Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​The oxygen in the underground isolation room suddenly felt painfully scarce to Kaelia von Ashford.

​Trapped between the freezing iron door and Ethan Valen’s broad chest, the Fire Queen couldn’t move an inch. Her combat instincts were forcibly dulled by the demonic pheromones continuously invading her lungs.

​Ethan smirked as he watched Kaelia gasp for air.

​He slowly pulled his arm back from the wall, granting the girl just enough space to suck in a breath. Ethan then reached into the pocket of his silver coat.

​He pulled out a parchment scroll sealed with the academy’s official wax crest.

​”This is the official report from the Vice Principal. It will be sent to the oversight board tomorrow morning,” Ethan said calmly, pressing the parchment right against Kaelia’s chest.

​Kaelia gasped. With trembling fingers, she snatched the scroll and unrolled it quickly. Her golden eyes scanned the neat rows of ink.

​The report detailed, with absolute conviction, that Ethan Valen had experienced a Late Awakening phenomenon within his mana circuit. His use of high-tier ice magic was claimed to be purely the result of a rare resonance with the Ice Rose Ring—an artifact Isolde had lent him as an ’academy experiment.’

​It was a flawlessly woven lie. Incredibly logical. Duke Ashford in the capital would swallow it hook, line, and sinker.

​”Y-you... you prepared this?” Kaelia whispered, looking up at Ethan with disbelief.

​”I knew your father’s hounds would move quickly. Consider this... a down payment for our cooperation, Kaelia,” Ethan replied, tucking his hands back into his pockets.

​”Give that report to your father. Tell him you successfully intimidated the academy into handing over a copy. Your position within the Ashford family will be secure.”

​Kaelia clutched the parchment tightly.

​An overwhelming wave of relief washed over her chest. She wouldn’t have to face her father’s wrath. However, that relief lasted a mere two seconds before Ethan’s baritone dragged her right back to hell.

​”But remember the price, Madam President.”

​Ethan’s crimson eyes stared straight through her soul. ”Tonight. The exact moment the midnight bell tolls. Come to this room alone.”

​He leaned in, erasing the distance between them.

​”Be even one minute late... and I guarantee the next report landing on your father’s desk will be the news of your mana circuit’s total annihilation.”

​Kaelia swallowed hard. Her face was deathly pale, yet ironically, a bizarre, feverish flush crept up her neck.

​She hated this boy! She hated him so much she wanted to burn him alive!

​But strangely, her legs felt impossibly weak. An alien desire, completely defying all common sense, fluttered in her stomach as she imagined what would happen tonight.

​Unable to fire back a single word, Kaelia spun around. She half-ran out of the massive iron doors, clutching the parchment to her chest like a thief fleeing from the grim reaper.

​Ethan stood casually in place, watching Kaelia’s silhouette get swallowed by the dark corridor.

​His low chuckle echoed softly through the silent dungeon. His prey had walked completely into the net.

​Several hours later, on the top floor of the Main Tower.

​Ethan stepped into Isolde’s office. The atmosphere in the room felt entirely different now. Gone was the political tension or the freezing arrogance typical of the Vice Principal.

​All that remained was warmth and absolute submission.

​”Welcome back, My Master,” Isolde greeted him.

​The Duchess stood up from her desk. She wore an elegant black velvet gown that covered her from her neck down to her ankles, befitting a high-ranking noble.

​However, the moment she stood before Ethan, Isolde gracefully bent one knee to the carpet. She bowed her head in the absolute gesture of submission of a loyal servant.

​Ethan gently stroked the top of Isolde’s head, letting his fingers play through her platinum strands.

​”Stand up, Isolde. Show me the condition of your magic after last night’s ritual,” Ethan commanded.

​Isolde rose, her cheeks flushed with a warm tint. She raised her right hand forward.

​The air inside the room instantly rippled violently. The temperature plummeted ten degrees in the blink of an eye.

​Yet, what bloomed from Isolde’s palm was not the crystalline blue ice rose that had always been the Rosenberg’s symbol of pride.

​A chunk of pitch-black ice materialized in the air, radiating an incredibly sinister, dark aura.