"Uh, well, the weather isn't always cooperative, you know? The forecast this afternoon even said it'd rain tonight."

Abel rubbed his nose, speaking a bit awkwardly.

Shea shot him a glance and kept eating dinner.

"I felt your sincerity. Just don't mess up again. If I called the cops, these two incidents alone would land you six years in prison."

"Those were accidents. I'm a very upright Hunter."

Forgiven, Abel started tasting Shea's cooking.

Honestly, this young-looking girl had surprisingly good skills.

Not royal-chef level, but definitely on par with restaurant chefs.

Shea was probably fifteen? She looked so young, yet why was she so good at cooking?

Abel studied Shea's face, roughly guessing her age.

"What are you staring at, Pervert Hunter?" Shea mumbled indistinctly around her fork. "I've got an alarm here. One wrong move, and I'll press it."

This alarm was from Nina—a noble-exclusive device. Guards would rush over at its sound.

She'd forgiven Abel, but trusting him completely? Unrealistic. What girl trusts a lucky pervert like him?

"No, I was just curious. How old are you, Shea?"

"Me? I'm an adult." Shea replied casually. Despite her small frame, Nightshade Catfolk matured this way—staying compact for stealth. Most stopped growing at fourteen.

Natural evolution. Shea couldn't change it.

"Oh, right. Catfolk girls do look young." Abel wasn't too surprised. Given Shea's mature demeanor, adulthood made sense.

But...

Abel stared at Shea's chest, lost in thought.

Catfolk bodies stopped developing early, but secondary traits kept growing.

Adult Catfolk often had decent figures.

Shea's... was disappointingly flat.

"What are you looking at now?" Shea pulled out the alarm, catching Abel's gaze.

"Where exactly? Keep it up, and I press this."

"Uh... sorry. Didn't mean to." Abel quickly looked away, hands up in surrender.

His cowardly act made Shea burst into delighted laughter, a playful smile spreading like she'd found a new toy.

"What's wrong, Pervert Hunter? Scared I'll press it?" She stood, alarm in hand, grinning threateningly.

"If I do, you'll be eating prison slop tonight."

"No, no! I was just curious about your age. Really."

*Definitely not why you're so flat*, Abel thought silently.

"Do I feel insulted?"

"Your imagination." Abel sat up straight, serious-faced, but still worried. He *had* blatantly stared at her chest.

He couldn't control his eyes.

Last night, when he'd touched her—just fabric and a bandage underneath. How could he not be curious?

"You're staring again!" Shea caught his gaze this time, triumphant. Her smile turned wicked.

"Heh heh..." She lifted her skirt hem, grabbing a string.

"Abel, what happens if I pull this string and press the button?"

"..."

Abel stayed silent. He knew exactly: Shea's panties would drop, and he'd chat with guards tonight.

Shea wouldn't actually press it. She just wanted to scare this Hunter who'd groped her twice.

Blackmailing some gold coins would be a bonus.

"You were so eager just now. Where were you looking? Here?" Shea pointed the alarm at her chest, voice dripping with fake allure.

"I'm this small, and you still go for it? Are you... a lolicon?"

Honestly, Abel—a healthy adult—questioned himself for the first time.

Shea, holding her panty string while pointing at her chest, radiated intense temptation. His heart raced; his mouth went dry.

"Figures~ Hunter bro, you like this stuff? I'm worried for my safety. Should I press it?"

"Cough, I'm not like that. Calm down, Shea. This alarm's for survival, not playing with me."

"Aren't I surviving right now?" Shea fully untied the string. Her black panties slid down. She held out her hand—clearly demanding payment.

Abel got it. This money-grubbing cat was shaking him down again.

But he couldn't blame himself for staring. Getting caught was his fault.

Fine. Pay up.

"Alright. How much, Shea?"

"Hehe, I love how you get it. Let me think..." Shea sat back down. Her bare bottom felt chilly.

She slipped her panties back on under the table. Abel couldn't see.

"Just don't go overboard, and I'm fine with it." Abel didn't care much about gold. Once he caught that damn white cat, he'd reclaim all his money—and weapons.

"Fair price, promise." Shea knew not to strip the goose bare. Leave Abel some coins, or he might stop staying here.

She rocked her chair, pondering the amount. Unaware of the creaking strain.

One leg was slowly cracking.

Abel noticed, but before he could warn her—

*Crack!*

The leg snapped. Shea tipped backward.

Abel's quick reflexes caught her hand, saving her from a painful fall.

But in the panic—

Shea pressed the alarm. Abel saw it.

Silence. The alarm didn't blare. Broken? Or dead battery?

Shea looked at Abel's grip on her arm, awkwardly asking:

"Uh... Abel, about what we said earlier... still valid?"

"What do you think?" Abel replied flatly.

"A hundred gold coins works too!"