Freya hiccupped drunkenly, clutching the railing as she wobbled up the stairs. As a siren, her natural resistance to alcohol was exceptionally high, making it nearly impossible for her to get drunk. But her body had a strange way of syncing with her emotions—when she was upset, she could drink alcohol like water; when she was happy, just the smell of it could make her tipsy.
"Ugh, I've tried every worker at Mud Café... it's about time to find a new one," she muttered to herself. "Adela mentioned a new steward-themed café near the university's west gate. I'll check it out after my scholarship comes through. Still... the abs on Mud Fish Dragon are so nice. I guess ordering him one more time wouldn't hurt…"
"Rock Dragon was a shame though. His skills were amazing, but he didn't make it past the 422 Incident…"
By the time she reached the third floor, the hallway lights were flickering erratically. Freya, unfazed, fumbled for her keys. This was an old apartment building constructed seventy years ago, with no elevator, no central heating, no air conditioning, and frequent electrical issues. The only redeeming quality was its cheap rent. If the landlord hadn't been alive, it would've been demolished and rebuilt long ago.
But that time wasn't far off. The landlord, a sixty-something beastman, would likely sell off his assets and pay for anti-aging surgery in the near future. Unlike life-extension procedures, the anti-aging surgery was much cheaper and popular among lower-level sorcerers and ordinary folks alike.
Once the research institute acquired the building, it would undoubtedly partner with real estate developers to construct taller, shinier apartments—just like the new high-rises being built near the west gate. But Freya didn't care. By then, she'd have graduated and left.
When she opened the door, she noticed the lights were on inside. Odd. Did she forget to turn them off before heading to class this morning?
Kicking off her knee-high boots and sliding into her slippers, Freya stepped inside. To her surprise, she found a hooded man sitting at her desk. He was using her Fogsea-brand "Veil of Knowledge" device, sipping on the orc-grade sweet milk she had left in the fridge, and typing away on her Cherry Milo keyboard.
Her Scottish Fold cat, String, lay lazily on the desk, stretching with its rear raised before affectionately nuzzling the man's hand.
This was a standard studio apartment: desk, bed, balcony, bathroom, and a small kitchen. Standing at the entryway, you could see everything at a glance.
Noticing her arrival, the man turned his head toward her.
"Welcome back."
"Oh, I'm back," Freya replied absentmindedly.
The man resumed his browsing. Freya scratched her head, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and downed it in one go. Her stomach churned immediately. She dashed to the bathroom and vomited a rainbow of colors into the toilet.
As she retched, she felt someone gently patting her back, making the process oddly more bearable. A stack of tissues was placed by her mouth. Without thinking, she took them. "Thanks."
After throwing up, Freya felt much more clear-headed. She tossed her clothes onto her designated "dirty laundry chair" and headed for a shower.
Under the soothing flow of warm water, her thoughts began to organize themselves. Leaning against the wall with her chin in her hand, she felt an overwhelming sense of unease, though she couldn't pinpoint why.
Suddenly, her eyes sharpened. She clapped her hands together.
"I only went twice tonight! Normally, it's three! I've been ripped off!" she exclaimed. "Even if tonight's worker wasn't the best, I paid for it. I should've powered through!"
Freshly showered, Freya meticulously dried herself with a towel, especially her underarms, under her breasts, and between her thighs. This drying ritual left her feeling unusually refreshed.
She examined the fine white hairs on her forearms and calves. It was about time to trim them. Being a siren was a hassle—regular grooming was a must, or the longer hairs would trap sweat.
Freya strolled out of the bathroom, completely naked. The balcony curtains were drawn, and she didn't expect visitors anyway. Besides, the rising temperatures and her sweat-prone body made staying in her natural state the most comfortable option.
Jumping onto her bed, she rolled around twice before calling her cat. String immediately leapt from the man's side to snuggle into her arms.
Nestling against her Meteor Dragon body pillow, Freya idly stroked String while opening her Veil of Knowledge to scroll through the school forum.
Everyone was buzzing about tonight's Blood Moon Judgment. Terms like Fennanche, social sustenance policies, and eligibility for municipal exams filled the discussions, leaving Freya utterly confused—she had been drinking at the café while the Blood Moon Judgment began.
Switching to her psychic studies group, she found heated debates there too. The group was split into "Blood Moon supporters" and "Fennanche advocates," battling it out in over 999+ messages. Scrolling endlessly, Freya couldn't even find the start of the thread. The argument revolved around whether the two Blood Moon races should exist at all.
Supporters argued that the Blood Moon races were the foundation of societal development. Their ageless lives provided stability, and their disregard for short-term profits allowed for groundbreaking sorcerer tech advancements.
Opponents countered that the Blood Moon races hindered interspecies collaboration. By monopolizing all high-level talent, they stifled the academic and magical potential of other races. The Blood Moon races' glory was built on draining others dry.
Wait, why are students debating this?
Even if you decide they shouldn't exist, will they vanish by morning?
Everyone seemed especially irritable tonight.
Was the Blood Moon Judgment really that captivating?
Freya browsed for a while, feeling antsy. Her legs rubbed together unconsciously.
Two times just wasn't enough. Three times was the magic number!
Normally, she used videos as spell catalysts, all stored on her Veil of Knowledge. The screen was a generous 32 inches, with high resolution and ample storage—perfect for her entertainment needs.
Her personal chip, a Miracle 11 model, had a measly 10 units of storage, barely enough for essential files. Meanwhile, the Veil of Knowledge boasted 800 units, and even after cramming in games and videos, it wasn't full.
But tonight, the Veil of Knowledge was in use by the hooded man. Freya walked over, glanced at the screen, and saw he was watching a replay of the Blood Moon Judgment. She tapped his shoulder.
"I need it."
"Oh, go ahead," he replied nonchalantly, vacating the chair.
Satisfied, Freya sat down and opened her New Folder.
Inside were four subfolders: Unused, Used Once, Used A Few Times, and Lost Count.
Deciding she was in no mood for exploration, she went straight to the fourth folder and clicked on a video titled Naughty Apprentice Disciplined: Hypnotic Siren Professor in Action. Dragging the progress bar to the most intense moment, the sound of soft sobs instantly enraptured her.
As she reached for her portable companion tool, a wave of unease hit her.
Why… why is the chair warm?
She turned abruptly and locked eyes with the man, who was sitting on her bed, hiding his face behind a book. He quickly averted his gaze, but Freya had snapped back to reality.
Pointing at him accusingly, she gasped.
"Wait—you're from Mud Fish Dragon, aren't you!?"
"Nope."
"Blue Flame Dragon, then?"
"Not that either."
Freya frowned, running out of guesses.
"Which café are you from? I don't remember ordering a house call."
House calls were expensive, and with her recent spending, she couldn't afford one.
"I'm not a worker."
"Then why are you in my house—wait. Even if you were, you wouldn't have my keys!"
Freya backed toward the balcony door in alarm.
"Are you a thief?"
"Nope. Actually, I'm the embodiment of the Blood Moon Sovereign. After being ambushed by an enemy, I had no choice but to remain in this weakened state. If you let me stay here for a few nights, I'll restore my full power and make you a four-winged legendary sorcerer. Deal?"
"Really!?" Freya dashed forward, clutching his hand with tear-filled eyes. "A four-winged sorcerer!?"
The man turned his gaze away from her "blinding headlights."
"Of course not."
"Wha—?"
"You get out what you put in. Becoming a four-winged sorcerer just by letting me crash here? Not gonna happen." Seeing Freya's disappointment, he quickly added, "But I can give you a spell spirit as compensation. How about that?"
"What kind of spell spirit?"
"What do you want?"
"Psychic type!"
"Done."
He opened his palm, revealing a curled-up caterpillar spell spirit. Despite its form, it was surprisingly adorable, evoking a protective instinct.
Freya recognized it immediately.
"A Compassion Spell Spirit! It's common in the psychic branch, but I don't have one yet. Deal!"
She reached for it, but he withdrew his hand.
"You'll get it when I leave."
"How do I know you won't go back on your word?"
Prepared, he produced a glowing contract paper.
"We'll sign a contract. It's insurance-certified."
And so, their peculiar deal began.