Chapter 40: Competitive Spirit
Alman was bewilderedly held in Evelia’s embrace. His recently rebooted brain gradually started to regain clarity, shifting his thoughts from “What does she mean by this?” to “How on earth could she lift me up?” It took him a solid ten seconds.
What was frightening was that Evelia held Alman effortlessly, her arms steady and her legs straight, not even breathing hard as if throwing him up in the air suddenly wouldn’t be a challenge at all.
In that moment, Alman’s thought transformed into, “—Could it be that she is trying to show off her strength to me…!”
To Evelia, this act was a way to declare that she was reliable, but to Alman, it became a “challenge,” indicating how strong she was, warning this Commander of the Knight Order not to meddle in things that were better left alone; otherwise, those arms that could easily lift him could just as easily snap his neck.
Thus, Alman’s fighting spirit was ignited by this simple act.
“——!”
Evelia was barely under 1.7 meters tall, and with a surge of effort, Alman pushed her arms down, then stomped his thigh on the ground to gain stability. Once one foot was firmly planted, he leveraged his body’s strength to tilt Evelia downwards, steadied the other foot on the ground, and then pressed one hand against Evelia’s back while dragging her abdomen with the other. In just a few seconds, their positions instantly changed from “Evelia carrying Alman in a princess carry” to “Alman hoisting Evelia onto his shoulder,” a shift in offense and defense.
Evelia found herself leaning against Alman’s shoulder, her waist firmly gripped by his hand, her face resting against his back, and her legs draped over him.
She exerted herself to push up, turning her head sideways to look back, just in time to see Alman’s expression, which seemed to reflect triumph.
Seeing herself as a sandbag being carried by Alman, Evelia frowned slightly, initially just wanting to prove her strength. But now, at the moment Alman chose to resist, the strange competitive spirit between them sparked.
Evelia took a deep breath and before Alman could ask her about her condition, she had already raised one leg. Being an agile assassin who had now transformed into a woman, her body was much more flexible and lightweight. With this movement, she became even more adept than before.
Her intention was to hook Alman’s neck with her leg to flip him backward and pin him down, but as soon as she lifted her leg, the view under her maid’s skirt was revealed to Alman, who instinctively turned his head out of reflex.
And then it was not just a glance.
As Alman instinctively tried to look away, Evelia’s leg had already clamped around him. Normally, such a maneuver would require wrapping around the neck for leverage to throw another person off balance, but Alman was standing too firmly, forcing Evelia to change her angle and exert force upward. Instead of merely wrapping around his neck, she executed a high kick, trapping Alman’s head between her legs.
Yes, trapped—completely.
There was no front or back; he was enveloped entirely.
And the positioning was quite fortuitous.
Alman felt, in an instant, a soft sensation enveloping his vision, followed by what seemed like a moist warmth sticking to his nostrils. A sticky sound echoed beneath the white cotton fabric, and the spot where their lips met was even hotter than he had imagined.
Alman could have maintained his stance, but the awkward position led him to choose to give in, almost voluntarily following Evelia’s force down.
With a thud, Alman leaned back, making a solid sound as he hit the ground. He wanted to cry out in pain, but Evelia did not budge; she simply sat down, muffling him completely.
“Mr. Alman, are you alright?”
Evelia asked about his condition with her usual stiff tone, but Alman was “silenced,” unable to respond. In some sense, he could say he was “doing perfectly well” or “feeling worse than ever.”
“Mmm—”
Perhaps due to Alman’s breathing and the simple movements of his lips, Evelia felt something unusual. Her body trembled slightly as she realized that this action was a bit disrespectful towards Alman, who was not currently an enemy.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Mr. Alman.”
Yet she still hadn’t realized anything else; she adjusted her posture without flushing a bit.
“……”
After Alman emitted a muffled sound beneath her, Evelia backed away, granting him some breathing space. However, it seemed she was still in a competitive mood, remaining seated on Alman’s chest while pressing her hands on his shoulders, as if she were ready to grapple him down like in a free-fight should he attempt to do anything.
“……”
“Mr. Alman?”
Sitting atop Alman’s chest, Evelia could feel his breathing and heartbeat. Although his heart raced and he breathed heavily, Evelia merely considered it a natural reaction after physical exertion. In any case, she knew Alman was alive and not so fragile as to die after being thrown onto the ground.
In combat, physical contact was inevitable. Evelia had been taught from a young age that victory was the only thing that mattered; one should not care about their feelings or those of others. No matter what actions were taken, victory was all that counted.
Evelia didn’t care about the current situation; for her, even a casual finger touch was simply basic physical contact. In battle, even a grab on a critical spot was merely a fighting technique—a tactic that might earn her some derogatory remarks but ultimately resulted in victory.
Her fighting style mirrored her life philosophy: as long as she secured victory, completed her mission, and satisfied the Second Prince, she could do anything.
That was what she lived for.
But Alman was different; he wasn’t like Evelia, who was somewhat emotionally detached due to the education from Nightingale House.
He didn’t give Evelia much response; instead, he crossed his arms in front of his face in a cross shape, hiding his entire face except for his nose, which was left to breathe what felt like scarce fresh air.
“Mr. Alman…?”
“I’m fine…” He interrupted Evelia’s mechanical concern, pressing his arms even more tightly against his face. “Could you please get off me?”
“……Okay.”
Since Alman said this, Evelia assumed he had conceded in their confrontation. She obediently stood up from Alman’s body and reached out to help him up.
But Alman rejected her hand, rising quickly, turning without a word, and walking away, leaving Evelia standing there with her outstretched hand still grasping the air.
“……Ah.”
She looked at her empty hand, then at the quickly departing Alman, feeling inexplicably a little disappointed.
On the other side, Alman hurriedly took a detour, realizing he had accidentally walked in the wrong direction toward the door, heading back to his bedroom after getting overstimulated. After a significant detour, he avoided Evelia’s path and returned to his room.
As soon as he entered the bedroom, he locked the door with a click, then with a thud, leaned against it in an almost exhausted state, panting heavily.
His face and neck were as red as Evelia’s favorite tomato sauce.
