modesty mattered.

Not that she was a *pure* girl, but she refused to be a shameless slut…

If possible, she’d rather find someone she truly liked, give herself to him completely, and live off his desire alone.

*A legendary succubus—supposedly open to anyone, even fit to be a modern-day Slaanesh—wants to be a private car instead?*

*Damn, that’s a cold joke.*

*Glug glug glug—*

Though the cup was unsealed, Nainai felt drinking milk tea without a straw lacked ceremony. Two hours after scoring this freebie iced milk tea, she’d drained every drop—even the melted ice water. The empty cup screeched as the straw sucked air.

Just then, the crosswalk light turned green.

Nainai slapped her cheeks, shaking off the messy thoughts. She tossed the cup into a nearby bin and crossed the street.

*Wait—were there always this few people in the East District?*

At the intersection, only a few cars roared past like angry hornets. The street resembled a ghost-town horror scene: shuttered shops, not even a stray dog in sight.

*Wasn’t the East District supposed to be "unrestful" lately? This is practically barren. How is this "unrest"?*

Nainai decided this was the *most* peaceful night she’d ever experienced hunting here.

*Ugh. Xu Yingsnow better watch out for spreading fake news.*

After wasting two hours for a measly snack of low-grade desire, Nainai vowed to prank her properly next time. *Hmph!*

Her pearly teeth ground together. Her mischievous tail whipped furiously, matching her seething mood.

*Prey… where are you?*

Eyes wide, Nainai scanned left and right—but found zero targets.

*Am I going to starve tonight? Seriously…?*

She made a bitter face, clutching her flat stomach.

Below her navel, a faint pink mark glowed like Ultraman’s energy-warning light—a sign of her desperate hunger.

Without filling up, she’d burn with desire, trapped in an endless hell of self-torment…

And her body would punish her: without enough energy, it’d leave her teetering on the edge…

At this rate, she’d starve to death.

She *had* to feed tonight.

*Damn it—where are those night-crawling thugs? Get unstable already, East District!*

*Clang—!*

Fuming, Nainai kicked an empty can. It arced beautifully, then bounced wildly off tactile paving bumps on the sidewalk, clattering loudly.

The noise pierced the silent street.

Breathing deeply, Nainai vented all her frustration onto the can.

*Bastard, take this—ugh!*

Just as she passed a shadowy alley, ready to kick the dented can again, a pair of rough, hairy hands shot from the darkness. One clamped over her mouth; the other yanked her into the alley.

*"Mmmph—!"*

Muffled whimpers escaped as the hand moved—replaced instantly by a foul-smelling rag stuffed into her mouth.

*Ugh… stinks…*

The rag’s stench made her scalp crawl. She gagged.

*It smells like month-old nose-pickings soaked in garlic, fermented herring, and… worse.*

She tried to struggle, but iron-like claws pinned her slender arms, lifting her off the ground.

*"Mmm—mmm—!"*

Tears welled in her eyes from the stench. Gurgles of despair bubbled in her throat.

*Forget monthly brushing—I’m scrubbing my teeth the second I get home.*

"Heh. Look what we caught."

A rough, arrogant male voice sounded behind her as she was hoisted like a chicken.

"A lost streetwalker? Need a job? I know places. *Hahaha!*"

Hot, rancid breath washed over Nainai’s pale neck, raising goosebumps. The stench rivaled the rag’s.

"Wolf Boss! We hit the jackpot!"

A second voice—greasy and wheezy—came from her side. Heavy breathing accompanied a hulking figure emerging from the shadows.

"Such a cute little thing! Smells sweet! And a subhuman! We’re rich! *Hahaha!*"

Nainai squinted slightly, glancing sideways at the "person" stepping into view.

The body odor hit first—equally hair-raising.

Then came the details: coarse brown bristles covering his body like steel needles; a long snout; huge mouth; short, floppy ears; sharp tusks; fiery eyes; and a massively muscular frame.

Undeniably an ugly boar-like subhuman.

*Hmph. That slimy voice wastes your build. And do beastkin subhumans never bathe? How can you reek this badly?*

Nainai silently scoffed. *I skip baths monthly too—to save water! But I still smell nice…*

As the boar subhuman called him—"Wolf Boss"—the one restraining Nainai was a wolf-like subhuman:

Deep blue fur covering his body; triangular wolf ears; a bloodthirsty maw flashing sharp fangs; beastly claws like blades; a muscular frame matching the boar’s; and a whip-like tail.

He resembled the "werewolves" from old films—but he wasn’t a mythical werewolf. Merely an ordinary wolf-like subhuman, lacking supernatural traits like immortality or rapid healing.