Episode 012: Iris's Private Research Room Was... Not As Expected.

Is this guy trying to slap a "barbarian" title on me and now a "lust demon" one too? Iris's private research room was... not as expected. Well. This is worse than I thought.

The windows were blocked by thick velvet curtains, not letting in a single ray of light. The walls were crammed with ancient books that reeked of musty dust and old paper. And then there was the woman sitting across from me on the sofa. Skin pale as porcelain, hair black as midnight. Blood-red eyes. Pretty as hell, but mixed with this space, it came off sexy yet terrifying.

"Don't worry, I won't bite. No poison in it."

She nodded toward the teacup on the table. A dark red liquid sloshed inside. The color looked seriously suspicious.

"Nah, it's not the poison I'm worried about."

"Something else?"

"Like, y'know, drinking it seals a slave contract or whatever."

My internal big data blared a warning. I knew two grad students like that. Scenes flashed by like a montage—seniors staring into space, puffing cigarette smoke.

That line wasn't a joke—it was dead serious, and I knew just how despairing that was. Professors are masters of soul-sucking vampiric arts. But this woman in front of me? Her vibe was on another level from the start.

Clink.

Iris lifted her teacup to her lips. The red liquid sliding down her white ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠throat was strangely erotic... and utterly chilling. Why the chills? She's just pretty, that's all.

...Wait a sec.

A thought hit me out of nowhere.

Isn't she a total vampire?

It's a romance-fantasy world, so yeah, they could exist. Not in the original story? The author might've set it up and then dropped the serialization. We've got saints and dragons—why not vampires? Plus, this lab vibe, the sunlight-blocking curtains. It's a dead giveaway. Pureblood or whatever, the kind that commands minions.

I was trembling, staring holes into the teacup, when Iris tilted her head.

"Don't worry. I have zero intention of tormenting you with slave contracts or anything like that."

How am I supposed to believe that? She came to my house and kidnapped me!

"I'm just coveting you because I think we're soulmates, destined for each other."

"Pfft!" Cough! Hack!

My throat seized up in agony, and I hacked like a dying animal. Fuck. My mental alarms were spinning like crazy—right when I was mid-delusion about vampires and thralls, too.

"Oh dear. You okay?"

Iris shot up from her seat. With a concerned look, she came over, circled behind me, and bent down at my waist.

Tap, tap!

"You should've sipped slower. Like someone's gonna steal it."

Her hand patting my back was surprisingly gentle, but my nerves were zeroed in elsewhere. The rose scent wafting over me. Her upper body leaning in over my shoulder. Whoa.

Fuck?

Through the deep plunge of her red dress's neckline, an insane volume assaulted my vision. No way it's that huge?

Closet research nerd, right? How's her figure influencer-level?

Setting error in this romance-fantasy? Where do you even get characters with tits that big? My mind went blank at the jiggling behemoths right in my face. Couldn't tell if I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was choking from the sip or from that.

I jerked my head up and yelled.

"P-Professor."

As calmly as possible. As un-embarrassed as possible.

"Yes?"

"Th-that chest right in my face is too much; feels like I'll choke again. Could you back up a bit?"

"......"

Silence. The air in the room froze solid. Her patting hand halted mid-air. I tensed, waiting for her response.

"Pfft."

What came from above was no scream or curse—just a deflating laugh. Thank god, she didn't look pissed at all. If anything, her red eyes curved like crescent moons, like she was dying of amusement at my reaction.

"Sorry. Didn't expect you'd panic that hard."

She straightened up gracefully.

"My disciple's too cute; I failed at distance control."

Cute? This situation? She settled back on the opposite sofa with fluid motions, crossing her legs and propping her chin—like some department store or hotel CEO.

"Better now?"

"......Y-yeah. Thanks to you."

I cleared my throat awkwardly and looked away. Better? My heart was pounding like it might burst.

Senior woman's composure, huh?

Normally, they'd go "Oh!" and cover up or flee in embarrassment, right? But then my gaze accidentally grazed her profile.

...Huh?

Between her jet-black hair, her ear peeked out. The earlobe was blazing red, intricately carved like a ruby.

"......"

Well, well? She's hiding her embarrassment too? Acting all cool and composed on the outside, but inside, she's kicking the blankets. Makes sense—she's the mentor; can't not be embarrassed.

Tension melted away. The perfect professor started seeming a bit human.

To break the awkward silence—and cover the embarrassment—I hastily changed the subject.

"S-so, heading to the ball or something? That dress is..."

"Nope."

Shot down flat. Before I could finish.

"......Pardon?"

"Hate noisy places like balls."

Then why dress like that... I swallowed the question. No clue why, but instinct screamed it'd kill the convo dead.

Then Iris toyed with her teacup, narrowing her eyes. Her red gaze gleamed dangerously.

"Am I that burdensome to you?"

"......"

Does it look like you're not?

"Want me to disown you right now?"

Gasp. 'Yes!' nearly leaped from my throat. Disownment. The freedom I'd craved. Back to the potato fields.

But my survival instincts blared sirens again.

Whew. Almost fell for it. Gotta answer carefully. Believably, but measured.

In the end, I sold out my pride again.

"It was just a temporary brain glitch from that no-eyes-where-to-look situation earlier."

Sorry, my pride. Better than dying.

Iris set down her cup with a smirk.

"Got it. I'll believe that."

She recrossed her legs leisurely. And I saw it again—her ear even redder than before.

...Stop pretending to be chill, Professor.

That ear's about to explode.

Looks like this professor might be easier to handle than I thought. Assuming she's not a vampire, of course.

"Still, to make up for dragging you here so suddenly, how about a reward?"

Reward?

"The public eye's a burden right now, right? I'll give you this private lab."

"......?"

I doubted my ears. What? Private lab?

My eyes lit up as the meaning clicked.

This was my chance to ditch fugitive life and live the sweet life. And best of all.

Free from Dad's surveillance net?

My plan—show up for morning classes to slack, then slack for real once his watch loosened—was a hasty patch. Get caught, I'm fucked; don't, and anxiety nags anyway. Sure, better than trembling through late mornings instead of class, but still.

With this, I can just crash here comfy in the mornings?

Sleep when sleepy, play when bored, pop out for class, head home. Too happy just thinking about it?

But they say test the bridge before crossing. No free lunches in this world.

I eyed her suspiciously.

"......So what duties do I have? TA work? Cleaning? Or, like, gathering experiment materials?"

"None."

"......Pardon?"

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

Did I hear wrong?

"No duties. For real."

"Yeah."

Just as my passive skill Human Distrust (SSS) activated—

Iris drove the nail in.

"For the record, there really aren't any. Didn't take you as a disciple to make you work. Just cooperate when I want some academic debate now and then. That's it."

Debate, my ass—math playtime. Just cracking peanuts together.

She added right away.

"Also for the record, 'now and then' isn't a firm schedule, but I promise it won't be never."

...Guess my face screamed total distrust. My settled heart started pounding again.

No work, free space, occasional chat buddy? That's the legendary rich, talented, hot older sis who buys meals—aka "the pretty noona who treats."

Damn, experiencing it? Brutally appealing. Assuming it's true, of course.

"Thank you."

Already locked in as disciple; might as well grab the perks.

Iris nodded, satisfied. About to continue—

"So, about future schedules..."

"......"

I shut my mouth. Iris's state was... seriously weird.

Her made-up face was serene. Eyes calm and intellectual as ever. But.

From her nape to her ears—burning beet red. Sharp demarcation.

...Fuck no.

What the hell. If it's that embarrassing, postpone the talk. Still mortified from the boob incident, gritting teeth to play it cool?

That's full-on concept wh*re.

Keep talking like that, she'll glance in the mirror later and think, 'I acted chill in front of him like that?' All the blame lands on me.

Didn't wanna get assassinated later, so I tried to bail.

"Thanks a ton for the perks. But today's embarrassing event has me too flustered to calm down..."

I started gesturing at my neck but stopped. Too direct, and I'm the embarrassed one.

"Let's talk later. I need to mentally prepare too."

Packaged it as politely as possible.

But Iris's eyes widened, then she flashed a weird smile.

"Oh? That embarrassing, huh?"

Who? Me?

"Fine then. I'll walk ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you out."

She stood.

"Showing off us leaving together will help your rep too."

I screamed internally.

Help my ass! Standing next to that beet-red nape? What'll people think?

Alone in the prof's office, come out with her neck flushed and me fleeing? Barbarian to lust demon titles incoming?

"Absolutely not."

I firmly blocked her with an outstretched hand.

"Huh?"

"No. No escort needed. I can go alone."

"But..."

"And after I leave, don't! Come out of this room for 30 minutes."

"Why?"

Iris stared, baffled. Couldn't say 'Check a mirror, you're a radish.' For real.

"Just promise. 30 minutes. Disciple's first request."

Overpowered by my intensity, she nodded hesitantly.

"Got it."

"Promise. See ya."

I bolted without looking back, slamming the door.

Bang!

A heavy sigh rose from my dantian depths.

"Hoo......"

Feels like it shaved years off my life.

"Sigh......"

Lucky perv? In reality, it's the social suicide button. Fuck, so stressful.

Out in the hall, students lurking around snapped their gazes to me.

"Look, he finally came out."

"Seriously a disciple?"

Imagining they'd seen me and beet-Iris together? Horrifying. I ducked my head and hurried off.

Chest tight, trudging the corridor—then a massive crash from the prof's room far behind.

Crash-bang!!!Shatter!!

Chair toppling, teacup breaking. A choked gasp, no scream.

"......?"

"What? What was that?"

Students glanced at the room, then back at me. Their eyes screamed one message.

What the hell did you do in there?

I shook my head without turning.

She saw the mirror. Ah, fuck it.

Nothing to do about it. Better our embarrassing secret than walking side-by-side as "the guy who steamed the prof."

Assuming she doesn't try to kill me next time.

"Life...... is one hell of a spectacle."

Potato-digging days were just the other week. Miss 'em like crazy, but they feel like ancient history now. Kinda sad.