The Wizengamot Supreme Conference Room.
Flickering shadows were cast upon the ancient stone walls by burning torches.
Around the massive circular conference table, the Heads of Departments from various magical states, senior members of the Wizengamot, and representatives from the ancient Pure-blood families had already gathered via the Floo Network.
The air lacked the usual sluggishness and boredom of a typical meeting, filled instead with the "swish-swish" of parchment scrolls flipping automatically under the surge of magic.
Dumbledore had just finished recounting Jerry Rosier's demands and the immense strategic value of the world beyond the "World Crystal Wall" in the briefest possible language.
"A manufacturing license for Crystal Golems?"
Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, frowned. "That thing has been sealed away for nearly fifteen years. The Rosier family back then..."
"What happened back then stays back then!"
A voice cut him off sharply; it was the female Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia, Jerry's acquaintance and Professor McGonagall's close friend.
"We are discussing an unprecedented opportunity, Crouch. A brand-new world means brand-new resources, new allies, and even new magical knowledge. Compared to that, what is a mere license for a golem workshop?"
With a flick of her wand, a dusty file flew automatically from the archives and hovered in the center of the table.
"Rosier Crystal Golem Workshop, Historical Archive No. 734. The primary reason for its closure was the misuse of its products during the last wizarding war and the fact that its core technology could not be effectively monitored by the Ministry. Jerry Rosier's proposal includes a clause to 'accept full Ministry supervision,' which already solves the second problem."
"As for the misuse!"
Another commander from the Auror Headquarters, seeing Amelia speak, added in a low, slightly flattering tone, "As long as the ownership and license of the workshop are in the hands of someone we can control, it becomes a sharp blade pointed at our enemies, not a Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads. I move to approve."
"Seconded."
"Seconded."
With almost no further discussion, a dozen wands were raised simultaneously, emitting a faint light.
On the parchment in the center of the table, a golden "Approved" seal was automatically branded.
The entire process took less than three minutes.
"Next motion!"
Amelia immediately turned to the next topic with staggering efficiency. "Regarding the recent illegal dragon blood trade in Knockturn Alley, I propose the formation of a special task force to authorize the Auror Office to conduct a surprise raid."
"What about the budget? We need supporting alchemists to verify the purity of the dragon blood."
"It will come from the forfeited funds from the troll smuggling case. The specific budget application will be on your desk within half an hour."
"Seconded!"
"Seconded!"
"Agreed!"
"Moving on, the Centaur tribes in the Grey Crystal World have shown unusual activity recently; the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is requested to submit a risk assessment report."
"Someone has already been sent; the report should be in your owl boxes before sunrise tomorrow."
The meeting proceeded with a near-ruthless efficiency.
Motions were proposed, debated at lightning speed, voted on, and tasks assigned; parchment darted through the air as quills automatically recorded every decision.
To these people standing at the pinnacle of power, the shocking demand of a boy was just one item among many urgent matters this evening; since the benefits far outweighed the risks, there was no reason to waste any unnecessary time on it.
As soon as the meeting ended, Amelia walked quickly back to her office on the top floor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Pushing open the heavy oak door, the sight she saw made her roll her eyes.
Her office was always kept with near-clinical tidiness, but at this moment, McGonagall was slumped unceremoniously into her expensive leather guest sofa.
McGonagall had clearly treated this place as her own domain.
She had kicked off her pointed high heels that usually made a sharp "click-clack" when she walked, resting her long, shapely legs—wrapped in translucent black silk stockings—unreservedly on the polished mahogany desk.
The silk stockings tightly hugged her well-maintained calves and ankles, outlining the unique roundness and firmness of a mature woman; her graceful arches revealed an enticing curve under the light, the silhouettes of her ten toes visible through the thin material.
She held a crystal goblet in one hand, sipping slowly on some Elven vintage that Amelia had been saving for a long time, while her other hand massaged her temples, her face a mask of fatigue and annoyance.
"Minerva!"
Amelia spoke crossly as she walked over, unfastening her meticulously buttoned collar. "If you scratch this desk worth three thousand Galleons, I'm deducting your entire year's salary for repairs."
"Oh, give it a rest, Amelia," McGonagall said, not even bothering to open her eyes. "I've been in meetings all day; I'm falling apart. Your wine is good, but your sofa is a bit hard."
Amelia walked to the desk, looking at the beautiful feet wrapped in black silk just inches away, a mischievous smile suddenly playing on her lips.
She said nothing, simply leaning down and stretching out both hands to accurately seize her best friend's ankles.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
Sensing something was wrong, McGonagall opened her eyes only to see the malicious grin on Amelia's face.
The next second, Amelia's ten fingers curled deftly, scratching and tickling the soles of her stockinged feet with moderate pressure.
"Hehe... haha... Amelia, you bitch! Stop it... stop it right now... hahahaha!"
The sudden tickling made McGonagall's body arch instantly like a fish out of water.
She tried to pull her feet back, but her ankles were held firmly by Amelia, making it impossible to move.
The intense tickling sensation was amplified several times through the thin silk, rushing straight to her brain.
She couldn't help but laugh out loud, her body twisting and struggling on the sofa; the wine glass in her hand dropped with a "clatter" onto the soft carpet, the crimson liquid soaking into a small patch of wool.
After a bout of boisterous playing, these two women who held significant weight in the wizarding world lay slumped on the sofa, panting for breath.
Amelia simply kicked off her own shoes as well and squeezed onto the sofa, leaning shoulder to shoulder with McGonagall; they looked at each other and laughed, as if they had returned to their school days, fooling around in the Hogwarts dormitory.
As the laughter died down, Amelia turned her head, looking at McGonagall, whose cheeks were flushed from laughing, and suddenly leaned into her ear, asking mischievously in a voice only they could hear, "Seriously though, Minerva, I heard you recently got a secret recipe for 'maintenance'... How is that 'White Caviar' tasting?"
The smile on McGonagall's face froze instantly.
She understood immediately what Amelia was referring to and instantly guessed the source of the information—who else could it be but Rita Skeeter, that big-mouthed hag who loved spreading rumors and chaos everywhere?
A wave of shame and annoyance surged in her heart, and McGonagall's cheeks flushed a deeper red than before.
But she was McGonagall after all; after a moment of losing her composure, she regained her calm.
She didn't answer directly but arched an eyebrow, glancing sideways at her best friend with a meaningful curve of her lips, counterattacking in an equally ambiguous tone:
"What, you want a taste too? No problem... there's plenty to go around. Should I bring you some next time to try it fresh?"
Amelia snorted at this, her sharp eyes full of teasing. She deliberately leaned even closer, her warm breath almost puffing onto McGonagall's earlobe, her voice dropping even lower into a provocative rasp. "Are you willing to share? I heard that stuff is quite precious and the production isn't high. Aren't you afraid you won't have enough for yourself?"
McGonagall was both ashamed and angered by her friend's blatant teasing; she pushed Amelia's face away forcefully and retorted stubbornly, "Why wouldn't I be willing? He's just a high-energy brat with an inexhaustible supply!"
These stubborn words were like lighting a powder keg.
A sharp glint flashed in Amelia's eyes as she grabbed McGonagall's hand before she could withdraw it, flipping over to pin her friend down into the soft sofa.
Two mature, voluptuous bodies were instantly pressed tightly together; through the expensive silk and wool fabrics, they could feel each other's incredible heat and elasticity.
"Fine then!"
Amelia's voice carried an unquestionable dominance. She used her knee to pry apart McGonagall's instinctively closed legs, wedging herself between them and looking down at her flushed friend. "Since you're being so generous, I won't be polite. I want to eat it today!"
"You're crazy!"
McGonagall cried out, beginning to struggle violently.
But to Amelia, this struggle felt more like a coy invitation.
Amelia pinned McGonagall's flailing wrists with one hand while her other hand reached unceremoniously into her friend's well-tailored deep green wizard robes.
"I'm crazy? I think you're the one who went mad first, Minerva." Amelia whispered into McGonagall's ear, her breath like orchids, as her fingers deftly fumbled with the frog fasteners on the robes. "I want to see exactly where you're hiding that 'White Caviar.' Is it hidden here?"
Amelia's fingers slid through the opening of the robes, drawing ambiguous circles on the flat, firm belly wrapped in silk. "Or is it hidden deeper?"
"Giggle... you rogue... let go!"
McGonagall, her sensitive spots touched, laughed until she was weak, her body writhing even more intensely.
After a moment of playful chaos, the battle on the sofa finally settled down.
The two women were entangled, their clothes in disarray, both panting heavily.
Amelia was still pressed on top of McGonagall, their equally voluptuous and mature bodies in intimate contact; only the sound of rapid breathing remained in the office.
McGonagall's cheeks still bore the flush of arousal. She turned her head, avoiding Amelia's burning gaze, her voice carrying a complex rasp. "...Thank you, Amelia. For the matter with Jerry."
Amelia chuckled softly. She propped herself up, looking down at her usually dignified friend who now had eyes like misty silk.
She reached out a hand to brush a stray, sweat-soaked hair from McGonagall's forehead, her movements gentle but her words carrying an undeniable intimacy and dominance.
"Why are you thanking me? Isn't Jerry Nana's child?"
Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of shared memories. "Am I not Nana's best friend? Besides, if anyone is going to thank me, it shouldn't be you; that little bastard should come and thank me personally."
At the mention of Nana, McGonagall's eyes dimmed for a moment, but were quickly replaced by another emotion.
Seeing Amelia's matter-of-fact attitude, she suddenly rolled her eyes in annoyance.
The next second, McGonagall's hand pinned beneath her suddenly struck, reaching up at an extremely tricky angle to accurately seize the soft, full mounds beneath Amelia's wizard robes.
She gave them a forceful squeeze through the fabric.
"I think you're just in heat!"
McGonagall's tone held shame and annoyance, but more of it was a backlash of long-suppressed desire. "Using Nana as an excuse—you're just craving his 'White Caviar,' craving it until you've gone mad!"
"Mmh!"
Amelia went weak all over from the sudden assault, a suppressed moan escaping her throat.
This sneak attack was more direct and aggressive than any of the previous playfulness.
Amelia could clearly feel McGonagall's nimble fingers rubbing and teasing the most sensitive point on her breast through her undergarments.
Now, Amelia stopped pretending. She simply pressed her entire weight down, spreading her legs to wrap tightly around McGonagall's writhing waist, grinding their most private parts together through the mess of their clothes.
"So what if I am in heat?"
Amelia's breathing became heavy, her voice thick with nasal arousal. "I crave it, but don't you? Don't think I don't know what kind of scent is always floating in your office! That little bastard is so huge; can you handle him all by yourself?"
As Amelia spoke, she unceremoniously used her crotch to grind forcefully against that already visibly wet, mysterious territory.
The silk fabric of their robes was quickly soaked through by their combined fluids, making an ambiguous "squelch" sound.
McGonagall felt a wave of heat rush straight down from her belly, making her legs go weak.
"You... you're talking nonsense..."
McGonagall's protest was weak and feeble, sounding more like a moan.
Her body, however, was honest; she involuntarily arched her hips to meet Amelia's movements, her long legs in black silk wrapping around the other woman's back like vines, locking them even tighter together.
"Nonsense?"
Amelia's hand slid down vengefully, reaching under McGonagall's messy robes to accurately find the muddy source of her wetness.
"Then I'll just have to conduct an inspection!"
Amelia's fingers played nimbly within that wet gap, stirring up waves of sticky splashing sounds. "Let's see who is more ravenous, you or me..."
Outside the greenhouse, Hermione pulled Hannah along, both crouching like thieves behind a cluster of large banana leaves.
The humid air was mixed with the fragrance of soil and plants, along with their slightly rapid breathing due to nervousness.
"Are you... are you sure you want to watch?"
Hannah's voice was a bit shaky. She clutched Hermione's robes, her palms sweating. "This isn't right..."
"What's not right about it?"
Hermione shot her a look, her face wearing a strange excitement and flush.
She carefully pushed aside a wet leaf, leaning close to the steam-covered glass window, and whispered, "Hurry up and be quiet. Don't you want to know what you're about to drink in a moment?"
This successfully piqued Hannah's curiosity.
She hesitated a moment, then followed Hermione's lead, slowly poking her head out to peer through the gap between the leaves and the window frame.
Inside the greenhouse, the light through the glass dome bathed everything in a soft glow.
They saw Jerry with his back to them, standing before the cultivation bench.
He didn't touch the hops; instead, he unhurriedly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.
Hannah's breath hitched instantly.
Jerry pushed his trousers down to his knees and then turned his body slightly to make his movements easier.
This time, through the hazy mist, the two girls outside saw everything clearly.
"Oh... Oh my god..."
Hannah instinctively covered her mouth to keep from crying out. Her eyes went wide and round, the blood draining from her face in incredible shock.
That was simply not something a boy should have.
A massive, thick shaft sprang out from beneath his youthful frame, appearing a turgid purple-red from the heavy blood flow.
It throbbed slightly with Jerry's breathing, the tip already secreting a crystalline fluid that sparkled in the light.
"How... how can he..."
Hannah stammered, unable to even finish a sentence.
"Huge, right?"
Hermione's voice whispered beside her, carrying a hint of morbidly boastful pride.
She seemed to enjoy Hannah's shock, even reaching out to give a reassuring pat to Hannah's stiff back.
"Don't be scared; he's always been like this."
"Always like this!"
Inside the greenhouse, Jerry seemed completely unaware of the prying eyes at the window.
He reached out one hand, firmly grasping his shockingly sized shaft, aiming it at one of the empty glass cups on the bench.
His long fingers wrapped around the thick base, stroking up and down in a steady rhythm.
Gulp... gulp...
The sound of Hannah swallowing hard.
She watched unblinkingly, her body frozen as if hit by a Body-Bind Curse.
Jerry's movements weren't fast; they were almost leisurely.
His other hand propped him up on the bench as he squinted slightly, appearing to enjoy the sensation.
With every stroke, the full, umbrella-like head moved in and out of his palm, squeezed until it was a bright, glowing red, with more and more slime gathering at the tip, some even sliding down the thick column.
Hannah felt her cheeks burning so hot they might catch fire; she could even feel herself becoming uncontrollably wet between her own legs.
"What... what is he doing..."
"You'll find out in a second." Hermione's voice sounded like it carried a bewitching magic.
Just then, Jerry's pace suddenly quickened.
A low, muffled groan escaped his throat as he thrust his hips forward with force.
Streams of thick, milky white fluid sprayed out from the massive tip, hitting the bottom of the first glass cup with significant force, making dull "thump-thump" sounds. After several bursts, a shallow layer had already accumulated in the cup.
Jerry didn't seem satisfied yet; he took a brief breath but didn't stop his hands.
He continued to stroke the still-rock-hard giant, aiming it at the second glass cup.
"The second one... is for me..."
That was the only thought left in Hannah's mind. Looking at the massive shaft "preparing" her punishment, her legs went weak, and she nearly slumped to the ground, only saved by Hermione catching her.
"Stay steady!"
Hermione whispered in her ear, her own breath just as hot. "The show... is only just beginning."
The hot air made Hannah's ear itch as the voice continued with a prankish excitement, "What? Can't handle it already? Watch closely; the next one is yours."
Hannah bit her lower lip hard, not daring to make a sound.
Her gaze could not move away from the boy in the greenhouse.
She saw Jerry re-grasp his still-terrifyingly-erect shaft. In the grip of his long fingers, the thing looked even thicker, with veins bulging prominently.
Jerry shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, his hand movements even more practiced and faster than before. Each stroke made a wet, sticky sound.
Hannah felt her throat go as dry as if it were smoking.
"Look at him..."
Hermione's whisper was like a snake sliding into Hannah's ear. "Every time, it's like this—he has inexhaustible energy..."
Inside the greenhouse, Jerry's breathing grew heavy as well.
With a low roar, his hips lunged forward again, and a second, even thicker load of white fluid sprayed unreservedly into the second glass cup.
The amount this time seemed even greater than the first; the white semen sloshed in the cup, filling nearly a third of it, emitting a unique, heavy, musky scent.
Only after finishing this did Jerry breathe a sigh of relief.
His massive tool, having fulfilled its mission, remained semi-erect, not softening immediately.
Jerry grabbed a cloth from the bench, casually wiping the residual fluid from the tip before unhurriedly pulling up his trousers.
Then, under the shocked gazes of the two girls, Jerry walked over to the "Spiked Mead Hops" and used two fingers to carefully pinch a large glob of amber nectar—thick as malt syrup—from the heart of a flower.
Jerry dripped the nectar into each of the two glasses containing the white fluid.
The thick amber liquid sank slowly into the milky white semen.
Then, Jerry picked up a glass stirring rod, unhurriedly mixing each glass.
Under his stirring, the two previously distinct liquids merged rapidly.
The milky white semen was dyed a pale gold by the amber nectar, making the entire cup appear cloudier and even thicker.
A strange scent—a mix of hops, floral notes, and intense, raw musk—seemed to drift out even through the glass.
The two unique "punishment drinks," tailored specifically for them, were thus prepared.
Jerry picked up the two glasses, turned around, and walked toward the greenhouse door with a smile.
Creeeeeak!
The glass door was pulled open, and Jerry walked out at his leisure, holding the two glasses.
The smile on his face was warm and innocent, as if he had just performed an ordinary potion brewing inside.
Hermione immediately straightened up, dragging Hannah with her, pretending they had been waiting obediently outside all along.
Hannah's heart was hammering in her throat. She didn't dare look into Jerry's eyes, her gaze fixed dead on the two cups in his hands.
Now that they were closer, the strange scent was even clearer.
Within the rich, honeyed aroma of the hops was mixed an unignorable, heavy musk of male hormones; the two scents intertwined to create a unique smell that made her heart race.
The liquid in the cups presented a translucent, cloudy milky-gold color, appearing much thicker than ordinary nectar.
"Here, your punishment."
Jerry handed one of the cups to Hannah.
Hannah's hand was shaking. She hesitated for a long time before extending two fingers to carefully pinch the rim of the glass, terrified of touching Jerry's hand.
The temperature from the cup was still warm, perfectly matching the scene she had just witnessed.
Hannah clutched the glass, standing there awkwardly, her legs subconsciously clamping together tighter. She could feel her panties becoming quite damp.
Hannah summoned her courage and looked up, but only dared to look as high as Jerry's chin, asking in a voice like a mosquito while feigning innocence, "What... what is this... hops nectar... mixed with? The color is so special..."
Looking at her shy expression—both wanting to know and afraid to ask—the smile on Jerry's face deepened. He shrugged noncommittally and said in a casual tone:
"Oh, nothing special. Just the freshest hops nectar with a little of my exclusive... high-protein nutritional supplement. It's good for a young girl's health."
While Hannah was still wavering, Hermione suddenly reached out and snatched the "special nectar" Jerry was offering her.
Hermione didn't hesitate for a second, nor did she show any sign of shyness.
A glint of something near provocation flashed in her clever, bright eyes. First, she glanced at the flustered Hannah.
Then, her gaze landed on Jerry's face, a proud curve hooking her lips.
Next, in a move that made Hannah gasp, Hermione tilted her head back slightly and stuck out her small, nimble tongue.
Hermione's scarlet tongue tip, like a clever serpent, licked along the rim of the glass, slowly and forcefully circling it.
The move was so bold, completely unlike the "good student" image she usually presented; Hermione licked meticulously, as if the rim were stained with a peerless delicacy, even reaching her tongue inside the rim to lap up the thick smears splashed there by the stirring.
"Mmm..."
A satisfied hum vibrated in Hermione's throat. She squinted her eyes slightly, appearing to savor the unique flavor.
The sweetness of the nectar, the slight buzz of the alcohol, and the intense masculine aura belonging to Jerry mixed perfectly, exploding on her taste buds.
The sensation was stronger and more stimulating than any of her previous secret tastings.
This gesture of Hermione's wasn't just for Hannah's benefit; it was a silent declaration and tease directed at Jerry.
After completing a full circle, Hermione retracted her tongue, leaving a wet trail of saliva around the rim, her lips appearing exceptionally red and glistening.
"Her... mione!"
While Hannah was still in shock, Hermione committed an even more staggering act.
Hermione raised the glass—still wet with her saliva—to her lips, arched her graceful neck, and with a few large "glug-glug" gulps, downed the thick, golden-tinged fluid in one go.
The viscous liquid slid down her esophagus into her stomach, bringing a wave of scorching warmth.
After finishing, Hermione even stuck out her tongue to lick away a lingering white smear from her rosy lips, letting out a satisfied sigh.
And she wasn't done.
Having finished her own portion, Hermione was clearly not satisfied.
She snapped her head around, like a lioness locking onto prey, her burning gaze fixed on the untouched "nectar" in Hannah's hand.
"What's the matter? You're not afraid to drink it, are you?"
Jerry raised his wine glass and downed the remaining amber liquor in one gulp.
The spicy liquid slid down his throat, but his expression remained as calm as a deep pool.
Then, Jerry set down the glass, turned, and walked unhurriedly toward the wall Babbling had leaned against earlier.
He walked to the head of the bed, his gaze pausing for a moment on an insignificant crack in the wall. Then, extending his index finger and thumb, he gently "picked" out a black pearl only the size of a grain of rice from the almost invisible crack.
The pearl was dull and non-reflective, like a miniature black hole.
Jerry didn't stop. He bent down again, scanning the floor.
His fingers twisted gently in the shadow where the floor met the bed leg, picking up another identical black pearl.
Next, under the desk leg, in the folds of the curtain... As if playing a casual treasure hunt game, he easily and relaxedly found five or six identical small black pearls in various corners of the room.
These were extremely covert surveillance magical tools, capable of transmitting sound and images from the room to the caster in real-time.
Jerry returned to the desk and casually dropped the black pearls he found into the empty wine glass he had just drained.
A few small pearls collided at the bottom of the glass, making a series of crisp and jarring clink, clink, clink sounds.
Jerry pushed the glass in front of Babbling. Those few black "impurities" looked particularly glaring at the bottom of the crystal-clear glass.
Finally, he looked up. His deep eyes stared straight at the female professor's face, which still wore a triumphant smile, his tone as flat as asking about the weather.
"Professor, I don't understand why you are so interested in my private life?"
Those few black pearls lay quietly at the bottom of the glass, like pairs of silent eyes, mocking the confident smile that had just been on her face.
For a split second, the expression on Babbling's face indeed had a pause that could be called stiff.
Her glamorous smile was like solidified paint, showing tiny flaws.
A trace of genuine surprise flashed in her eyes. She obviously hadn't expected this boy, more than ten years her junior, to find all her spies so easily.
But this stiffness lasted less than a second.
Instead of becoming angry from embarrassment, Babbling let out a low chuckle filled with self-mockery.
Then, she made an even more unexpected move.
She slowly bent down. Her fiery red robe, following her movement, bloomed like a poppy flower, unreservedly displaying the curves of her mature, voluptuous body before Jerry's eyes.
Babbling bent very low, almost bringing her face right in front of Jerry's. Her lips painted with bright red lipstick were only a few inches away from Jerry's face.
Lowering her head and looking up at Jerry, this posture made her look like she was admitting a mistake, but a hotter, more paranoid flame burned in her eyes.
"Because I don't trust you, Mr. Rosier."
Babbling's voice was pressed very low, carrying a snake-like hiss. Her warm breath, mixed with the mellow aroma of strong liquor, sprayed onto Jerry's face: "I don't trust anyone with the dirty blood of the Rosier family flowing in their veins."
Undisguised hatred surged in Babbling's eyes. That hatred was so intense that it even made her beautiful face look somewhat twisted.
"Although my parents weren't killed by your pathetic father personally like poor Selina's."
Babbling enunciated clearly, every word sounding like it was squeezed through her teeth: "But they all died at the hands of the Rosier family's Crystal Golems."
"Torn to shreds by those exquisite and deadly 'toys' your family manufactured."
At this point, Babbling straightened up, but her body remained leaning forward, hands supporting herself on the table, like an elegant yet fierce panther, trapping Jerry in her shadow.
"So, I voluntarily applied to be your supervisor."
"So, I will watch you, watch your every move."
A cruel, almost savage smile curled the corner of Babbling's mouth again. She stared dead at Jerry, as if wanting to swallow him whole.
"Rest assured, Mr. Rosier."
"Even if you manage to complete the mission by luck, the Rosier family's Crystal Golem Workshop will also undergo my strictest and most thorough review."
"I guarantee you, every golem you make will become very 'safe'," she emphasized the word "safe," the threat within self-evident, "so safe... they won't even be able to hurt a fly."
Facing Babbling's overflowing hatred and threats, Jerry's reaction was abnormally calm.
He picked up his empty crystal glass and tilted his wrist gently.
Clatter...
Those few black surveillance pearls were poured from his glass into Babbling's glass, which still had half the liquor left, splashing a few drops of amber liquid.
The small black balls floated and sank in the liquor, like a few dead flies.
Then, facing the dormitory door, Jerry made an elegant and clear gesture of seeing a guest out, a detached smile on his lips.
"I won't see you out, Professor."
He paused, his gaze slowly moving down from Babbling's beautiful face twisted by anger, landing on her full breasts, which were even more prominent due to her leaning posture.
That look wasn't like looking at a living person, but rather assessing a flawed product.
"Also, a friendly reminder."
Jerry's tone remained steady, even carrying a facade of politeness, but the words spoken were like poisoned ice picks: "Going braless is indeed a beautiful gesture, but it also exposes some... problems."
Saying this, he extended a finger and drew two drooping, sagging arcs in the air in front of his own chest, mimicking the way heavy cloth sacks hang under gravity.
"After all, things soaked in time and hatred always tend to sag a bit more, don't they?"