Urano and Evelin rested in the room they shared.
The following night would be the moment to carry out the assassination.
Outside, the cold crept through the cracks in the walls; inside, conversation flowed between whispers and restrained breaths.
Leaning back in a chair, Urano asked a question with genuine curiosity.
"I've been wondering… In most fantasy novels, when someone becomes a slave, they're branded with a magic seal or something to stop them from escaping. But here, they just gave us a room. Shouldn't they have done something a little more… brutal?"
"They don't need to," Evelin replied, her tone serious. "Once someone becomes a slave, they lose every right. The authorities—and everyone else—see them as property.
Think of it like losing a wallet: you report it, the guards look for it, and if it's valuable, they even offer a reward. If someone finds it and doesn't return it, that's theft—and they're punished.
It's the same with slaves. If one escapes, guards are required by law to hunt them down. If someone helps them, that's theft too—and they can lose their hands for it. If the slave is injured or loses value, the owner can demand compensation.
So why waste money on a magic seal? They're expensive and difficult to maintain."
Urano stared in silence, impressed by her precision.
Evelin lowered her gaze. She had told him she knew the story—but not that years ago, she had co-written it.
It had been one of her first jobs before she became famous: assistant scriptwriter to the original author. She knew every twist, every detail. The manga was so successful that it got several versions—even a movie.
The problem was, she didn't know which version they were trapped in.
"They're probably giving us the night off to rest… and get ready for tomorrow," Urano murmured. "If what you said is right, the preparations for the upcoming revolution will begin soon."
He was nervous, though he hid it well. His usually stern face softened with a faint smile. He had learned that a smile could calm allies, disarm enemies… or deceive fear itself.
"Oh, right," he said, standing and lifting the hem of his dress. From a hidden pocket, he pulled out a pair of elegant white gloves and a glowing blue gem. "I have to admit, these dresses are more practical than they look… though ridiculously uncomfortable."
"But you look adorable," Evelin teased, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"Cut it out. Help me with this," he said, handing her the gloves and the stone.
Evelin reached for them, but Urano gently caught her wrist, knelt in front of her, and placed the stone on the floor. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he took her hands and began to slip the gloves on.
His touch was so soft that a shiver ran up her arm. Evelin turned her face away, flustered by the unexpected tenderness.
When he finished, he wiped his forehead and muttered, "Done."
The white gloves shimmered faintly under the moonlight, as if mirroring its glow.
"What are these?" Evelin asked, trying to sound indifferent, though her voice trembled slightly.
"Night gloves," Urano explained. "They go with anything. They're enchanted with a polymer that repels electricity. If things go south, they'll protect you. Now, take the stone."
Evelin held it carefully. It was a bluish gem shaped like an apple, glowing softly. A faint electric hum buzzed from within.
"It's charged with a shock spell," Urano continued. "You can use it three times. Think of it as a magical taser—it can knock out a two-hundred-kilo brute if it touches skin or metal."
Evelin smiled, clearly intrigued.
"So you're giving it to me in advance? Even after how much I annoy you?" she teased. "Maybe you like me after all?"
Urano rolled his eyes.
"It's for safety. And I helped you with the gloves because you're hopeless. They're tough on the outside but delicate inside—like you. You're basically a chihuahua in human form."
"Who are you calling a chihuahua?!" Evelin shouted, outraged.
Urano tried to calm her, explaining he only worried about the gloves tearing. It didn't help.
She immediately stripped off her fancy dress and threw on a nightshirt, while Urano—bright red—continued struggling with a corset he hadn't figured out how to remove.
Evelin got into bed without another word.
Urano stood in the middle of the room, confused, frustrated… and still trapped in his corset.
The Next Morning
Urano was furiously scrubbing dishes while Evelin was doing her best—though not very successfully—to peel a potato.
In the background, a woman's voice thundered like a whip:
"Move it, useless girls! If you're not done by noon, you don't eat! Faster!"
At dawn, a squad of fierce-looking women—former mercenaries or bodyguards turned housekeepers—stormed through the rooms with military precision.
Tasks were assigned with terrifying efficiency: cleaning, cooking, surveillance, customer service.
The brothel ran like a relentless machine, devouring the energy of its newcomers before their first night's work.
Evelin's eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. The potato in her hands looked more butchered than peeled.
Urano, meanwhile, faced a mountain of dishes covered in stains he didn't want to identify.
Then he looked up… and froze.
The hallway had turned into a runway of carved beauty and dangerous grace.
Elven women, slender and ethereal, glided through the room like living art. Their translucent skin shimmered under soft light, their moon-silver hair cascading down their backs.
Their long ears weren't the only thing drawing attention—corsets and sheer silks clung to their figures, revealing just enough to suggest far more. Every step was deliberate, hypnotic.
Fairies, small and radiant, fluttered between trays. Their wings glittered with color; their movements left behind trails of perfume, something floral and intoxicating.
Their outfits were little more than sparkles—tiny fragments of cloth barely covering their delicate forms. Yet the elegance in their playfulness was mesmerizing.
A feline woman stretched lazily across a couch, her skin golden as burnt honey. Every curve of her body spoke of danger wrapped in temptation; her tail swayed slowly, rhythmically, like a silent command. Her low, melodic laughter was sweet poison.
And then there were the lesser demons—women with wine-red, silver-gray, or cobalt-blue skin, their exotic features as alluring as they were unnerving. Horns, glowing eyes, or even too many of them—all part of their dangerous charm.
One wore a black corset that looked as if it had been sewn with sins and broken promises. Every step echoed like an invitation to damnation.
Urano swallowed hard. In his old life, women like these existed only on glossy magazine pages or at cosplay conventions—places where fantasy could still be told apart from reality.
Here, fantasy stared back. And it smiled.
Even Evelin, while mercilessly attacking her potato, stole glances—not out of jealousy, but admiration.
In that place, desire made no distinction between men and women.
The female form, in every race and shape, existed to be admired… or devoured.
A sudden kick under the table broke Urano's trance.
Evelin's sharp eyes said it all: "Focus."
Urano sighed, returned to scrubbing, and cursed under his breath.
Damn this place.
And damn that impossible beauty.
She handed him a knife and another mangled potato. Urano took over wordlessly; complaining wasn't an option—he was supposed to be mute.
Evelin washed dishes, her expression quietly gloomy. She remembered Urano's warning not to remove the magic gloves… and now they were submerged in dirty water.
Noticing her frustration, Urano whispered:
"Don't worry. They're enchanted. The fabric has magical memory—rinse them and they'll return to normal."
It didn't exactly cheer her up, but at least she stopped frowning.
Hours passed, until finally, it was lunchtime.
About twenty women sat at different tables. The madam stepped up to a small platform and began the introductions.
She called Urano, Evelin, and a cat girl to introduce themselves to everyone.
At that moment, Urano felt a sudden buzz in his head.
System Message:
The character "Nora" is undergoing severe personality deviations due to your decisions.
Consequence: Butterfly Effect activated.
Urano blinked, barely hearing the madam's words. His eyes landed on Nora—a petite woman with a generous chest, her black dress accentuating the golden hue of her eyes.
She looked like a femme fatale ripped from a noir novel.
She met his gaze… and smiled, wickedly.
New message:
Nora's personality has shifted almost irreversibly.
Creator intervention required.
Failure to intervene = Punishment: You will be unable to lie for two days. All statements will be met with brutal honesty.
The presentation ended, and Evelin pulled him toward an empty table.
Both remained silent.
Meanwhile, Nora joined two figures at a nearby table: an elegant elf and a demon woman… whose too-many eyes glinted in the dim light.
The demon spoke first, her voice low and resonant.
"Who prepared the food?"
Silence. Urano raised his hand, remembering his mute disguise.
The demon studied him, then approached and gripped his shoulder tightly—strong enough to bruise. Urano froze.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"Congratulations. You passed the test. Welcome. I'm Jana," she said, her tone unreadable. "Pleasure to meet you."
Evelin and Urano exchanged a puzzled look. What had just happened?
The elf, who had remained quiet, gave a small nod and introduced herself as Sara before explaining.
Newcomers, she said, were always put in charge of food or cleaning. It was a form of control: if something went wrong, they were blamed. If they succeeded, they earned respect. If they failed, they became an example.
The system kept balance—and fear.
Urano understood instantly. It was like the monkey experiment he'd read about in college: punish one, and the rest obey.
"Why tell us this?" Evelin asked, her gaze suddenly turning cold.
Urano had never seen her like that before—it sent a chill down his spine.
"Relax, girl," Jana said, raising her hands. "We just want to survive, like you. For that, we need allies. Every day here is a war. The more friends, the easier it gets.
You'll probably be asked to clean the private rooms soon. If that happens, put this under the bed."
She slid a small package beneath the table. Evelin picked it up discreetly. Inside were two metallic syringes filled with green liquid.
Evelin arched a brow. She didn't trust them.
Before she could ask, Jana cut in sharply.
"Don't ask questions. In return, we'll teach you how to survive here without breaking."
It wasn't an offer—it was a warning.
Urano frowned but stayed silent.
Then gasped when Evelin suddenly pressed one syringe against her thigh.
Her voice turned icy.
"If you don't tell me what this is or what it's for, I'll inject it right now. My 'sister' will tell everyone you're to blame. And if the owner finds out you brought something illegal… that'll be the end of you. So talk.
Either we all win—or we all die together."
Urano froze.
For the first time, he was afraid of her. The cheerful, distracted Evelin was gone.
Before him stood another woman—cold, calculating… dangerous.
The two women hesitated. Finally, Sara spoke.
"It's a sedative. Nothing more."
A single bitter tear slid down her cheek before she continued in a whisper.
"This place is a VIP brothel. The wealthier the clients, the sicker their tastes. One of them… likes elves. But he's violent. Last time, he nearly killed one.
Some of us have ways to handle those clients. This sedative can be injected or mixed with alcohol. It puts them to sleep slowly, like they're drunk—so we can avoid something worse."
Urano clenched his fists, fighting the urge to punch something.
Evelin, however, remained composed.
"In exchange, you'll hide two small bags—one in the kitchen, another at the bar. Somewhere no one will see them," she said calmly. "We'll take care of the syringes."
The two women exchanged glances. They knew Evelin wasn't a normal slave.
And they also knew that sometimes, knowing too much was deadlier than obedience.
Urano watched silently as they sealed the deal.
And he understood—something far greater was about to begin.