Hale’s limbs felt strangely weak. He realized with a sinking heart that Lorin had likely set a trap for him.

But why so soon?

According to the plot, Lorin should still be the obedient, well-behaved girl right now.

Even if she knew Christine and Letitia had been spending more time with him lately—

—it was *just* spending time.

He’d never brought either home. Lorin had never personally witnessed him alone with Letitia or Christine.

Could this tiny detail really trigger a special event?

Hale was utterly dumbfounded.

He’d braced himself for the painting-viewing moment in Lorin’s room—not this sudden ambush.

Still, he had to pull his hazy consciousness back.

The method was simple: the sacred mantra from theology designed to resist negative effects.

Hale began circulating the Clear Mind Sacred Art. His mind gradually cleared, but control over his limbs remained out of reach.

In his blurred vision, Lorin stood on his right thigh like a sparrow cupped in his palm. The petite girl, usually frail and delicate, slowly folded the hem of her sleeping robe and settled facing his chest, exhaling slow, heated breaths.

This posture was nothing like Letitia’s. She’d sat with her back to him—fidgeting a little, yes, but manageable.

Now Lorin straddled his thigh fully, legs wrapped tight, gaze locked on his chest.

If he didn’t regain control soon, regaining it later would be pointless.

Hale knew Lorin wasn’t like Letitia, who tested waters with shy restraint. His sister played for keeps.

And she was a hidden yandere—he had zero doubt.

She’d likely weaponize today’s incident later.

Recalling Lorin’s route: even without choosing [Replenish Hale’s Mana], the heroine could suddenly “level up.”

Further proof? No matter how players limited mana replenishment to avoid his demise, Hale still grew thin and hollow-eyed.

Hale intensified the mantra’s circulation.

In all his past and present lives, he’d never prayed so fervently.

He would not meet a BE.

Unlike the game’s original Hale, his theology skill wasn’t a pathetic [D].

He could make it.

Just as Lorin’s toe brushed his trouser hem—

his hands moved.

“Huh?”

Lorin lifted her head from his chest. Saw his expression fully restored.

Doubt flickered: had the succubus-feather eye drops failed? Panic stirred.

*CRACK!*

A deafening thunderclap erupted outside.

Lorin instantly curled into Hale’s arms—genuinely terrified.

Hale knew: her character profile explicitly listed thunder as a fear.

He’d planned to spank her after regaining control.

But now his thoughts shifted.

If Lorin was already showing yandere tendencies, avoidance was futile.

Could a yandere you *could* avoid even be called a yandere?

The real countermeasure? Prevent the “activation” entirely.

Yet after the thunder passed, Lorin shrank back into an innocent, trembling girl.

Spanking *this* version felt too harsh.

He chose not to expose her. Voice low and firm:

“Lorin, fewer dangerous items next time. If Brother catches you, your little bottom will pay.”

“Mm… Brother?”

Her whisper carried ambiguous warmth.

“Focus on your studies. Nothing else.”

His tone hardened slightly.

He had to stop her daily shenanigans.

Power-wise? Lorin’s route hadn’t even begun. He outmatched her. His former weakness—theology—was long fixed.

Before she fully awakened, he wouldn’t fall.

Since she’d started “symptoms,” he’d blend gentleness with firmness. If softness failed, strength would hold the line.

“But, Brother…”

Her eyes welled at his sternness.

“No ‘buts.’ Studies come first.”

Hale knew: yielding to tears now meant iron bars and regret later.

“Then… let me eat here with you, Brother… I’ll study hard after.”

She dared not push further—her brother rarely angered.

“Here” meant his lap.

“Fine. But no fidgeting.”

He set the condition.

He had to instill: constant clinging was unacceptable. If magic couldn’t suppress yandere tendencies, physical boundaries would.

Lorin had no allies yet. No backup.

She sat quietly afterward—no tricks, no mischief.

Setting aside her hidden nature, she *was* a gentle sister.

Occasionally, she’d cut fruit with knife and fork and feed him.

Outside, wind and rain swelled. Thunder rumbled. Through the ornate glass skylight, lightning flashed.

A beast-like roar of thunder made Lorin drop her cutlery. She covered her ears, curling small and trembling.

*CREAK—WHOOSH!*

The hall door flew open in the gale’s howl.

Lorin flinched, turning to Hale with wide, pleading eyes—*Save me, Brother*—nothing like the girl who’d schemed with succubus feathers moments ago.

Hale didn’t move immediately. Not coldness—he’d caught the figure at House Faxius’s entrance.

A tall woman in a pale yellow noble gown stood there, damp strands clinging to her cheeks. Makeup highlighted her lovely features. Left hand held a closed parasol; right, a bag—food, drinks, and a scroll-shaped bulge.

Siman.

*Why now?*

They’d parted on campus hours ago. He’d said he’d go to the Demon God Labyrinth alone.

Siman stared back—at Hale, at tearful Lorin curled on his lap.

She’d braved the storm to deliver a Demon God Labyrinth map procured through Adventurers Guild connections. Worried. Hoping to make amends for years of misunderstanding.

Instead, she saw *this*.

Without thinking, she blurted:

“Hale… what are you doing?”