“Woop! Emma!”

  One of the girls with twin ponytails called out, her voice cutting through the club’s thumping bass. “I see you’re not alone. Which poor guy did you–owh fuck! That’s a damn good-looking one.”

  “Wait? For real?” Another girl turned, her eyes trailing from Jin's boots up towards his face. “Oh, Daddy. That’s a real hottie, alright. Where did you get him?”

  Their idle conversation died as the rest of the table looked up. By then, Jin realised he’d been had. He had expected a table for two – a quiet corner to negotiate. And flirt.

  But he didn’t expect the whole damned party. Worse, Emma had left him standing alone as she climbed the step and sank into her seat. She leaned back against the plush cushion, crossing her legs with a slow, deliberate grace. She was no longer a ‘pretty face’ at the bar. Here, in the dim light of her own territory, she carried the poise of a queen among her generals.

  “Hi,” Jin introduced himself. He didn't let their numbers and attention get to him. “I’m Stein. Frank Stein. You can call me Frank.”

  “Oh my. So polite,” said a third girl, swirling the ice in her drink. Despite her attempt to sound disinterested, Jin caught her gaze lingering on his crotch a little too long.

  “Polite? Handsome? Whatever.” The last member of the group stood up and closed the distance, her hand snaking out to grab Jin’s arm. “What’s the point if he’s skin–ohh? Damn. Aren’t you hiding something impressive there?”

  Since Jin wore a long-sleeved shirt, the girls couldn’t make out his body frame. But he knew that in this game, first impressions mattered.

  “Here,” Jin said, pulling his sleeve up towards his elbow. “Is that better? I was telling Emma earlier that I’m good with my hands.”

  The girl who grabbed him began to caress the veiny muscle of his forearm, her eyes glazed in excitement. “Where did you get this guy, Emma? Fuck it. I’m taking him home.”

  “Oi. Over my dead body, you slut. He’s mine. Got it?!” Emma giggled, though there was a hint of jealousy in her eyes.

  “What do you mean he’s yours?”

  “I found him first.”

  “I found him second,” said the twin-ponytailed girl. “So, I get to dig him after you’re done?”

  The girl holding Jin’s arm pouted. “Fine. Fine. I guess I’m the third one.”

  Despite the chaos, Jin remained unflustered. Emma beckoned him to sit next to her, and he obliged, his calm acting like a beacon that drew the girls' bickering even more. Eventually, a few stray stares fell their way. The next table’s patrons shifted in their seats; their ire rose towards the group.

  Yet, all Emma did was stare back at them and then it was gone. No more unwanted attention.

  “I’m Yoko,” the third girl with the tattoo on her neck spoke up, finally showing some discipline. “That slut holding your arm earlier is Batrisha. A local girl.”

  “I’m no slut!” the girl countered. “I-I like men with muscles. That’s all.”

  “Frank, I’m Milly,” said the girl with the twin ponytails, offering a sharp, knowing wink.

  “And that over there who called you Daddy is Anri,” Emma added, gesturing to the last of the group who sat with a demure, almost feline stillness. “She’s the least bitchy, but don’t let her fool you. She’s a proper succubus, alright.”

  “If anyone is the succubus here, it’s you, Emma,” Yoko retorted with a smirk. “You rope in a guy and by the time you're done, he looks like his soul has been sucked out dry.”

  “Hey. That was ages ago.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Still true anyway. But you know, I have to agree with the girls,” Yoko said, her eyes tracing the line of Jin's jaw. “This Frank is quite appetising.”

  “Better than the last one who ran away before he even got seated,” Anri added, and the group erupted into another round of laughter.

  Jin offered a thin, warm smile, unfazed by the girls' boisterous yet thirsty chatter. While the air was thick with the scent of perfume, alcohol, and hormones, his mind remained elsewhere, assessing the women before him with sharp intent. He wasn't looking for a night of fun, nor to surround himself with a harem. He was looking for the strength and reliability he needed to climb the labyrinth towards the 30th Floor.

  His gaze swept over the group. He didn't need Tome's mouthy commentary to see they were a formidable lot, though the bird provided the numbers anyway.

  Shimamono Yoko, the Hexmaster, sat at Level 89, while Siti Nur Batrisha was the Level 91 Shield Guardian. The other two, Marilyn Tan Wei Li and Anriya Therault Watanasin, rounded out the party at Level 88 as a White Mage and Spell Weaver, respectively.

  It was a perfectly balanced team, and the air around the girls, as chaotic as they were, hummed with the weight of their combined power. So, the girls had strength. Time for Jin to see whether these girls are reliable or not.

  “So, Frank,” Yoko teased, leaning closer until her shoulder brushed his. “Emma says you’re good with your hands. What exactly do those fingers do? Are you a thief? A musician?”

  Jin rubbed his chin, thinking of the best words to describe what he used to do for a living that earned him the name Dr Frankenstein. “Neither,” he finally said, “I have a steady hand because I’ve spent years in dangerous places, surrounded by mess, focusing on precision.”

  “Dangerous places? Mess? Precision?” Emma leaned forwards, her curiosity piqued. “You mean like now? With us?”

  Jin nodded. “Believe me when I say I can push that large, thick thread into those small, tight holes with my eyes closed.”

  The laughter at the table stopped.

  Batrisha let out a sharp, choked sound, her hand flying to her mouth. Across him, Milly’s eyes went wide, her breath stalling in a way that was audible even over the bass. Anri was coy, fidgeting over her glass while Yoko almost spilt her drink.

  “Oh god,” Batrisha whispered, her face flushing a deep, vivid crimson. “With your eyes closed?”

  “Mhm. When you’re experienced, it’s all about the feel,” Jin continued, his voice a low, active drawl that carried no hint of a joke. “Once you’ve done it a few thousand times, the resistance tells you everything you need to know. One, two, push, and it goes all the way in pass the skin. As far as I can get then I’ll twirl it once or twice. Give it a knot and bam. Done.”

  Milly gasped. “Done?”

  “Not done done. I still need to pull and push again. Once you get the rhythm right, you don't even need to see to know when you've hit the mark. Wet or dry, it’s all the same. I like it messy and wet, though. Need all that lubricant.”

  “Even if it's flooding?” Yoko leaned, brushing Jin’s arm. “I know some who are proper mess, alright.”

  She shot a wink at Emma, and the ‘Queen’ herself waved her away.

  “Especially if it's flooding,” he smirked. “Also, can never forget to feel the tip as I prick all the way through.”

  “Uhhm… the tip?”

  “Tip. The pointy little thing,” Jin’s voice dropped almost to a whisper as if he was sharing some top secret. “You've got to feel it. Wiggle it around. Look for it. Every. Single. Time. Behind all the mess, never forget the tip.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Jin wondered why the girls didn't interrupt his monologue, but as he looked at their dazed expressions, he realised the reason. The air was thick with sudden breathless heat.

  Batrisha was the first to break. The muscular woman, who could likely stand in front of a charging beast without blinking, now had her face flushed with a deep shade of beet-red.

  “I–I need... to wash… my…my face,” she stammered, nearly knocking over the table as she stood. She didn't look back as she hurried towards the restrooms.

  Yoko watched her go, fanning herself with her hands and shifting the hem of her tank top to let the air in. “She’s... she’s had too much to drink. I’d better check on her.” The girl’s voice was a pitch higher than usual as she slid off her seat, but not before she stole a quick, lingering glance at Emma and Jin.

  Across from them, Milly and Anri looked like they were on the verge of a collective meltdown. The former was biting her lip so hard it was turning white, while the latter was staring at the mahogany table as if trying to find a hidden meaning in the wood grain.

  “Air,” Anri choked out, grabbing Milly’s arm. “We need air. The bass is... it’s too much in here.”

  The two of them scrambled off the dais, heading up the stairs towards the balcony terrace with a frantic energy that left the table filled with a sudden, awkward silence.

  Emma was the only one left.

  Though the ‘Queen’ remained in her plush seat, she had been stripped of her generals. She no longer leaned back in comfort. Instead, she perched on the edge of the cushion, her gaze fixed on Jin.

  “Well,” Emma said, the word trailing off into a dry, breathless laugh. “You certainly know how to strip a woman of her powers.”

  “Powers are not the only thing I could strip you off, you know,” Jin said, his voice low and steady. “And you’re the naughty one for catching me off guard by bringing me here. I call it even.”

  Emma giggled, a genuine sound that lacked its earlier edge. “Fair enough.”

  The air between the two was electric, wrapped tight with a strong, intimate tension. But neither wanted to move first. Not because they were uninterested, but because in this final stretch of the hunt, the first to flinch would lose the control. If Jin turned too obvious now, he would break the spell. And perhaps he knew if Emma pushed too hard, she risked looking desperate – something a ‘Queen’ herself never allowed.

  She had brought him to this private table to even the odds, surrounding him with her allies to overwhelm his senses. Forcing him to look desperate instead. He knew the tactic. Even his late wife, Elyzabeth, despite appearing unfussed in public, behind closed doors, she was wild. Wilder than any of these girls had shown so far.

  But the strategy had backfired. Emma’s generals had fled, leaving her solitary and exposed.

  The scent of her perfume mixed with the slight sweet tinge of her wine from her breath drifted towards him, mingling with the rising heat of the club. She didn't look away. Her eyes were intense, a silent challenge urging him to be the one to break the stalemate.

  Perhaps he should. But not on her terms.

  “Emma,” Jin said, his voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere. “Want to play a game?”

  The question caught her off guard. The sexual tension dropped like an anvil as curiosity replaced the smoulder in her eyes. It was the first dip on the rollercoaster Jin was building.

  “A game? What kind of game?” Emma asked.

  Jin didn’t explain but excused himself. He then returned a moment later with a borrowed stack of cards, and after clearing the table, he fanned them out.

  “Back when I was younger, we used to play Strip Poker. Know the game?”

  Despite her cracking a smile, Emma shook her head.

  “Then played poker before?”

  “A little. Not very good at it.”

  Jin saw through the lie right away. For someone who frequented nightclubs like Medusa and had their own private table? Nothing could be further from the truth. Behind that faint smile lurked a predator. Even if the alcohol had dulled a little of her senses, she was no amateur.

  “Strip Poker follows the standard rules,” Jin explained, pretending that he didn’t notice the obvious lie. “But we don't play for money. For every lost hand, you forfeit a piece of clothing.”

  Emma’s smile widened, her eyes gleamed in delight. “And this is how you intend to strip me, Frank? After being so direct with the others?”

  “If I win, yes,” Jin replied with a teasing tilt of his head. “But if you win, you get to see something the other girls didn't. Since you earned it yourself, the girls can't blame you for winning, can they?”

  Emma bit her lip, her gaze locked onto his as she reached for the deck. “Very well. Let the game begin.”

  ***

  In just five rounds, the game ended.

  As Jin reached for the final piece of his clothing – his briefs – Emma finally broke her character. She rushed towards his side and straddled him, pinning him against the cushions.

  “You naughty boy,” she whispered, her tongue tracing the line of his neck. “You’ve been teasing me non-stop.”

  It was exactly what Jin had intended. To get a woman like Emma to make the first move, he had to provide a show. A striptease, when executed with the right rhythm, was a form of psychological siege. Jin was no slouch; he had performed it every single night for his late wife, Elyzabeth. But doing so here without context would have been off-putting. The poker game had been his excuse, and the trap had snapped shut.

  “You’re so warm. And hard,” Emma murmured, her fingers tracing the sides of his chest and abs.

  “That’s not the only place that is hard,” Jin teased. He leaned in and whispered into her ear, sending a visible shiver through her.

  “Oh, you tease…”

  Jin didn't need a second invitation. He had Emma in the palm of his hand. Five times she squirmed and wiggled within his embrace, and by the time her thighs stained, and her breath came in gasps, the world around them was a distant blur. Only the thumping of the bass provided the rhythm; their hearts beating together, their movements synchronised.

  “Come back… with me… tonight,” she breathed on the back of his ear before biting it. “I. Want. You.”

  “I will. But I’ll need a favour from you after that,” Jin said. He kept his voice as calm as possible, refusing to let the erotic scent of the night sweep him away. He was still a man on a mission.

  “Any… anything for you…”

  ***

  It was well into the next morning before Jin returned to the hotel suite. Emilia was still asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, he pulled a few pillows and a blanket from the closet and settled onto the sofa for a short nap.

  What happened during those wee hours had to remain secret. Not because Emilia was his ‘fiancée’, but because he didn't want to worry her. Or to trigger a bout of unnecessary jealousy.

  He knew how the Lowenhald girl felt, but since she was no older than his daughter, his conscience acted as a hard brake. A stake through his heart. Emilia might have made her own sexual advances, and while he couldn't stop her, he could stop himself from crossing the line.

  “Damn. It’s been a while. My body feels like lead,” Jin muttered, half-asleep. He tried to turn onto his side, but something blocked him. “E-Emilia?! What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

  Emilia opened her eyes, groggy but stubborn. “I was. Alone. Then you returned. You smell funny, Frank.”

  “Don’t go smelling people!”

  “You’re not people. You’re my fiancé,” she said, her arms tightening around him. “At least while we’re here.”

  From one woman’s arms to another. To most men, this was paradise; to Jin, it was a nightmare. Good thing that he hadn't given Emma his address. Only his contact number, or else she would follow him here, and this would have been another round of endless lovemaking. His wife aside, no woman had ever satiated him. Emma had come very close.

  He had returned with his clothes intact and had been too tired to strip, which was his only saving grace. Otherwise, Emilia – who only wore lingerie to sleep – would be clinging to his bare skin. He spent ten minutes trying to peel her away, but she only gripped harder, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  In the end, he gave up and fell into a heavy sleep. He reckoned that by the time she woke, she’d realise what she was doing and pull away in embarrassment.

  Alas, Emilia knew no such embarrassment.

  “Hehehe. You’re the best bolster ever, Frank!” she chirped when Jin finally managed to untangle himself at noon. “A little hard, but so warm.”

  “Alright, enough of that,” Jin said, standing up, wiping dried drool from his shoulder. “We have things to do. Do you mind if I take the shower first?”

  “Oh? Ah, sure. Please, go ahead, Frank. Hehehe.”

  Something about her tone was off, but Jin didn't have time to dwell on it. He had a meeting to attend courtesy of his late-night activities, and he didn't want to keep his new guest waiting. Last night, he had found the perfect partnership.

  “Oh my!” Emilia shrieked as Jin took his shirt off in the bathroom. “What happened to your body, Frank?”

  Jin looked down. “Oh. Hahaha. Tropical mosquitoes can be quite large, you know.”

  Love bites scattered across his chest and neck – the blue-black evidence of Emma’s thirst. Fortunately, Emilia seemed naive enough to believe the lie.

  “You should get some repellent, Frank,” she said, “I think Elise prepared one for us. Let me get it for you.”

  Once Jin finished with his shower, Emilia was already at the door. Mosquito cream on one hand and a new change on the other. But what surprised him the most was that she had only a towel covering her body.

  “Now, excuse me. My turn. And no peeping!” She slammed the shower door.

  “Who wants to peep at a kid anyway?”

  “That’s it! Get out! And close the door!”

  The sound of the shower soon muffled her cheerful hum. Jin laughed as he stepped out, but realised he’d left his clothes on the countertop.

  Since the bathroom was a split-suite design, Emilia had shut the inner door leading to the shower, leaving the vanity area clear. Jin figured he could slip in and out without any accidental peeping, as long as that inner partition stayed closed. He reopened the outer door as quiet as he could.

  However, as he reached for the pile of clothes, he froze.

  Ahead of him was the perfect canvas. Through frosted glass, with the bright light of the shower behind her and the steam had yet to coat the pane in full, was Emilia’s slim silhouette pinned against the glass. Every curve of her lithe frame, from the arch of her back to the way she lifted her arms to rinse her hair, was cast sharp.

  Damn, Jin thought, as he turned his head away, his hand hovering inches from his shirt. No wonder she didn't mind me taking the first shower. And every time I’m done, she’s already waiting right there. This isn't a bathroom. It's a bloody stage. A free striptease behind the glass. Door my arse.

  He grabbed his clothes in a single, quick motion and backed out, closing the door as quiet as he had opened it. He might not be a role model of morality, but Jin knew better than ogle an innocent girl like Emilia. The less he thought about how close she was to Eleana’s age, the better for his sanity.