No Half-Measures

"Oh, she's gone~!"

"She's done for. That's it. It's over. We lost her."

"She's blushing so hard! LOOK!"

"That's not a blush, that's a whole damn fever!"

"Oh, Sultan, you idiot! Do you even realize what you just did?!"

"Tch—"

An older man shook his head.

"For a second, I really thought something was about to happen."

"I mean—"

A woman standing next to him smirked at those words.

"—it kinda did. Look at her."

All at once, as if they were a single entity, everyone turned to Safira.

She was frozen.

Like a Holy Relic caught in a seeker's sights.

Eyes bore into her from every direction, each gaze filled with expectation, curiosity, and, in some cases, barely restrained laughter.

Her past self, on the projection, was already a shade of red that nearly rivaled the setting Shams. A rare sight. A rare, beautiful humiliation that none of them had ever witnessed before.