Mavis had always been strikingly beautiful—but the figure emerging from the writhing tentacles was unbearably so.
Like a dew-kissed rose blooming at dawn, her snow-white skin peeked through the eerie violet tendrils. Her already stunning face now glowed with flushed allure.
Her golden hair spilled freely across the thick tentacles. A blush tinged her cheeks; her moist lips parted slightly, releasing soft, involuntary murmurs.
"Mmm… Ah~… So hot…"
Wait! She—she—she—she—she!?
Maur’s eyes flew wide. Fear vanished, replaced by stunned fixation on the body revealed between the tentacles.
A girl?
But that made no sense!
As Mavis’s sworn rival, Maur *knew* Mavis’s frame should’ve been utterly flat.
"Since when did your *pecs* get this exaggerated!?"
The moment the silencing tentacles withdrew from his mouth, Maur blurted it out.
"Did you gulp down some weird potion?!"
Mavis, the duke’s youngest son, had zero magic or combat talent—always playing the delicate, useless beauty.
Nobles fell for the act: frail, pitiable, helpless.
So what was *this*? These tentacles? Mavis’s transformed body?
…What the hell was this guy pulling?!
"Tsk. Still clueless. Honestly, Maur… should I expect anything less?"
Flushed unnaturally, Mavis was gently maneuvered by the writhing tentacles beside him. A trembling hand brushed Maur’s cheek.
"Ever heard of the Swamp Behemoth lurking in the Endless Mire?"
Mavis’s touch burned. Where her fingers traced, an eerie shiver coiled through Maur.
The air thickened with Swamp Rose fragrance. Between the intoxicating scent and countless caressing tentacles, his mind blurred into hazy pleasure.
Dazed, Maur stammered, "Swamp Behemoth? Wh-what? Why bring that up now?"
Then it hit him—he was still bound.
*Bound by his most hated rival, Mavis!*
Tentacles or not—could he endure this shame?
He snapped awake, thrashing furiously. "Damn it! How long will you keep me tied?! Untie me!"
"Which is why I said you don’t get it, Maur."
A violet tentacle, thick as a forearm, slithered from behind his neck and sealed his cursing mouth.
"How cute. That furious little mouth… silenced in an instant."
"Uncomfortable, isn’t it? Mouth stuffed, voice stolen?"
Mavis’s feverish fingers traced his brow, cheek, then lingered on his strained lips—index and middle finger gliding with tender precision.
"I’d love to hear you flustered… but noise might draw unwanted guests."
"So from now on… your mouth stays nicely filled."
*Riiip.*
Fabric tearing echoed sharply in the quiet dressing room. Cool air kissed newly exposed skin.
"Mmph! Mmmph!"
Tentacles surged closer.
He felt them—the plump, lip-like suckers…
"!!!"
"Hnngh! Mmph! Mmm—"
Mavis flicked her tongue, voice husky:
"Blame yourself, Maur. Swamp Roses? To a Swamp Behemoth… fatally alluring."
"Even if you beg and cry… I won’t release you till dawn."
Winter raged outside, yet the dark dressing room felt warm as spring.
Faint sounds drifted like tender whispers of creatures huddled in a winter cave.
…
Dawn’s first light filtered through stained glass. Maur stirred awake.
Red marks bloomed across his skin from hours of binding. His legs trembled uncontrollably just standing.
"…"
D-Damn it!
Yesterday, Mavis had forced strange liquid down his throat with a tentacle—and *that* was why he felt like this.
Face burning, Maur glared at the sleeping figure curled in his arms, shoved her away, and stormed to the next room.
His original clothes were shredded. Thankfully, spare formalwear hung nearby. Without it? He’d have fled the Violet County Manor stark naked.
Dressed and returning, he found Mavis still asleep—human again. Last night’s violet tentacles felt like a dream.
But it was real.
His sworn enemy—the duke’s youngest son, Mavis—
Had become a woman.
No illusion. No trick.
Maur had *verified* it himself.
"Aaaaah—WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"
How could his lifelong rival transform into a girl?!
And *do that* to him last night?!
"Damn you! How dare you, Mavis!"
"Man or woman—I *will* have my revenge!"
He straightened his coat, shot a venomous glare at the sleeping form, and bolted.
…Not "bolted." A *tactical retreat*!
He’d return to the Violet County Manor, research the Swamp Behemoth, find its weakness—and strike back.
Yes. Exactly.
In his haste, he left behind one crucial item:
—the Memory Stone, bought at great cost for its night-vision clarity, meant to capture Mavis’s allergic rash.
Now rolled in the corner, its light blinking steadily.
Forgotten.
But soon… perhaps someone would find it.
Meanwhile, just steps from the dressing room, Maur nearly collided with another nuisance.
—Lilith Carrie Orange.
Second Imperial Princess of the Somaria Empire. Maternal half-sister to Maur’s fiancée, Athena.
"Hm?"
Leaning against the corridor corner, arms crossed, silver hair gleaming, gray eyes sharp beneath fluffy ears—*that dumb mutt*, as Maur privately called her—sniffed twice.
Her nose twitched. A frown creased her brow.
"Maur… why do you smell… *strange*?"
