Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 178: One Normal Day

The top cock?!

"No way it’s Richard!" she whisper-yelled.

"It’s Richard," Oathran patiently nodded. "He’s gone."

"You don’t mistake him for William, right?" Cecilia glared, her expression one of deadly, absurd seriousness.

"You think I don’t know my own juniors?" Oathran glared back, the offense genuine in his hushed tone.

"Let me see. There’s no way it’s William," she insisted, the words a challenge.

"Why do you hate William so much...?" Oathran had to physically force the bubble of laughter rising in his chest back down, his grip tightening around her wrists as her hands began a mischievous, wandering descent.

"You misunderstand things. I love William," Cecilia protested, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "But Richard is the naughty one. He keeps spilling all over me from the start, so I’m... mmm—pfff... sure... he’s the one that survived... pfff..."

The sheer ridiculousness of the statement caught up with her halfway through, and she dissolved into a series of choked, silent giggles, burying her face in his shoulder to stifle the sound.

Oathran stared at the ceiling, his own composure cracking. "So, because Richard is the naughty one—huhuhuhhh... aaaah..." He took a shuddering breath, fighting for control. "You believe he’s the one who stayed?" He managed to glare again, though it was undermined by the trembling of his lips.

"Let me see," Cecilia demanded, her glare now full of faux-seriousness, all sparkling eyes and a smile she couldn’t quite suppress.

"Fine. Like I can’t differentiate the twins, huh?" Oathran huffed, forcefully locking her slippery hands in his. "You’re offending me, Saintess." His own smile was a betraying tremor.

"Ah, let me see...!" Cecilia whisper-yelled, a playful struggle ensuing.

With a long-suffering hiss, his face twitching with the effort of not laughing outright, Oathran relented. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his sleep pants and tugged them down just enough. "See," he declared with false solemnity. "It’s William."

Cecilia leaned in, narrowing her eyes as if conducting a forensic examination. "No," she pronounced after a moment. "It’s Richard."

"It feels like William," Oathran insisted, playing along.

"Make it hard and I’ll be so sure it’s Richard. No, make it hard and let me touch it," Cecilia bargained, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.

A faint blush crept up his neck. "It’s already getting hard because you’re staring at it, okay...?"

"Good boy," she purred, the praise utterly incongruous and wildly effective.

He groaned, a sound of pure, defeated affection. "...Cecilia... mm..."

Her fingers, now freed, traced a light, exploratory path. "It’s Richard. See?" Her tone was one of clinical triumph. "These veins... they always caught on my tongue..."

Oathran’s breath hitched. "Really...? It’s really Richard...?" The question was half-genuine curiosity, half a plea for her to continue.

"Mmm... Willy has... veins to the side... and Dick is..." Her lecture was cut short as her hand settled into a gentle stroking rhythm.

"Ahh... sssshhh... stroke it more..." The words escaped him in a ragged whisper, all pretense of the debate forgotten, lost in the sensation of her touch in the quiet dark.

CLICK! SLAM!

The door flew open with a violence that shook the walls.

"I SAID NO PRE-MARITAL SEX IN MY HOUSE!"

Professor Baswara’s roar was a thunderclap of pure, outraged propriety.

But the scene that greeted him, of Cecilia yanking her hand back as if burned, and Oathran scrambling to haul his pants up with frantic haste, was decidedly not the chaste kissing he’d been prepared to interrupt.

The old professor’s face, already set in a scowl, underwent a rapid, apoplectic transformation. His eyes bulged, he looked for a moment as if he might actually clutch his chest.

These two—were actually about to—

"OATHRAN ALICEI! KNEEL OUTSIDE UNTIL YOU KNOCK SOME SENSE INTO YOUR HEAD!"

"AH WHY? I DON’T WANT TO DIE A VIRGIN!" 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"YEAH? HOW ABOUT DON’T DIE IN MY HANDS BEFORE YOU DIE?"

***

"AH—CH—"

The violent, undignified sneeze shattered the crisp silence of the pre-dawn air. Oathran stood, shoulders hunched, queuing with Cecilia behind a group of bleary-eyed merchants waiting their turn at the remote teleportation gate.

The cold seeped through his uniform, a deep, bone-aching reminder of his punishment. That old tyrant had actually made him kneel outside on the hard cold ground of the training yard for a full hour.

And, like a gargoyle of moral judgment, Baswara had watched him the entire time from the open hallway, cocooned between two glowing magic heaters, muttering darkly about failed upbringing and the decline of youthful virtue.

Cecilia, bundled beside him, glanced up at his profile. His nose was slightly red, his usually impeccable posture defeated by a lingering chill. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest. Her hand, already buried in the deep pocket of his coat, tightened around his cold fingers.

"I shouldn’t have teased you, Your Majesty," she whispered, the words a soft cloud in the frigid air. "Forgive me."

Oathran looked down at her, his grey eyes still holding a trace of aggrieved martyrdom. "You know your mistakes," he stated, his voice gravelly. "Now kiss me."

"Later," she murmured, a faint smile touching her lips.

"Now."

"Ugh..." She sighed, the sound more fond than exasperated.

Rising on her tiptoes, she pulled him down and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his lips, a small flag of surrender planted in the cold morning.

As they finally stepped through the shimmering arch of the teleportation gate and the familiar, manicured grounds of Scholomance Athenaeum wrapped around them, they shared a look.

Today would be different. Today would be normal. The most aggressively, beautifully mundane day ever conceived.

They drifted through their exams like ghosts, their minds split between rote magical theory and the precious, ticking seconds of borrowed time.

Lunch was a quiet affair in a sun-dappled corner, sharing a sandwich without words, their knees touching under the table.

In the afternoon, between exam sessions, they simply... wandered. They toured the entire sprawling campus, from the oldest, moss-covered library wing to the gleaming new alchemy pavilions, arm in arm.

They ignored the stares, the hushed gossip that trailed them. They pointed out ridiculous gargoyles, debated the architectural merits of different halls, and laughed. Real, light laughs that seemed to startle the very air.

Dinner found them in the bustling cafeteria hall, just two students among hundreds, joining the queue, choosing their meals. It was perfectly, painfully ordinary.

When the meal was done and the sky had deepened to indigo, they walked together to the fork in the path that led to the separate dormitories. They stopped at the entrance to the girls’ hall, a pool of golden light spilling onto the dark path.

"Good night, Saintess," Oathran said softly, his hand lifting to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

"Sweet dreams, Your Majesty," she replied, leaning into the touch for a fleeting second.

She waved, a small, backward gesture as she climbed the steps. He didn’t move, a tall, still silhouette against the night, watching until the heavy door swung shut behind her, swallowing her golden hair into the warm light within.

Three days left.

There should have been three days left.

But weather predictions were sometimes inaccurate. Models failed. Anomalies occurred.

In the deepest, darkest hour of the night, long before the first student stirred or the kitchen staff began their morning clatter...

The first snow had fallen.