Chapter 18

“Ugh... mm...”

The sensation shot straight up from the base of her spine, crackling all the way to the back of her skull.

His hands clamped onto her hips. Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion gasped, her mouth falling open as a drop of saliva escaped her lips. Instinctively—instead of pushing him away—she clutched at whatever she could reach, anchoring herself against the sheer, overwhelming wave of stimulation. It was all she could do just to remain conscious.

Why... why me again? Well... setting that aside, what on earth is going on with this daily routine?

Sure, physical intimacy was technically a part of normal life—but this? This felt fundamentally wrong.

Just like the past couple of weeks, they had left work together, eaten dinner together, watched some mundane horror film... and now this was simply tacked on, like just another routine item on a daily checklist.

Why...? Sure, this might have become routine for her, but no one actually shared their entire daily life with someone else unless... unless they only had a single partner. And Dezeb Avganis was certainly not that kind of man. To share his complete daily schedule with all of them, he would need at least a dozen bodies.

Erabelle had quietly assumed that after what happened last night, this bizarre streak of shared domesticity would finally come to an end. In fact, she had been nearly certain of it.

Even if they ended up doing this again, she had never imagined it would be like... this.

She had expected to be summoned separately, or perhaps for him to drop by her quarters once in a blue moon—something discreet, distant, detached.

But this... This was disturbingly ordinary. It felt as if nothing in her life had changed at all, save for the casual addition of sex to their daily rhythm. It was utterly bewildering.

Is this all a dream?

Maybe she really had lost her mind, completely captivated by the infamous, lethal beauty of Dezeb’s Level-13 frame... Her foggy, vacant mind was nudging her toward that exact conclusion.

“You’re daydreaming again.”

His low voice sent a violent shiver down her spine. Erabelle was painfully aware that her imagination wasn't vivid enough to hallucinate something like this.

“You seem... remarkably calm.”

“Please... please just... have mer—mercy...”

Startled by her own weakness, fresh tears spilled from her wide eyes.

Please, just this once...

Whatever was happening to her, it was actively sabotaging her brain's language center. She squeezed her eyes shut.

She couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was happening to her body anymore.

She had known he was skilled—that went without saying—but this was beyond all logic. Even if her entire knowledge of sex came from books, she knew it was never supposed to feel like this. This was far too intense.

There was one logical explanation... but the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

“...!!”

Her mouth fell open as her entire body locked up.

It felt as though she had been submerged in a terrifyingly potent fluid—her pupils dilated, her breath stalled in her throat, and her frame began to convulse uncontrollably. Her muscles would clench with violent force, release just long enough for her to gasp for air, and then instantly seize again.

It felt like being fried alive—while remaining fully conscious.

“...Pl... plea...”

Please... save me...

Her pleas dissolved into meaningless noise, mangled and muffled beyond recognition. Fortunately, Dezeb, sharp as ever, caught her meaning perfectly.

“And now I’m the villain again, hm?”

Not that he had any intention of stopping.

His mock grievance echoed faintly beyond the fading edges of her consciousness, turning into mere white noise amid the blur of sheer exhaustion.

She passed out cold.

Then she woke up. Went to work.

Two more days passed.

Two Days Later – Morning

Sitting at her desk in the deputy’s office, Erabelle suddenly came to a startling realization:

She hadn’t taken a single stabilizer.

Not for two full days.

***

The thought struck her while she was sorting through a mountain of supply requisitions. Her head had been a chaotic mess lately, crowded with far too many racing thoughts. Work had been mercilessly demanding, too.

Yet, if her condition had shown even the slightest sign of a Signum crash, there was no way she could have forgotten her medication for two consecutive days.

And in truth—she hadn’t felt this physically intact in years. Perhaps not even once over the past decade.

That was likely why the stabilizers had completely slipped her mind.

Two whole days.

...No way.

No, that couldn’t be it. She hastily gathered the requisition forms into a neat stack and stood up.

She needed to drop by the medical facility. By juggling her schedule, trimming tasks, and patching together her duties, she barely managed to carve out a short window of free time.

After filing an early leave request, she headed straight for the clinic.

The Clinic.

A perfectly ordinary public medical facility in this world, built specifically to treat Signum Noise—a universal affliction here.

For ten long years, Erabelle had deliberately avoided stepping inside one. Licensed support therapists offered emotional and physiological stabilization there—along with their physical warmth.

She hadn't avoided the clinic out of pride or stubbornness.

She simply didn't want to form any more deep emotional ties.

The count’s household and a handful of close acquaintances in this world were already more than enough.

She couldn't afford to care about anyone else.

And if the therapist in question happened to be someone she slept with... that made things infinitely worse.

Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion knew herself well enough to admit she wasn't the type who could keep something like that strictly physical. She wasn't that detached.

I’m going to end up getting attached. It’s their job to remain distant—so if I’m the only one forming a genuine bond, I’m the one who gets destroyed in the end.

Of course, Commander Dezeb Avganis didn't fall into that category.

She wasn't that far gone—sleeping with him hadn't scrambled her brain enough to make her form any tragic romantic attachment to a tyrant.

Still, even the support-class medics—while not quite on the same terrifying level as AT-class Adaptants—were stunning. Unreasonably beautiful. Sooner or later, she would end up handing over her heart. Maybe even loaning them money.

And even if things somehow worked out, she was eventually going back to Earth anyway. That, above all else, was the real reason. It wasn't as if she held some moral prejudice against the clinics.

In a world like this, what other alternative was there? Stabilizers were notorious for cutting one's lifespan in half. If she weren't a baseline human with a meager hundred-year life expectancy to begin with, she wouldn't have touched the pills either.

In fact, after spending just two years in the military, Erabelle had come to believe that clinical therapy was, in a way, far healthier than outright violence. So she didn't hesitate. She walked right into the examination room.

“You’re perfectly fine.”

She heard the exact same diagnosis she had received at the military medical office.

“I don’t think you have any need for clinic therapy just yet. You’re completely normal.”

Normal.

It had been ten years since she fell into this world, ten years since her Signum first opened—and this was the very first time anyone had ever spoken that word to her.

“It shouldn’t hurt that much, you know?”

When two compatible Adaptants share physical heat, it neutralizes the Signum Noise while simultaneously inducing intense sexual stimulation. Natural conception through conventional means wasn't even possible between them anyway.

“You took a stabilizer again? You really didn’t need to do that.”

At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant. I thought it was just casual banter. I didn’t realize he was talking about the end of my miserable life.

Ah... the sun is setting. The sun was going down...

Just like her life.

Erabelle trudged home, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

She had practically fled the medical office. Now her communicator was buzzing incessantly—beep, beep-beep-beep—Lieutenant Camillia Obea calling again and again. Unsurprising, really; Erabelle had bolted the moment she saw the test results, using emergency errands as a flimsy excuse.

Erabelle quietly switched the device to silent and ignored the incoming call.

She’s probably going to drag me by the hair next time she sees me.

“Haaah...”

I wish this were all just a nightmare. Why does this have to be real?

She stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, grabbed her hair with both hands, spun around once like a lunatic, and let out a long, hollow sigh. Slumping her shoulders again, she dragged her feet the rest of the way home.

The moment she stepped inside her apartment, however, she froze.

...Something about the silence in the room was wrong.

What... is this feeling?

A cold, creeping dread coiled in her chest. Slowly, she turned her head—and there he was.

Commander Dezeb Avganis.

He was already home, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, quietly twisting open a bottle of water. Technically, his presence here had become a familiar sight over the past few weeks. Yet, for some reason, her feet refused to take another step forward.

The air in the room felt impossibly heavy.

Why...?

Automatically, her brain kicked into survival review mode.

What did I do wrong...?

She frantically replayed her entire day. But she had left work early—she hadn't even crossed paths with Dezeb today.

He didn't even look up at her at first. He simply took a few slow sips of water before finally turning his head to meet her eyes.

Erabelle flinched violently.

Her entire body went taut as an undeniable certainty flooded her mind: Something is terribly wrong.

I... I need to run.

He stared at her trembling frame for a quiet moment, then gestured with his head toward the dining table.

“Come sit down.”

Erabelle took a hesitant step forward and sat where he pointed, pulling out a chair at the table.

Dezeb took another slow sip of water, then carefully set the bottle down on the counter.

The apartment was so deathly quiet that the soft click of plastic meeting metal echoed like a gunshot. Erabelle clenched her hands into the fabric of her trousers.

“Erabelle.”

“Y-Yes?”

She tried her best to sound normal, anxiously tracking his expression across the room.

“Did you go to the clinic?”

A simple question.

So basic, in fact, that she couldn't comprehend why he was even asking. It was such a trivial, personal errand.

She needed to answer—but her vocal cords refused to work.

The atmosphere in the room was suffocating.

“I’m not exactly a generous man,” he said softly. “Nor am I particularly possessive. Still... when someone has sex with a compatible partner for hours and then runs straight off to a public clinic the very next day... it rather feels like you’re mocking me.”