The Champion might be a bit dense, but he moved fast once he got to it.

He didn’t take long to shower, dry his clothes, and show up at Lyselle’s door again.

Meanwhile, Lyselle was busy erasing evidence.

If you take a job, you do it right. Since she’d decided to infiltrate the Brave Squad, she had to be fully prepared.

She’d built herself a near-flawless cover—a Priestess named Lyselle Charlotte. She still had the clothes she wore for that role at home.

Sending Shall to bathe wasn’t just her mild cleanliness thing. Mostly, she needed him out of the way to destroy the evidence.

Magic wasn’t a cure-all.

Right as she finished hiding everything, Shall’s knock hit the door on cue.

Knock, knock, knock—

Then his voice came from outside.

“I’m done with the bath.”

Lyselle gave the room a quick once-over. No loose ends. She let out a small breath, went over, and opened the door.

Shall stood there looking refreshed.

To be honest, Shall looked decent. Not drop-dead handsome, but easy on the eyes. Tall and solid, dependable, strong. Lyselle had zero interest in men, but even she had to admit it: to a lot of girls, this Champion was prime boyfriend material.

In the three years she shadowed him as the Priestess, she’d watched girls confess to him more than once. Nobles’ daughters, even a princess.

He turned them all down.

She’d gloated then. If even she couldn’t breach Shall’s defenses, how could those girls?

And that’s how it went.

In the end, the one who conquered Shall wasn’t anyone else. It was her—her Priestess persona.

The Priestess was dead now. And a dead first love is the hardest to let go. Lyselle believed no girl would ever walk into Shall’s heart again.

The Champion was doomed to stay single for life.

The thought delighted her.

But she reminded herself to stay composed. Don’t let the Champion see any link between her and the dead Priestess.

She dropped her expression into a flat line, lifted her chin, looked up at Shall—he was a whole head taller—and said coldly,

“Come in.”

Shall looked a little embarrassed, but he still followed Lyselle into the Sorceress’s lair.

Lyselle kept her little den cozy and neat.

She lived here, and she did have a slight cleanliness quirk. No way she’d let her place turn into a kennel.

Shall, on the other hand, was the opposite.

When she was posing as the Priestess, she cleaned his room all the time.

As a Champion, he was near perfect. As a regular person, he was a mess.

If she hadn’t cleaned on schedule, his kennel would’ve drowned in trash.

Every time she roasted him for it, he’d still talk back. Sure, his room was messy, but it had a system. He could reach out and grab anything he wanted.

Every time she heard that, she wanted to plant two punches on him.

She’d even threatened him more than once. If he messed his room up again, she wouldn’t clean it next time.

But a few days later, she’d check in and it would still look like a kennel.

In the end, when she couldn’t stand it anymore, she’d clean while scolding him. She’d lost count of how many times it happened. Shall never changed.

He even enjoyed it.

Lyselle knew what he saw in her. A tsundere whose mouth complained, but whose hands were honest. What Shall didn’t know was that top hunters often look like prey.

She wasn’t tsundere.

She was acting—to make him fall for her completely.

Three years. Little by little, she seeped into the Champion’s life and left marks he couldn’t scrub out.

She made herself his habit. The morning hello. The good night before bed. The teacup that refilled itself by his hand. The partner for daily banter and spats. The brother-in-arms who drank with him till they dropped whenever he was down.

Lyselle knew she’d leave the Champion one day.

And then, on some ordinary day, he’d be hit by it and break down in tears—

He’d realize his life was full of her shadow.

He couldn’t live without her.

Then she could sit back and enjoy the Champion’s devastated face to her heart’s content.

To be honest, when she first joined the Brave Squad, she’d never planned it this far. Back then, all she wanted was to leave him with lifelong regret.

Somehow, things just turned into this.

She tried to figure out why for a while, then gave up.

It only helped her plans, never hurt them. Why not?

Naturally, she started thinking maybe she was born for this.

Am I really a born bad woman?

The thought pleased her. On the surface, she stayed calm, sat down in a wicker chair, and called Shall over.

“Don’t just stand there. Sit.”

“...Oh.”

He answered and obediently picked a wicker chair. He sat so straight it looked like an inspection. Not relaxed at all.

Lyselle almost burst out laughing.

Still the same. Who would’ve thought—the famed Champion was socially anxious, and especially uneasy alone with a woman.

He’s a pure, awkward virgin. Understandable. Understandable.

Delighted, Lyselle pretended not to notice his discomfort. She put on a serious face and asked,

“So you’re not here to compensate me. You’re here to resurrect your squad’s Priestess. Your lover. The girl named Lyselle Charlotte?”

Shall forgot his awkward hands at once.

He nodded and answered fast.

“That’s right, Miss Sorceress. Do you have a way to bring her back?”

He was in a hurry. Lyselle thought, I know you’re desperate. But slow your roll. I get to take my time.

She took a lazy sip of tea, then said,

“I do have a way to revive her...”

Shall’s eyes lit up.

Some people celebrate too early. He missed how she drew that out on purpose.

“But,” Lyselle continued, “why should I help you?”

She set down her cup and deliberately crossed one leg over the other.

The Sorceress had flexible taste in clothes.

When she was the Priestess by the Champion’s side, she stuck to long skirts and bare legs. Sometimes she paired them with white stockings.

Away from him, back as the Sorceress, she wore her usual: a dress and sheer black stockings. Sultry and alluring, like a black rose in full, showy bloom.

Now she crossed her legs, tipped up her face, narrowed her eyes, and wore a fox’s sly smile. The black silk gleamed. Her hem fell over her thighs, half-covering, half-revealing. Black lace set off porcelain skin, and her silver hair flowed down like water.

Like that, the Sorceress met the Champion’s gaze, curled her lips, and taunted,

“You offended me and offered no compensation, yet you want my help? People can dream, just not in broad daylight.”

The Champion didn’t flare up at her mockery. He paused for a moment, then asked at once,

“Then what will it take for you to help me?”

Lyselle had expected that. She shook her head and put on a regretful look.

“You ask what it’ll take? At least find a way to cover damages from last time first. If you can’t even do that, why should I trust you?”

She knew Shall couldn’t pay. He was always broke. He gave almost all his rewards to the poor, and his savings barely kept him going.

Back in the Brave Squad, he’d mooch meals off her all the time.

As expected, when she asked for compensation, Shall’s face tightened.

“I... I have no money,” he said. “And the materials you asked for are too expensive. I can’t afford them.”

Just as she’d predicted. How could a penniless Champion pay? Years ago, she’d been rich as a nation. But to build that cross-plane teleport array, she’d ended up like Shall. A broke Sorceress living on instant noodles.

No problem. He had no cash, but...

“You still have your body and your life, don’t you?” Lyselle’s gaze teased its way over him. “A Champion’s life is valuable. You can pay with that.”

Then she pulled out what she’d prepared long ago—a contract—and slapped it down in front of him.

“You should know what this is.”

Shall picked it up on reflex and skimmed it. He froze.

“This is... a Master Servant Pact?”

“Yep.”

Lyselle flashed him a wicked, playful smile. She stood, leaned in, and tapped the parchment.

“Well? Sign it. Sell yourself to me, and I’ll bring your lover back.”

She winked her left eye at him.

“I’m giving you a chance. Don’t waste it.”