A sudden, splitting headache struck me. I shuffled to the kitchen, brewed a large pot of black tea, and poured it into two tiny porcelain cups. I drained one, refilled it, then headed back to the living room.

Phew~ My mood eased. Warm tea flowed through me, soothing every inch of my body.

Only then did I glance toward the corner of my living room.

Time to reveal the headache’s true source.

A little loli woven from "cuteness," "insanity," "hentai," and "sharp tongue."

She’d even tried to murder me—snatching my kitchen knife and lunging for my chest… well, my stomach. Her height fell short of her ambition.

Naturally, the assassination failed.

Otherwise, how could I be sipping tea now, lounging on the sofa with legs crossed, watching that shadow-draped, gloomy corner?

There, a girl in a red-and-black Lolita dress crouched, knees hugged tight. Her body trembled slightly. Whimpers escaped her—muffled, indistinct—thanks to the tape sealing her mouth.

Necessary measure. To calm a frenzied little loli, cooling-off time was essential. After disarming her barehanded, before she could squirm free, I deployed Secret Technique: Spank Punishment!

*Smack!* Behave?

*Smack, smack!* Behave?

*Smack, smack, smack!*

Okay. She obeyed. And fell silent. The mysterious loli seemed to shut down.

Naturally, I made her stand in the corner—tape still on—since I had questions.

Wait… why so obedient now? Was this really the knife-wielding child from moments ago?

Guess steps like "Japanese advanced rope art" could be skipped.

(￣ω￣;)

Why are you all staring? With *those* hentai eyes?

"Beauty is justice"? Sure, the loli’s stunning—people sympathize despite her crime.

But focus: *I’m* handsome too! ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

I’m the victim! That blade missed my firm abdomen by 0.01 meters.

Let me be clear:

I, Ye Huaixian, am the true victim.

She, the little loli, is the false victim.

I sipped the warm tea calmly, gaze steady on her corner.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" I chided, standing in for her absent-minded parents.

I knew she couldn’t reply—that was the point. A talking-back kid isn’t obedient (devilish whisper).

So I added:

"If you’re sorry… blink."

See? Gentle.

Yet she shuddered, pressing her tiny frame deeper into the wall—like a bamboo rat hit with a "warning for being too adorable."

Annoying. Why do *I* look like the hentai here? False victim, enough.

"Or I’ll make you the *real* victim—"

Ah, sorry. Not my intent. I’m a kind, modest youth, core socialist values and all.

I sighed, softened. Walked over. Placed the second cup of tea before her.

"I’ll remove the tape. Try spitting or shouting…" I offered a gentle smile.

Her fine hairs stood on end.

I patted her head. Her shoulders tensed—then slowly relaxed. Did she trust me? Hate me? Why stab me… and whisper:

—"For Mother’s sake… please die!"

Side note: Yep, fox ear hairband. Which pervert (kindred spirit?) put that on her?

My fingers trailed her soft hair, brushed her cheek. I resisted pinching it. Carefully peeled the tape.

She gasped as it lifted. Tape always tugs a few fine hairs.

Hand over her mouth, she glared. I wasn’t afraid.

To me, she was just a little sister. Murder? Absurd.

Her first words trembled, tear-laced.

But when I heard them… I froze.

—"Sure enough… Dad is the worst!"