The spoon trembled in his hand. August forced down another mouthful of porridge that tasted like wet dust. The plan forming in his head was simple, direct, and utterly insane. He was a professional.
This was a job. Nothing more.
First, he needed to clear the area of witnesses. Leon was still talking a mile a minute, explaining how August could turn a pig into a dragon.
"Hey, Leo," August interrupted, his voice steady. "I need you to do something important for me. Dad's out in the barn, and he needs help with the new plowshare I bought. It's really heavy. A two-man job, for sure. You're strong enough to help him, right?"
Leon's eyes widened. "Yeah! I'm super strong!" He puffed out his small chest and flexed a nonexistent bicep.
"Good man," August said, giving him a wink. "Go on, then. He's probably struggling right now."
Leon didn't need to be told twice. He shot up from his chair and bolted out the door, yelling, "I'm coming, Dad! I'll help you!"
One obstacle removed. Now for the target.
His mother was still on her hands and knees, scrubbing a stubborn spot on the floor. Her ass was a perfect, round target. He focused on the white fabric of her panties, trying to channel the magic from across the room.
He pictured the color changing to black. He pushed with his mind, pouring energy into the thought.
"..."
Nothing happened. The panties remained stubbornly, infuriatingly white.
He frowned. He tried again, focusing harder, feeling the familiar heat build in his chest. The white patterns flickered on his palms. Still nothing. The magic wasn't reaching its target.
Frustration pricked at him. He thought back to the shed. He had held the rock. The queen in the story had to touch the heart. It wasn't just about will. It was about contact.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.
The goddess wasn't just a pervert; she was a sadist. He had to touch them. He actually had to put his hand on his mother's underwear.
While she was wearing it.
A fresh wave of nausea washed over him, but he choked it down. A reward was a reward. An S-Rank adventurer doesn't back down from a dirty job. He took a deep, steadying breath and stood up, his heart starting to hammer against his ribs. The hunt was on.
He began to circle the kitchen with a feigned casualness. He pretended to inspect the shelves, to check the water basin, always keeping his mother in his peripheral vision.
She was a moving target, shifting her weight, leaning, reaching. She was oblivious, lost in her cleaning, humming a soft tune that grated on his nerves.
His first opportunity came when she stood up to wring out the cloth. Her back was to him for five solid seconds.
It was now or never. He took two quick, silent steps forward, his hand outstretched, his fingers trembling. He was inches away.
She suddenly pivoted, turning to grab a dry cloth from a hook.
August froze mid-lunge. He looked like a starving beggar trying to catch a falling loaf of bread. To cover, he transformed the motion into a big, exaggerated stretch, yawning loudly.
"Ah, so tired," he mumbled.
His mother glanced at him, a small smile on her face. "Up late with your stories again, my son? Don't strain yourself."
"Never," he lied, his face burning. He retreated, his heart pounding like a war drum. This was harder than swindling the noblewoman.
She went back to work, tackling the floor beneath the heavy dining table. She got on her hands and knees and crawled underneath. This was it. The perfect cover.
He dropped to his knees and slipped under the heavy oak table. The space was dark and smelled of dust, polish, and her.
The musky scent of her sweat was stronger here. He could see her silhouette against the light from the other side.
She was scrubbing vigorously, her whole body moving with the effort. Her shorts had ridden up even higher, and her ass was aimed directly at him, a perfect, pale moon in the gloom.
He crept forward on his hands and knees. His fingertips, tingling with anticipation and self-loathing, brushed against the cotton fabric stretched across her right ass cheek.
The material was thin and soft. The heat of her skin was intense, radiating through it. He could feel the solid, toned muscle of her glute clench and release underneath his touch as she worked.
He channeled the magic. Instantly, the heat surged from his chest, down his arm, and into his fingertips. The image of pure black flooded his mind. He watched as the fabric bled from white to black, the illusion spreading like ink in water.
Hannah stopped scrubbing. She went completely still. "Mmm?" she murmured, a soft, questioning sound from the back of her throat. It wasn't a sound of alarm, but of pure sensation.
She had felt that.
A definite, warm pressure that sent a strange, pleasant shiver up her spine.
August panicked. He'd only gotten the back. A quest had to be completed fully. The front of her panties was still white.
As she started to shift, distracted by the lingering warmth, he saw his opening. In a single, reckless movement, he lunged forward, his hand darting between her thighs from behind.
His fingertips pressed firmly against the front of her panties. The thin cotton was no barrier.
He felt everything.
The coarse texture of her thick pubic hair rubbing against his skin. Beneath it, the fabric was already shockingly wet. His touch pressed it deep into the soft, yielding valley between her pussy lips.
Through the damp material, he could feel the distinct, plump shapes of her inner folds, slick and ready.
His own body reacted instantly, shamefully, his erection a painful throb in his trousers.
For a long, heart-stopping second, she didn't pull away. A low, breathy moan escaped her lips, a sound that sent a jolt of sick recognition through him.
Her hips gave a small, involuntary push backward, pressing herself more firmly into his strange, anonymous touch. Her body was reacting on pure instinct, welcoming the pleasure before her mind could catch up.
Then, conscious thought broke the spell. "Ah!" She let out a sharp gasp, this time a sound of pure shock. That was a hand. A hand inside her shorts.
She whipped her head around. August yanked his hand back and scrambled backward with the speed of a terrified crab.
He shot out from under the table just as she was crawling out from the other side. He sprung to his feet, pretending to search the floor.
"Dropped a coin!" he exclaimed, his voice an octave too high. "Must have rolled under there."
Hannah stood up, brushing her hands on her shorts. She looked flustered, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. "That was strange," she said, more to herself than to him. "I thought I felt..." She trailed off, shaking her head. It must have been a fold in her clothes.
She would never suspect her own son.
August held his breath. He risked a glance down. He had done it. From his perspective, the white panties were gone, replaced by sleek, illusory black ones.
But there was something else.
Right where his fingers had pressed, a dark, noticeable wet spot had blossomed on the fabric, a physical testament to her body's brief, unguarded response.
A wave of relief so powerful it almost made him dizzy washed over him. And with it came the reward. A screen flashed in his mind.
[Mimic: F]
[A basic illusion spell that alters the perception of an object. Sight manipulation unlocked. Spell formula enhanced. Heh, now you can use mimic at a distance. Degenerate perv.]
He stared at the words, a slow grin spreading across his face despite the insult. At a distance.
The goddess was a foul, perverted creature, but she kept her end of the bargain. All that risk, all that gut-wrenching effort... it was worth it.
The power was worth it.
"Degenerate perv," he muttered with a chuckle, looking up at the ceiling. Says the one who wanted an in innocent son to touch his mom's panties.
"August! Leon says the plowshare is stuck! I need your muscle out here!" His father's voice boomed from outside, shattering the tense atmosphere.
"Coming, Dad!" he yelled back.
He turned to leave, his mind already buzzing, leaving his confused mother and the scene of his disgusting crime behind.
The drudgery of farm work awaited, but he didn't care. His thoughts were already in town, not just for the silver, but for the practice.
Scamming was the perfect crucible to forge his new power. To truly master Mimic, he needed to test its limits against real, thinking people.
Every lie he told would be a spell, every dupe a training dummy on his path to greatness. This was how he would get stronger.
This was his path to S-Rank!