Both women trembled at his words, their bodies going rigid with shock.
"W-what?" Mirael's voice came out as a strangled whisper.
Seraphine's eyes widened. "What did you just—"
"I said," Tianlong repeated calmly, turning to face them fully, "what are the criteria to become a professor in this academy?"
The question hung in the air. Both women were still trying to process it—their minds struggling to shift from terror of imminent death to... what? Was this monster seriously asking about employment?
Before either could formulate a response—
"You PERVERT!"
The word echoed through the room, sharp and furious.
Both women's heads snapped toward the bed.
Sylvea—or Zhaoshenya—had pushed herself up slightly, propped on one elbow. Her face was flushed deep red, eyes blazing with anger despite their glazed appearance. Her body continued twitching, legs pressing together as more fluid leaked from her pussy onto the bedsheets beneath her robes.
Mirael and Seraphine gasped simultaneously.
