That Day When Suzuki-kun Wasn't the Mob-B!

”...Is it morning already?”

Finn rubbed his temples, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. The rhythmic, soothing sound of ocean waves crashing against the cliffs outside his hidden Hargeon estate echoed faintly through the reinforced glass windows. Despite his desperate need to grow stronger, he had barely slept. Ever since he returned from Guiltina with the Sword Saint’s corpse, the terrifying reality that he might soon be hunted by the two most dangerous dragons in the world had kept his mind racing.

If I had fully understood the consequences, I might not have done any of this, he thought bitterly. But the die was cast. There was no turning back now.

”Yes, it is.”

Standing beside his mahogany desk, Bisca Connell let out a soft sigh of relief upon seeing that her boss was in a relatively calm mood. ”Have you been working non-stop since you returned from the continent?”

”I have.”

”You really should rest, you know?” Bisca looked down at him, her vibrant green eyes softening with helpless sympathy.

It was hard not to feel sorry for him. To the rest of the world—and especially to the struggling remnants of Fairy Tail—the White Devil was a greedy, ruthless tyrant who held their lives in his iron grip. But to Bisca, he just seemed like an incredibly unfortunate, lonely young man. While she had her loving family to go home to, Finn had sacrificed his youth, his social life, and his humanity just to build an unshakeable empire of wealth and political terror.

She knew she couldn’t persuade him to take a break. If he stopped working, who would manage the magic council and the economy?

Finn’s absolute financial dominance was the only thing keeping Fairy Tail on a leash. While completely shutting the guild down was politically complicated due to their remaining allies, Finn could easily put them on probation, freezing their ability to take jobs. Terrified of starvation, Macao and the others obediently paid the monthly interest on their massive debts.

Yet, Finn wasn’t entirely heartless. He secretly funneled lucrative, low-risk jobs to Fairy Tail to ensure they didn’t completely drown. It provided them a brief moment to breathe. But while single members could survive on those scraps, members with families—like Bisca—were drowning. Children needed food, clothes, and education. Magic guns required expensive ammunition.

That was exactly why the proud sniper of Fairy Tail was currently wearing a frilly maid’s apron over her tight cowgirl outfit, working secretly as Finn’s personal housekeeper.

She had started when he was just sixteen, meaning she had been under his employment for three years. Despite the time passed, their relationship remained strictly professional. Finn was a workaholic ghost. He would often vanish for months, leaving Bisca with an empty, massive mansion to clean. Whenever he transferred her incredibly generous monthly salary, she almost felt guilty for how easy the job was.

Was her husband, Alzack, worried about her working alone for the most powerful man in Fiore?

Not at all. Bisca was fiercely capable of defending herself, and she had assured Alzack that Finn was practically made of ice. He was like a cold, unapproachable Duke from a novel—completely immune to women, viewing everything strictly through the lens of profit and logic.

Furthermore, she rarely had to clean his massive Crocus properties alone. Her main duty was tending to this specific, minimalist coastal safehouse in Hargeon. It was close enough to Magnolia that she could easily commute by train, and it paid enough to send her daughter, Asuka, to the most prestigious, expensive academy in the region.

Among all the Fairy Tail members, Bisca’s family secretly lived the most comfortable life. Finn had explicitly warned her to keep her wealth hidden, and she had quickly learned why. Early on, she had made the mistake of sharing her money, only to watch the guild members squander it. She even had to hide her salary from Alzack. Her husband was far too soft-hearted; if he knew how much she made, he would give it all to Macao, who would inevitably waste it on cheap booze and cigarettes to ”relieve stress.”

If only Alzack were even ten percent as capable and ambitious as Finn...

Bisca sighed inwardly, shifting her weight. Her heavy, D-cup breasts swayed against the constraints of her tight denim top, the frilly white apron doing absolutely nothing to hide her incredibly ripe, mature curves. Alzack was a loving husband who deeply appreciated her charms, but the crushing weight of poverty sometimes made her resent his lack of drive. Finn, on the other hand, had the world at his fingertips.

It’s fine, Bisca rationalized. At least I’m safe here. Finn doesn’t even see me as a woman.

But what Bisca didn’t know was that Finn was no longer just a human. He had evolved. His body had been entirely restructured by the Dragon Factor.

The intoxicating, mature scent of Bisca’s floral perfume, mixed with the rich aroma of the coffee she held, flooded Finn’s heightened draconic senses. She was standing entirely too close. As he shifted his exhausted body in the leather chair, the wool blanket Bisca had draped over him slowly slipped off his lap, pooling on the floor.

Because of his newly enhanced, semi-spiritual body, his morning physiology was running wild with boiling, primal heat. And standing right next to a spectacularly beautiful, voluptuous married woman had triggered a fierce, uncontrollable reaction.

As the blanket fell away, Bisca’s eyes naturally tracked the movement—and she froze.

Straining aggressively against the fabric of Finn’s tailored trousers was a massive, impossibly thick tent, standing at terrifying, absolute attention. It was a display of sheer, overwhelming masculine virility that completely shattered her illusion of him being a ”cold, emotionless machine.”

”.....”

The rhythmic crashing of the ocean waves outside was entirely drowned out by the deafening silence in the office.

Finn froze, his exhausted brain short-circuiting as the cool morning air hit his lap. Bisca stood paralyzed, the tray of coffee trembling slightly in her hands. A violent, incredibly dark shade of crimson rapidly crawled up her neck, painting her cheeks a burning red as she stared at the undeniable proof that the White Devil was, in fact, very much a man.