Alistair remembered Alisa Kurusu clearly—so clearly, in fact, that his impression of her almost eclipsed his thoughts on Seraphina Kamiyozaka. Mainly because Alisa was the first person he had ever met who tried to pin him down the very second they were introduced.
While Alistair was momentarily lost in thought, Alisa didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, leaping onto him and wrapping her legs around his waist.
"Sturdy, aren't you? Nice physique," Alisa noted, pleasantly surprised. Alistair hadn't even buckled under her weight.
Although she and Seraphina were slowly ascending toward Transcendence, that was an elevation of their life essence—their spiritual "rank"—rather than raw physical conditioning. Their physical strength was only slightly above average; it wouldn't reach professional athlete levels until they officially broke through. However, the process of absorbing "Malice" constantly stimulated their primal instincts—specifically, the instinct to procreate.
Unlike Seraphina, who possessed iron self-control, Alisa was much more uninhibited. She was an aristocrat, but she refused to be a "money-slut" who bought boys to satisfy her urges. She had standards. But Alistair was different. He was an ally, he wielded the same dark-aligned "Mystery," and he would be a long-term partner. Since they were going to be working together, why not let him handle her personal frustrations?
Before Alistair could fully process the political implications, Alisa's lips were already crushed against his. She tasted of expensive tea and raw hunger. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, exploring with a frantic, wet energy that took him by surprise.
Alistair reacted instinctively. He gripped her waist, his hands sliding down to cup and squeeze her firm, rounded buttocks. He organized his "counter-offensive," using his wealth of experience to dominate the kiss, but he quickly realized Alisa was no novice. She fought for control of his tongue with practiced skill.
Her hands weren't idle, either. They slipped beneath his shirt, diving into his waistband to grab a handful of his ass.
Where did she get this much experience? Alistair wondered. She was a high-born lady, and Seraphina's pride usually meant she wouldn't let her "sister" debase herself.
Alistair glanced at Seraphina, who was leaning against the doorframe watching the spectacle. She caught his questioning look and didn't turn away. Her pride wouldn't let her look weak, but Alistair's enhanced vision caught the faint, rosy flush creeping up her neck.
I see. So that's how high-class heiresses practice their "skills" and relieve stress together, Alistair thought with a smirk. Seraphina's eyes narrowed with a flicker of annoyance at being figured out.
Behind them, Sakura Miyajima wasn't just going to stand by. She silently shrugged off her Kendo overcoat, revealing a tight-fitting sleeveless undershirt and a pair of blue-purple lace panties that accentuated her athletic, hourglass curves.
Pop!
Alisa pulled away from the kiss, a thread of saliva connecting them. She looked satisfied.
Alistair touched his lips. Alisa was, hands down, the best kisser he'd encountered. Her habit of lightly scratching his skin with her nails while she touched him added a teasing, electric layer to the sensation.
He took a moment to gauge her "assets." To his surprise, Alisa was even larger than she looked in her uniform. She was a full size bigger than Seraphina. His palms couldn't even fully wrap around one of her breasts; it would take another set of hands to cover them completely.
Due to her Eurasian heritage, her breasts weren't soft like marshmallows like Mina Morita's; they were firm and perky, retaining their shape even without support. Her skin was a perfect hybrid: the porcelain fairness of the West combined with the silky, poreless texture of the East. She was also taller than Seraphina—easily five-foot-nine, making her a literal giant among Japanese women.
Alistair, having grown to about five-foot-nine himself in just a few days thanks to his physical evolution, found himself looking her almost directly in the eye.
"Alistair-kun... is it my turn yet?" Sakura whispered, hugging his waist from behind and blowing hot air into his ear.
"Sakura, this is my territory right now," Alisa said, her voice suddenly sharp and authoritative. "The President is next. You? You can just help Alistair by scrubbing his back and pushing his ass."
Scrubbing and pushing? What kind of roleplay is this? Alistair's brain stalled. He'd only heard of such things in ancient historical dramas or memes.
"As you wish, Secretary Alisa," Sakura agreed without a hint of protest.
She began stripping Alistair of his clothes. Opposite him, Alisa began to glow with a faint mana aura. With a flick of her power, her clothes began to fly off in every direction. One of her camisoles landed right on Alistair's head, muffling his face.
"Your 'unclothing magic' needs work," Alistair said, pulling the silk garment off his face.
"Fine control is a chore," Alisa shrugged. "It gets the job done."
As the last of her clothes flew away, her milky-white skin was laid bare. Her Eurasian blood gave her a radiance that made her glow in the dimly lit dojo. Alistair's skin, too, was a masterpiece of refinement. But what truly drew Alisa's breathless attention—and sparked a fire of genuine excitement in her eyes—was Alistair's completely non-standard, "massive siege cannon."