"They're back! Oh my god, they're *serial* love letters now!" A massive crowd had gathered at the cafeteria entrance, buzzing with excitement as they stared at the wooden notice board.
Inside the cafeteria, the cooks were baffled. Normally, this would be peak dining time, but today, not a single student had come in—instead, the entrance was completely blocked.
"What the hell are those kids up to?" one cook muttered, craning his neck to see.
"Apparently, some girl posted a love letter on the board yesterday. And today, she posted *another one*!" another cook chuckled.
"Ah, the energy of youth," the cooks laughed.
The letter read:
*"Thunder, do you think hiding will keep me from finding you?* ***Useless!*** *You are a man too dazzling to conceal. Wherever you go, you shine like a radiant magic lamp—novel, extraordinary. Your brooding gaze, your stubbled jaw, your drifting footsteps—they have ensnared my heart. Come back. Return to my warm embrace. I won't hit you anymore.* ***—Bicui!****
Everyone who read it burst into laughter. Between Thunder's bizarrely elusive footwork and the sheer *menace* of the Thunder Class's top girl, sympathy for Thunder was inevitable.
One student couldn't resist. He grabbed a pen and scribbled two lines next to the letter:
*"Say NO to domestic violence! Advocate for peace!"*
After posting the second letter, Bicui had immediately fled to Maria's house. Thunder, meanwhile, was *nowhere* to be seen. He truly hadn't expected Bicui to follow through—twice. These letters had given him a newfound respect for the Thunder Class's queen.
After letting Erik know, Thunder had slipped away early. The Thunder Class wasn't scheduled for the afternoon team matches, so he could just return tomorrow for the individual tournament.
On his way home, he ran into Uncle Oak, who was lugging a large sack.
"Young master, why are you back so early?" Oak panted, stopping to adjust his load.
"Nothing much going on. What's in the bag?" Thunder eyed it curiously.
"Ran into some farmers from the estate picking cucumbers. They know you like them, so they insisted I take half a sack." Oak pulled out a thick, hefty cucumber.
It was *big*. *Very* big. Thunder couldn't help but recall the sausage Bicui had been eating that morning—though he refused to dwell on any unspeakable connections.
"Want one, young master? Crispy and refreshing," Oak offered.
"Sure." Thunder wasn't particularly fond of cucumbers, but Colin had been. He took one, handed his horse's reins to a waiting maid, and glanced around.
"Where's Carlos?" The guards were nowhere in sight.
"Helping the farmers with their work," the maid replied respectfully.
Carlos, the slave overseer, was surprisingly decent. Thunder had only mentioned it once, and now the man was actually pitching in. With no urgent matters at home and the estate's fields already tended to, helping the hardworking farmers wasn't a bad way to spend the day.
As Thunder wandered around, he noticed the maids avoiding him like mice dodging a cat. If they couldn't escape, they'd stand stiffly, barely able to speak.
It made sense. Slaves had no rights—their master could do *anything* to them. These girls were probably terrified Thunder might "indulge" himself on a whim.
*How boring.*
Thunder retreated to the inner courtyard, where only he and Tifa resided. The maids and guards stayed in the outer quarters, while Oak managed finances from the accounts room.
As he stepped into the courtyard, the sound of splashing water reached his ears. He looked up—and froze.
There, bathed in sunlight beside a wooden basin, stood Tifa—completely *naked*.
Water droplets glistened on her pert, pink-tipped breasts, her sun-warmed skin glowing under the light. Rivulets cascaded down her long, slender legs, dripping back into the basin with soft *plinks*.
Just as she reached for a towel, Tifa turned—and locked eyes with Thunder.
Silence.
Her cheeks flushed crimson. Lips trembling, her wide eyes shimmered with something between embarrassment and... something else.
Thunder's soul nearly left his body. He wanted to *vanish*.
Neither spoke. Tifa kept her gaze half-averted, timid yet unreadable. Thunder stood there like an idiot before finally spinning on his heel and stumbling back out.
He'd always treated Tifa like a kid, but he couldn't deny it—she'd *blossomed*. After a month of proper meals and care, her frailness had vanished, replaced by a lithe, healthy glow.
*Firm. Perky. Just the right size.*
Thunder didn't stop until he reached the outer courtyard, where he exhaled hard. The image of those twin peaks and the shadow between them refused to leave his mind.
*You* ***animal***! He cursed himself.
...But damn, it *had* been a good view.
A moment later, a loud *splash* and Tifa's yelp came from the inner courtyard. Thunder's ears had never been so sharp.
*"What happened?!"* He bolted back inside—only to freeze *again*.
Tifa had hastily wrapped herself in a large towel, barely covering the essentials. She sat on the ground, clutching her ankle, the overturned basin still rolling nearby.
When she saw Thunder, her eyes welled up.
"Tifa... slipped," she sniffled.
Thunder rushed over, the scent of her bath oils flooding his senses. He *forced* his eyes to focus on her ankle.
The moment his fingers brushed her skin, Tifa flinched—it was clearly sprained.
"Let's get you inside." Slipping one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, he lifted her effortlessly and carried her toward the study.
**Will he keep his composure—or lose control?**