The sound of the brass handle turning wasn't just a noise; it was the tolling of a funeral bell.
In the frozen micro-second before the heavy mahogany door swung open, the library became a vacuum of absolute terror. Hiroki stood there, his skin burning from the proximity of Sayaka-san's heat, his cock still heavy and slick, vibrating with a pulse that was now half-lust and half-adrenaline. The blue light of the monitor behind them—the digital evidence of Sayaka-san's secret shame—felt like a searchlight aimed directly at their sins.
[CRITICAL THREAT: UNCLE HAROLD] [TIME REMAINING: 0.8 SECONDS] [SYSTEM OPTION SELECTED: DOMINATE (SITUATIONAL)]
Hiroki didn't panic. The Sovereign Protocol didn't allow for it. Instead, a cold, clinical clarity flooded his mind, a "predatory override" that saw the room not as a trap, but as a stage.
He didn't run for the window. He didn't dive behind the bookshelves. With a savage, silent strength, he fisted his hand in Sayaka-san's hair once more, leaning down to hiss a final, soul-binding command into her ear.
"Under the desk. Now. If you make a sound, I let him see everything."
Sayaka-san's eyes were wide, flooded with a primal fear that transcended the serum's lust. She was a Thorne; she knew that if Harold walked in now, her life—the emerald silk, the pearls, the status, the "Ice Queen" throne—wouldn't just end. It would be incinerated.
She scrambled. In a blur of pale limbs and gasping breath, she dove into the knee-hole of the massive mahogany desk, her naked body curling into a ball in the shadows beneath the wood. Hiroki didn't follow her. He grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulled them up with a single, fluid motion—not even bothering to fasten the button—and sat in the high-backed leather chair Sayaka-san had just vacated.
He kicked her emerald dress under the desk with his heel just as the door creaked open.
"Sayaka? Why is it so dark in here?"
The voice was Harold's. It was the voice of a man who owned three continents and thought he owned the four people in this house. It was deep, resonant, and dripping with the kind of casual arrogance that only comes from a lifetime of never being told "no."
Hiroki stayed in the shadows of the high-backed chair, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped over the exact spot where Sayaka-san was shivering beneath him.
"She's not here, Uncle Harold."
The silence that followed was so thick it felt like it could be cut with a blade. Harold stepped into the room, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. He was wearing a silk robe that cost more than Hiroki's parents' old house, his silver hair perfectly coiffed even at nearly two in the morning. He squinted into the darkness, his eyes landing on the figure in the chair.
"Hiroki?" Harold's voice shifted from curious to instantly sharp, the warmth vanishing to be replaced by a familiar, biting contempt. "What the hell are you doing in my chair? And why is the monitor on?"
Harold took a step closer, his polished loafers clicking against the hardwood.
Beneath the desk, Hiroki felt a cold hand brush against his ankle. Sayaka-san. She was trembling so hard the vibration was traveling up through the floorboards. Hiroki didn't flinch. Instead, he reached his hand down into the darkness, his fingers finding the silk of her hair. He gripped it—not enough for her to scream, but enough to remind her who held the leash.
"I couldn't sleep," Hiroki said, his voice amplified by the Charm Speech, turning it into a smooth, respectful lie that seemed to coat the room in a false sense of calm. "I came down for some water, saw the light under the door. Aunt Sayaka was here earlier, but she said she had a headache and went to bed. She must have forgotten to turn the computer off."
Harold stopped three feet from the desk. He looked at the monitor—the video was still paused on a frame of a woman's arched back. He let out a disgusted snort.
"Typical," Harold muttered, his gaze drifting over the room. "She's been distracted lately. Ever since the board meetings in Singapore. And you... you have no business being in this wing of the house, boy. You know the rules."
"I apologize, Uncle," Hiroki said, his eyes locked on Harold's. Through the Predator's Eye, he could see the man's true status.
[TARGET: HAROLD THORNE] [STATUS: ARROGANT / OBLIVIOUS] [THREAT LEVEL: LOW (CURRENTLY)]
Hiroki felt a dark, cynical surge of triumph. Here was the man who had called him a "charity case" for ten years. Here was the man who had laughed when Ryota bragged about bullying the "scholarship kid." And right now, Harold was standing three feet away from his wife, who was naked and huddled beneath the desk, her mouth inches from Hiroki's knee, her dignity currently being ground into the dust by the boy Harold despised.
The taboo wasn't just a thrill anymore; it was a weapon.
"Get out," Harold said, waving a hand dismissively as if he were shooing a fly. "I have emails to check before the Tokyo markets open. Go back to your hole in the laundry room."
"Of course, Uncle," Hiroki said. He didn't move.
"Well? What are you waiting for?"
"I... I think I dropped my phone under the desk, Uncle," Hiroki said, his voice dripping with artificial innocence. "If you'll just give me a second to grab it..."
Beneath the desk, Hiroki felt Sayaka-san freeze. Her breath, hot and frantic, hit the skin of his thigh. He leaned down, disappearing into the shadows of the desk's knee-hole for a split second.
He found her face in the dark. She looked like a ghost—eyes wide, tears streaking the sweat on her cheeks. He didn't look for a phone. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear one last time.
"Don't move," he breathed, so quiet it was less than a whisper. "If he hears you, I tell him you begged for it."
He didn't wait for her reaction. He reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he ran his thumb across her bottom lip, painting it with the mess they had made.
He straightened up, empty-handed. "I must have left it in the kitchen. My mistake."
Harold rolled his eyes. "Pathetic. Just like your father. No head for details. Out. Now."
Hiroki stood up. He walked past Harold, the two of them so close that Hiroki could smell the expensive cognac on his uncle's breath. He didn't look back. He walked out of the library, the heavy mahogany door clicking shut behind him.
He didn't go to the kitchen. He stood in the hallway, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
[DING!] [SITUATIONAL DOMINATION SUCCESSFUL!] [REWARD: +50 SOVEREIGN POINTS] [SUBJUGATION PROGRESS (SAYAKA THORNE): 55%]
Hiroki waited. He waited for the sound of Harold's voice. He waited for a scream. He waited for the house to explode.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
Finally, the library door opened again. Harold stepped out, looking annoyed, and walked toward the master suite in the opposite wing. He didn't look back. He didn't know that his world had already been gutted.
A moment later, a smaller, more desperate shadow slipped out of the library. Sayaka-san. She was clutching her emerald robe around her as if it were armor, her hair a ruined mess of silk and sweat. She didn't see Hiroki in the shadows of the alcove. She moved like a wounded animal, her bare feet silent on the marble as she fled toward her private quarters.
Hiroki watched her go, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face.
The Sovereign Protocol flickered in his vision.
[WARNING: NEW MISSION TRIGGERED.] [MISSION: THE PRICE OF SILENCE.] [OBJECTIVE: VISIT SAYAKA THORNE'S PRIVATE BEDCHAMBER IN 30 MINUTES.] [REWARD: UNLOCK 'SOVEREIGN BOND' ABILITY.]
Hiroki looked at the clock on the wall. 2:15 AM.
The night wasn't over. In fact, the real "education" of Sayaka-san was only just beginning. She thought the danger had passed when Harold left the room. She didn't realize that being caught by Harold would have been the "mercy" option.
Hiroki pushed himself off the wall. He felt different. The "beige wall" kid was dead. The "charity case" was a memory. He felt like he was walking on air, his every nerve ending singing with the forbidden power of the System.
He made his way toward the West Wing—the place where he was strictly forbidden to go after dark. He reached the door to Sayaka-san's private suite. It was a place of white lace, scent of lilies, and the kind of suffocating "purity" that she used to mask her rot.
He didn't knock. He knew the door wouldn't be locked. Not to him. Not anymore.
He pushed it open.
Sayaka-san was there, sitting on the edge of her massive canopy bed, her head in her hands. She had tried to clean herself up, but her eyes were still rimmed with red, and she was still wearing the emerald robe.
She looked up when he entered, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.
"You... you can't be here," she whispered, her voice a broken thread. "Harold... he's just in the next room. If he hears—"
"He won't hear," Hiroki said, closing the door behind him and turning the lock with a soft, final click.
He walked toward her, the moonlight from the balcony framing him like a dark god. He reached out and caught the tie of her robe, pulling it slowly.
"Because you're going to be very, very quiet, Sayaka-san," Hiroki whispered, his Charm Speech turning the words into a hypnotic, inescapable command. "You're going to show me exactly how grateful you are that I didn't let him see what a 'Thorne' looks like on her knees."
He pushed her back onto the silk sheets, his hands finding the heat he had left behind in the library.
"Now," Hiroki commanded, leaning over her until their breaths mingled. "Tell me the truth. Did you like it? Did you like the way it felt... being used while your husband stood right there?"
Sayaka-san's mouth opened, a sob caught in her throat. But before she could answer, a heavy, rhythmic thumping started on the wall—the wall shared with Harold's bedroom.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A voice muffled by the thick stone called out. "Sayaka? Is that you? Are you alright? I hear crying."
Hiroki froze. He looked at Sayaka-san. She looked at the wall, then back at Hiroki.
The Sovereign Protocol detonated a new notification in the center of his vision, one that made Hiroki's blood roar in his ears.
[CRITICAL CHOICE DETECTED!] [OPTION A: HIDE AND FLEE.] [OPTION B: MAKE HER ANSWER HIM... WHILE YOU FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED.]
Hiroki's hand tightened on the emerald silk.