But… this felt so blissfully sweet…

This sudden reward after her teasing was like a gentle massage following a whipping—my heart swelled, sweet as if drenched in honey.

I vaguely understood: before this little demon girl, resistance was futile. I couldn’t struggle, couldn’t guess her thoughts.

All I could do was blush, bow my head humbly like true livestock, and stammer, “I… I’ll never betray you, Master. Please… no more tests…”

Surely this pledge would ease her mind?

(Of course, I wasn’t truly submitting—just playing along. She held my weakness. This was pure appeasement.)

Yet Xiao Qingqing paused, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes—

“You hypocritical little pervert. Honestly, you’re not the least bit likable.”

Why?! Why unsatisfied *again*?!

After a while, she seemed bored. She finally let me off the hook, returned to her desk, and resumed her icy mask. “Well? Forgotten your task?”

“Huh?”

“Strip. This uniform’s waiting.”

Ugh… If I’d known, I’d have obeyed the moment she spoke. Who knew she’d bully me into such a mess?

Whatever. Just take it off. Not the first time. No one’s watching. Worst case? A little humiliation.

But shame made me hesitate—hands freezing mid-motion.

“I… I can’t get it off. Senior, could you turn around?”

“No.”

“But…”

“Kindergarten kid? Can’t undress yourself? Fine. Since you won’t, I’ll help.”

“No! I… I can do it!”

“Do you *tell* me what to do?”

“Ugh…”

Her cold, merciless gaze sent instinctive chills through me. The half-exposed dog leash was the final straw. Resistance vanished. Jumpy as a startled bird, I feared provoking her again.

I surrendered. Her fingers found my collar—cold expression, yet movements startlingly delicate. I braced for roughness…

But it never came.

Xiao Qingqing’s slender fingers worked with inexplicable care, as if handling a fragile jewel. She removed my blazer inch by inch, folded it neatly, tucked it into a pouch.

Under this tender “assault,” resistance melted. A dangerously addictive comfort washed over me. My heart raced like a fawn; my eyes darted away, flustered.

This gentle senior was dangerously alluring. I feared sinking willingly, ready to kneel at her feet.

But she stopped. Didn’t touch my shirt or trousers. Just pointed coldly at the side door. “Go in. My private changing room. Consider this your permission.”

“Eh?”

“Deaf?” She tossed the girls’ uniform at me with the detached air of an empress dismissing a concubine.

“Master…” I stared, bewildered by her shifting warmth and ice. Her true self? Unfathomable.

“Every piece. Then come out.”

No chance to ask. She turned back to her desk, haughty and final.

What *is* she thinking? What does she want with me…?

Still—surviving *this* time, unhumiliated? Miraculous. Like swimming upstream through a mudslide and emerging spotless.

Silence settled.

A small door stood right of the council office—a cramped room cluttered with racks and odds and ends. I closed it gently, unfolding the crisp new uniform.

I saw girls wear this daily… yet holding it myself stirred conflicted feelings.

Strangely… a faint comfort bloomed.

I was starting to grasp it: this slow surrender of weakness, this yielding to control. And worse—I didn’t hate it. A flicker of joy terrified me.

A premonition struck: one day, I’d be forever tethered to her, unable to resist her humiliations.

Desolation nearly drowned me. A reckless urge to just… fall.

I shoved the thought away. Unfolding the uniform, I spotted a clear pouch: white thigh-highs, round-toed Mary Janes.

Huh. Thoroughly prepared…

Thanks to last time, I wasn’t flustered. After dressing, I faced the mirror—

A pure-faced schoolgirl with short hair. Not stunning, but softly approachable. Slender legs beneath the skirt, a subtle gap hinting allure beyond many classmates’.

The sad part? No makeup. No wig. Yet this look fit *me*.

“So? Dressed?”

“W-Wha—?!”

I jumped.

Xiao Qingqing stood by the door—coldness and irritation gone.

Back to the unreadable little demon, smirking playfully. “Getting used to it? Cross-dressing?”

“N-No… of course not…” I stammered, blushing, fingers twisting my skirt—a weak, futile protest.

Her mood visibly lifted. “Good. Obey, and Master will never mistreat you.”

She pointed to the desk chair. “Go. Sit.”

“Eh? Why?”

One sharp glance.

I shut up and obeyed.