“H-h-hey! Y-you bastard! What are you doing? Don’t come closer! Go away! Get away!”

Though all elves possessed slender, graceful figures, their strength was no joke—especially the Verdant Elves. Known as the Forest Fey, they were born archers. Without formidable arm strength, how could they draw heavy bows?

Maur had zero chance to resist as Evelyn pinned him firmly onto the preparation desk.

One hand effortlessly overlapped and pinned his wrists.

His struggling legs were swiftly bound by emerald vines that sprouted from the soil, forcing them apart as he lay sprawled.

Standing between his legs, Evelyn leaned down. With her free hand, she tilted his chin up, forcing his gaze to meet hers.

“I’ve decided to revise the content of your special lesson.”

Her breath was scorching. Her tone, no longer cold, carried a hazy, dreamlike warmth—as if drifting through a strange reverie.

Maur stared in horror. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The situation was slipping dangerously off course.

He squirmed, glaring fiercely at Evelyn—like a kitten puffing up its fur, trying desperately to scare off an approaching threat.

“I refuse your special lesson! Let me go! Release me! I want to go home! Take me home!”

Evelyn’s breathing quickened. A deep flush spread across her cheeks.

“The wine…” Her gaze dropped to where the Golden Memory Wine had soaked him most—his right shoulder.

When she’d cast the rebounding magic against the Flowing Current, he’d been turned sideways, mocking her. The iris-blue fabric was now darkened to deep ultramarine, clearly damp.

The thrifty Forest Fey sighed. “Such a waste.”

Vines erupted from beneath the desk, coiling upward with deliberate care around the wrists of the extravagantly dressed human student—freeing Evelyn’s hands.

“Eep! W-what are you doing? S-stop! D-don’t—!”

No! Her eyes… dangerously off. *Massive* crisis! But… no escape!

“Waste not,” she murmured.

Disapprovingly, the fey teacher lowered her head. Cradling his soaked shoulder, she began lapping gently at the fabric.

*So this is why everyone loves Golden Memory Wine?*

*…Indeed. Exquisitely delicious.*

*But… not enough.*

*More. I want more.*

Most of the wine had seeped into his undershirt. Without removing the coat, she could only taste the surface traces.

“Waste not,” she repeated.

With practiced ease, she unbuttoned his lavish formal coat—like unwrapping a cherished gift, or opening an ornate wine box.

“AAAAH—!”

Maur’s mind short-circuited.

Something was *deeply* off with this Forest Fey! Did she even know what she was doing?! She was *licking his clothes*?!

Perverted! Absolutely perverted! This Forest Fey was a total pervert!!!

“Y-you bastard! Stop licking! Don’t lick all over me, you damn fey! Wine’s right there—go drink that! Get away!”

His protest paused her. Evelyn lifted her head, her warm tongue having brushed his sensitive skin through the thin, wine-dampened fabric.

“The wine…”

Her eyes drifted to the two unopened bottles of Golden Memory Wine he’d brought.

Familiar scent… yet lacking. Missing *something*.

What?

Magic summoned a bottle to her hand. She uncorked it, sniffed.

*No.*

*The taste… is wrong.*

Cold. Lifeless.

*…I see.*

True Golden Memory Wine needed human warmth to bloom. Only then would its aroma deepen.

“I see,” Evelyn murmured. “It needs warming.”

Her hand tilted slightly. A full bottle of Golden Memory Wine poured over Maur—from lower abdomen upward, stopping at his chest.

Wine splashed. Bound tight, he jerked his head sideways, futilely dodging.

Too late. His neck, cheek, even lips—drenched in sticky, cold wine.

“Wah! Bastard! It’s freezing! Why pour wine on me?! Ugh, sticky! Disgusting! AAAAAH—!”

If not for the vines, he’d leap up and fight this damn fey!

“Trespassing into your teacher’s Mage Tower and attempting a prank, Maur… you deserve punishment.”

A flick of her wrist. A water mirror appeared—revealing a pitch-black cave.

Inside, slick serpentine monsters with glowing red eyes slithered densely across every surface. The floor itself seemed woven from their coiled bodies, all glaring hungrily.

“Originally… I planned to throw you in there,” the fey teacher stated flatly.

“Eep!!!”

Snakes! So many! A full-blown snake pit!

Damn Evelyn! She’d actually do that?!

“No! Please! Teacher Evelyn, I was wrong! Don’t throw me in there!”

W-well… she *was* a Level 7 Legendary Spellcaster. And his teacher. Apologizing was just… noble etiquette.

Yes! Pure courtesy!

Not cowardice! Absolutely not!!!

“Really?” Evelyn smiled gently at her habitual liar. “This time… no deception?”

“Really! Truly! I’ve learned my lesson! Please, teacher—*please* don’t!”

A cave full of snake monsters? No way!

“Alright.”

She agreed readily. “Then… bribe your teacher.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

“That’s how humans say it, right?” She leaned closer, gaze locked on his eyes. Her left hand cradled his face; her thumb stroked his lower lip.

Her right hand trailed down his wine-soaked chest… lower… until it brushed an utterly unfamiliar place.

“Do… what humans love most. I’ll spare your punishment—and grant you full marks on your Spirit Language make-up exam.”

“Sounds fair for a human, doesn’t it?”

“So… will you bribe your teacher?”

Maur: “…!?”

Are you *kidding*?! Bribe?! With *that*?! He’d rather face the snake cave! Fail the exam! He—

“Refusing me?”

He hadn’t even spoken—only glaring—but Evelyn, mimicking humans well, already understood.

Yet no disappointment flickered in her eyes.

Because.

“A friend once told me,” she murmured softly, “sometimes… even if a human refuses… it’s alright.”

“If you truly desire it… just force them.”