"I... did not."
"Did you enjoy the last night so much that you forget the important matters?"
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Isaac could see the amusement in her eyes.
"Check your system interface. It should show you what changed," she said, finally sparing him some embarrassment.
Isaac nodded, pulling up the familiar blue glow of his interface with a thought.
He swept a quick glance over the familiar stats—strength, agility, the usual metrics that had become second nature by now—and then paused.
His eyes locked onto the list of Physiques, and he froze.
Solar Draconic Physique (Level 0, Progress: 5%)
Hollow Crown Physique (Level 0, Progress: 5%)
Warthrone Physique (Level 0, Progress: 5%)
Infernal Monarch Physique (Level 0, Progress: 5%)
Sinbound Physique (Level 0, Progress: 5%)
Celestial Tempter Body (Level 0, Progress: 5%)
"...what?"
Until this point, these Physiques did not have levels, or progress bars.
But they suddenly had levels, and progress toward the next level had appeared?
This was possible?
The more he pushed himself, the more layers the world peeled back.
Strength wasn’t a straight line; it branched out in ways he couldn’t predict.
It was a reminder to never settle into complacency.
One wrong assumption, and he’d be left behind.
He needed to keep moving, keep growing, or risk stagnation in a universe that didn’t wait for anyone.
Catherine watched him, her fingers drumming lightly on the table’s edge. She didn’t interrupt right away, giving him space to absorb it.
"How much did you progress?" she asked finally.
"Five percent in each Physique." He met her gaze, a hint of accusation creeping in. "I see. So you kept this information from me on purpose, just to shock me later."
"Five percent? That’s interesting. I got thirty percent progress in my own Physique after that."
She paused, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she pieced it together.
"Since you have my physique and bloodline woven into yours now, you should’ve seen something closer to that. It seems you have Six Physiques, and the progress was distributed among them."
She leaned forward a bit, resting her chin on her hand.
"Celia’s the one with two Physiques, isn’t she?"
Isaac simply rolled his eyes.
Now, he was no longer hiding anything from her, so he had no reason to get nervous if she deduced everything.
Deep down, though, he had a feeling Celia had already spilled the details over of her Physiques.
Give how crafty Professor Catherine was, she probably extracted the information easily.
"So, how does your ability exactly work?" Isaac asked, settling in the chair.
Catherine crossed one leg over the other with a subtle shift. The motion was graceful, unhurried, like she had all the time in the world.
"It’s tied to intimacy," she began, her words measured, as if she were reciting something she’d explained a dozen times before, but to him, it felt new, intimate in its own way.
"When we kiss or have any real close contact, it pulls life force from both of us. That force fuses together, creating this new energy that’s... purer, I guess. It refines our Physiques, and pushes them past what you would consider normal limits.
"You can build Physiques through System but it’s hard. But my race’s gift? It’s effortless by comparison. That’s what makes it special."
She paused there, letting the explanation hang for a moment. Isaac nodded, piecing it together in his mind.
It fit with what he’d felt during their kiss—the surge, the warmth spreading through his veins like liquid fire.
But nothing came without a cost; he knew that better than most.
"Of course, it has drawbacks," she continued, her tone shifting to something more practical, like she was laying out terms for a deal. "Alice, Celia, Emily. They can’t benefit from it. The fusion only works for those with my bloodline and physiques.
"And since it’s drawing from life force, you can’t just spam it endlessly. Your body needs time to recover, to rebuild what was taken. Push too hard, and you’ll burn out.
"Oh, and as you already know, don’t try it with someone ranked lower than you. The drain would kill them outright. There will be no second chances there."
Isaac absorbed it all, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest.
It was a tool, powerful but double-edged. Useful for them, but limited in scope.
He could already see the strategies forming, pairings, timings, ways to maximize the gains without tipping into exhaustion.
"Makes sense. It’s like everything else in this world. Powerful, but balanced," he said.
As she finished speaking, something shifted in the air.
A faint ripple, almost imperceptible, and then a clone of Catherine materialized beside her.
It wasn’t a dramatic entrance. There was no flash of light or dramatic pose.
Just her, stepping into being with the same poised confidence, her uniform hugging her form as she moved.
Isaac’s brow furrowed in confusion as the clone sauntered toward him, hips swaying in a rhythm that was deliberate but not overt.
She reached his side, fingers deftly loosening the knot of her tie, letting it hang loose around her neck.
Then, with a casual grace, she parted his legs and sank to her knees in front of him.
"...what are you doing?" he asked, his voice dropping lower, caught between surprise and a flicker of anticipation he tried to ignore.
The clone looked up at him, her smile mirroring the original’s—playful, unapologetic.
"I have to get stronger," she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Her hands moved to his belt, unfastening it with practiced ease.
He glanced at the real Catherine across the table, who watched with that same knowing expression.
His lips twitched, a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement bubbling up.
"Do we need to do this in the library?"
She shrugged lightly, her crossed legs shifting again as she leaned back.
"I don’t want to waste time," the clone replied, her voice a perfect echo.
She tugged at his zipper, the sound sharp in the quiet room, then worked at the buttons of her own shirt.
One by one, they gave way, revealing skin that glowed softly in the lamplight.
There was no bra, just her, bare and unashamed.
Isaac’s gaze lingered for a beat longer than he meant it to, drawn to the fullness of her, the way they moved with her breath.
The clone pulled down his boxers next, freeing him with a gentle insistence.
His shaft sprang out, already responding despite his protests.
She glanced up, her eyes gleaming.
"You acted like you don’t want this. But you look pretty eager already."
Isaac opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught as she pressed forward.
She sandwiched him between her breasts.
The softness enveloped him in a wave of warmth that made his breath hitch.
It was immediate, and overwhelming in its gentleness.
Then she parted her lips, letting saliva drip down. It was sweet, warm, almost too perfect, like it was made for this.
She used it as lubricant. Her movements started slow, up and down.
"Can’t we just kiss?" he managed, his breathing quickening as the sensation took hold.
His hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles whitening slightly.
The clone’s eyes flicked up to meet his.
"You asked that pretty late," she said with a soft chuckle, resuming her motion. "If you wanted to stick to kissing, you should’ve said so sooner."
She leaned in, pressing a light kiss to the tip, her hands keeping the pressure from her breasts consistent, milking him with a deliberate pace.
"And remember what you said about your saliva? It’s addictive. I don’t mind getting addicted. But I’m guessing you wouldn’t want me in heat every hour of the day, pouncing on you when you’re trying to focus on something important. So, let’s hold off on kissing until we figure out a way to build up some resistance to it."
Isaac felt a pull in her words, a restraint she wasn’t voicing outright. She was holding back, he realized.
The thought flickered through his mind, but it scattered as her tongue flicked out, lapping at the tip with a precision that sent a jolt straight up his spine. Pleasure arched through him, sharp and insistent, making his toes curl in his boots.
Life force stirred then. There was a familiar pull deep in his core. It drained from him, from her, mingling in the air like invisible threads weaving together.
His hand moved on instinct, sliding into the soft strands of her hair.
"Haah... why does it feel better....than last night..."
The words slipped out, half-groan, half-question, as the clone took him deeper into her mouth.
Her tongue worked the sensitive spots with an intuition that bordered on uncanny, while her breasts continued their rhythmic squeeze.
The clone couldn’t speak—not with her mouth occupied—but the original Catherine could.
"I wonder why?" she said, that smile playing on her lips as she watched him unravel.
She looked like she was savoring it, the way his control frayed at the edges, his usual composure cracking under the onslaught.
He couldn’t deny it. It was too good, too tailored, like she’d mapped out every nerve and zeroed in without mercy.
If this became a daily thing, he’d be done for. He would be devoured by this sly fox before he knew it.
He needed countermeasures, maybe a word with the Sword Empress for some advice.
Still, he gritted his teeth, riding the edge.
"Anyway," Catherine added from her seat, her voice cutting through the haze like a lifeline, "we don’t have a lot of time here. It’s good that you’re enjoying it. But you need to work too."
"...what?"
Isaac’s eyes snapped to her, disbelief cutting through the fog.
Work? Now? With her clone’s mouth wrapped around him, tongue swirling, breasts pressing in? Did she think he was some kind of machine, built to multitask through anything?
But she wasn’t joking.
She reached into a stack of papers beside her—documents on city administration, housing allocations for the new arrivals, resource distribution reports—and slid the first one across the table.
"Start with this. The eastern district needs reallocation by week’s end. We can’t let it slide," she said, tapping the edge.
He had no choice. The work pulled at him, a tether to reality amid the distraction.
He scanned the page, forcing his mind to focus on numbers and names, even as waves of pleasure rolled through him.
Sentences blurred at the edges, but he pushed on, initialing approvals, noting discrepancies. It was absurd. Half his brain was tallying housing units, and the other was lost in the wet heat of her mouth.
After a stretch that felt both eternal and too short, Catherine spoke again, her clone never faltering.
"If you find it difficult to work like this, we could always ask the others for help," she suggested, her tone casual, like they were discussing dinner plans. "Just tell them we’re training to refine our Physiques. They would understand—"
"No," Isaac cut in sharply, his voice strained but firm. The last thing he needed was anyone walking in on this, seeing what his "training" was.
His image as leader—calm, decisive—would shatter in an instant.
She tilted her head, smiling.
"Are you feeling embarrassed? Fair enough. What about just Ruby, then? She’s an AI—"
"No," he said again, quicker this time, his free hand clenching the document a little too hard.
At this point, he was bargaining with himself, willing the release to come faster.
The library door loomed in his peripheral vision like a constant threat. One creak, one unexpected visitor, and his life would end.
Catherine’s smile deepened, catching the edge of panic in his eyes.
She shrugged, unperturbed, and passed over the next set of papers about trade route proposals this time.
"Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t offer a solution," she said lightly.
He dove back in, pen scratching across the page, breaths coming in uneven bursts.
The clone’s pace quickened subtly, sensing his tension, her tongue pressing just right. Life force flowed stronger now, the fusion humming in his veins, progress ticking upward invisibly. Minutes blurred. Five, ten, he lost track.
The documents piled up, initialed and sorted, a testament to his stubborn will.
Then, without warning, a screen popped up in his interface, overlaying the haze like a victory flag.
[You have completed the first Quest: ’Gather 10,000 followers’]
"...huh?"
This was the chain quest to become a God.
But how did he gain 10,000 followers? He hadn’t done anything.
Isaac suddenly had a bad premonition, recalling how last time Celia had pulled a stunt to gather 1,000 followers.
If she had done that last time, what had she done this time to gather 10,000 followers this time?
Isaac prayed it wasn’t something extreme.
However, Isaac’s horrors were just starting.
[Rewards: Second Quest, Domain Prediction Skill (Max Level)]
[Domain Prediction: Each God rules over a specific Domain. Domains are decided by your achievements, rumors related to you, life experience, and most importantly by what your followers associate you with.]
[Domain Prediction skill will show you currently the top ten domains that are being associated with you. If you continue living your life as you are, then you will become a God of one of these Domains.]
[Use skill?]
"...Yes?" Isaac muttered. He couldn’t think clearly since Catherine was still working between his legs and so muttered in a daze.
[Scanning life records of Isaac Hargraves]
[Gathering information]
[Your domains have been found]
[Domains: NTR. Lust. Harem. War. Battle. Farmer. Money. Luck. Laziness. Greedy for women.]
Isaac nearly puked blood when he saw the domains.
’What the fuck are these domains!?’
With shaking eyes, he focused on one line.
[If you continue living your life as you are, then you will become a God of one of these domains.]
Isaac had never felt as anxious as he did today.