NTR: Stealing wives in Another World-Chapter 18: Torsion

Allen was just about to declare it a semi-successful market run—no one arrested, no crates stolen, only one really dumb trade—when it happened.

They were packing up, just loading the last of the leftover herbs into a woven basket, when the guards from earlier returned. Same sneers. Same fake professionalism wrapped in obvious disdain.

"Oi," one of them barked, stepping right up to Fina. "You. Tail-fluffer."

Allen blinked. "Excuse me?"

The guard didn't look at him. His eyes were fixed squarely on Fina, and not in the appreciative way. More like he'd spotted dirt on his shoe.

"That skirt. Too long."

Fina looked down at the feathered piece barely hanging onto her hips. "It's literally just feathers."

"Exactly," the other guard cut in. "Regulations say two large feathers and no side braids on the waist string. Yours has beads. Decorative. Not allowed."

Allen's jaw dropped. "You're seriously harassing her over beads?"

"It's uniform protocol," the first guard said with a snide grin. "Can't have beastkin getting creative with their outfits. Next thing you know, they'll start asking to wear shirts."

Fina's tail bristled. Her ears twitched once—slow, deliberate. She wasn't mad.

Not yet.

She was insulted.

Allen stepped in, physically between them. "You've got humans running around in see-through silk skirts and some guy selling meat from a boot. You wanna lecture her about uniform regs?"

"She's not human," the second guard muttered.

Fina folded her arms, calm but deadly. "Do you stare this hard at your own people's crotches? Or am I just that threatening with extra beads?"

The first guard flushed. "Watch your mouth, beast."

Allen took a breath. A long, dangerous breath. "Let me explain something real simple. You touch her, I break your fingers. You insult her again, I make you eat your badge."

The guards weren't laughing anymore.

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Neither was Allen.

Rilo, still wearing his tragic hat, whispered, "Should I... go get help?"

"No," Fina said, voice steady. "We're fine."

Mirka showed up just then, carrying a sack of coin and looking confused. "What's happening? Are we trading threats now?"

Fina didn't blink. "Apparently my beads are a public menace."

Mirka's eyes narrowed, sharp and ready. "That right? You wanna come adjust them yourself, soldier boy? I dare you."

The guards exchanged a look, muttered something about "filthy mutts," and turned to leave—but not before throwing one last warning over their shoulders.

"Next time, strip it down. Or don't bother coming back."

Allen watched them go, fists clenched.

"Why do they even care?" Rilo asked, tail twitching nervously. "It's not like we're hurting anyone."

"Because they need to feel in control," Fina muttered. "That's all this is. Control. Rules for us. Exceptions for them."

Allen looked at her. Really looked.

She didn't look mad anymore.

She looked tired.

He exhaled slowly and nodded. "Next time, we're bringing backup. And maybe a distraction. Or a giant monster skull."

Fina's lip curled into a grin. "Now you're thinking like a beastkin."

The tension from the guard confrontation lingered in the air like bad perfume as Allen, Fina, Mirka, and Rilo packed up their stuff at the market. There wasn't much to do now except head back to the village, but Allen wasn't feeling particularly eager to walk after what had happened at the gate. The guards had made their threats, sure, but they hadn't laid a hand on Fina—and Allen made sure they wouldn't. His blood was still simmering, and it was giving him bad ideas.

As they made their way through the market square, Allen couldn't help but feel like something was off. It wasn't just the fact that the guards were being jerks, or the weird looks they were still getting from the human vendors. No, it was something... else. Something prickling in the back of his brain.

But then it happened. The universe—or perhaps just his absolutely amazing luck—decided to throw another curveball. Right as they were passing by one of the food stalls, a man—looking like he'd had one too many drinks—stepped into Allen's path.

"Oi! What're you lookin' at, huh?" the man slurred, his eyes blurry with alcohol.

Allen blinked. He was just trying to walk. He hadn't even noticed the guy, let alone looked at him. But here he was, all up in Allen's face like he was ready for a fight.

"Nothing, mate. Just trying to get by," Allen said, taking a step back.

But the drunkard wasn't having it.

"You're a beastkin lover, aren't you?" he spat, slurring the words like they were poison. "A freakin' human acting like you belong with the animals. I'll teach you your place—"

Before Allen could respond with anything remotely clever—or effective—the man swung at him. His fist came at Allen's face, but Allen wasn't in the mood to take hits. So, without thinking, he stepped aside and used his infamous skill—one that had saved his ass more times than he could count.

"Testicular Torsion."

A wave of pain surged through the drunkard's body. His legs buckled, and he went down with a scream, clutching his groin like he'd been hit by a freight train. His face turned a shade of red that wasn't normal, even for someone with a bad hangover. The crowd around them took a few steps back, some whispering, others trying to hold back their laughter.

The drunkard whimpered, eyes watering, not able to say anything coherent other than a series of groans and curses. He collapsed onto the cobblestones, his body trembling as if he'd just experienced the worst thing imaginable.

"Y-you... bastard!" he sputtered, barely able to stand. "What did you do to me?!"

Allen didn't even have to look at Fina or Mirka to know they were both grinning. Mirka's laughter was muffled by her hand, but she wasn't even trying to hide it. Fina was just smirking, tail flicking in amusement.

"That," Allen said calmly, like he was explaining how to boil water, "is called 'Testicular Torture.' My skill causes no permanent damage, but it does make your body feel like you've been hit by a sledgehammer to the balls. It's very... effective."

The drunkard's eyes went wide. "You're insane!"

Allen shrugged. "You mess with me, you get the testicle strike. Basic rule of life, really."

Rilo, standing behind Allen, looked genuinely concerned. "Is that even a good thing to do, though?"

Allen rolled his eyes. "Relax. It's a simple, non-lethal skill. It doesn't even cause injury—just pain. For a while. Like a reset button for your dignity. He'll live. Eventually."

The drunk man grunted, still curled in the fetal position, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Next time," Allen continued, as the crowd began to disperse, "maybe stick to buying your vegetables and leave the tough guy act to the professionals." He grinned and gave the man a mock salute.

Fina raised an eyebrow. "You really have no filter, do you?"

"Filter? I don't need no stinkin' filter," Allen said, tossing his hair dramatically. "It's a gift, really. A divine talent."

Mirka walked up, patting Allen on the shoulder. "You're terrible. You know that?"

"Yeah," Allen said, giving her a side-eye. "But I'm your terrible, and you love it."

The drunk guy finally managed to crawl to his feet, eyes wild with rage. "You'll pay for this, human!"

Allen didn't even flinch. He glanced at him, then at Fina, who was holding a bag of herbs like she had zero interest in the whole drama. Allen put up a hand, just before the drunkard could make another move.

"Okay, buddy. Enough drama. If you're still not satisfied, I can do it again."

The drunkard took one more look at him, then looked down at his bruised groin. He swallowed hard, then turned away, muttering something under his breath as he limped off into the crowd.

"Well," Allen said, turning back to Fina and Mirka, "I'd say that went pretty well."

Fina chuckled, shaking her head. "You really know how to leave an impression."

"I'm just here for the chaos," Allen shrugged. "So, what's next? Back to the village?"

"Yeah," Fina replied, "but if we run into another idiot like that, you're on your own. I'm not getting involved in your... skills."

Mirka shot him a playful grin. "I think he learned his lesson. But seriously, that was hilarious."

Allen smirked. "Of course it was. I'm a master at pain-induced comedy."

The rest of the walk back to the village was uneventful—thankfully. As they passed through the gates and into familiar territory, Allen couldn't help but chuckle to himself. The drunk guy had been annoying, but now he was nursing a bruised ego and an even more bruised pride. At least in this world, he could get away with stuff like that.

But as he glanced over at Fina and Mirka, he knew one thing for sure: if anyone else tried to mess with them again, it wouldn't just be Testicular Torture that they'd have to worry about.