The Handbook for Completing Demi-Human Girls

Chapter 42: Morning Matters

Moonlight spilled across Fischer’s bedroom like a natural quilt. He lay there with his eyes open, staring quietly at the silvery light outside. Beneath the great full moon, countless shadows flickered just beyond the reach of its glow, painting the color of night.

Beside him, scarlet rose-like hair fanned out freely. Raphaëlle had one arm loosely wrapped around his shoulder, her beautiful face resting against his neck. With each soft breath, she inhaled only his scent, sleeping peacefully and soundly.

She had long fallen into a deep sleep. But her hands, feet, and even tail were all tangled around Fischer—especially that overly independent tail, which occasionally poked out from the covers and twitched playfully, as if dreaming of something amusing.

Her scales, normally firm and unyielding, had softened against his embrace—warm and smooth, like skin. That tender texture alone sent subtle tremors through Fischer’s composure, stirring up heat again in his body.

The Dragonkin’s reproductive advantage was honestly ridiculous. Normally, Fischer would never have such... robust desires. But the upside was equally clear—even Raphaëlle had been thoroughly satisfied. In a sense, Fischer had already surpassed the limits of what a human could be.

At that thought, Fischer pressed a hand against his face, exasperated. His motion caused Raphaëlle to stir slightly. She sleepily shifted, rubbing her eyes and slowly propping herself up.

Fischer turned to glance at her, thinking she’d woken up—but her eyes remained shut. She simply changed position and snuggled right back into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him again.

“……”

All was still and silent. Yet Fischer’s mind was racing—his thoughts clearer than they’d been in days. He ran through every clue he had uncovered during their stay here.

First of all, Fieron absolutely had ulterior motives regarding their group. Originally, his target must have been Raphaëlle and the other Dragonkin. But Fischer’s unexpected arrival had thrown a wrench into that plan—he wasn’t part of Fieron’s calculations.

So what was his true goal?

Fischer considered something basic: Where exactly was Fieron’s wealth coming from?

The first possibility—he had powerful backers. If that were true, there must be a reason behind their support—either economic or political.

But under the restrictions of the Southern Continent Protection Act, political motivations seemed unlikely. If politics were the goal, Fieron should be expanding his territory, not signing treaties with the Lords’ Alliance of Schwalli, and certainly not taking in demi-humans.

If it was economic, then having a backer wouldn’t matter as much. That would mean Fieron had control over a high-profit product line—one that was likely related to demi-humans. That alone could explain why he kept so many demi-humans in the inner city, and why he required a certain number of them.

And that product couldn’t be something as simple as selling demi-humans. Sure, slave trading could be profitable, but it wasn’t nearly enough to sustain the immense operating costs of a city like this. If it were that easy, any slaver would already be richer than kings.

Which meant—Fieron’s product had to be unique. Extremely valuable. Something that required only a small number of demi-humans and had to be refined or processed in a secretive way.

Fischer suddenly thought back to what he and Raphaëlle had seen the other night—the soldiers loading those metal cylinders onto the cart.

So... what were those?

For now, Fischer didn’t have the answer. Based on everything he’d seen so far, he couldn’t think of any product so valuable yet low-cost to produce. But one thing was certain: Fieron had no good intentions toward him or the Dragonkin.

Fischer had already sensed Fieron’s scheming back during the Saintess Choir performance. He had been ready to flip the table then and there. But after Fischer gave his answer to the trolley problem, Fieron had suddenly backed down.

It was clear: Fieron had seen something in Fischer—something as valuable as the Dragonkin girls. Until he got that, he wouldn’t make a move.

That gave Fischer some time. He needed to restock supplies in the city so that he could turn against Fieron at any moment and flee into the wilds—headed straight for Port Crete.

With a long breath, Fischer reached out and gently brushed aside the scarlet hair of the girl sleeping beside him.

The Crimson Dragon Queen, huh?

In his eyes, she still had much growing up to do. Her lack of understanding of humans, her impulsive decisions driven by anger and hatred—these often left Fischer exasperated.

But the more time he spent with her, the more certain he became: this still-immature girl truly was the prophesied Crimson Dragon Queen. Someday, she would become wise and powerful—unrivaled across the Southern Continent.

If he were thinking like a human strategist, the right move would be to end her now—crush her potential before she could shine like the sun.

But Fischer simply stared at her sleeping face for a long time... and did nothing.

Under the deepening moonlight, someone gently embraced the red-scaled girl, and a faint whisper escaped Fischer’s lips.

“You're so selfish, Fischer.”

“Ah...”

Morning sunlight spilled across Raphaëlle’s face as she opened her eyes. She stared blankly at the ceiling for several seconds, as if trying to process what had happened last night.

Flustered and blushing, she quickly turned toward the other side of the bed—only to find it already empty.

The embarrassment and panic disappeared in an instant, replaced by a vast emptiness and a sinking sense of loss.

Maybe to that human, last night had been nothing more than “punishment.” Maybe he didn’t understand what a Tailmate meant to a Dragonkin. Hah—humans were so casual about mating. Nowhere near as serious as Dragonkin.

But the bed still smelled like him.

Raphaëlle’s tail thumped listlessly against the mattress. She lay there on her side, staring at the place where Fischer had slept, lost in thought.

After what felt like forever, she finally sat up. And just as she turned her head—

She saw Fischer sitting right beside the bed, dressed neatly in a new Nary suit, book in hand, one leg crossed over the other, expressionless as he looked at her.

Her face instantly turned scarlet. She grabbed the covers and yanked them up to shield her bare body.

“F-Fischer! Why are you in the room?!”

“Where else would I be if not in the room?”

“I thought—wait, then why didn’t you say anything?!”

So he’d been watching her every move after she woke up? And still said nothing? What a jerk!

“Was working on improving your magic. I got absorbed.”

He was lying—he’d clearly just been watching her. But Fischer would never admit it, and Raphaëlle’s fury bubbled just beneath the blankets.

“If you're awake, go wash up. Come down for breakfast. We’ll head into the city this afternoon with Larr and the others to restock supplies.”

Seeing she was fully awake, Fischer closed his book and stood up.

Raphaëlle pouted in frustration but muttered a reply. Watching Fischer calmly return the book to their luggage, she suddenly had an unrealistic thought.

Had he really just been sitting there... waiting for her to wake up?

Or... had he just happened to glance up as she stirred?

This human—he was always such a mystery.

Still, though her mood hadn’t fully lifted, that hollow ache from earlier had faded—like something had quietly filled the emptiness in her chest.