Finally, the discomfort eased slightly.
Maur’s body went limp, cradled in an even softer embrace.
Inside the hidden space, every sound was barely audible.
Outside the wardrobe where they hid, Mavis’s crisp, gender-ambiguous voice rang out.
“Good day, everyone~”
Amid the Mickey Mouse Mischief Theater Troupe members’ puzzled stares, Mavis spoke warmly, laced with just the right hint of admiration:
“So you’re the members of the Mickey Mouse Mischief Theater Troupe? I never dreamed I’d meet you in person! Just like everyone says—you truly are brilliant performers~”
“Eh?! Are we really that famous?”
“Senior Mavis, you’re flattering us too much! We’re nowhere near that good~”
“To receive praise from Senior Mavis… I’m so happy! Wuwuwu… I’ve lived a full life!”
The troupe members, who’d been wondering why Mavis arrived with so many girls, instantly forgot their suspicion at her effusive words.
*This is none other than Young Master Mavis of Duke Fred’s household!*
*Unlike those spoiled noble sons, Senior Mavis is always polite and kind to everyone.*
*I thought he had zero interest in theater—yet he knows us and holds us in such high regard?*
Naive students, disarmed by a few light compliments.
Mavis pressed on: “Could I… ask for your autographs? Receiving signatures from my favorite stage actors would be the happiest moment of my life~”
He—he—he—he! *Young Master Mavis of Duke Fred’s household is asking OUR obscure troupe for autographs?!*
Every member—even noble-born leader Alice—felt tears welling up.
“O-of course!”
No one could refuse heartfelt praise for their passion, especially from someone so accomplished.
“Please sign these gorgeous costumes. Every time I see them, I’ll remember your dazzling stage presence~”
“Don’t worry—the Duke Fred estate will deliver brand-new costumes before your afternoon show. Zero delay.”
“After all… I wouldn’t miss your performance for the world~”
A lie.
Every word—the autograph request, signing the costumes, even hinting she’d watch the show—was fabrication.
Her real goal? Lower these freshmen’s guard and make them count the costumes themselves.
Mavis had checked: neither Maur nor Lilith was among the heavily made-up students.
Yet her Ban Sheng Die clearly sensed Maur’s presence.
His scent lingered here.
He’d been in this prep room.
But where were they now?
Disguised and escaped? Or hiding?
Her gaze swept the room.
Only the three large wardrobes stood out.
If two people were concealed… it had to be inside one.
Outside, troupe members chattered excitedly while picking costumes to sign—just as Mavis planned. To choose the “perfect” one, they began counting aloud.
Inside the wardrobe, Lilith soothed Maur’s pain.
First time. Zero experience. Surrounded by people.
This swordswoman—who stayed calm even when pierced by blades or facing a Level 6 Heroic Sword Saint’s killing intent, hand never trembling—now felt her heart hammer, cheeks flush, fingers tremble.
And Maur was acting up again!
The pain had lessened… only to be replaced by sharper torment.
“Mmm… mmm!”
J-just… a little more.
Almost…
“J-just…” Maur gasped.
To the busy students and curious fans, his muffled sounds vanished in the noise.
But to Mavis—watching the wardrobe closely—the whisper was instantly caught.
In a panic, Lilith covered his mouth.
All restless sounds vanished, swallowed by softness.
Best solution for now.
But temporary.
The moment she pulled away, he’d whimper again.
The inexperienced silver wolf kept her flushed face still, hands sweating.
*…Even more nervous now.*
*If we’re found like this…*
*“Things just got worse.”*
She kept soothing him, palm pressed firmly over his lips, ears straining for every outside sound.
Outside, Mavis’s eyes drifted toward the wardrobes.
She stepped closer.
A troupe member, mistaking her intent, beamed: “Senior Mavis, look all you want! If you like a costume, we’ll all sign it!” Her face turned crimson. “I-I mean… if you’d like…”
Mavis offered a sincere, polite smile. “Thank you for your kindness.”
*Senior Mavis is so approachable! Yay!* The girl glowed with joy.
Once dismissed, Mavis stood before the middle wardrobe—the one hiding Maur and Lilith.
Inside, Lilith froze.
Don’t stop.
Too close.
If she paused—soothing or silencing—Maur would stir. Make noise.
At this distance? Instant discovery.
Be quieter. Smaller movements.
Sweat slicked her palms.
Meanwhile, Maur—long healed by the succubus—ached to cry out.
Mouth covered.
Body trembling, held firm by Lilith’s strength.
Outside, Mavis reached for the wardrobe door.
“A little curious… Let’s see what surprise hides inside~”
