"What's the point of bringing out a toy like that? If you've got anything impressive, just use it!"
The towel pulled from her mouth, Teresia fixed Linen with a cold stare, her tone dripping open disdain and contempt.
And to this, Linen was genuinely taken aback.
"Miss Teresia, am I to take that as you actively requesting I treat you… more roughly?"
"…"
Her gaze could have killed if eyes were blades, but with her hands and feet bound, facing this villain, there was nothing she could do except glare.
"Heh… If you don't like the way I put it, then let's phrase it another way."
Linen twirled the fluffy cat teaser in his hand, leaning in toward Teresia, his eyes locking with hers.
"You're afraid, aren't you?"
"Afraid of that thing? Don't talk nonsense."
Her mouth was hard, but the involuntary lean-back and the faint tremor in her body betrayed her.
Linen, sensing the possible misunderstanding, quickly added:
"Don't get me wrong—I'm not questioning your professionalism. As a professional assassin, someone who's vowed to sever all taboos, above base amusements—torture and physical pain can't threaten you."
"And as for tormenting you with Mental magic, prying open your mind—"
He spread his hands.
"Please. You are a Mental Arcana user. After the first time I got you, even if you threw your mind wide open for me now, I wouldn't believe what's in there."
He rolled the soft tufted tip of the cat teaser in his palm, making it sway gently up and down. Teresia's pupils followed its motion in spite of herself, until she swallowed silently.
"But there are some things… willpower and training can't toughen you against."
"You don't fear torture. Your mental walls are ironclad. And for the moment, I can't think of any shared interest to make you yield…"
The cat teaser suddenly lifted high, then pointed at her nose. She tilted her chin up to meet his eyes—only to find his signature wicked smile already in place.
In the next instant, he seized her smooth ankle, leaned in, and blew a warm breath into her ear.
"So—are you ticklish?"
This bastard—!
Teresia finally cracked—he'd seen right through her.
While he'd kept her locked alone in the side room, she'd been reinforcing her mental defenses without pause, guarding against any forced probe into her thoughts.
And pain? She feared that even less.
But this… this was not playing by the rules!
The pink-handled, fluffy, slippery-soft toy drew closer to her sole. She kept trying to pull her foot free, her round toes curling and stretching—but she couldn't escape his grip.
Finally, the downy tip overcame all barriers, brushing lightly across her arch.
"Mm!"
It was like an electric shock shooting up her spine. She shivered from head to toe, yet still glared at him coldly, eyes full of disdain.
"Short and small, and that counts as punishment? Don't you have anything more…"
"Is that so?"
Catching the spike in his [Rejection Value], Linen's smile brightened.
"Funny—I was thinking the same thing."
Before her horrified eyes, he pulled from his spatial ring a matching pink-handled grooming brush.
Its dense, delicate bristles—much longer than the cat teaser's tuft—swayed lightly under his deliberate motion. Teresia swallowed once, then masked it with an even more dismissive look.
"That's it?"
Now was the time to never lose momentum.
From experience, she knew interrogation drained not just the prisoner's patience, but the interrogator's as well.
If she could endure—half an hour, no, maybe just fifteen minutes—this vile prince would give up and try something else.
Then, she'd still have won.
...
Five minutes later—watching her twitching body, flushed face, and the indescribable position she'd collapsed into on the bed—Linen had to admit he was impressed.
Miss Teresia's soles and body might be soft, but her mouth was truly hard.
He'd wrung her enough to push his second-ring Arcana Mage progress bar up by a third—yet there was no sign of her yielding.
"Alright, Miss Teresia—you're stronger than I imagined. I thought the lunatics of the Tower of Chronomancy were our mutual enemies, but I didn't expect your dislike of me would be strong enough to shield them. Maybe I really was too harsh with you."
At that, the haze in her eyes cleared instantly, and she fixed him with a hard stare.
"You tortured me… to get intel on the Tower?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
He gestured toward the flowers on the sill, wilted by Withering magic.
"On your own, there's no way you broke my shackles. And my room's a mess—Mental magic can't do that."
But his reasoning only deepened her fury. He suspected if he untied her now, she'd leap up and bite him.
"Then you…"
Her voice was low, tight with barely restrained emotion.
"Then ask, damn it!"
Silence fell. Man and woman stared at each other.
Linen glanced at his [Rejection Value] bar… then at the cat teaser and brush in his hands.
"…I… didn't ask?"
For the first time in their sparring, he looked away.
...
"So the one who contacted you was Lumbia Shafolin—and he might be a disciple of the Withering Ring, one of the Twelve, or at least connected to him?"
Once Teresia had recounted her story through gritted teeth, Linen rubbed his chin in thought.
That explained it. Dimensional Wind Prison was an eighth-ring Arcana, and even Gust had paid dearly to cast it. Yet this "mere" sixth-ring had torn a gap in it—however briefly. Not normal.
If he was tied to the Withering Ring, though, it made sense.
So Latina was just the nominal head of this operation. The Tower wasn't as unified as he'd thought.
Of course—how could it be? Every Arcana Mage's view of the "Origin" was different. That they had open brawls wasn't unusual.
The School of Plenty believed the Origin was eternal life; the Withering School believed it was the instant of all things' end. They smiled in public, but in private called each other's highest Rings "false" and fought on sight.
Shafolin, claiming to be an Apostle of Withering, likely ranked high in that faction.
"Wait—you also said you entered the academy through his channels. Meaning… he's the only one who knows you're here?"
She blinked, then reluctantly nodded.
Linen didn't hesitate. He pulled out a rare messaging crystal and crushed it.
Quinn's lazy voice drifted into the room:
"Hi, my dear little brother. Miss me so soon?"
"Of course, Quinn-neesan. We've been apart a while. Where are you now?"
"Mm… not a topic I can just bring up. But since you're the hero who ruined the Tower's little scheme… I suppose I can tell you—I'm at the Shadow Knights' secret prison. Want to come take a look~?"
He's going to send me to the Shadow Knights' prison?
Teresia's face went pale. Before, she'd felt secure at the thought of the Tower's people above her.
Now, she'd end up cellmates with them…
But Linen didn't even glance her way.
"I want to know if among the new prisoners there's one named Lumbia Shafolin. I have… some interest in him."
"Heh. Sounds like you've been busy. And why, exactly?"
But Linen cut her off, lips curling.
"No interest in him, really. But these new inmates are all hard cases—former high positions, strong enough that certain interrogation methods won't work. So, as a concerned citizen, I just wanted to offer the hard-working Shadow Knights a suggestion."
"Oh? Let's hear it."
Quinn was intrigued.
And indeed, Linen's guess was right—interrogations had hit a wall. These former high-ring Arcana users were shackled with anti-magic stones head to toe, their minds too strong for Mental magic to pierce.
As for torture—one unlucky bastard had a finger cut off and had already fainted and revived in screaming cycles. Quinn even suspected it hadn't been a finger.
Yet they still refused to talk. The Knights couldn't risk killing them outright.
"So, my dear sister—your brother comes to ease your troubles."
"I see. You want to personally handle Shafolin's interrogation?"
She chuckled.
"As expected. Their faces when they see you again… I'll fetch a recording stone—when—"
But Linen refused.
"No, my dear sister. I said I was offering counsel. Letting an outsider into the prison would be trouble even for you."
"Then?"
"I want you to just cut him down."
A cold smile spread across his face.
"Think about it. Those old rogues—still wearing their lofty airs, thinking the Knights wouldn't dare harm them. Then, one of them is killed outright. The message: these imperial traitors aren't worth a copper, not even their lives are safe. Imagine the change in their faces."
"Then, perhaps, the mouths you couldn't pry open will pour like champagne."
Silence.
Then laughter—wild, delighted. He could almost see her doubled over.
When she stopped:
"As expected of you, little brother. But… officially, we do ensure prisoner safety."
He thought she'd refuse—until she added:
"Still… tomorrow, that Shafolin fellow might just have an accident. After all—this is my dear brother's suggestion."
"Thanks, Quinn-neesan. I owe you one."
Ending the call, Linen turned to watch Teresia's reaction.
After all, the only other person who knew she was here was now about to be erased.
She was still.
But it wasn't anger—it was confusion.
Shafolin, betrayed by her, would want her dead. If he got word out, her break with the Tower would be complete, and the hunt would never end.
And yet… this man had chosen to remove him.
Why?
Her thoughts were cut off by Linen's snapping fingers.
"Well then, Miss Teresia—punishment phase is over. Now… it's reward time."
"Reward… time?"
Her pale face went paler.
The only reward she could think of was being released—and Linen Norton was hardly likely to do that.
And for a cat… the best reward was more play with the teaser.
No way. Again?
She curled her legs, toes digging into the bed.
"Wait—we can skip the reward!"
"No. Rewards and punishments must be clear—that's my style."
He drew closer, hand going to his ring.
"Wait, wait—!"
She scrambled back—until she hit the headboard. Nowhere left to go.
She squeezed her eyes shut—only to smell a faint creamy sweetness. Looking down—her feet were fine.
And in his hand… a small white plate, topped with vivid strawberries over whipped cream—a slice of strawberry cake?
"This is for not leaving the room without permission—and for giving key intel. You like this, don't you? I've seen you eating it in the lounge."
"But your hands aren't free… shall I feed you?"
He expected a sharp refusal—another chance to rack up points.
Instead, her eyes locked on the cake. She nodded silently.
So, as promised, he fed her, bite by bite.
And as she savored the sweetness, head lowered, a wild thought rose in her mind—one she'd never had before.
Maybe… this guy's actually not so bad?