I turned to Soren, eyes sparkling as I pointed all the ch suits. "Soren nyang nyaang nya-ang?"
Translation: Hey Soren did you make all these suits?
He nodded calmly. "When I co here to rest, I mostly stay down here and make various suits. It’s more like a hobby of mine."
A hobby.
I felt my pride as the greatest sculptress of my past life quietly pack its bags and exit the building.
These chs had structural harmony, aesthetic precision, and chanical complexity layered together flawlessly. It was like soone combined engineering, artistry, and divine favoritism into one overpowered dragon.
I lowered my head in silent defeat.
Very well.
I accept it.
You win this round, dragon.
"Blanca, co here. I have to show you sothing," he said, snapping out of my thoughts.
He picked up again and carried to a nearby worktable. He set down gently.
I glanced beside and saw the chanical arm I’d tested earlier, along with the dragon scales I had selected. Around them were machines that looked like they belonged in a futuristic laboratory—precision grinders, energy stabilizers, calibration modules.
Without hesitation, Soren fed the dragon scales into a processing unit. The machine activated with a low hum. Sparks flickered as precision tools began polishing and trimming the scales.
He adjusted the settings fluidly, swapping polishing heads, recalibrating grinding accessories. The scales were gradually shaped down, refined, their raw forms becoming sleek, razor-sharp carving blades.
The dragon scales transford into specialized carving knives designed to integrate perfectly with my leopard paw tools.
Then he turned to the chanical arm.
He removed the previous carving attachnts and replaced them with the newly forged dragon-scale tools. He adjusted torque balance, fine-tuned grip calibration, and ran diagnostic scans.
The arm flexed.
The blades glead.
Perfect.
Truly perfect.
I wanted to keep watching.
I really did.
But...
My head began bobbing.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Sleep attacked without rcy.
No... Stay... Awake... This is peak... craftmanship...
The machines blurred.
The hum beca soothing.
My head bobbed forward.
Soren’s voice sounded closer. "Are you getting sleepy now?"
I blinked up at him with heavy eyes.
He picked up gently. The warmth of his arm was dangerously comfortable.
He gave a small shake. "You need to take a bath first."
Bath?
What’s that?
Who invented baths before sleep?
In my past life, sleep was a luxury I negotiated with caffeine and deadlines. Now that I had finally caught it, this dragon wanted to wash first?
I snuggled deeper into his chest, pretending to be unconscious.
If I don’t respond, maybe the word "bath" won’t exist.
He shook again.
"Wake up."
I growled and forced my eyes open.
"Nyang! Nyarng! Grawl! Nyqaa!"
Translation: I couldn’t even sleep properly in my past life and now you’re shaking like this is entertainnt!
He chuckled.
The audacity.
Then he passed to Agatha, who caught carefully despite still attempting to verbally destroy Soren in feline language.
"Make sure to bathe her first before letting her sleep," Soren instructed.
I shot him my most devastating glare.
Then—
I activated my ultimate weapon.
Big, watery eyes, lowered ears, and tiny trembling whiskers.
I looked up at Agatha.
"Nyaa?"
Agatha gasped, clearly shaken by the emotional damage.
Victory was just within my paws—
"Bathe her first before letting her sleep," Soren repeated firmly.
Agatha straightened instantly. "Y-Yes, Master."
Traitor.
I flicked my tail dramatically and glared at Soren one more ti.
He only smiled. "Don’t give that look. Goodnight now."
I grunted dramatically as Agatha carried back to my room.
The mont we entered the bathroom—
I twisted, launched, and slipped from her arms.
Thus began our intense ga of Tag, You’re It!
Agatha lunged toward .
I darted behind the vanity.
She circled left.
I sprinted right.
"M-Miss Blanca, you need to take a bath!" she pleaded, nearly brushing my tail.
I slid across the smooth tile floor, pivoted sharply, and ducked behind a stool.
She tried to corner near the bathtub.
I leapt onto a cabinet.
She reached up—
I hopped down the other side.
She was inches away from grabbing when I twisted mid-run and escaped again.
Back and forth we went, the sound of light footsteps and flustered maid breaths echoing in the marble bathroom.
Agatha’s composure began to crack.
Her hair loosened slightly from its perfect arrangent. A faint flush colored her cheeks.
"P-Please, Miss Blanca... you really must bathe before sleeping..."
I paused mid-run and looked at her.
She was genuinely trying.
And honestly...
This was no longer about baths.
It was about my damn pride.
I huffed softly.
Sotis I really do get carried away being spoiled.
With a reluctant sigh, I padded toward her and sat down in front of her, tail curling neatly around my paws.
"Nyang."
Agatha blinked in surprise. "Are you ready to take a bath now, Miss Blanca?"
I nodded.
Agatha finally exhaled in visible relief the mont I stopped resisting and hopped into the bathtub on my own.
Warm water began filling the tub, steam curling gently upward. The scent of sothing light and floral—probably so expensive beastman-safe soap—floated through the air.
I stood there with dignified acceptance.
Fine.
If this was happening, I might as well enjoy it.
Agatha carefully adjusted the water temperature before beginning to wash . Her movents were gentle but efficient, fingers massaging shampoo into my fur in small, circular motions.
I lted.
I absolutely lted.
It had been so long since I’d experienced sothing like this.
In my past life, baths were rushed affairs squeezed between deadlines. Sotis I’d fall asleep sitting upright in a chair instead of even making it to the bathroom. Warm water like this, careful hands, no looming responsibilities—
I sighed deeply.
This... this was luxury.
Agatha rinsed thoroughly, making sure no foam remained, then gently squeezed excess water from my fur.
I was preparing myself ntally for the dreadful post-bath shivering—
When she placed a towel over .
But it wasn’t just any towel.
The mont it touched my fur, I felt sothing strange.
A faint warmth.
Within seconds, I was completely dry.
My eyes snapped open.
I looked down at myself.
Then at the towel.
Then back at Agatha.
I stared at the fabric in awe and pointed at it with one paw.
"Nya nyang nyaa?"
Translation: What kind of divine relic is that?
Agatha smiled softly at my stunned expression. "This," she held the towel up slightly so I could inspect it better. "is called Dri-Wrap. It absorbs moisture instantly. It’s commonly used by high-ranking households. Do you like it Miss Blanca?"
High-ranking households?
No.
This was not a household item.
This was a civilization breakthrough.
I nodded vigorously. ’Yes. I approve of this invention!’
Agatha chuckled—but then quickly straightened, as if she had montarily forgotten she was supposed to maintain proper maid composure. She cleared her throat lightly.
"So, Miss Blanca, are you ready to go to bed now?"
My earlier rebellion had long since evaporated with the bathwater.
I nodded obediently.
She lifted again—carefully, gently—and carried back to the bedroom. The lights were dimd to a soft golden hue. The curtains were drawn. The bed looked impossibly inviting.
The mont my body touched the mattress—
My entire being surrendered.
The blankets were cool and smooth. The pillow was perfectly fluffed. My limbs felt heavy in the most pleasant way.
A yawn escaped before I could stop it.
"Night... Aga...tha..."
Even speaking felt like too much effort.
Agatha adjusted the blanket over , tucking it gently around my small form. Her movents were quiet, precise, and warm in a way that didn’t need words.
"Good night too, Miss Blanca. Sleep well," she said softly.
Her voice was distant already.
My vision blurred.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Agatha stood beside the bed for a mont longer than necessary.
Miss Blanca was already fast asleep. Her small body rising and falling gently beneath the blanket, tail curled slightly, one paw tucked under her chin. The bath had left her fur impossibly soft, faintly scented with lavender.
Agatha’s fingers twitched.
Those cheeks.
Those tiny paws.
So round.
So dangerously pinchable.
Her hands lifted a fraction—
Then froze midair.
No.
Control.
She straightened imdiately, black gloves clasped neatly in front of her apron.
She was a graduate of the Echelon Service Academy—an institution renowned across the empire for producing elite maids and butlers. Only the best were permitted to wear black gloves bearing the crest of their chosen household. White gloves were for regular servants.
Black gloves ant excellence.
Precision.
Discipline.
Restraint.
She lowered her hands slowly.
Pinching a young lady’s cheeks—no matter how adorable—was not befitting of a black-gloved maid.
Agatha had not co from a prestigious lineage. She had no ancestral tradition of service. No inherited techniques passed down through generations.
She had only her own effort.
Her scholarship into E.S.A. had not been for perfect etiquette or academic brilliance—but for combat proficiency. Her reflexes were exceptional. Her endurance unmatched. In practical examinations, she excelled.
In theoretical grades?
...Average.
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