Lys led Roy into one of the private massage rooms, and the moment they stepped inside, the door slid shut behind them with a firm click.

For some reason, the sound was louder than it needed to be, and when he looked at her, the way she glanced back at him with that knowing, almost naughty look told him more than words needed to.

She walked back toward him slowly, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"Get up on one of those tables," she said in a low voice, "and remove your shirt... Then we’ll get started."

As she said it, she stepped close, placing a hand on his chest, her palm warm as it pressed lightly against him, then slowly trailed downward over his torso, from his chest to his stomach, before she pulled her hand away just as casually as she had placed it there.

Roy stood still for a second.

Then moved to do as he had been told.

There were only two tables in the room, from what he could tell, neatly arranged with clean sheets and folded towels nearby, though truthfully, he wasn’t paying much attention to the setup anymore.

His focus was elsewhere.

His breathing had already started to pick up slightly, not from exertion, but from anticipation alone.

’Holy shit...’

His eyes followed her as she turned away, walking toward one of the closed cupboards along the wall, and without even realizing it, his gaze dropped, settling on her figure as she moved.

More specifically, he gazed intently at her jiggling ass cheeks. The subtle sway, the hypnotic movement as she walked.

He didn’t even try to look away. For a moment, he just stood there, watching, his mind already racing ahead of him.

She looked back over her shoulder, catching him staring, and instead of getting annoyed or anything, she let out a soft laugh.

"Get a move on, tiger," she said, biting her lip slightly as her eyes lingered on him.

Roy blinked, snapping out of it as if he’d been caught red-handed, and he shook his head quickly, dragging his thoughts back under control.

"Yeah... right," he muttered, giving his cheeks a couple of light slaps as if that would reset him.

Then he moved, doing as he’d been told, stepping over to one of the tables and pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without much care.

Behind him, Lys had already turned back to the cupboard, opening it and reaching inside, and a moment later she pulled out three small bottles, each filled with oil of a different color, their scents faint but noticeable even from where he stood.

She lined them up neatly, her fingers brushing over the glass as she glanced back at him again, that same teasing smile still present on her plump lips.

"Not bad," she commented, her gaze briefly running over his now bare torso before returning to the oils.

Roy huffed quietly, climbing onto the table and settling himself, though his attention never really left her.

Did the room feel warmer, or maybe it was just him? He didn’t know anymore. He lay down on the table and waited ’patiently.’

Those might have been the longest five seconds of his life.

"First thing," Lys said as she walked back toward him, "you never rush into it."

He felt her presence move closer, the mattress dipping slightly as she leaned in.

"Clients come here to relax," she continued, "so you ease them into it, let their body adjust to your touch."

A small click sounded

Lys poured oil into her palms, rubbing them together with a deliberate slowness that made the air hum with anticipation. The oil warmed between her fingers, its herbal scent filling the room.

Then Roy felt warmth.

A thin stream of oil dripped onto his upper back, the sensation making him tense for just a second before it spread, her hands following right after.

The small, delicate palms pressed lightly as she began to spread it across his skin.

"See?" she said softly, her hands moving in slow, even strokes, "start light, let them get used to you."

Her touch was controlled, deliberate, not weak, but not forceful either; she put just enough pressure to guide and show him how it was supposed to be done.

He exhaled slowly, his body instinctively responding, the tension in his shoulders easing a little under her hands.

Then her fingers began to knead in slow circles, digging into the flesh, eliciting a low groan from him as the pressure released a wave of relief. Roy’s eyes fluttered shut, his body sinking into the table.

It felt good.

"Then you build up," she added, her fingers pressing slightly firmer now, tracing along the muscles of his back, working in steady motions, "you don’t just press randomly, you follow the muscle lines, feel where they’re tight."

Her thumbs pressed along his spine, not directly on it, but just to either side, moving downward in a slow, practiced rhythm.

"Most people carry tension here," she said, "shoulders, lower back... especially people with mana strain."

Roy let out a quiet breath, his body loosening despite himself.

"Yeah... I can feel that," he muttered.

She hummed softly, as if approving.

"Good. Means it’s working."

Her hands moved again, sliding outward, then back in, maintaining that steady pace, her touch consistent, controlled, never lingering too long in one place, but never rushing either.

"Control is important," she continued, "you don’t want to surprise them too much, but you also don’t want to be predictable."

There was a slight shift in her movements as she adjusted her stance.

"Balance," she added simply.

Roy stayed quiet for a moment, just feeling it, the warmth of the oil, the steady pressure of her hands, the way each movement seemed intentional, not random at all.

"...You make it sound easy," he said after a bit.

Of course, with the technique, Roy had more than enough skills to eclipse her own, but that was not what he needed here.

He had one job: to act like the novice Lys wanted him to be, and lead her on. And maybe he would get more than what he bargained for.

"It is," she replied lightly, "once you know what you’re doing."