After so ti, Alex staggered out of the tavern. Night air slapped him in the face, cool and sobering, but not nearly enough.
He didn’t want to drink himself into a coma and get robbed in so piss-stained alley.
’I just need so... so hic~ so wild lilies, that’s all... hic~’
In one hand, he clutched a ridiculous collection of ingredients like so drunken witch doctor—a lemon wedge, two leaves of spiritual herb, and one honey berry.
The bartender gave them to him without question, probably used to drunk alchemists asking for nonsense. The missing piece was a wild lily stem. Mix all that up and bam, instant detox.
Problem was, Alex wasn’t a drinker in his past life. A single evening of booze and he was already regretting everything.
His head spun like a broken rry-go-round, his stomach lurched, and his eyes kept doubling everything in sight. Not exactly the heroic image of a transmigrated genius.
Still, Alexander Shepherd’s mories whispered inside his skull, telling him where the lilies grew. Not far, just down a shadowy alley tucked between stone buildings.
’This so shit... hic~’
He pressed his shoulder against the wall and inched forward, one hand dragging along the rough surface like a blind man finding his way ho.
Every ti his vision swirled, he cursed under his breath, promising never to touch another drop again.
"I’m a sexy boy~~ hu hu ha~ Hu hu ha~ my pp is as big as you thighs~ Hu hu ha~ hu hu ha~"
He began to sing.
The genius alchemist of this world, reduced to staggering around like a drunk raccoon hunting for flowers.
...
At the sa ti, down a shadow-drenched alley, three thug-looking bastards were dragging along a poor woman like they were taking out the trash.
That woman? None other than Lily—our unfortunate shopkeeper, who just couldn’t catch a break. A rusty knife pressed cold against her hip as one of them hissed in her ear.
"Please... let go—" she begged.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch, or we’ll gut you like a fish!"
That shut her up fast. But the tiny whimper that slipped out of her throat could’ve broken a saint’s heart. Tears blurred her vision as she thought of her husband, wheezing away on his bed at ho, waiting for her return.
And to think—she had just reopened the shop. No creepy landowner’s son had co sniffing around today to make her pussy betray her, thank god.
She’d closed up clean, gone shopping for groceries like any normal wife.
Then—bam. Out of nowhere—these lowlifes spotted her, slid the blade against her back, and marched her off like a lamb to the slaughter.
Now, here she was. Cornered, trembling, praying soone, anyone, would show up before things got very, very bad.
One of the thugs slamd Lily against the damp brick wall. Her shoulder smacked hard, and she yelped, clutching her little bag like it could save her life.
Her skirt rode up dangerously high, flashing creamy thighs as she stumbled.
"Damn, look at this bitch..."
The biggest thug sneered, pressing a knife flat against her hip.
"Thin waist, fat tits. Hah. Bet she keeps herself nice and juicy for that old cripple she married."
The second one leaned in, breath stinking of ale, eyes glued to her chest. His hand hovered right above her thigh, fingers twitching.
"Pffft, no wonder she struts around all prim and proper. Underneath? She’s just a slut waiting to gush. I can sll it already."
"Y-you bastards!"
Lily’s face went scarlet as she clamped her knees together like a vice, trembling as the wall scraped her back.
The third thug barked a laugh, then gave her ass a good boot. She lurched forward with a squeak, skirt flipping higher.
"Oi, quit the act, sweetheart. Look at this peach! Bet her pussy’s dripping right now, could flood the whole alley."
"Careful now, don’t scare her too much, boys. Scared bitches get tight. And tight bitches—"
He licked his lips, licking the knife’s blade.
"...that’s the best kind of treat."
Lily’s lips trembled, her whole body quivering like a leaf in a storm. Her voice barely crawled out, thin as a whisper.
"P-please..."
"P-please, she says!"
One thug squealed in a high-pitched mockery, grabbing his crotch and wagging it at her.
"Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll please you good."
Her back hit the wall again, the knife biting cold into her hip, the stink of sweat and ale choking her nose. Her breaths ca quick and shallow, chest heaving so hard her dress looked ready to split.
’Marcus... oh gods, if only you were here...’
The thought pierced her heart—then collapsed on itself. She saw his sunken chest, the red cough staining his sleeve, those trembling hands that couldn’t even carry a sack of grain.
If he was here, these beasts wouldn’t just hurt her. They’d laugh while he wheezed and begged, forcing him to watch every filthy second. That sha alone would crush him long before the knife did.
"No... not him." Her lips shook, tears brimming. "Never him."
Her knees wobbled, barely holding.
So she prayed. Not to Marcus, not to her family, not even to her own strength. She prayed for anyone—a guard, a stranger, a god dropping out of the sky—soone, anyone, to appear.
The alley filled with her desperate silence.
But not once did her thoughts turn to Alex. That boy was nothing but trouble, temptation in human skin, chaos wrapped in a crooked grin.
The idea of him swooping in like so storybook hero never even brushed her heart.
No, Alex wasn’t the type to save.
She squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into her palms, the thugs’ laughter rattling against the brick walls.
"Please..." her voice cracked, barely a whisper. "Not like this..."
The alley stank of ale and sweat, of knives and hunger. The circle of n closed tighter.
And fate, cruel as always, was already laughing.
The three thugs began to...
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