The Return of the Adorable Junior Alchemist Emily (2)
Having finished the hunt—and the even more exhausting cleanup afterward—Jinwoo lay sprawled naked on the massive king-size bed in his Washington D.C. suite. Flanking him on either side were the two bitches honored to attend him tonight: Sea and Chiharu, both kneeling obediently.
"Well done. Both of you... tonight."
His low praise made both women's shoulders twitch in unison. It was the signal to begin their service.
Sea, the envoy, moved first.
She was no longer the clumsy little sister. At the temple in Japan, she had learned directly from Aki the arts of melting a man's body. She poured a generous amount of premium massage oil, warmed to perfection, into her small hands and pressed them gently against her master's firm back.
"My lord... please, let this lowly bitch's touch wash away every fatigue from your day..."
Her hands moved like serpents—soft and fluid as water. She began kneading the knotted trapezius and the battle-tensed back muscles with precise pressure. But it was more than mere massage. Through her fingertips, she infused her body heat, her scent, and her mana into him.
On the other side, the huntress Chiharu began her service in her own way. Forgoing oil, she used her hot lips and soft tongue instead. Prostrating herself at his feet, she started licking the soles hardened by combat. She stimulated every acupoint, cleaning even the grime between his toes without missing a spot. It was humiliating service, yes—but also the huntress's absolute vow of submission, pledging to tend even her master's lowest places.
Amid their perfect ministrations, Jinwoo let out a satisfied groan and closed his eyes. But Sea could sense it. Something was off about Chiharu's expression. Though focused on her task, her eyes gazed into the distance, her lips pressed tight. As if desperately suppressing a massive rage and jealousy.
Her question was answered soon enough.
"Sea."
Jinwoo murmured without opening his eyes.
"Yes, my lord."
"Prepare an anonymous account with 400,000 dollars in secret. And... procure silver ingots and silver coins of 99% purity. Send them to this address."
He traced an address for a rundown London apartment in the air with mana. Below it, the name Emily was written.
"......Emily... my lord?"
Sea asked cautiously.
"Who... is she?"
"My... adorable junior alchemist."
Those words made Sea's mind thud like a hammer blow.
Junior... alchemist?
It had come at last. A vivid, nightmarish delusion unfolded in her head. A beautiful white woman with blonde hair and even more voluptuous breasts than her own. She would stand as an equal to the crow mage, debating magic and alchemy, laughing and chatting. Armed with her talent, she would monopolize her master's intellectual curiosity. No longer a bitch groveling in service like them, she would stand side by side, a true partner and girlfriend—researching and creating together.
Her, conducting dangerous experiments in his magic workshop, both their faces smudged with soot, laughing like children before kissing. At night, not dutiful service like theirs, but sweet lovemaking to affirm their love... And finally, her becoming the true principal wife ruling this entire harem, forcing them to kneel at her feet...
In that fantasy, the lewd mark on Sea's lower abdomen burned hot with jealousy. She looked up at Chiharu. The huntress had stopped massaging, staring back with a rigid expression. Their eyes met in the air. And in that moment, they realized. Now was not the time to fight each other. Their enemy wasn't one another. Their true foe was that unseen blonde big-titted mage named Emily across the sea.
For the first time, a dark, sticky flame of solidarity against their common enemy ignited in the eyes of the two bitches.
One corner of Dulles International Airport's hangar had been turned into a temporary relief center. Hundreds of survivors sat surrounded by medical staff and counselors, their faces a mix of shock and relief. Some stared blankly into space under blankets, others wept on calls with family, and...
"So... that crow was really wearing a cape made of actual feathers?"
People desperately explained their surreal experiences to wide-eyed FBI agents who could scarcely believe them.
Amid the chaos, Emily huddled in a corner, trying not to draw attention. She held the warm cocoa from the medics but hadn't taken a sip. Her mind was filled with thoughts of the crow mage who had promised to contact her.
Will he really... contact me? Does he... even remember me?
She was gripped by anxiety, recalling the gap between her pathetic state and his overwhelming power.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the hangar, a British survivor was confiding in a man in a doctor's coat.
"It was... truly horrific. But then they appeared... the woman with the fox mask and the giant crow... they slaughtered all those monsters..."
The man looked like a kind counselor, but his eyes were those of a sharp analyst. He was Smith, MI6's top interrogator, rushed in. His mission: gather as much intel as possible from the chaos.
"The last... the very last container."
The survivor rambled near incoherence.
"I was in that last one. Right in front of me... there was this blonde girl. Wearing a hoodie... she was... pretty cute, I think."
"A blonde girl?"
Smith's eyes sharpened for the first time.
"Anything else you remember about her? Like, any special behavior different from the others?"
"Uh... well..."
The survivor dredged his memory.
"Oh! Come to think of it... that mage guy... he ignored everyone else, but he went right up to her and said something. Couldn't hear what from far away. But... she was crying her eyes out. Like, overwhelmed with emotion."
In that instant, the puzzle pieces clicked in Smith's mind. The Crow Mage didn't act without reason. For him to speak to one girl amid the inferno? No coincidence.
Smith's gaze slowly swept the hangar. He scanned faces like a predator. At last, it locked on a blonde girl in the corner, clutching her cocoa with an anxious look. Worn Whirli Peter hoodie. Poverty-stricken vibe. But an extraordinary aura hidden within. And above all, a stark otherness from the other survivors.
Smith had found his new target. He signaled another agent and whispered into his radio.
"Target... confirmed. Codename... Gryffindor. Commencing close surveillance."
He pocketed the radio, donned a kindly, gentle smile, and approached Emily's spot. He sat beside her casually, feigning exhaustion.
"You alright, miss?"
His warm British accent was soft.
"Must've been a shock. No injuries?"
Emily flinched at the sudden middle-aged man, shrinking back.
"Y-yes... I'm fine."
[Emily! Be careful! That guy's no ordinary doctor!]
[He reeks of lies and trained steel. Agency rat!]
"Glad to hear it."
Smith sipped his cocoa, pretending not to notice her wariness.
"I'm... a psychologist from London. Rushed here to help survivors. By the way, miss... what brings you to Washington? Travel? Or... studying abroad?"
It was a sly interrogation masked as concern.
Emily panicked but heeded the grimoire's warning. She decided to play the innocent, worldly-naive dreamer girl.
"Uh... I... um..."
She stuttered deliberately, averting her eyes.
"Just... traveling. I... really love magic and mystical stuff, so... heard America has places like the Salem Witch Trials... wanted to see for myself."
She pointed shyly at her ragged Whirli Peter hoodie and smiled.
"Kinda... childish, right?"
"...I see."
Smith's eyes gleamed faintly. Magic. She'd said it first. Coincidence? Or a hint?
"Childish? No, quite... fascinating interests."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"So... what did you think of meeting a real mage today?"
It was a trap. To probe any special connection to the Crow Mage.
[Don't bite, Emily! He's probing you!]
Emily channeled a pure, fanatic fan-girl at the grimoire's warning.
"Wh-what did I think? I... I can't even describe it! It was... like a dream! A real mage... right in front of me...!"
She clasped her hands, gushing like a schoolgirl.
"When he spoke to me... I thought I'd gotten my Hogwarts acceptance letter! For real!"
Her innocent frenzy left Smith momentarily speechless. Just a fanatic? Or a master actress hiding everything? He prepared the next question to pierce her mask.
But an approaching FBI agent cut them off.
"Sir, excuse me. Survivors, please board the buses to Walter Reed Army Hospital now."
"Understood."
Smith rose regretfully, flashing Emily one last kindly smile.
"Take care, miss. If you need any help... find me anytime."
He pressed his business card into her hand and melted into the crowd.
Emily stared at the card with blank eyes, then crumpled it into her pocket. The first test seemed passed—for now.