Madness.

This was perhaps the most audacious statement Viana had ever heard.

How could a mere D-rank Cardmaker hope to shatter an order that had endured three millennia? Wasn’t that pure delusion?

Reason urged her to turn and leave—otherwise, House Rod would surely be dragged into scandal.

Even setting aside other risks, the unchecked spread of the “Counter Spell” card alone could offend countless Duelists who relied on high-star magic as their ultimate weapon.

So… cancel the collaboration?

Viana tilted her head back, draining her wine in one smooth motion. From an angle Simon couldn’t see, she lightly traced her lips with her tongue.

She had to admit—Simon’s implied vision of the future had utterly captivated her.

It wasn’t just about toppling the Luminous Order from its pedestal… but shattering the pedestal itself.

She’d never been one for rules. Meeting Simon—a man who thrived on chaos—felt like destiny.

A madman paired with a witch? Quite the fitting match, wasn’t it?

As for whether Simon could achieve his grand goal? Viana wasn’t worried.

The world had long suffered under the Luminous Order; allies for them were far more plentiful than imagined.

Besides… if he failed, she’d have every legitimate reason to keep him close.

“Hoo… I must say, Mr. Simon’s proposal is truly… intriguing,” she murmured, eyes narrowing slightly.

“But collaborating this way… you’d be making exorbitant demands, wouldn’t you?”

Their prior arrangement was simple: Simon paid regular “protection fees,” and House Rod handled frontline risks.

Now? Trading the formula directly meant House Rod couldn’t possibly take it for free.

“Don’t worry. Long-term partnership. Considering you’ll bear the initial pressure…” Simon tapped the table lightly. A number formed in his mind.

“How about a 30-70 split? I take thirty, you take seventy. Generous, right?”

*He hit my bottom line instantly…*

Viana slowly refilled her glass, a trace of helplessness flickering in her slightly furrowed brows. “Indeed… very generous, Mr. Simon.”

Simon beamed. “After all, I’m no devil.”

*Clink!*

Two flute glasses met with a gentle tap.

The deal was sealed—but Viana’s mood soured.

She’d planned to steer the entire negotiation, yet from the midpoint onward, control slipped away.

Not just dominance—the final terms were worlds apart from the original plan. Explaining this to her father would be… tedious.

This constant loss of control stirred quiet frustration.

Then she saw Simon’s easy smile—and a new idea sparked.

“Well then,” Viana dabbed her lips with a handkerchief, “time for the main course.”

She raised a hand—*clap, clap*—and waiters filed in, bearing covered dishes.

Each lid lifted, a dish announced, its preparation briefly described.

But Simon wasn’t listening. Because—

*Shush… shush.*

What was that?

Something smooth brushed his calf. Goosebumps prickled his skin.

*Snakes in the garden?*

He glanced at Viana—calmly chatting with a waiter, seemingly unaware.

To avoid alarming it, Simon acted alone.

Left hand shielding his eyes, right hand gripping the tablecloth edge.

Moving with deliberate slowness, fearing a sudden strike.

He braced himself… yet his heart sank at the glimpse of black-and-white beneath.

*Oh no.* He recognized this “species.”

The Beauty Serpent.

Simon snapped his gaze upward—only to meet Viana’s knowing smile.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Simon? Feeling unwell?” Her leg continued its slow, deliberate upward crawl.

Toes nudged his trouser hem aside; silk-clad calf rubbed back and forth. Soft, velvety friction scorching his rationality.

*She’s playing with fire.*

And Simon realized, despairingly—he was utterly outmatched.

Speaking up or standing would draw the waiters’ attention.

If they saw a noble lady teasing him mid-dinner… his second life in this other world would be over.

“…”

Simon buried his face in his hands, silent.

*Endure. Waiters are still here. Don’t let them see.*

As if summoned by dread, the female waiter approached. “Sir? Are you unwell?”

“…N-no. Just… the wine,” Simon stammered, voice cracking. His hands dropped briefly—revealing flushed cheeks—then covered his face again.

*Wait… he’s only had one glass of sparkling wine?* The waiter blinked, baffled.

“Perhaps… take a moment to recover.”

Simon nodded frantically.

Seeing no real distress, she retreated.

*Better warn the staff—next time, serve him non-alcoholic drinks. One glass and he’s like this? I fear he might collapse here someday.*

“Already overwhelmed by the wine, Mr. Simon?” Viana swirled her glass, eyes crinkling with amusement—a sight that made the remaining waiters silently admire:

*How tenderly Miss Viana cares for her companion. Truly gentle.*

Simon said nothing, focusing intently on his cream soup.

He’d figured it out: with every sentence, her leg inched higher. Blatant teasing.

“Good. Seems you’re not fully drunk.”

Having “cared” sufficiently, Viana turned to her soup.

Romance novels taught her: personal space existed between genders, and “accidental” breaches accelerated intimacy.

Her earlier moves were straight from those pages—and worked wonders on Simon.

But prolonged embarrassment bred resentment. So she decided:

*One last tease… then stop.*

After all, she wasn’t a devil either.

Unnoticed, her bowl was empty.

Seeing her savoring the last drop, Simon’s stomach tightened with fresh dread.

“Mmm… The head chef made this himself? His skills improved again. What do you think, Simon?”

She dropped the honorific. Simon barely registered it—her leg was now creeping dangerously inward.

He clamped his knees shut, halting her advance. “Same… same here.”

The waiter blinked. “Thank you. I’ll pass your praise to the chef.”

“No need,” Viana said, eyes narrowing with mischief. “Just have him come up. I’d like to discuss refinements.”

“Very w—”

“Don’t call him!” Simon blurted, hand shooting out.

Clearing his throat under the waiter’s puzzled look: “This is… a private date. Best not disturb us.”

Slightly bewildered, the waiter bowed. “Understood. I’ll leave you be.”

Closing the penthouse door, his final thought echoed:

*Such a handsome couple—Miss Viana radiant, her companion striking. Though… rather possessive.*

“Ah-choo!” ×2

Unaware of the silent commentary, Simon sneezed.

At that exact moment, Tidelys—finalizing a commission at the academy office—also sneezed.

“Why do I keep feeling like someone broke into my room…? I’ll check my dorm later.”