Brat!
With a butt that stinks that bad, and you want me to suck it?
"Senior Brother Ding, Damian, big bro… don't be mad. I was just joking!"
Staring at the bulging muscles and the twin bouncing pecs, Kiki's eyelids twitched; his little heart couldn't take it.
He felt a landslide of killing intent; cold sweat poured; his rump trembled—as if those two pecs could crush him to death.
He suddenly remembered this seemingly gentle, handsome gravekeeper was not right in the head—always doing outrageous things, worshiping muscle, even throwing the Pegasus Cloth in front of the Pope.
Looked like his brain really was off. Should've left him alone.
S-Such big pecs!
Instinct took over—faced with the furious gravekeeper, Kiki turned to run.
Damian simply lifted a leg and fired a supersonic shadowless kick—square to the kid's rump.
"Ow!"
Kiki shrieked and blasted through the door like a human cannonball.
Damian's face stayed cold.
Damn it!
Even if I'm benevolent and stylish—handsome, elegant—I can't indulge this. He needed to know I have limits.
Want my warm face on your poisoned butt? Over my dead body!
Although… there went another shirt, and the briefs were about to split. Funds were tight.
Should've just worn a cloak and briefs to receive guests.
Just as he was about to make Kiki suffer a bit more to teach the brat a lesson, a sharp female voice came from outside.
"You little punk—how dare you peek under my skirt!"
"Hm?"
Damian stepped out to see Kiki facedown at the door in an Orz pose, snow‑white rump to the sky—his cheek pinned under a very pointy high heel.
"So beautiful—such a beautiful big sister… too beautiful…"
Kiki kept his butt up, rolling his eyes upward at those long legs and the fluttering hem.
He wore a lewd expression, as if gazing at a breathtaking vista; drool trickled as he forgot the pain and grinned again.
Damian looked at the newcomer.
A beauty in a flowing rose dress—enchanting features, pale blue hair drifting, legs long and slender, red heels with at least a ten‑centimeter spike.
Sigh!
Aphro's cross‑dressing was getting deadlier and deadlier.
Right!
The beauty was Pisces Gold Saint Aphrodite.
That eye‑catching rose‑red dress danced in the wind; two snowy legs peeked from the hem—heads were bound to turn.
That dazzling, peerless face; curves inviting; and where it ought to be flat, the chest was impressively grand—an unrivaled stunner made flesh.
No one would believe this was a man more beautiful than women by a hundredfold. In looks and sultry aura, 99.9% of women would be left ten blocks behind.
Back in the previous life, he'd be the king of cross‑dressing—no matter how straight you were, you might get bent.
Steel‑straight men would bend at first sight.
The strongest wrench in history, bar none.
Good thing I know the truth.
Temporarily immune to the wrench!
But why the chest‑puffed, stormy aura—what's he up to?
"Aphro, what are you doing here?"
Damian asked, "Mooched another meal?"
Aphrodite swallowed. "Got anything tasty today?"
Damian smiled. "Fish. I just caught a big one. Want to eat together?"
"Scram!"
Aphrodite rolled a gorgeous white of the eye. "Don't you know I'm Pisces? And you dare offer me fish?"
"Then why show up at the crack of dawn?"
Damian couldn't help asking, "You look a bit pale."
"You've got a sharp eye… I felt unwell last night—sat on the toilet all night, even bled… thought my period came!"
Aphrodite's cheeks were pale; his tone weak—legs probably numb from the squat.
But a period—seriously?
You're fundamentally male. There's no Sunflower Manual in this world. No way you're getting a period.
Which leaves only one possibility.
"Out with it—eat something you shouldn't?"
Damian had spotted the issue.
"Ugh, nothing much—just that hotpot base you gave me. You know I love spicy—sometimes I just like to chew on it."
Aphrodite swallowed. "The flavor really whets the appetite."
Respect!
Damian gave a big thumbs‑up.
His special hotpot base was brewed with ghost pepper—Chongqing extra‑spicy, reinforced.
Seeing how Aphrodite loved spice—heavy taste—he'd gifted him a kilo.
He'd meant for him to make hotpot—who knew the guy would eat the base straight.
Buddy, even as a Gold Saint, chomping super‑spicy Chongqing base at "chrysanthemum‑blossom" level—of course you'd squirt blood.
Do Gold Saints get hemorrhoids?
"You're so beautiful, miss!"
"May I ask your name, miss?… I'm Kiki, Mr. Mu's disciple—famous across the Sanctuary."
"Miss, I'm very rich in Jamir—and I repair Cloths for money. Most importantly, I'm single."
Kiki beamed, staring up at the peerless Aphrodite's proud, towering… and twin nosebleeds nearly gushed.
He seemed deaf to that bull‑voiced timbre, wiped his drool, and gazed like a baby at a wet nurse—hungry.
Damian was speechless. ￣□￣｜｜
The brat hasn't even hit puberty, and his mind's already this "mature"?
Taste like an adult's.
A little perv, most likely.
Thud!
Kiki's answer was a high‑heeled foot.
The spike slammed into his face; the cheek fat rippled out of shape, and the pudgy body sailed again.
Clang!
He embedded face‑first in a boulder opposite, then slowly slid down, out cold—nose bleeding, a red high‑heel print stamped on his face.
Even so, Kiki wasn't badly hurt—just knocked out.
Lusty types have strong life force—and so do brats.
Aphrodite's face darkened further. Expressionless, he drew a white rose from his breast; a keen aura spread out in waves—pressure thick.
"Tut‑tut. Something's off—Aphro's really mad?"
Damian narrowed his eyes.
Wait—why was Aphro's killing intent aimed at me?
(End of Chapter)
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