Steven had long known that Gladiia was a fiercely untad person. To put it bluntly, her personality was absolutely self-centered—she never cared what anyone else thought.
But even so, he hadn't expected this.
Her mory… or perhaps her original personality… seed to have recovered quite well. Well enough that she would actually take the initiative and strike first.
The initial shock faded quickly, replaced by a kind of amused acceptance. After all, this wasn't sothing difficult for him to respond to. Even if he was technically inexperienced in certain ways, that didn't an he was clueless. And besides—he had always regarded Gladiia as a normal woman.
What started as a strangely romantic mont in a violent setting shifted its tone the instant Steven wrapped his arm around Gladiia's slender, toned waist.
Being purely on the defensive was never his style. Since Gladiia had taken the first step—essentially provoking him—there was no way he would simply let her do as she pleased.
His tongue, previously retreating, surged forward in counterattack, and at the sa ti he shifted their posture—turning Gladiia's embrace into a pose more like the ending dip of a ballet performance, her tall, graceful body tipped back in his arms.
Her waist felt impossibly smooth beneath his fingers, almost silk-like, but warr, alive. The faint sweetness he tasted only threatened to pull him deeper, to drown him in it entirely.
But the one most surprised… was Gladiia herself.
She knew Steven's strength probably surpassed hers—but she had never expected to be unable to resist at all.
Her body felt pinned under an invisible weight; every attempt at pushing back failed to make even the slightest difference.
And the breath-stealing closeness—sothing she had never truly experienced on land—made her vision blur. For the first ti, she understood what land-dwellers ant by losing your breath.
It even crossed her mind—
Am I the Abyssal Hunter, or is he? Does this man not need air?
With thoughts she absolutely shouldn't be having right now running through her head, Gladiia finally, helplessly, tapped Steven's shoulder and gave him a breathless look of surrender.
Sohow… his overwhelming counterattack actually eased her worries.
If he could still act like such an incorrigible brute, then it was obvious no one had beaten her to claiming him. Otherwise, knowing Steven's shaless personality, he'd probably be hesitating or conflicted instead of this aggressively sure of himself.
Steven, who had been quite happily savoring the bold "provocation" offered to him, paused only when he felt Gladiia's subtle tap for rcy.
He stopped—mostly stopped—but made no move to retreat entirely.
It wasn't until Gladiia, unable to endure his teasing, lightly bit back at the overly adventurous tongue invading her mouth that Steven finally, reluctantly, ended their kiss.
"Oh? Weren't you the one saying you'd make 'yours'? Care to clarify who belongs to whom now?"
Steven licked his lips, lifted the nearly-bent-back-into-a-bridge Gladiia upright, and gave her a deliberately provoking look.
"It was rely an accident. The air on land is too dry. This single exchange is not enough to determine the final outco."
Her voice was as cool and calm as always—like a villain's defeated declaration that "this isn't over"—but the faint blush staining her porcelain-white face betrayed her. On her milk-pale cheeks blood a soft pink, like a ripened peach.
"Heh, so you want a rematch next ti? I don't mind. No matter when or where, you're never going to beat ."
Steven rolled his shoulders, still unsatisfied, then gently took Gladiia's right hand—the one she had been hiding behind her back the whole ti.
Cradled carefully in his palm, the faintly glowing wound stood out starkly on her hand, its eerie luminescence refusing to fade.
"But before that… I should deal with the thing that dared hurt the person most important to . If it could injure you, then only a Seaborn would fit the bill, right?"
He pulled out from his pack a Potion of Regeneration treasured by the Rhodes Island dics and poured it over the wound.
Only when he watched it heal completely did he look back up and et Gladiia's eyes.
With Gladiia's Abyssal Hunter physique, only a particularly dangerous Seaborn could have hurt her. That was why he ca imdiately.
"It was a troubleso experintal product of the Church of the Deep. Not rely a Seaborn. It seed to use so form of Originium as its core. I let my guard down—it ambushed and escaped."
She picked up a nearby file. A photo slipped out—of a man dressed like a priest from so deranged cult.
Beside it lay an old, worn-out map labeled Sal Viento.
"But it doesn't matter. I already obtained the information I needed. All that's left is verifying it. If I'm lucky… the answer I'm searching for may be within reach."
"No, no—it absolutely matters."
Steven's eye turned cold and vicious as he reached into his inventory.
"Before you get your answers, I'm going to hunt down the creature that dared lay a hand on you and turn it into dust."
With that, he drew Yamato, its edge gleaming like a promise of violence.
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