Maid Arc: "Accept It. Do as Your Master Commands."

Mold hung thick in the air of the dilapidated bedroom.

The first thing Ian heard the moment he opened his eyes was a voice that was thoroughly businesslike and impeccably composed.

"Young Master. You have one week left."

"Still not much of a cheerful good morning, Aria."

Ian rolled his eyes slowly without rising from the bed.

What filled his vision was a maid whose vivid orange hair was tied up with perfect neatness.

Aria.

Until he left this mansion, she was the temporary maid his father had assigned to attend him for one week only.

They had known each other's faces for less than a full day.

Yet Ian's gaze was already openly devouring the lines of her body.

A pair of full breasts that strained against the bodice of her maid uniform as if ready to burst free. The thin apron strings cinched her waist so tightly that the deep valley of her cleavage and the sharp curve of her midriff stood out with almost indecent clarity. And every time she moved, the hem of her skirt offered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fleeting glimpses of her shapely thighs—enough to send a heavy pulse of heat low in Ian's gut.

Damn. That body is pure art.

Ian swallowed hard and sat up. Then, wearing his trademark sly smile, he closed the distance until he stood right in front of her.

His fingertips traced the round, firm curve of her backside before one hand seized a generous handful.

"Aria. Your uniform seems especially tight today."

"Especially those breasts—looks like they're about to rip the fabric open and scream."

"This young master is getting quite excited."

The blatant grip on her ass and the sticky innuendo made Aria's neat chin tremble for the briefest instant. She bit her lip hard, as if forcing something down inside herself.

Truly a maid worthy of the Count's household. Without so much as a blink she let the atmosphere slide past as if it were nothing.

She had already heard the rumors that the family's youngest son was a notorious womanizer.

Aria slapped Ian's hand away from her rear and answered in a cold, scolding tone.

"In one week you will be thrown out of this mansion to live on the streets, yet you still refuse to come to your senses."

"Come on, don't be so cold."

"…Still, are you at least preparing properly to leave?"

Even through the reprimand there was a faint note of concern for the man who would soon have to stand on his own.

Exactly the sort of maid his father would assign.

Ian merely shrugged, as if such practical advice meant nothing to him.

"I'll just go out and figure it out as I go, won't I?"

"Right now I'm far more interested in something less boring, Aria."

"I'm very interested in you."

"It would be better for your well-being if you set that interest aside."

"Is that so? Because today I'm extremely interested in the pink underwear you're wearing."

"…!"

For the first time the poker face Aria always maintained cracked; her pupils shook violently.

If I fail again this time… sorry, but I won't hold back.

Ian did not miss the opening. His hand slipped under her skirt once more and seized another firm handful of her soft, ample rear.

Mmm. Perfect feel.

A secret only she should have known—the soft pink color of the panties she had chosen with her own hands that very morning—had just come out of the mouth of a trash young master she had known for less than a day.

How the hell does he know the color of my panties…!

Shock, shame, and the blatant sensation on her backside blanked Aria's mind. Before she realized it her hand had already swung.

Slap!

A sharp crack rang through the bedroom.

Even Aria looked startled that she had struck her young master's cheek on pure reflex.

I must be insane—I just slapped the young master…!

Without a single word of apology she fled, face burning crimson, and slammed the door behind her.

"Ah, damn… same result again."

Ian rubbed his stinging right cheek and let out a short laugh. His face hurt, yet the way that ice-cold beauty trembled with shame never failed to deliver a delicious hit of dopamine no matter how many times he saw it.

My real name is Lee Han.

Ian von Rancel was a reincarnator who retained the memories of his previous life. And from that previous life he had carried one ability with him.

Retry.

The power to return exactly one day into the past whenever he wished. Even after reincarnating into this world, that ability alone had not vanished.

Of course, the situation I'm stuck in is still the worst.

One month earlier, at the family's Awakening Ceremony.

His older brothers and sisters had awakened flashy combat skills—S-rank Fire Magic, A-rank Swordsmanship Enhancement—and proudly secured their places as heirs.

What appeared on Ian's Awakening Stone, however, was a skill no one in this world had ever seen before: Save.

"…Save? As in storage? What the hell are you supposed to do with that on a battlefield or in a duel?!"

The Count's roar shook the entire hall. The face that had hoped for a powerful attack skill or dazzling magic twisted with rage.

"Storing junk won't help in combat at all! It's a trash skill!"

"A son with a dud skill like this has no place in our family!"

An unknown skill never recorded in any records, and a name that reeked of mediocrity. The Count decided without hesitation to cast Ian out.

The corner of Ian's mouth curled upward.

This is actually a broken skill that lets me store other people's skills in my body.

When Ian stared into empty air, a translucent system window only he could see slid into view.

Calling it a trash skill isn't entirely wrong either.

Not when the acquisition condition is this garbage.

Simply sleeping with someone was not enough to copy their skill. He first had to uncover the most secret sexual fetish they kept locked away, then conquer both their body and their heart while that fetish was exposed. Only then would the skill transfer.

"All right. Time to continue the conquest."

The pink-underwear incident just now had been his tenth attempt to bring Aria down. Nine previous Retries spent slipping in and out of her room and observing her had let him guess the color of her panties with uncanny accuracy.

Memories of the failed loops flickered past like a lantern show.

"Aria, stay still for a moment."

Alone with her in the library, he had suddenly produced rope, bound her wrists, and tied her to a chair. He had wondered whether helplessness—being completely restrained by another person—might be her kink…

What he received instead was pure fury and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠disgust.

"Did you truly believe you could subdue me with such vulgar tricks?"

"Untie me at once."

After fierce resistance she drove a precise kick straight into Ian's solar plexus. Once free she treated him like a complete ghost. Failure. Retry.

"Aria, come here a second."

He cornered her in a library alcove and yanked the buttons of her maid uniform open, baring her shoulders and the deep line of her cleavage. He had wondered whether public humiliation—having her clothes torn—might be the switch…

What answered him was not trembling shame but cold, murderous killing intent.

Slap!

"…I am disappointed, Young Master."

"You are nothing but a disgrace to the family."

The slap that left sparks in his vision was followed by Aria packing her bags that very night and returning to her own home without a second glance. Failure again. Retry.

The eighth attempt failed. The ninth failed as well. Through the tenth he tried every approach—seduction, threats, everything—yet Aria remained unyielding.

"Back on Earth, Retry made breaking people so much easier…"

But who am I? A man who never quits.

Ian smiled as the heat faded from his cheek. With every Retry, data on Aria piled higher in his mind: her tastes, her gait, her daily routine, even the color of her underwear.

And then the morning of the eleventh attempt dawned.

A deep rumble. His vision blacked out for an instant, then returned. The familiar moldy smell once again filled his nose.

He opened his eyes. The door opened and a beauty with orange hair, dressed in a flawless maid uniform, walked in. She set down the silverware with practiced ease and bowed her head toward him.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Young Master. You have one week left."

A perfectly reset Aria, waking him with the same cold face as always. To Ian it was already the eleventh time he had seen that face.

His eyes burned again as they traced the secret, generous curve of her hips hidden beneath the skirt of her maid uniform.

Ten Retries. He had tried everything—binding her, shaming her, sweet-talking her—and received only icy contempt and slaps in return.

Ah, fuck it. Whatever happens, happens.

The crushing fatigue of an eleventh identical morning and the lust he had been holding back finally snapped his reason. If he failed he could simply Retry again. This loop he would just take what he wanted.

Ian sprang from the bed like a coiled spring and closed the distance in two strides. Before Aria could react, his solid arm locked roughly around her slender waist.

"Y-Young Master…? Nngh."

Her startled gasp never fully formed. Ian's mouth crushed down over her soft lips in a kiss that stole her breath.

"Mmh… nngh…"

When Aria's hands reflexively pushed against his chest, Ian broke the kiss with clear reluctance and lowered his head to her frozen ear.

"Put your hands down and accept it. Do as your master commands."

An absolute order delivered on a hot breath. The cold authority that sank into her ear made Aria's entire body go rigid with goosebumps.

Ian did not waste the moment. He claimed her stiffened lips again, deeper this time.

He fully expected another vicious slap or a violent shove.

Instead, the strength slowly drained from the hands that had been pushing against his chest.

"Mmm… haah…"

Rather than reject him, Aria yielded to his rough advance. Her slender fingers slid around the back of his neck, and her tongue rose to meet the one he thrust into her mouth.

"Nnh… chuu…"

The inside of the ice-cold beauty's mouth was hotter and sweeter than he had imagined. The more aggressively Ian pressed, the more Aria trembled and surrendered her body completely to his lead. Wet, sticky sounds of kissing filled the old bedroom.

"Churp… mmph…"

Orange hair and beads of sweat scattered through the air. Like two starved beasts they devoured each other's saliva in a deep morning kiss.

So this was it. Aria's switch.

Their lips finally parted, leaving a long silver thread of saliva between them.

"Ah… haah… nngh…"

Broken breaths spilled from Aria's mouth. Her porcelain cheeks burned scarlet all the way to her ears. Her unfocused eyes trembled as if they had nowhere left to go.

The sexual preference she herself had never consciously recognized—the instinct that whispered I want to be dominated—had been flipped completely on.

Beneath the mask of perfection she had hidden a submissive nature. The desire to be pinned down by overwhelming force. Under Ian's unilateral domination, that final bolt shattered.

Finally found it. Aria's weakness.

The perfect maid who had seemed impenetrable. The thrill of seizing her most secret vulnerability flooded his entire body.

At that exact moment a translucent system window slid into view.

"Haah… haah… Young Master… what… is this…"

Aria touched her own lips with trembling fingers and stared at Ian as if she could not believe what had just happened. Pleasure tangled with shame made her legs give out; the hem of her maid skirt swayed with a strangely lewd tremor.

Ian gently lifted the chin of the heavily breathing Aria and smiled the most sly, dangerous smile he had ever worn.

"I told you, Aria. I'm very interested in you."

The weakness he had finally uncovered after ten failures. At last the morning of the eleventh Retry began to fill with the smile of victory.

And without realizing it, Aria's gaze drifted back to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ian's lips.