Aiden ran.
The halls of Lustris Academy echoed with the wet slap of his shoes on marble, the sound indecently loud in the early evening quiet.
He didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
The laughter still rang in his ears.
"Don't let him go without cumming this time!" a voice jeered, sharp and gleeful.
Aiden turned a hard corner.
His cloak snagged on the edge of a water rune etched into the wall and tore.
Didn't matter.
He kept going.
His heart pounded, lungs seared.
Something damp—not water—grazed his neck.
Another failed lube projectile, courtesy of his pursuers' juvenile Lustcraft.
"Fuck me sideways," he panted, "they're actually trying to sexually hex me into detention."
Lustris Academy was a top-tier magic school.
Which meant it was also full of top-tier assholes.
His breath fogged in the air—the corridor was colder here.
Older.
This wing wasn't on any student map.
He hadn't meant to come this way, but adrenaline had taken over, steering him into the unknown.
He slowed, chest heaving, in a narrow hallway lit by sconces that burned without flame.
The walls were gray stone, cracked and worn, edges softened by age.
The air smelled of dust, parchment, and something stranger, warm incense, like a temple… or a boudoir.
Behind him, the voices faded, redirected.
Maybe they didn't know this wing existed.
Neither did he.
At the end of the hall stood a single door.
The wood was dark—not stained, but soaked in centuries of shadows.
Smooth, unmarred by scratches or student pranks.
Above it, a polished bronze plaque gleamed as if wiped daily:
✦ Virgin Detective Club ✦
Entry is Binding.
"…The hell kind of detective-ass bullshit is this?" Aiden muttered.
He reached for the handle.
Brass.
Slightly curved.
Normal.
But as his fingers brushed it, a prickle ran down his neck.
A subtle heat bloomed in his chest.
The sensation of being watched.
No—invited.
Something inside wanted him to open the door.
Not violently. Not hungrily.
Knowingly.
He swallowed.
The corridor was silent, but it felt… shifted.
Like a camera lens snapping into focus on this moment.
One step.
Two.
He touched the knob again.
It was warm.
Too warm.
His fingers tingled.
He turned it.
The door didn't creak—it exhaled.
A soft, humid breath, perfumed with burning candles, sweat-soaked sheets, and crushed roses.
Then the sound—gods help him—a moan.
"Ah~"
Soft. Feminine. Half-sigh, half-gasp.
Aiden froze, still outside the threshold.
Something inside had reacted to him.
"…Okay," he whispered. "I'm either walking into a magical sex club…"
He stepped through the doorway.
"…or a fucking trap."
The door shut behind him without a sound.