Chapter 480 --480
She took a slow, deliberate breath, ruthlessly suppressing the urge to just violently push her way through the crowd of half-naked men. She kept her posture rigid and her voice cuttingly sharp.
"Where is your Master? Call him," she commanded, her tone slicing right through the sweet, heavy atmosphere like a frozen blade.
Hearing her completely cold, unbothered rejection, the men didn’t back down or look intimidated. Instead, they flawlessly shifted tactics.
As if on cue, several of them made the most heart-wrenchingly pathetic, adorable pouting expressions she had ever seen. It was genuinely, terrifyingly cute.
"My Lady..." the silver-haired man sighed softly, his violet eyes shimmering with fake, unshed tears as he gently tugged at the sleeve of her dark cloak. "If you came all this way just to meet the Master... what about us? Are we truly not pleasing enough to your eyes?"
"Have we done something wrong to make you so cold?" the muscular one added, his broad shoulders slumping like a kicked puppy.
Heena stared at them, a small, barely noticeable twitch starting in her left eye.
’’God,’’ Heena thought, a mixture of sheer exhaustion and begrudging, professional respect washing over her. ’’They really know exactly how to weaponize their beauty perfectly.’’
Heena completely ignored the ten pouting foxes surrounding her. She kept her icy glare fixed straight ahead until the bead curtains finally parted, and the elusive Master of the Pavilion stepped out.
He took one look at her and immediately threw his hand over his chest like a fragile, theatrical damsel in distress. His robes were, of course, tied scandalously loose, barely covering anything at all.
"Ah, My Lady has finally arrived," the Master sighed dramatically, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "My poor, old waist can barely handle so much excitement these days. But since My Lady has graced us with her presence, it is my absolute duty to make sure she feels... incredibly good."
Watching his exaggerated, breathless performance, Heena’s inner monologue completely short-circuited.
’’Come on, uncle, you are already so old,’’ she thought, exhausted. ’’No matter how much powder and makeup you slap on your face, it doesn’t change anything.’’
Unfortunately, sometimes when Heena’s mental filters were compromised by a literal brain tumor, things slipped. She didn’t just think it. She accidentally spoke the entire sentence out loud.
The entire room fell into a dead, horrifying silence.
The Master gasped, clutching his robes tighter in pure, unadulterated offense. He looked at her with sheer disgust. "Shame on you, My Lady! Calling a man ’old’ right to his face!"
With a dramatic huff, he spun on his heel and stormed right back into his private room, slamming the door behind him.
"Wait, Master!" Heena snapped out of her daze, stepping forward to chase after him.
Instantly, two of the courtesans slid smoothly in front of her, forming a human barricade.
"What the heck are you doing?" Heena demanded.
"You have just deeply insulted the Boss, My Lady," the silver-haired courtesan said, giving her a disappointed shake of his head. "You will need to stay here and wait for at least a few minutes."
"Wait? Do you mean I have to book another appointment with him?" Heena asked in disbelief.
"Oh, no, not an appointment," the other courtesan corrected smoothly. "He went back to fix his makeup."
Heena was utterly dumbfounded. "Wait... what?"
"Well, you insulted his age," the courtesan explained as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "So, of course, he needs to redo his entire face to look younger before he can speak to you again."
Heena just stood there, her jaw slightly unhinged. ’’What the heck?!’’
But she was a veteran of the multiverse. She lived by one universal motto: ’No matter if it is a man or a woman, when a person is doing their makeup, you do not disturb them.’
Accepting her fate, Heena sat back down on the velvet lounge to wait. A courtesan gracefully poured her a cup of dark, bubbling "tea."
Heena took a sip and immediately paused. She remembered hating the tea in this era, but she had to admit, these brothel workers really had a magical way of brewing it.
Why? Because the dark liquid in her cup tasted exactly—and she meant ’exactly’—like the Coca-Cola she used to drink in her modern world. It was carbonated, sweet, and entirely anachronistic.
Suspicious, she accepted a second drink from another courtesan. The liquid was bright orange. She took a sip and blinked. It tasted exactly like artificially flavored, packaged orange juice from a modern supermarket.
"What in the world is this?" Heena asked, staring at the cup.
"This is our specialty Orange Tea, My Lady," the courtesan smiled sweetly.
Heena firmly decided she absolutely did not want to ask how they magically manufactured Fanta in a primitive, low-level martial world. They had served the drink perfectly chilled, but not quite freezing.
"This is good," Heena muttered under her breath, staring at the glass. "But it would have been brilliant with a little ice."
Before the words had even fully left her lips, a courtesan leaned over and casually dropped three perfectly square, freezing ice cubes right into her cup with a pair of silver tongs.
’Clink. Clink. Clink.’
Heena’s eyes widened. "Where the heck did you even get ice from?! There are no refrigerators in this era!"
The courtesan merely offered a terrifyingly charming, secretive smile. "If we want it, we can get absolutely anything for you, My Lady."
Heena took a slow sip, a cold sweat breaking out on her back. She had completely forgotten that in the aristocratic hierarchy of this world, the underground brothel bosses held the most terrifying, expansive resource networks in the entire empire.
After downing exactly seven cups of Orange Tea and five cups of the mysterious Coca-Cola Tea, the door finally clicked open.
The Master stepped out.
Good heavens, the man was dressed to the nines. He had changed into an even more extravagant, sweeping silk robe, and his face was a masterpiece of cosmetic contouring. He genuinely looked incredibly refreshed.
He struck a pose, looking at Heena expectantly. "Well? How do I look?"
"You look five years younger," Heena replied honestly.
The Master’s face instantly fell. His dramatic aura deflated like a punctured balloon. "Do I... only look five years younger?"
A dreadful, chilling feeling crawled up Heena’s spine. ’’No, no, no, no, don’t go back into the room!’’
She hurriedly shot up from the couch, practically lunging forward to grab his arm before he could turn around. "No! You look like my child! You look so young you could be my son! Please, just stop it and sit down!"
The Master paused. He looked down at her hand gripping his arm, and then slowly looked back up at her, unleashing a lethally seductive, highly experienced smirk.
"Come on, My Lady," he purred, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in closely. "You don’t need to flatter me so aggressively while boldly grabbing my hand."
Heena’s face completely blanked. She dropped his arm like it was made of burning coal, wiping her hand on her cloak in sheer disgust. ’’What a face.’’
Deep in her mental void, the System couldn’t hold back anymore.