Chapter 25: (Taste it for yourself, it’s too curious)

Orlando held the set of women’s clothing, standing in the corridor with an expression like someone had asked him to swallow a live frog.

“What, not willing?”

Wei leaned against the wall, her red pupils scanning him from head to toe.

“Want me to do it instead?”

Orlando’s eyes lit up.

He opened his mouth, ready to say, “Yes yes yes, you do it, you do it”—

“I might go berserk and attack indiscriminately, though.”

Wei added, her tone airy.

Orlando closed his mouth.

He remembered something Hui had said to him before:

“If Wei ever goes crazy, even the captain might not be able to stop her.”

At the time, he thought Hui was exaggerating.

Now, looking at those red eyes that seemed to smile without smiling, he suddenly felt that Hui might have undersold it.

He grabbed the clothes and wig and sprinted toward the changing room.

He moved so fast that the wooden sword at his waist left a blur behind him.

Wei let out a light laugh behind him.

“Hmm~”

The changing room door slammed shut.

Hui stood at the other end of the corridor, watching the scene, a hard-to-read glint flickering in his heterochromatic pupils.

“Are you two sure about this?”

He asked.

“Ask him.”

Wei jutted her chin toward the changing room.

The door opened a crack.

Orlando poked half his head out.

“Not ready at all.”

His voice was low, as if afraid someone might hear.

“Anyone can tell this is a guy at a glance. I’ll probably get stared at on the street.”

“Come out first, sir,” Hui said.

The door opened a little more.

Orlando squeezed his whole body out, his movements stiff, like his joints were rusted.

The waitress uniform fit on him—black and white, with a lace headband crookedly perched on his head.

The white apron was tied relatively neatly, but the shoulders were clearly too wide, and the sleeves were a bit short, exposing his forearms.

The long dark brown wig lay on his shoulders, the ends curled in loose waves.

He stood in the corridor, his expression caught somewhere between “Kill me now” and “Don’t look at me.”

Wei tilted her head and stared for three seconds.

“Not bad,” she said.

“Not bad my ass!”

Orlando tugged at the collar of the apron.

“Even a three-year-old would know this is a guy if I go out like this.”

“Then don’t let any three-year-old see you,” Wei said.

Hui gave a light cough.

“Sir, are you aware of the specifics of this mission?”

Orlando gave up wrestling with the apron collar and looked up.

“By the way, what exactly are we doing this time?”

“The Church of the Winter Night.”

“Huh?”

Orlando paused.

“Those northern barbarians?”

“You know of them, sir?”

“A little.”

Orlando leaned against the wall and crossed his arms—then realized the pose made the apron’s chest area bunch up, and quickly lowered his hands.

“They worship some weird stuff up in Ulsik. They’re mortal enemies with the Holy Light Church of the Angel Tribe. They’ve caused a few incidents along the empire’s border before, and the imperial military doesn’t look kindly on them.”

Hui nodded slightly.

“Church of the Winter Night members have been active near Rantesti City recently. According to current intelligence, they are performing some kind of ritual involving a demon.”

Orlando’s hand froze mid-air.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.”

He held up five fingers, as if blocking something.

“What the hell is a demon?”

It wasn’t that he was overreacting.

Dragon bloodline, Dark Elf assassins, Angel Holy Light—those were at least things he’d heard of.

But a demon?

He’d never even heard the word.

Hui paused for a moment.

“A presence that resides in the north. It cannot be classified as a species.”

“What do you mean ‘cannot be classified as a species’?”

“Because no one can confirm what it really is.”

Hui’s voice dropped a little lower.

“The Church of the Winter Night has worshipped it for centuries. But records of it are only scattered words and oral accounts—no pictures, no physical descriptions, no information that can be verified. Everyone who tried to investigate deeply never returned.”

The corridor fell silent for a few seconds.

“Anyway, that thing sounds creepy as hell,” Orlando said.

“Indeed,” Hui admitted.

“So your task this time, sir, is to go undercover in crowded places nearby and gather information related to the Church of the Winter Night. Taverns, inns, markets—anywhere they might show up is within your scope.”

He paused, his gaze landing on the waitress uniform Orlando was wearing.

“But your current outfit, sir…”

He didn’t finish.

Footsteps sounded from the other end of the corridor.

Not Hui’s silent kind, but the slap-slap of fuzzy slippers on a wooden floor, carrying an air of “Here I come.”

Prunier walked up from the stairway, her twin red ponytails swaying behind her.

One hand held a game console, the other a half-open bag of chips.

She stopped in the middle of the corridor, looked up, and saw Orlando.

Then she stopped.

The chips hung in the air.

Her red pupils traveled from the lace headband on Orlando’s head to the long dark brown wig, to the black-and-white uniform, to the skirt that was clearly too short.

“Pfft.”

A chip dropped from between her fingers.

“What’s this…”

Her shoulders started shaking.

First a little, then more and more, until she leaned against the wall, dropping both the game console and the chips, clutching her stomach with both hands.

“Ha ha ha ha ha—!”

Her laughter exploded in the corridor, bouncing off the walls.

Orlando stared at her expressionlessly.

“See? I told you.”

It took a while for Prunier to stop laughing.

She straightened up, leaning on the wall, wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, and then looked Orlando over again.

“Whew.”

She took a deep breath.

“It fits pretty well.”

“…Captain, that’s not the point,” Orlando said.

“It’s the face—”

Prunier stepped closer, stood on tiptoe, and tilted her head to stare at Orlando’s face.

Close enough that Orlando could smell the chips on her.

“Shave the beard?”

“That could work,” Hui chimed in from the side.

“But if anyone looks too closely, it’ll still give him away.”

Orlando looked at Hui, then at Prunier, then down at the dress he was wearing.

“So I…”

His voice became very small.

“This is too… maybe I should just give up on this—”

“It’s okay.”

Prunier’s voice suddenly turned very gentle.

Orlando looked up.

Prunier was smiling at him.

That smile looked very similar to the expression she made in-game after slaying a slime.

A chill ran down Orlando’s spine.

“Captain.”

“Hmm?”

“What does that smile mean?”

“Nothing at all.”

Two minutes later.

“Leave the rest to you now, Zi-chan.”

Prunier clapped her hands, stepped back, and put her hands on her hips, looking satisfied, like she had everything arranged.

Orlando sat in a chair.

More accurately, he was tied to a chair.

Two hemp ropes—one around his chest and the chair back, another around his calves and the chair legs.

The knots were tied professionally; he tugged once, and they didn’t budge.

“No.”

He looked down at the ropes on his body.

“What’s this for?”

Prunier crouched in front of him, her red twin ponytails falling over her knees.

She looked up at Orlando, her red pupils full of sincerity.

“Don’t struggle,” she said.

“Better to get it over with quickly.”

“What ‘better to get it over with quickly’! First explain why you tied me up!”

“Because you’d definitely run away.”

“I—”

Orlando opened his mouth, then realized he had no comeback.

A voice came from the doorway.

“All right, Captain. Leave the rest to me.”

Orlando looked toward the sound.

A pink-haired girl stood at the door.

Her long hair was tied into a loose ponytail at the back of her head, the tail reaching her waist.

On her head, she wore a pair of cat-ear headphones, also pink, with white paw prints printed on the shells.

She wore a pink streamer outfit, with white fluffy trim on the sleeves and collar.

A small palm-sized pouch hung at her waist.

Below that was a white pleated skirt, and on her feet were pink-and-white sneakers.

She looked like a walking strawberry-flavored cotton candy.

She carried a pink makeup case in her hand.

Orlando stared at the makeup case, then at her face, then back at the makeup case.

“It’s fine.”

Prunier stood up and patted Orlando on the shoulder.

The pat wasn’t hard, but it carried the warmth of “Accept your fate, buddy.”

“Zi is a famous streamer. She’s the best at makeup.”

“Whoa, hold on—”

“You flatter me, Captain~”

The pink-haired girl—Zi—walked in with her makeup case and crouched in front of Orlando.

Her pink ponytail slid off her shoulder and hung beside the case.

She looked up, carefully examining Orlando’s face.

Her eyes were a pale purple.

Her pupils held a professional focus, like she was looking at a piece of raw material waiting to be sculpted.

“Hmm.”

She pinched Orlando’s chin, turning his face left, then right.

“The bone structure is a bit hard. Cheekbones a little high. Jaw line too straight.”

She let go and opened the makeup case.

Inside, neatly arranged, were various bottles and jars—foundation, concealer, contouring powder, eyeshadow palettes, brushes of all sizes, and some tools Orlando didn’t recognize at all.

Every item was spotlessly clean, arranged in perfect order.

“But the base isn’t bad.”

She picked up a bottle of foundation and shook it.

“Leave it to me.”

“Wait.”

Orlando’s voice squeezed through his teeth.

“At least tell me what you’re going to do—”

Zi tilted her head, her pink ponytail swaying with the motion.

“Don’t be scared.”

She smiled.

That smile matched her pink outfit perfectly—sweet as a freshly baked strawberry cake.

“It won’t hurt much.”

The changing room door closed.

Prunier leaned against the wall outside, picking up her game console again.

The pixel character on the screen started slaying slimes.

Hui stood beside her, holding an account book, but his gaze was fixed on the changing room door.

Wei crouched at the other end of the corridor, chewing on a piece of beef jerky she’d gotten from who knows where, her red pupils full of amusement.

From inside the changing room came a series of sounds.

“Aaaaaah—!”