Renji stood in the lobby of the hotel, his tall frame awkwardly stiff as he adjusted the camera bag slung over his shoulder. He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here, but somehow, against his better judgment, he had agreed. His classmates thought he was busy with part-time work tonight. In reality, he was here, in a fancy hotel, lugging around professional photography equipment and a custom-made outfit he had stitched together by hand.

The costume itself rested carefully in its garment bag, every detail his handiwork—though he’d never admit to anyone how much time he’d spent on it. The ensemble was a striking mix of black and crimson fabrics, cut to reveal as much as they concealed. Flowing red silk draped across the chest and hips in dangerous slashes, anchored with golden clasps shaped like fanged beasts. Thin golden chains linked each piece, swaying with the slightest movement. The bodice plunged daringly low, tapering into black panels that shimmered faintly with embroidered patterns, leaving the stomach and thighs exposed.

From the hips, more strips of fabric cascaded downward, slit high to showcase the legs, the design deliberately seductive. A painted dragon motif wound up the side of one thigh, made to draw the eye upward, while the arms bore draping crimson sashes fixed by golden clasps, the edges of the fabric tipped with dangling violet gems.

But the true centerpiece lay in the accessories: a pair of curved white horns, polished smooth and bound to a headpiece that disappeared into dark, flowing hair; claw-like jewelry that curled over the fingers; and a belt lined with gold that cinched the ensemble together. Everything about it screamed succubus—danger, allure, temptation, and power.

Renji pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply as the reality of the situation sank in. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand why she was so obsessed with those games, why she loved dressing up as these characters that looked like they had walked out of some fever dream. But here he was anyway, about to set up lights, cameras, and tripods for a private photoshoot.

Checking the room number again, he muttered under his breath, “What the hell am I doin’…”

Still, his hands lingered protectively on the bag carrying the costume. For all his grumbling, he’d made sure every seam, every clasp, every detail was flawless. If she wanted to play succubus for a night, he wasn’t going to let her down.