Chapter 105. 34H
Succubi Chapter 105. 34H
“Wait wait wait… how huge are we talking?” he asked, whisper-yelling like we were discussing classified national secrets.
I leaned in and murmured, “Let’s just say… she’d break those flimsy lingerie straps in a blink. 34H.”
Adrian gasped. Audibly. Like he’d just found out magic was real and boobs were sentient.
“That massive…?” he echoed, eyes wide, pupils dilated like someone hit him with a lust spell.
“I know,” I said dryly. “Believe me. I know.”
Then he froze.
Stared at me.
And pointed.
“Wait… WAIT! That makes you the pervert here!”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You know her size,” he accused, leaning back like I was infected. “You actually know! That means you… YOU—checked her bras! You went through her stuff!”
“I didn’t,” I snapped. “She told me once.”
“She told you?” he choked, scandalized. “With her mouth?”
“No, she summoned a cursed prophecy scroll,” I deadpanned. “Yes, with her mouth.”
He sulked. Arms crossed. Eyes full of betrayal and injustice and broken boyhood dreams.
“What now?” I asked, rubbing my temple.
He huffed. “Nothing. Just thinking how unfair life is. I train every day. I study. I run extra simulations. And you… you just exist and get blessed by the MILF goddess.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on, stop being dramatic.”
He didn’t stop sulking.
“Okay, okay, how about we think about something else?” I offered. “Like Professor Callahan’s invitation. Underground battle. Deadline’s today. You in or not?”
That caught his attention.
His pout thinned.
He exhaled, dragged a hand through his hair. “Let me guess. You already decided to join.”
I smirked. “Of course.”
The smirk dropped a beat later, replaced by something tighter. Determined. Less pride demon, more... resolve.
“I need to get stronger. Fast,” I said quietly. “I can’t keep going like this.”
Adrian blinked. His earlier jealousy faded, replaced by a frown.
“…You sound like you just lost a fight,” he said. “But you didn’t. You got the highest score yesterday. You aced the mock mission test.”
“I know,” I muttered, eyes dropping to my desk. “But I still…”
I trailed off.
Adrian tilted his head. “You what?”
“I just—” I paused, then forced a breath. “I want to be better than that.”
His brows knit. “Why? Your reaction time’s freakish. You’re faster than any of us. You dodged those ice needles like you saw the future.”
I didn’t answer.
Because what was I supposed to say?
That I almost died anyway? That I stood there, bled, when the siren lunged and all I could think about was how I wasn’t enough? That even after winning, I still felt powerless?
Before I could open my mouth, the classroom door creaked open.
Instructor’s mana flared. Everyone went quiet.
Class had begun.
But my brain?
Still stuck on the echo of Sera’s voice last night, whispering that she trusted me.
Still feeling the way Lilith touched my cheek like I was something real.
Still seeing the way the others stared at me during dinner like they were watching someone they couldn’t quite figure out anymore.
I leaned back in my seat as the instructor started drawing arcane circles mid-air.
And for a long moment, all I could think was…
“I need to be more than just the boy they’re watching. I need to be something they can count on.”
Yeah.
That’s why I said yes.
Underground ring or not.
I was going to fight.
Because being almost enough?
Wasn’t enough anymore.
The rest of class went by… normal.
Too normal.
No surprise explosions. No weird hallucination potions. No Callahan-style level theatrics.
Just lecture.
Dry.
Structured.
Painfully average.
Professor Erda, our Arcana theory instructor, stood at the podium with all the enthusiasm of a tree mid-tax season. She scribbled glowing runes in the air, her long fingers weaving sigils that pulsed gently in blue and violet light, and we were expected to copy them in our journals and not accidentally set our parchment on fire with premature spell charges.
Today’s lesson was about rune layering and spell efficiency. Important stuff. But so dull I could feel my soul trying to self-destruct just to escape.
Adrian, despite his earlier drama, returned to semi-functioning mode. He sat beside me, muttering snarky translations of the lecture under his breath.
“Triple-knot runes should only be used if your target is already cursed or wet. Wet. You hearing this? Arcana’s basically hentai magic with extra paperwork.”
“Stop talking,” I whispered, flicking a mana spark at his elbow. “You already embarrassed yourself today.”
“I embarrassed myself? You’re the one walking around with MILF dorm trauma and a hickey from a Saint goddess.”
"It's not a hickey—" I covered my band-aid, defending myself like a man clinging to the last shred of his reputation.
"Yeah, right," Adrian said, full sarcasm unlocked. "The band-aid is on your neck, bro. Who the hell gets injured on the neck before breakfast? Did you fall face-first into a seductive cactus?"
I deadpanned.
Because yeah… okay… the logic was kind of valid.
Neck injuries weren’t exactly common unless you were into some very specific hobbies.
Or had a tentacle-happy succubus girlfriend.
Not that I’d say that out loud.
But still, walking around with raw red suck marks on my neck like I’d lost a fight with a horny squid? That was worse than the damn band-aid.
So here I was. Playing the “oops I tripped and scraped my jugular” game.
“Shut up,” I muttered, burying my face in my spell journal like it could absorb my shame through osmosis.
Adrian wasn’t letting it go.
“I’m just saying,” he whispered, leaning in with a gleam in his eye, “if I was hiding a love bite, I’d at least come up with a better excuse. Something cool. Like ‘I was attacked by a cursed spirit' or ‘I got grazed saving a child from a mana beast.’ Not ‘oops, I accidentally stabbed myself in the neck with a spoon.’”
I groaned. “It’s a magical burn mark.”
“Oh? Oh! So now it’s magical,” he said, holding back laughter. “Tell me… was it from a fire spell? A barrier? Or… wait, lemme guess. A love-based spell?”
I turned slowly. Glaring. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious,” he said, clearly pleased with himself. “And you? You’re one suspicious band-aid away from being exposed by the school gossip board.”
“There’s a gossip board?”
“There’s always a gossip board,” he said, like a veteran. “And trust me… your hickey of mystery will be on trending.”
“Damn it!”
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