Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 55: When Silence Speaks Louder Than Words
Following the sound of that teasing, lilting voice, Marlon turned his head—and immediately froze.
Before him stood a noblewoman draped in an opulent gown made from the finest whalebone, its tightly laced corset squeezing her waist into a serpentine curve while emphasizing the astonishing fullness of her bosom. Every sway of her body carried the lazy confidence of someone utterly aware of her allure.
For a brief, dizzying moment, Marlon’s first thought was a strangled, Holy crap—did the Paraguayan goddess of cleavage get transmigrated too?!
That face—those exaggerated features—brought back memories from his old world: the South Africa World Cup, where a certain Paraguayan fan had become a global sensation overnight by placing her phone between her breasts during a match broadcast. The resemblance was uncanny, almost unreal.
“Uh… excuse me, madam, but… who exactly are you?” Marlon asked cautiously, his tone wary yet polite. There was an old saying that big chests meant small brains, but everyone knew that such “goddesses” were often the product of a surgeon’s knife and silicone dreams.
The noblewoman pressed a hand dramatically to her chest, pretending to be wounded. “Oh, Little Marlon, how you wound me! Just moments ago, you called my name over and over again. I am Clarissa—the very same woman you so charmingly described as radiant and captivating.”
As she spoke, Clarissa fluttered her lashes, her eyes brimming with theatrical sorrow and mischief all at once. Her voice dripped like honey, each word a deliberate temptation.
Marlon blinked, thrown off by the flirtatious familiarity. “Ah, right… Clarissa. So, um… how are Cabañas and Valdez doing these days?” he asked suddenly, naming two Paraguayan players from the World Cup.
“Cabañas and Valdez?” Clarissa tilted her head in puzzlement, the jewels on her hairpin catching the light. “Who on earth are those people, Little Marlon?”
Her complete lack of recognition made Marlon exhale in relief. Thank god. For a second there, I thought she really was that Paraguayan bombshell reincarnated into this world.
Even though he himself had been thrown into another world, Marlon understood one truth—one transmigrator was interesting, but two or more could only mean trouble. Differences in fate and fortune would inevitably breed envy, conflict, and betrayal. Human hearts were, after all, the most unpredictable things of all.
“Ah, my mistake,” Marlon said smoothly, slipping effortlessly into a lie. “They’re just… two of my readers. They said they admired the enchanting Madam Clarissa so much that I assumed they knew you personally. Seems they were pulling my leg.”
Clarissa huffed adorably, folding her arms beneath her chest. “Those deceitful rascals! How shameless of them!” she exclaimed, her voice playfully indignant.
Marlon’s mouth twitched despite himself. Seriously? How can a woman so exaggeratedly coquettish have two high-ranking officials fighting over her honor in a ‘noble duel’?
He glanced at the Bureau Director and the Deputy Chief of the Police Department—both men now smiling obsequiously at Clarissa like tomcats before a canary. The sight was absurd enough to make his imagination wander. Could it be… this Clarissa woman has some mysterious talent for reviving a man’s fading vigor?
“Indeed, you’re absolutely right, beautiful Madam Clarissa,” Marlon said aloud, his tone smooth as silk despite the wicked speculation flickering behind his boyish expression. “Such deceivers deserve no sympathy. But perhaps we should focus on the matter of the honorable duel…”
Clarissa let out a high, artificial laugh—“Ohohohoho~!”—while covering her painted red lips with a delicate fan of white feathers. Then, with a wink that could have melted candle wax, she cooed, “My, my, Little Marlon! You do have a silver tongue. When you grow up, I fear you’ll break countless hearts. No wonder you’re the one inventing that marvelous device for virtual honorable duels!”
Marlon forced a chuckle, though his heart skipped a beat. Did she just… guess my true intentions? Or was that a coincidence?
“Hehe, Madam Clarissa jests,” he said quickly. “I’m actually a very modest person. I’d never challenge anyone to a duel.”
Before she could pry further, he pressed on. “So then, Madam Clarissa, do you support or oppose postponing the duel for two days?”
He carefully avoided mentioning virtual duels again, subtly steering the conversation toward the schedule instead. Clarissa didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps she didn’t care.
“Of course I support you, Little Marlon,” she purred, tossing him another scorching glance. Her every motion was sinuous, deliberate; when she stepped closer, her waist swayed like a willow in the breeze.
The space between them shrank to mere inches. Her perfume—sweet, heavy, intoxicating—filled his lungs. Her ample bosom loomed perilously close, stopping just short of brushing his nose. One tiny movement more, and he’d suffocate in that perfumed valley of soft temptation.
Marlon, though transmigrated into another world, was still a young man of modest experience. Faced with this mature, predatory sensuality, his mind short-circuited. His heart thudded wildly; his face burned crimson. He stumbled backward, desperate to put distance between them.
But he had forgotten something crucial. The only reason he’d made it to this central area of the arena in the first place was thanks to the brute force of Inspector Egarl, whose charge had cleared a path. Now that gap was gone—filled in tightly by curious onlookers who had come to witness this rare spectacle.
Not a single one of them intended to move. Every neck craned forward, every face alight with excitement as Madam Clarissa brazenly teased the young, famous writer in public. Some even looked eager enough to leap forward and take Marlon’s place.
Trapped by the crowd, Marlon had nowhere to run. Clarissa, her chest proudly thrust forward, advanced until he was backed against an invisible wall. The air was thick with her perfume; he could practically taste it.
Just when he thought he might actually die of embarrassment—or asphyxiation—his salvation arrived.
A small, furious figure stepped forward. The air seemed to spark with energy as a fluffy fox tail bristled behind her, every hair standing on end.
It was Amy—the little fox girl.
Her golden eyes flashed dangerously, and her sharp claws—those same deadly talons that had once gleamed during the Night of the Riot—slid into view.
“How can this be?! A demon-hunting fox—” Clarissa’s words caught in her throat. Her painted face blanched. She had recognized what Amy was before Marlon could even stop her.
“Now, now, little one—er, dear, I was just joking with Little Marlon! There’s no need to get so tense,” Clarissa stammered, retreating step by cautious step, her previous seductiveness replaced by visible fear.
Even someone as flamboyant as her knew better than to provoke an Elisa Demon-Hunting Fox.
“Amy, it’s all right. Calm down,” Marlon said softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder from behind.
Perhaps it was his touch—or perhaps Clarissa had retreated far enough—but Amy’s breathing steadied. The lethal gleam of her claws dimmed and disappeared, her hands returning to their soft, furred form.
Then, pouting ever so slightly, the little fox girl turned her head and looked up at Marlon. Without a word, she reached back and clasped his hand tightly with her own paw-like fingers.
It felt… like a declaration of ownership.
“I’m sorry, Madam Clarissa,” Marlon said finally, his tone calm but firm as he looked toward the shaken noblewoman, who had stopped several paces away.
“Ah? Oh—no, no, it’s quite all right!” Clarissa stammered, her earlier poise utterly gone. She looked pale, distracted—like someone whose flirtatious mask had just been ripped away by fear.