The moment Alice dashed toward Queenie with mischief written all over her face, John had a bad feeling.
Which of the beautiful women in the house was the most unpredictable?
Without question—Alice.
She was the sort of woman who thrived on stirring trouble. If there was peace, she'd break it just to feel alive. So when John saw her lean in to whisper something to Queenie, he could practically predict what she was about to do.
And sure enough...
Queenie's expression shifted the instant Alice finished her whisper. First, her cheeks flushed crimson, and then her face turned icy cold. Without a word, she stormed off to her room and returned moments later clutching a pillow.
She didn't hesitate.
With all the fury of a goddess of war, Queenie lunged at John and began smacking him senseless.
"Who's the idiot? Huh? Who? I'll beat you to death today, you pervert!" she screamed.
John hadn't even gotten a chance to stand before he was under attack. She pounded him so hard he rolled off the sofa and thudded to the floor. There was no room for dignity. All he could do was raise his arms and beg for mercy.
But Queenie was relentless. She straddled him in one fluid motion, her legs pinning him to the ground, making it impossible for him to escape.
Of course, John didn't dare to move.
Angry Queenie was terrifying—utterly untouchable.
Even as he pleaded for forgiveness, his gaze involuntarily drifted upward—and what he saw stole his breath.
Her face.
From his position on the floor, he had the unflattering "death angle"—the kind of low angle girls usually dreaded. It often made their features look distorted, unbalanced, or their faces appear larger in photos. Most women avoided it at all costs.
But not Queenie.
She looked ethereal, even from that merciless viewpoint. Her jawline was exquisite, her expression stunning. It was like staring up at a goddess painted in a mural—flawless from any angle.
And that wasn't the only thing catching his eye.
The rapid motion of her arms as she continued to bash him with the pillow caused certain... parts of her body to jiggle with every strike. From below, everything was exaggerated, every detail magnified, and the way she moved only intensified the effect.
Then—
Pa.
A single droplet of sweat rolled down Queenie's cheek and fell—straight onto John's lips.
He froze.
It tasted faintly salty... yet held a subtle fragrance, like flowers after a summer rain.
John's mind raced. His body stirred, betraying him. He clenched his fists, straining to remain still, to not embarrass himself further. But he was fighting a losing battle.
Queenie remained unaware—at first. She kept slamming the pillow against him, her momentum fierce, until her body suddenly slipped slightly downward—and then she felt it.
A pause.
A realization.
A stunned expression overtook her face as she shifted her weight and sensed... something hard pressing back against her from below.
Her whole body tensed.
"Y-you... pervert!"
With a yelp, Queenie leapt off of him like she'd been burned. Her face turned scarlet, glowing with humiliation as she tossed the pillow at his head.
She didn't linger.
Clutching her cheeks, she spun on her heel and sprinted to the bathroom, her voice trailing behind her like an accusation.
"I'm taking a shower!"
Her skin was slick with sweat—partly from the earlier "battle" in her room, and partly from her recent pillow assault on John. She felt sticky, hot, and overwhelmingly flustered.
Alice and Kate, who had been observing from the sidelines with poorly concealed amusement, blinked in surprise as Queenie bolted.
Then their gazes turned to John... and downward.
A silence.
A beat.
And then, in perfect unison, both girls pointed and exclaimed:
"Hooligan!"
Alice grinned like a predator spotting wounded prey. "Since Queenie went to take a shower, I guess it's my turn to teach this naughty little brother a lesson!"
She sauntered toward him with a glint in her eye.
Kate quickly chimed in, "You're right, Alice. But don't forget, I'm next. I want my turn to discipline him too."
John's eyes widened in horror. The situation was spiraling out of control.
No way.
He wouldn't survive being "disciplined" by these two back-to-back.
As Alice approached, poised to sit on him, John scrambled to his feet and clasped his hands together in surrender.
"Please, my dear sisters! I know I messed up, okay? I won't tease you like that again—I swear!"
Alice leaned in close, her breath brushing his ear. Her voice was a teasing whisper, her eyes smoldering. "Oh, little John... what's wrong with a bit of teasing? I quite like it when we get along so well as siblings. So... close."
Kate nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I think your jokes are fun. I enjoy it when you stir up trouble—it makes things interesting."
John groaned and grabbed Kate's cheeks with both hands, pulling them outward.
"Is this your idea of fun? Do you think I'm enjoying getting beaten half to death?"
Kate pouted, her voice muffled. "Let go! If it makes you feel better, I'll take a few beatings for you next time, okay? I've got thick skin—I can handle it!"
John rolled his eyes but relented, releasing her face. Two rosy marks bloomed on her cheeks.
He didn't really have any other options.
When in trouble, find the softest target and vent your frustrations. That was why he'd picked Kate. She was the most forgiving, the easiest to tease. Angela wasn't around—if she had been, she'd be the ideal choice.
As the chaos subsided, Queenie finally emerged from the bathroom.
Her long hair was damp, framing her delicate features. A light mist still clung to her skin. But her demeanor was calm again—cool, composed. She wasn't the blushing mess from earlier.
After all, she had gone through far more embarrassing situations with John during their cultivation sessions. This was nothing in comparison.
Settling gracefully onto the sofa, she began drying her hair with a towel. Her voice was casual as she said:
"Anita's film crew is coming to shoot a scene in New York. As the main sponsor, I've arranged for you to join the cast."
John blinked. "Huh? Join the cast?"
Queenie gave him a sly look. "You'll be playing the role of a hooligan."
He stared at her. "A hooligan? I don't know how to act like a hooligan."
She raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. "Oh, please. Do you really need to act? Just hold yourself back a little."