"Ahh... you idiot! Why did you have to come to a place like this? My house is right next door!"

The Little Succubus grumbled irritably, carefully gathering her pink hair and squeezing out the water.

The adorable white-dress-wearing, pink-haired loli knelt demurely with her legs together, tilting her head as she gathered her hair—a sight made utterly alluring by the grimy surroundings.

Her thin white dress, soaked through, clung perfectly to her petite frame, revealing every breathtaking curve of her impossibly young yet undeniably sensual body.

The safety pin holding her skirt’s hem had loosened. The fabric parted slightly, exposing a tantalizing sliver of snow-white skin—and beneath it, the faint outline of utterly translucent white panties.

Had Fusiming stood behind her just then, he’d have witnessed this divine view in full.

Thankfully, the icy raindrops and biting wind currently assaulting Nainai’s body acted as coolant, desperately suppressing the feverish lust surging within her.

Like ice encasing a red-hot iron ball.

Until that thin icy shell evaporated under the heat, her ravenous desire remained contained.

This strange clash of scorching and freezing even dulled the gnawing hunger in her belly.

"Oh! Cold... not hot anymore."

The drop in body temperature lifted her spirits, filling her with unexpected delight—and a strange, misplaced confidence.

Blinded by the downpour soaking her brain, Nainai likely hadn’t realized this might be a *last flicker of life*—like the false warmth felt by those freezing to death.

She shot a sultry glare at Fusiming, who was wringing water from his own clothes. Then, arms akimbo, she strutted with exaggerated Pride toward the moldy wooden door, its surface scraped raw by time’s sharp blade.

Just as her small hand touched the doorframe, Fusiming’s quiet voice stopped her:

"...Where are you going?"

"Where?" Nainai spun around, shooting him a withering *are-you-stupid* look. "Home. Obviously."

Her tone was so matter-of-fact Fusiming fell silent.

Outside, the storm raged—a full raincoat would struggle in this weather. Her flimsy white dress offered no defense.

"It’s... raining," he said weakly.

"So what?" Nainai scoffed, shoving the rusted door.

*Screeeeeeak—*

The protesting hinges echoed sharply through the metal-shelved shack.

*Whoosh—*

Wind and rain flooded through the gap, instantly swallowing the tiny space. Their force felt ready to devour the Little Succubus like a leaf in a typhoon.

The downpour had intensified. If earlier rain resembled a showerhead, now it was a waterfall.

Above the storm-choked sky, jagged bolts of lightning flickered like pale serpents. Even a newborn could feel the oppressive weight pressing on skin and soul.

—Thunder was coming.

*CRACKLE—*

Blinding white light erupted from the black clouds, searing the world white.

Nainai froze, dazzled.

Then—

***BOOM—!!!***

"*Mew!*"

The Little Succubus, standing directly in the doorway, yelped. Fur standing on end, she crouched low, hands clamped over her ears.

(Truth be told, despite her "elderly" years, thunder still terrified her. At home, curtains drawn and headphones blasting music while gaming made it harmless. But this? This was a full-frontal assault of lightning and thunder.)

Rain lashed the shivering ball of fluff that was Nainai, undoing all her earlier wringing. Yet the icy drops acted like a battery boost, prolonging her unnatural "reprieve."

...

*She’s afraid of thunder?*

Watching the pink-haired loli tremble, Fusiming’s expression shifted subtly.

*Of course. A little girl is a little girl.*

Paper age? Past gender? Irrelevant.

Loli appearance. Loli voice. Loli mannerisms.

Q.E.D. She was a loli.

No overthinking needed.

She was Nainai. Just Nainai.

Even if her soul housed the "Beastly Senior," she was still *Nainai*.

Silent, Fusiming stepped forward.

He nudged the door shut with his foot, then slid his hands carefully under Nainai’s arms, lifting her away from the entrance. His touch avoided every sensitive spot—though honestly, her chest offered little to accidentally graze. (Perfect shape, jelly-soft texture... but critically lacking in volume. *Maybe some pervert would like that?*)

The contrast of his rough, warm palms against her rain-chilled skin jolted Nainai from her thunder-fear.

Shame flooded her chest.

Nothing was more humiliating than cowering from thunder in front of a stranger!

And why was he carrying her like a toddler?! Under the arms? Was he potty-training her?! She wasn’t three!

Nainai refused to show weakness to this man—Fusiming.

Her porcelain face flushed crimson with lust and shame. Her amethyst eyes swam with confused desire and burning embarrassment.

To mask it—or perhaps because her body couldn’t tolerate his touch—she squirmed, growling like an angry kitten:

"*Hmph!* Let me go! I’m going home! Hide from the rain yourself! It’s none of my business! *Let go!*"

"Restricting my freedom is a *crime!*"

"...Fine."

Fusiming obeyed silently. He’d never handled willful "little girls" well—neither Nainai nor Ji Mengzhu.

Freed, Nainai crossed her arms protectively over her chest and retreated three meters, glaring at him.

"Wait..." Fusiming sighed softly. "Wait for the rain to stop. Then go home."

"No." Nainai snarled, cutting him off. "*Now.* I’m leaving *now!*"

Fists clenched, she gripped her soaked skirt, glaring with stubborn defiance. Yet beneath that glare, Fusiming glimpsed raw fear.

*Blinding white light flashed again through the shack’s cracks.*

It illuminated the dress plastered to her trembling form—and the terror in her wide, dilated pupils.

"!!!"

She knew what came next.

Instinctively, she covered her ears and crouched again—like an ostrich burying its head in the sand.

***BOOM—!!!***

"*Hic...*"

Tears welled in her eyes as she whimpered softly.

*Does she look capable of walking home in this?*

Fusiming crouched a meter before her, watching her shiver.

She’d collapse halfway, frozen by thunder.

And beyond the fear—he’d felt her temperature drop sharply when he lifted her. Earlier, feverish hunger had spiked her heat. Now? She was colder than *him*.

A good sign?

No.

Drowning victims feel clarity before death.

*...Last flicker of life?*

The thought tightened his brow.