In the world of Type-Moon, it all begins with becoming Morgan's husband!

"...But what will you do if I don't want to tell you?"

"That--"

Ian looked around the room and finally fixed his gaze on a table in the room.

"I have no choice but to let Miss Ophelia evaporate her rationality first."

"what?"

Before Ophelia could even understand what Ian meant, he lifted her up and placed her in front of the table.

She was powerless to resist him.

This is because the opponent not only has an absolute advantage in physique, but also, for some unknown reason, is completely immune to his Demon Eye.

Ian hugged Ophelia from behind, gently pulling her body towards the table.

"What do you want to do?!"

Ophelia, sensing something was wrong, cried out.

"nothing."

Ian's voice rang out.

"Didn't Miss Ophelia just say that I only know one set of things?"

"But that's not actually the case—at least I think I can make you experience four different kinds of pleasure at the same time."

"so--"

"Miss Ophelia, your crazy Sunday is about to begin."

As soon as she finished speaking, Ophelia felt her body being pushed forward slightly.

The magician's pigeon egg, which had been kept spotless due to concerns that Ian might clean it manually, was unexpectedly poked by the corner of the table.

She immediately realized that this was not a coincidence.

He calculated the angle carefully before reporting from this angle.

As the corner of the table continued to rub against the pigeon egg, Ophelia suddenly felt her brain spinning—the pressure was almost like a form of self-comfort.

This is an extremely shameful thing.

For a magician to get this excited over a corner of a table is astonishing.

"you……"

Just as Ophelia was about to say something while she still had some sense, she lost that right.

Because Ian kissed her.

To be precise, it shouldn't have been a kiss.

It was merely a lip-contact performed to deprive her of the right to speak—which forced Ophelia to tilt her head back.

But this is not the end.

At this moment, Ian's hand also moved up to the chest of the top student magician.

His fingers roamed over the most sensitive spots, teasing the red dots on the fair skin time and time again.

Then, somewhat roughly, I pinched it, kneading it like dough, transforming it into various shapes, and then gently released it, letting everything start all over again.

Ophelia's body was trembling.

She could no longer tell which sensation was causing the trembling.

Lips?

Chest?

Or perhaps there?

Either way, it's deadly.

She could feel that her body was almost no longer her own.

but--

Ophelia used her remaining sanity to come up with a problem.

Aren't there four types?

Where is the other one?

Just as the young magician was racking his brains trying to figure it out, the answer was getting closer and closer.

That's where the back garden is.

The fiery hunter, with his club, probed into one of the feet.

The original obstacles disappeared due to the relaxation of the body.

The backyard was invaded just like that.

Ophelia began to feel a pleasure she had never experienced before.

A pigeon egg that was brutally crushed by the corner of the table.

Breasts that were kneaded and shaped into various forms;

And the sealed lips.

and also……

The backyard has been completely invaded.

This genius magician was being manipulated, gradually losing his sanity.

Ian smiled as he looked at Ophelia, who was completely at his mercy.

After a period of frenzy.

In the bathroom.

Ian and Ophelia are taking a hot bath.

The former remained calm, while the latter was trembling.

“Miss Ophelia, I have kept my promise.”

"you!"

Ophelia hesitated, wanting to speak but stopping herself—she had completely lost her previous sharpness.

Why didn't you tell me beforehand that it would be used in so many places?

"what--!"

Ian mimicked Ophelia's previous tone.

"Isn't this a replica of the surprise you mentioned?"

"..."

Ophelia looked like she wanted to argue with Ian.

But in his presence, she seemed completely unable to articulate any logic.

Faced with this scene, Ian smiled, then picked up the showerhead and began to wash Ophelia's body.

"Kidding."

"I just want to prove that I will do what I promise."

“Miss Ophelia, if you don’t like it, then consider it an offense on my part.”

“…Increase the intensity,” Ophelia said abruptly.

Ian could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"Miss Ophelia, what did you say?"

"I said."

The top-performing magician looked up at the man.

"Give me more pressure next time."

"I like this state where my mind is completely blank and I don't remember anything."

"..."

"..."

The atmosphere in the bathroom was somewhat quiet.

Only the water flowing from the showerhead fell onto the clean floor, making a splashing sound.

Ian didn't speak, but simply nodded silently.

But Ophelia didn't seem to want to remain silent.

She went on to say:

"Ian, didn't you just ask me why I hate Sundays?"

"Yes, but... if you don't want to talk about it, then just pretend I didn't ask."

"No, I want to say it now."

Ophelia looked at the mirror, its reflection obscured by moisture, and her expression was somewhat complicated.

"What I actually hate is not Sundays."

"It's... that feeling of being unable to escape."

“My parents meet with me on Sundays, and they tell me how to be a good student and how to contribute to the family.”

“I know they’re right… but I can’t accept it.”

“That means they’re wrong,” Ian suddenly interrupted Ophelia.

"W-what?" The top student magician looked at the man with a puzzled expression. "How could they be wrong?"

"Of course that's wrong."