Reincarnated as a Femboy Slave - Chapter 144

Chapter 144: The Diagram
Alright, fine, I should probably clarify this before anyone gets the wrong idea. When I said I kissed him, I meant a light peck.

Just a peck.

My lips barely even touched his cheek. Nothing scandalous, nothing lingering, nothing that would make anyone clutch their pearls in outrage.

And yet, even that seemed to have broken some fragile equilibrium in his world, because his face instantly bloomed into a vivid shade of crimson so intense it could have been used to signal an emergency evacuation.

The color spread across his cheeks, his ears, and the little sliver of neck visible above the collar of his pristine robes.

I had to suppress the instinctive urge to laugh—or, more accurately, to cackle like some mischievous spirit delighted by human frailty.

Tora staggered back a step, then another, his movements so delicate and unpracticed that he looked like a porcelain figurine someone had set on a wobbly table. Honestly, if so much as a breeze wandered through the garden then, it would’ve filed for manslaughter.

His lip quivered, eyes blown wide—huge, glimmering circles of pure, weaponized innocence—and the sight of them, so round and utterly startled, nearly made me melt.

He dropped the books he’d been clutching to the grass with a soft thud, and immediately clasped his hands to the sides of his face, breathing fast and shallow, like he was struggling against some tidal wave of internal panic.

“I-I—Loona, I—oh gods—oh no, I mean—I didn’t—I wasn’t expecting—” His words came in broken fragments, a chaotic symphony of hesitation and shame that only served to amplify his adorable nature.

I stepped forward a little, heart nudging uneasily at the edges of concern. “Hey, hey—Tora. Are you okay?” My voice was soft, careful, carrying just the right amount of mock exasperation to keep the mood light, though I couldn’t quite hide the little tug of worry in my chest.

He took several deep breaths, chest rising and falling like a tiny bellows, before his hands reluctantly fell from his face. His eyes, still bright and wide, met mine with a timid, trembling sort of honesty.

“Y-Yeah… I’m okay,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I’m a little sensitive to things like that. Sorry if I startled you…”

I swallowed hard, letting a soft “hm” escape my lips as I fought the urge to grin like a fool. “Sensitive, huh?” I teased, though gently. “Noted.”

He nodded quickly, almost as if the acknowledgment of his own fragility embarrassed him further. The little tremble in his shoulders, the soft blush still dancing across his cheeks—hit me harder than it had any right to. For half a second, I actually forgot to breathe.

“Here,” I said, pointing at the books lying on the floor between us. I bent to scoop them up, dusting the first one off with deliberate care. Tora froze, an audible squeak escaping him, as if the very act of my fingers brushing the tattered red cover were a violation of some sacred pact.

Curiosity pried its way into my thoughts. “And what’s this one, hmm?” I asked, holding it up, tilting it this way and that under the soft, magical glow of the garden’s ambient light.

Tora’s hands twitched, reaching for it, but he stammered, giggling lightly and breathlessly, “I-it’s… just some… boring magical study! Really!”

Ah, yes. The hesitation. The tiny little stammer that didn’t match his words. That was a dead giveaway. I smirked, one corner of my mouth lifting into that mischievous expression reserved for situations of absolute intrigue.

“Some boring magical study, huh?” I asked, leaning slightly closer. “You’re awfully eager to stop me from reading it. I can’t help but wonder why.”

He tried to inch his hands closer to reclaim the book, eyes wide and pleading, cheeks even redder than before, but my smirk only sharpened at the edges. With a lazy flick of my wrist, I tugged the book just out of reach, watching his fingers swipe uselessly at the air. “Curiosity, Tora. You can’t fight it.”

“I-I… please!” he gasped, voice cracking so delicately it was almost musical. “Don’t—”

But mercy had never been my strongest trait.

And so I opened the cover anyway.

The moment I glanced at the words, I knew, absolutely knew, that the world had shifted irreversibly in my hands.

My eyes widened, jaw dropping just slightly, as I realized what I was holding. The words, the phrasing, the absurd, unapologetic sensuality of the sentences—it was the single most smuttiest tome I’d ever encountered, hidden under layers of delicate handwriting and a meek cover that screamed of innocence.

I cursed under my breath, a sharp, incredulous “Saints above!” escaping as I looked back up at Tora. His face, already a vivid hue of crimson, now seemed to be blushing at some wavelength beyond visible spectrum.

He desperately tried to turn his head, gaze fixed on anything but me, pleading silently through the delicate twitch of his lips and the trembling of his hands.

“Oh, so that’s what you’ve been hiding,” I said, laughter bubbling up despite myself. The sound was warm, rich, a little teasing, as though I’d uncovered the most scandalous secret in the world and found it utterly delightful. “All this time, that meek little expression, that soft, timid voice… and you’ve been sneaking around with this? Really, Tora, I knew you had secrets, but gods above. This is golden.”

Tora’s hands flailed in the air helplessly. “L-Loona! Please! Don’t tell anyone, I beg of you!” His voice was high, frantic, entirely adorable in its desperation.

I closed the book with a satisfying snap, smirking at him. “I’ll keep it a secret,” I said, letting the words roll out slowly, teasingly. “But on one condition.”

His whimper of anticipation, equal parts terror and curiosity, slipped out before he could swallow it, and I couldn’t help the soft chuckle that bubbled up in my throat.

“What… what condition?” he asked, barely audible, leaning forward like I was about to drop some unspeakable doom on him.

“Tell me about your magic,” I said, holding his gaze with a teasing glint in my own. “The one you used to summon the director’s cane. I want to know everything about it.”

Tora’s eyes flickered, uncertainty flitting across his delicate features, but then he straightened slightly, shoulders tense yet resolute. He let out a small cough, as if clearing the way for his honesty, and then began, almost shyly, “I… I can summon any object from anywhere in space, as long as I can visualize it clearly. I’ve been able to do it since I turned sixteen.”

“Incredible,” I breathed, genuinely impressed. My eyes gleamed, reflecting both admiration and a growing sense of mischievous plotting. “You mean… any object? Like… any at all?”

He nodded, the faintest trace of relief brushing his expression. “As long as I’ve come into contact with it more than a few times, or I’m given a sufficiently detailed diagram. The more intricate the object, the more precise my visualization must be.”

I leaned back slightly, letting the weight of that sink in. This was… powerful. Potentially game-changing. And here he was, this small, timid boy with a blush like firelight and a voice like silk, casually possessing such a tool and treating it as though it were no big deal.

“Here,” he said suddenly, “let me show you.”

I watched as he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, that slight tremor in his chest betraying his tension of focus. The air around him shimmered, subtle ripples like heat waves bending the light in a way that made the bronze vines and glowing flowers of the garden waver and sway.

My heart caught in my chest for a moment; I’d seen magic before, plenty of it, but there was something hypnotic about Tora’s quiet, precise control, the gentle way he seemed to manipulate the very fabric of reality without ceremony, without flair, almost embarrassed by the power he wielded.

A few moments later, a teapot and a delicate tea cup appeared before him, hovering in the air with a faint glimmer, as if caught between worlds.

Tora’s eyes flew open, and he caught them clumsily, nearly losing his balance and swaying on his heels. My mouth fell agape, and I couldn’t help but imagine the thousands of possibilities rolling through my mind.

Objects, tools, keys, all of which I could send flying through the tower with but a thought—Tora had a power that made even my usual schemes feel delightfully feasible.

My thoughts, inevitably, snagged on the most tantalizing idea. Iskanda’s ruby. Perhaps, just perhaps, there might be a way to snatch it after all.

Tora, oblivious to the storm of plotting in my mind, poured himself a cup of tea and offered it to me with that shy tilt of his head.

I set the tattered books down carefully in the grass before snatching the cup. The warmth of it seeped into my palms, soothing me in a way that felt almost indecent given the emotional hurricane of the last few hours.

I tilted my head back, taking a long, satisfied sip, letting the aroma and taste settle deep in my chest as my mind drifted lazily across a thousand schemes, half of which involved Tora’s magic and all of which involved some level of mischievous chaos.

Then I begin to circle him, slow and exaggerated, as if auditioning for the role of “Suspicious Villain No. 3” in some overdramatic stage play. His breath hitched each time I drifted close, like he wasn’t sure whether I was going to kiss him, tease him, or steal his soul and sell it for snacks.

When I reached his back, I leaned in close, my chest brushing against his slight frame as I rested one lazy arm over his shoulder, my other hand twirling the empty cup of tea through my fingers.

I brought my lips to his ear before whispering my plan. His eyes widened then, pupils flickering between panic and disbelief. He flailed backward with a squeak, clutching the tea pot to his chest like a shield.

“Loona! That’s—! I—No! I can’t—” he stammered, voice cracking so sharply I nearly applauded.

Then I raised my finger—playful, but with just enough bite to remind him who was really in charge. I reminded him of his little secret—that embarrassing tome, the one I’d promised to keep under wraps.

His shoulders sagged before he let out a long sigh, muttering under his breath in a way that sounded both exasperated and vaguely amused. “Oh, fine…”

I clapped my hands with exaggerated delight. “Excellent!” I said, letting the words carry over the gentle hum of the garden.

I was about to step away, plotting my exit back to the tower, when a sudden idea sparked in my mind, bright and devious, making me halt mid-step and spin back toward him with that familiar smirk curling my lips.

“Wait,” I said, letting the word hang in the air, heavy with mischief. “There’s something else. Tell me, Tora—what’s the limit to how big of an object you can summon?”

He blinked at me, slight confusion flickering across his features, pink still blooming across the delicate planes of his cheeks. “The largest I’ve ever summoned… was a simple building in the slums. Nothing more complex than that,” he admitted softly, hands fidgeting with the hem of his robe, as if the thought of summoning anything larger made him nervous.

I blinked, taking it in, my mind racing. “Perfect,” I said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Quickly,” I said, directing him with a flourish, “summon me a pen and paper.”

Tora tilted his head, but he complied nonetheless. Almost instantly, a pristine sheet of parchment and a thin, sleek pen appeared in his hands.

I snatched both, feeling the smooth texture beneath my fingers, and found a nearby rock to use as a makeshift surface.

My mind was already racing, sketching out shapes and lines, not the ruby—that was far too intricate for my hurried memory—but something much simpler, a structure burned into my memory from long ago.

Each stroke was deliberate, precise, though my hand moved with the impatience of someone accustomed to scheming on the fly. By the time I’d finished, the sketch was folded neatly, pressed into a compact square, and I could feel the faint heat of my excitement radiating from my fingertips into the paper.

I stepped close and pressed the folded sketch right against Tora’s chest, letting my fingers linger just long enough to make him swallow. “During my match tonight,” I whispered, voice low and conspiratorial, “when I give the signal, I want you to summon the object I’ve drawn.”

His eyes flickered, wide and round, uncertainty mixed with a glimmer of excitement. “Got it,” he said before nodding without complaint, slipping the folded sketch carefully beneath his robes.

My grin widened as I watched him tuck it securely, his hands lingering just a moment over it before setting down his tea pot and moving back to the books I’d left on the floor.

I stalked away slowly, the deliberate, exaggerated movements of someone savoring the moment, before turning back to blow him a kiss, letting my lips curve into a teasing arc as the motion carried across the glowing garden.

Tora’s cheeks flared once again, pink as molten copper. His wide eyes blinked at me like a startled fawn trying to compute its first thunderstorm.

I paused at the threshold, one hand resting against the cool frame of the archway, and glanced back over my shoulder.

Tora stood there, small and still, the books in his hands, the sketch secure beneath his robes, eyes bright and filled with a strange mixture of awe and trepidation.

My grin softened, just slightly, as I allowed a private thought to bloom: he trusted me. And that trust, delicate and fragile as it was, was going to be just as powerful as the magic at his fingertips.

I stepped through the doors, the soft click of marble under my boots mingling with the faint hum of the garden behind me, already plotting the first rehearsal of our little plan, already imagining the chaos we would orchestrate once the match began.