Living in Karine's room, life returned to a kind of normal.
The same aristocratic meal from the first day was served, and, naturally, the Demon King sat far from the rest of the group.
If anything had changed, it was that Sharpie's seat was now a little closer to them than before. Potty, for her part, kept sneaking glances at the demon king, as if reminiscing about the chocolate she had devoured the day prior.
Savoring the peace, Hernán found his thoughts drifting to the idea of family.
Apparently, the quality of the daily meal for two was determined by whom he slept with—and more precisely, whose room he slept in. Last night, he had shared the room with the Demon King. That could explain why the table had been set with her favorite food.
So perhaps the reason today's meal returned to the standard spread was because he had gone back to sleeping in Karine's room.
As he mulled this over, Karine's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hernán. Want some tea?"
He had already decided this food system wasn't critical information. With a light nod, he accepted the cup.
"This smells nice."
Karine gave a gentle smile in response.
As he raised the cup to his lips, the sharp aroma of the tea filled his senses.
No headache today—thankfully.
There was no need to worry about another fever flaring up so soon. He only needed a bit of release if the pressure built up again behind his eyes.
Since Sharpie had mentioned that oral sex could also help alleviate the symptoms, he didn't necessarily need to risk pregnancy. Karine would understand that much.
She might even help with it herself.
Karine, the always calm and composed woman, going down on him—
Hernán's imagination, unbidden and wicked, painted the image too vividly.
"Ugh—!"
Flustered, Hernán jerked the teacup and scalded his tongue.
Hernán woke in the middle of the night, his head throbbing.
It had been three nights since he last slept with the Demon King, and the headaches had started to return.
He knew it was time—he had to speak to Sharpie again. Or Karine, if she was willing.
As morning crept closer, Hernán tried to drift back into sleep, but the dull ache in his skull lingered, and a faint heat pulsed behind his eyes.
He wondered if he should wake Karine now, ask her to help cool him down. But even if she was in a good mood, waking someone in the middle of the night was no small matter.
At the very least, he could splash some water on his face.
Quietly, Hernán got up and padded through the dim living room toward the bathroom.
"…?"
He halted.
From within the bathroom came the unmistakable sound of strained breathing—along with soft, wet, rhythmic noises.
His eyes were drawn to a stall with a closed door. A moan slipped through the thin wood—not loud, but unmistakably feminine.
And then he realized what he was hearing.
Masturbation.
Blatant. Unashamed. The pace, the tone—he couldn't mistake it.
"Is it Sharpie?"
Of everyone in the house, the Demon King was the most likely culprit. She was the only one unabashed enough to touch herself in the middle of the night.
At least, as far as Hernán knew.
Casually, he walked to the sink and turned on the faucet. From behind the stall came a sharp intake of breath—surprise, maybe—but nothing more.
Well, if they weren't going to stop, neither would he.
Sharpie had once bragged that she'd never done her own laundry. And yet, when she got herself off, blankets and towels always ended up soaked. That probably explained her preference for the bathroom.
It wasn't exactly a problem. She was a succubus, after all. Taking care of her needs alone was commendable.
"Don't overdo it," he said lightly as he rinsed his face with cold water. His voice floated through the door.
"And if it really gets bad, just tell me. If I get Karine's permission again, there won't be an issue."
Was it because they had gotten intimate? Or had she simply grown more open since learning about the pregnancy risk?
Either way, he didn't want her to suffer through deprivation.
Karine had also said she intended to leave this place alive with him. She would likely agree again.
Clearing the lingering memory of Sharpie's lips from his thoughts, Hernán gave the stall door a soft knock.
"I'll be heading out now."
No reply.
He chuckled. Maybe the ever-bold Demon King was feeling a little embarrassed after all.
The morning began with the scent of tea, and Hernán's headache seemed a little less severe than the night before.
Still, it wasn't gone, so he had to act.
He sipped the warm liquid, weighing his options. Sharpie or Karine—who to ask?
When he was nearly done, Karine stood and left, taking her dishes with her. The others were still tidying up, and Potty was listlessly chewing on snacks, clearly without much appetite.
Now was his chance.
Hernán walked over to Sharpie.
She noticed him and gave a lazy smile.
"Oh? Morning wood again? Dreaming of me?"
"I'm starting to get a headache," he said flatly.
"Faster than I expected."
Sharpie studied his face and took a slow sip of water.
He averted his gaze from her lips and continued.
"If you're in a rush, let me know. If it's as simple as yesterday, the bathroom works fine."
The Demon King stayed silent, her expression unreadable.
She was still drinking, so he waited. But even after she finished, she said nothing.
"…Why aren't you saying anything?"
"Did you have a dirty dream last night?" she asked with a grin.
"What?"
Before he could react, she flicked a finger against his crotch.
"I slept soundly in my room last night," she said teasingly.
Hernán blinked, confused.
"You… didn't go to the bathroom?"
"Nope. Why would I go beat my daughter in the middle of the night?"
Her crude words barely registered.
Then who…?
If Sharpie had stayed in her room all night, and Karine hadn't left theirs—
Who was it?
Hernán glanced over his shoulder.
The saintess was quietly chatting with the elf, who looked grumpy from being cooped up.
And Potty… was still eating cookies.
"Huh?"
He stared.
Potty's hood was slightly loose.
She'd never removed that cloak—not since they'd rescued her from the Mage Tower. Even when bathing, she did it alone, never revealing her full appearance.
No one had seen what lay beneath the robe.
Except, maybe last night…
"Did I… imagine it?"
"Hernán!" Sharpie interrupted, her voice suggestive. "My body's warming up again. Want to go to the bathroom? As soon as the hero leaves…"
He ignored her. Potty was staring directly at him—something she'd never done before.
Her golden eyes trembled, unblinking.
"Hernán?"
Suddenly, something soft brushed over his face.
"Sharpie—get your tail out of my face!"
He swatted it away and turned back to Potty.
But she was already clearing her plate.
"Your headache's back?"
Karine paused mid-fold, towel in hand.
Hernán touched his temple and nodded.
"It's getting worse. I'll endure a few more days, but I'd rather deal with it now."
Karine's composed expression faltered briefly.
But she recovered quickly.
"The Demon King said she'd help the first time. I can do it from now on."
"…So you're saying—"
"Yes. You're in pain. I'm not going to sit by and watch."
Her voice was calm and resolute as always, though her grip on the towel tightened.
Hernán's heart pounded.
They had kissed recently—maybe that's why she didn't seem hesitant.
He waited, hopeful.
"We need mucous membrane contact, right?" she said. "I'll do it orally. If the Demon King can do it, so can I."
She rushed out before he could respond.
"I'm going to take a long bath—rest your eyes until then."
How long does it take to bathe when you're sighing like that?
Hernán headed to the bathroom, his heart lightened by Karine's uncharacteristic cuteness.
He figured he could wash his face or brush his teeth first, to save time later.
The others would take a while—Karine, the saintess, the elf—and it was always best to bathe before Potty.
But as he reached for the faucet, he heard a whisper.
"Thief…"
He turned off the tap and quickly dried his face with a towel.
When his vision cleared, Potty was standing in front of him.
"Potty?"
The air around her felt tense.
"You said you'd help…"
"Help you? With what?"
"Yesterday… in the bathroom. That was me."
Hernán froze.
"You're the one who…?"
He remembered telling whoever was in the stall to call for help if things got dangerous.
But he'd assumed it was Sharpie.
No one else should be in danger because of their sex drive—unless they were…
"Yes," Potty said, almost in a whisper. "I was the one who… touched myself."
"…Why are you telling me this? What could possibly be dangerous about that?"
Tears welled in her eyes as she pointed to her head.
"Your head?"
"No… but, like you, I'm suffering from magic depletion."
Hernán's brow furrowed. She was clearly agitated—stammering, avoiding eye contact.
He noticed something else: she was now calling him by name, without a title.
"But I'm no expert. If it's a magic issue, shouldn't you ask the saintess?"
"It's not that kind of problem!"
Her voice shot up in panic, then she flinched at her own volume.
Hernán instinctively reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She jerked back violently.
"S-Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"No, it's… it's not that…"
Trembling, she clutched her hood.
"I… I'm like this because of the experiment…"
She pulled back the hood.
Long, soft rabbit ears flopped out from her pale pink hair.
"Rabbit ears?"
"I tried to suppress it with magic… but there's not enough magic here."
Her robe slipped further down, revealing a fluffy tail near her hips.
Aside from that, she looked mostly human—maybe the transformation had been partially reversed.
"I see. So… how can I help?"
"B-Beastkin have different cycles than humans!"
"…Cycles?"
"I don't know why, but mine came early. My heart's racing, I can't eat—"
She glanced at him with a look he couldn't mistake.
"…You're in heat?"
Potty nodded, eyes burning.
"And my magic's too weak. I can't suppress it anymore."
Then she lunged into his arms.
Her small body was shockingly soft—nothing like Karine or Sharpie.
It was like holding a warm, breathing doll.
Flustered, Hernán tried to pull her off, but she clung to him tightly, sniffing his chest.
"You've never been like this before…"
"I can't control the beast inside me anymore!"
Her temperature was scorching, and her scent—faintly sweet and animalistic—tickled his nose.
"You said I should come to you if it was dangerous. So… I came."
Her golden eyes glimmered with desperation and desire.
"Will you help me?"
Hernán grit his teeth.
Somehow, he knew…
Things were only going to get worse from here.