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Lohen is acting strange.
There's nothing unusual about this statement—it's in the Vice Captain's nature to act strange, especially around Varka. An innocent smile that would never reach his eyes, an insouciant pose as he'd hold up a vial of poison: to capture the treasure hoarders terrorizing the folks of Springvale, or to disembowel the masked coalition hiding in the shadows of Mondstadt City, as he'd claim. But Varka could never be sure he himself wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.
They're sitting in Varka's office, waiting for Jean to call them to a meeting. It's kind of absurd, how many times Varka's had to sit through these meetings in the weeks since coming back home. Isn't scratching pen on paper from dusk till dawn enough?
“You seem troubled today, Varka,” Lohen hums. He's made himself comfortable on the cushiony sofa near Varka's desk, one leg crossed over the other. “Has Jean been on your case again about skipping your administrative duties?”
Varka laughs, reaching for the tankard at his desk. He'd thought to pass time tackling some paperwork, and dandelion wine has been his trusted companion whenever he gets too restless. “It's not like you to be so concerned, Lohen.”
Lohen's lips curve into a smile. “You say that like I'm hiding something.”
Varka raises an amused eyebrow and brings the tankard to his lips. “I wouldn't put it past you.”
“And if I am?” Lohen's smile widens and he props an elbow on the armrest, rests his chin in hand. “What do you think I'm hiding?”
Varka stops. Peers into the tankard. His reflection dances back at him, clear and unassuming.
Varka returns Lohen's smirk. “Knowing you, another strange 'medicine' in my drink.” He tips his head back and lets the wine run down his throat in steady, practiced gulps.
All the while, Lohen's gaze pierces into him like the edge of a blade. “Wouldn't that be a sight. Jean walking in to find the all-powerful Grand Master slumped over his desk! You'd never have to sign another document again.”
Varka sets the empty tankard back down on his desk with a confident thump. “As much as I like the sound of that, you know as well as I do that it's not going to happen.”
After all, he's proven himself an iron pillar against Lohen's schemes. Nothing could break him. Sure, getting ambushed is unpleasant, but he's learned to relish the disappointment on the young knight's face whenever he downs a spiked drink or falls into a trap and still comes out standing on his own two legs.
A shadow crosses Lohen's eyes, his playful smirk morphing into deadly amusement. “I wouldn't be so sure, Grand Master. Even the strongest knights have their weaknesses.”
Varka smiles and shakes his head. As unpredictable as Lohen is, he's learned to act vigilant in the face of his threats. If the rascal wants to play games with him, so be it.
The door to Varka's office opens and Jean peers inside. “Grand Master Varka, Vice Captain Lohen, the meeting is about to begin.”
“Perfect timing,” Varka says, scraping back his chair. “Any longer and I'd have to run out for another drink.”
Jean throws him a look. “Drinking before a meeting is inadvisable, Grand Master.”
“I agree,” Lohen says, standing up. “Can't risk our Grand Master making a drunken fool of himself, can we?”
Varka sighs, slumping his shoulders. “You could at least back me up here, Lohen.”
Lohen only smiles. There's something wicked in his eyes, and it leaves Varka feeling unsettled. Does the young knight have something up his sleeve, after all? Surely he wouldn't play tricks on Varka before a meeting, of all times?
He subtly observes Lohen as they follow Jean out of the office. His hands are folded neatly behind his back, steps measured, gaze carefully trained in front of him. It's impossible to tell what's behind those piercing red eyes. Maybe Varka should keep his guard up. Or maybe Lohen's just pulling his leg.
He throws his suspicions aside as they step into the meeting room—he can worry about the young knight later. Already present is Anselm, the last knight in charge of administrative duties to return from the expedition, and—Seamus Pegg?
“Varka,” Seamus regards him with a morose glance.
“Seamus. Didn't expect to see you here,” Varka answers with an awkward laugh. “Thought you'd been holed up in the Church ever since coming back from the expedition.”
“My duties as Cardinal do not interfere with my administrative duties to the Knights of Favonius,” Seamus retorts. “Perhaps you can learn a thing or two about that.”
Everyone has it out for Varka today, huh. He'll definitely need that second drink after the meeting.
As Varka pulls out a chair and sits down, he's hit with the sharp urge to urinate. A low grunt escapes him, and he adjusts himself in his seat. Odd—as far he can tell, he's only had the one tankard to drink all morning. It usually takes four or five rounds before he's running for the toilet.
Lohen takes a seat next to him, throwing a smile in his direction. “Something the matter, Grand Master?”
“Ah...” Varka is too distracted to pay Lohen proper attention. Maybe he hadn't used the bathroom since arriving at Favonius HQ. But even so, he was fine just a minute ago. Fine until he sat down. Now he has to piss more badly than he can remember.
Everyone else takes their seats, and Varka panics.
“Ah, Jean, hope you'll excuse me for a moment.” He flattens his palms on the table, moving to stand up. “There's something I forgot to take care of—”
“You may leave once the meeting ends, Grand Master,” Jean interrupts, raising an eyebrow at him. “Whatever it is you must take care of, you've had plenty of time to do so beforehand.” The unspoken, “I do not trust you won't run out of the building and avoid your duties,” like an instructor scolding a disobedient child, brings a flush to his cheeks.
Great. The meeting's barely started and he's already embarrassed himself.
Fine, then. He'll just have to hold it. It shouldn't be a problem, right? He's no stranger to the winds' calling at the most inconvenient times. He's led his army through the thick of a Wild Hunt attack with a full bladder, rushed home bursting after the toilet at the Flagship broke down, and even worse—confined himself to hours and hours of paperwork in his office, an ocean of liquor working through his system, legs bouncing from how badly he needed to go.
And he's survived all those instances with dry pants and dignity intact. He can hold it through a meeting just fine.
But as Anselm brings everyone up-to-date on administrative handlings at Favonius Keep, Varka finds himself struggling to pay attention, and not out of boredom. It's like someone turned the faucet on in his kidneys. His bladder is swelling by the minute, a pressure so strong it has him squeezing his legs under the table. He tries shifting subtly in his seat, just enough to ease the urge, but when Seamus glares daggers in his direction, he forces himself to sit still.
But sitting still is hard. Varka aches to squirm, to bounce his leg. How does he need to piss this badly? He hasn't drunk anything suspicious, hasn't been so distracted to the point that he just forgets to go—
Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Lohen staring at him. Their eyes briefly meet, and it only takes the small smirk on the young knight's face for Varka's heart to stop.
A diuretic. Lohen put a diuretic in his drink.
This rascal...!
He should have known. Should have kept his shields up and gone to the bathroom before the meeting. Just in case. Just in case—
A spasm pierces his bladder, stronger than any he's felt before. Varka grits his teeth and inhales through his nose, trying not to show signs of distress. The last thing he needs is for everyone to know he's bursting to piss.
But as the minutes crawl along, the harder it is to hide it. It's as if all the liquid in his body is flowing into his bladder in a never-ending waterfall.
He tries crossing one leg over the other, but his thighs are so huge his knee hits the underside of the table.
Anselm pauses. Everyone's eyes turn to Varka.
“Is something wrong, Grand Master?” Jean asks.
Varka freezes. The bang was loud enough to rock his bladder again, but with all eyes on him, he doesn't dare squirm. He dismisses Jean with a wave of his hand and a strained laugh. “No, no. Don't worry about me. I'm perfectly fine!”
“The interruption would be much more warranted if you had something important to say,” Seamus sniffs.
He's never going to let Varka off the hook, is he? “My sincerest apologies,” Varka manages.
“I'm sure we can be a little kinder to our Grand Master,” Lohen interjects, leaning back in his chair. Relaxed, unbothered. “Sitting still is no easy feat for a knight with a fighter's spirit.”
Varka holds back a strained sound, hands flexing on the table. Gods, this meeting should not go on longer than it needs to.
Seamus's brows draw together. “I'm sure you know this quite well yourself, Vice Captain. Yet you've proven to be an invaluable asset to the expeditionary force.”
Lohen laughs, a modest, innocent sound. “What can I say? Grand Master Varka has been very kind in my assessments.” He turns to look at Varka, smiling sweetly. “Isn't that right, Grand Master?”
Varka tries not to glare in return. “Lohen, you...” How he wishes he could scold Lohen right now. But instead, he inhales deeply before turning to Seamus and forcing a nod. “Lohen... He's brought us many victories, no doubt. There's nothing...bad I can say about him—”
Varka's bladder protests with a cruel spasm before he can even finish. His body goes rigid, heart thundering in his chest as urine rushes to his exit, demanding release. Fuck. He ducks his head, gritting his teeth as he fights with every fibre of muscle to ride out the spasm.
Archons, he needs to piss. He needs to piss so badly.
Seamus narrows his eyes. “Try to focus, Grand Master Varka.”
At least he sounds less irritable, but it grants Varka no mercy. As the meeting crawls along, he can't focus on anything except his full bladder. No, full is an understatement. It's stretched like a water balloon, a ticking time bomb in his body. It doesn't help that his belt and armor plate are digging into his stomach, making it all the worse.
Varka can't sit still anymore. He's rocking back and forth, back and forth in his chair. Seamus and Jean give him odd looks now and again, adding to the heat already flaming his cheeks. But there's little he can do; if he sits still now, he's going to spring a leak, or even worse—have a full-blown accident.
All the while, Lohen's gaze is fixed on him, drinking in his desperation. He must be getting a real kick out of watching him struggle. Varka knew Lohen was a menace, but even so, he had painfully underestimated him.
Even the strongest knights have their weaknesses.
Varka inhales. Exhales slowly. He wants to believe he can endure. His whole body is stiff as a board, and his legs shake with effort, but he's holding on. If Lohen wants to see him wet his pants, he'll be disappointed. Varka won't surrender so easily.
But his bladder screams otherwise, begging him to give up the fight. If only he could undo his belt. Hold himself under the table. Or better yet—run out and make a mad dash for the bathroom. He'll get a scolding from Jean and Seamus, and it won't be pretty, but at least he'll be rid of this unbearable pressure.
He just—He just needs relief. He wants to see himself in front of a urinal, unzipping his pants, opening the floodgates and letting the waters flow—
No. Don't think about pissing. Don't think about it. Don't even think about water, or alcohol, or anything to do with floods—
But it's too late. His urethra wavers and, in cold horror, Varka feels a spurt of piss escape, a drop of wetness soak his underwear.
His cock pulses, whether from sheer desperation or something too embarrassing to name, he doesn't know. What he does know is he's going to piss himself where he sits if he doesn't run to the bathroom now—
“Forgive the interruption, Jean,” the words tumble out of him as he stands halfway, thighs jammed together. “Can we take a break? Five minutes?”
Jean frowns at him. “A break? What for? We don't have much left in the meeting, Grand Master.”
Her words would be promising if he weren't about to explode.
There's no use backing down now. “I've, uh— I really need to relieve myself.” Varka's face burns as he manages a wobbly smile. “I promise I'll only be a minute, I—”
“A typical excuse,” Seamus interjects, folding his arms.
“It's not an excuse, I can assure you.” Varka's voice borders on pleading as he shifts from foot to foot. “I wouldn't lie to you, would I?”
Seamus is unswayed. “You're not a child, Varka. Surely a man who can hold gallons of liquor like yourself can also hold his own bladder.”
“That's enough, Father,” Jean interjects. She offers Varka a kinder expression. “The meeting will be over soon, Grand Master. Then you can take care of whatever it is you need to.”
Varka's heart constricts in his ribs. Defeated, he slumps back down, only to hiss when the sudden spike of pressure forces out another leak. Without bothering to look around, he shoves his hand into his pocket, squeezing the tip of his cock through fabric.
Gods, it's torturous. Carrying the soul of a wolf god was less debilitating than this.
He feels the tip of a boot gently brush his calf. “Jean was right,” Lohen purrs. “It really is inadvisable to drink before a meeting.”
“Don't—Don't remind me.” There's that pulsing in his cock again, aching and unbearable. If Lohen teases him again, paints more images of drinks in his mind, he'll flood his pants and the chair and make a mess of the floor. Hasn't the young knight gotten what he wanted already? To see Varka squirm?
He doesn't know how he survives the meeting. Maybe it's a hidden mercy Jean grants him that she wraps things up quickly. His desperation must be that obvious—everyone in the room now knows their Grand Master is going to have an accident if he's not let out soon. It's an embarrassing thought, but it's not like Varka has much dignity left.
Files are put away and chairs are scraped back, and Jean thanks everyone for their attendance.
“Thank the Archons,” Varka groans under his breath. He waits for Jean and the others to file out of the room before slowly getting to his feet. But gravity is merciless, and another leak spurts out, and both of his hands dive to the front of his pants—damp, but that's fine. A little wet stain won't hurt. As long as he can make it to the bathroom, he'll live.
But even getting to the door is a challenge when he's about to burst. He's hunched over, shuffling in quick strides, the weight of tankards of urine sloshing inside him in reckless waves. His breath is haggard and his heart hammers in his chest like he's in the throes of battle, and he may as well be.
“You're not going anywhere, Grand Master.”
A small hand grabs his muscular arm and yanks him to a stop.
A spike of panic jolts up his spine, a sharp sting of pressure forcing out another spurt of piss. Varka makes an aching noise and turns to look at the source of his misery: Lohen, face inches from his own, staring at him with a wicked grin.
Varka's stomach drops. “Lohen, please—” He's ashamed for begging, for holding himself so openly in front of his subordinate, but he's at his wits end. “Let me go. I gave you want you want already, yeah?”
Lohen hums thoughtfully. “I don't think so. I'm not finished playing with you, Varka.” He pulls Varka away from the door, away from salvation, and sits him down in the closest empty chair.
For a knight of his small stature, his strength is impeccable. Varka makes a strangled noise as his bladder jolts, as urine surges forth when his thighs hit the chair. A few more droplets leak out, not yet a loss of control, but his muscles burn and his hands shake and he can't bear it much longer.
“You poor thing,” Lohen murmurs, leaning close, blocking Varka's view of the door, of escape. He rests his hands on Varka's taut thighs, just above his knees, and trails his palms higher, higher up thick muscle. “You know, Varka, you always drink so much. I always wanted to know what you'd look like when you hold it all in.”
Varka groans. His cock throbs under his palms, and he's even more ashamed to admit he's enticed by Lohen's words. Being utterly helpless, desperate for relief... Agh, he's really getting aroused, isn't he?
Lohen laughs, and it's an ungodly sound. “How embarrassing. What would Jean think? Or the people of Mondstadt? If they knew their beloved Grand Master and legendary protector is turned on from holding his own piss?”
Varka couldn't possibly blush any harder. He still has half a mind to get up, to put an end to this game. He's twice Lohen's size; he could easily overpower him and make a run for it, and yet... something holds him in place. He's too used to letting the Vice Captain get away with whatever he wants. Plus, he doesn't think he can even escape without leaving a river of piss in his wake.
“You're killing me here,” is what he grits out through his teeth.
Lohen hums. “You know that's never my intention.” His hands stop midway to where Varka holds his crotch for dear life, and his expression darkens.
“Hands off, Grand Master.”
Varka forces out a laugh, his face burning anew. “You're really out to humiliate me, huh?”
Lohen smirks. “Don't make me repeat myself.”
Varka draws in a breath. With one last squeeze of his cock, a silent plea for his bladder to hold on, he pulls his hands away and grips the seat below him with white knuckles.
The evidence of his shame is obvious: a dark stain the size of a sunsettia blooming on the front of his gray pants.
The crimson in Lohen's eyes ignites and he smiles, all teeth. “My, my. Let some out already, hmm?” He pulls away just enough to lift his leg and, before Varka can respond, presses his boot into Varka's groin.
“Hgghk—!” Varka throws his head back as sharp pleasure explodes up his cock. Fuck, it's heavenly, the friction, the pressure pushing back the deluge in his bladder. His hips roll against his will, chasing more of that friction, each rut more desperate than the last. Anything, anything to help him hold it.
“Ah ah ah,” Lohen interrupts, twisting his boot into Varka's cock so hard it hurts. “I didn't say you could move, puppy. You'll take what I give you.”
The whine that slips past Varka's lips is mortifying. “You're—You're reckless.”
“Speak for yourself.” Lohen begins a slow rhythm, rubbing his boot up and down the length of Varka's cock. Varka is helpless as he swells under Lohen's touch. Someone could walk in on them now, swing open the door and witness a most disgraceful sight between Grand Master and Vice Captain, but Varka's thoughts are too scattered to care. He's lost in sensation, his blood boiling with need. The need to piss. To move. To chase any kind of relief.
“I must give you credit, though,” Lohen continues. “That diuretic was rather strong. Albedo advised I only use it for medical emergencies.” He tuts and shakes his head. “But you truly are as unbreakable as they say, Grand Master. I was wrong to think you'd have pissed down your legs by now.”
Varka bites back another groan. He tries hard not to think about it, about pissing unrestrained, but it's no use. His urethra wavers and another warm spurt wets his pants anew.
It doesn't go unnoticed by his captor. “Yet you're not a statue. You're still human, after all.” Lohen's voice drops an octave, lips curving into a dangerous smile. “And I want to see you break.”
He slides his foot up Varka's groin and presses into the hard, round swell of his bladder.
The sound that tears from Varka's throat is inhumane. The pressure is so sudden and strong he doesn't have time to retaliate. He can only squirm helplessly as more urine leaks out, tracking down his inner thighs and pooling uncomfortably beneath his ass.
“Look at how full you are,” Lohen purrs. “Hard as a rock. Bet you could water a garden with how much you're holding.”
“Lohen—” Varka's voice is strained and desperate. “Please, I—I can't take it anymore.” It's so much, so much. His cock throbs in tandem with his bladder, straining in its confines. His urethra burns, every press of Lohen's boot another crack in the dam. Archons, he needs to piss so badly!
Lohen hums, as if seriously considering his plea. “You know, you can always just let go.” He rocks the heel of his foot in steady undulations, forcing more droplets out with every push and press. “But I know your pride won't let you. You always stand your ground, fighting until the very end. It's why you're so revered, after all.”
Varka is ashamed to admit that it's true. Even if every cell in his body begs to let go, even if his pants are already soaked past the point of discretion, he cannot will himself to relax. He is too used to fighting and fighting until his muscles give out. Who is he if not a man of endurance?
“Looks like I'll have to take further measures, then.”
Lohen pulls his foot away, and Varka nearly groans with relief. But his salvation doesn't last long—Lohen swings one leg over Varka's thighs, and from this standpoint Varka can see it clearly: the tent in Lohen's own pants. He swallows thickly.
Lohen smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Unlike you, Varka, I have no shame. You're just too hot when you're bursting.”
He then grinds himself down on Varka's lap, and Varka's answering cry is thunderous.
“Lohen—ugh—!” Like this, Lohen's body weight is an anvil on Varka's bladder. He's never felt a pressure this intense in his life.
“Easy now, big boy,” Lohen murmurs in his ear, holding Varka with steady hands as his burly body shakes. “You wouldn't want anyone to hear us, would you?”
It's impossible. His urethra gives way and a jet of piss spurts out, warm wetness spreading down the front of his pants and dampening Lohen's own. It's only by his formidable strength that he manages to pull himself together, that he doesn't have an accident then and there.
“Poor puppy. So close to losing it,” Lohen's voice drips with mock sympathy. “How about this: I'll be kind and let you move. Squirm for me, as much as you want, my dear Grand Master.”
Varka can't do anything but obey. He grabs Lohen's waist, so small in his large hands that the tips of his fingers and thumbs nearly touch, and jerks his hips forward, the swell of his cock rubbing Lohen's own.
“Fuck,” he chokes out as another hot spurt escapes him. He doesn't know what's worse: sitting still and feeling the heavy weight of piss in his bladder, or rolling his hips and feeling urine slosh and sway inside him like a raging ocean. But he can't deny—the friction on his cock is divine. He's so hard it hurts.
“Haah, your piss is so warm, Varka,” Lohen's voice comes in a brazen, breathy moan. “Don't stop moving. I want to feel all of you.”
Varka is almost too embarrassed to look down. There's an obvious stain on Lohen's pants now, all his own doing. It's disgraceful, wetting on his subordinate, and yet the sight propels him. He grits his teeth and drives his hips forward, again, again, and Lohen meets him in tandem.
It's torturous, it's unbearable. Lohen's weight pushes into his bladder every time he grinds down, a force too strong for Varka's failing muscles. But at the same time, it feels so good. So addicting. Gods, he can't hold it. He's so full of piss he's going to explode.
“Lohen,” he croaks. “Lohen, I can't— I'm going to—”
“Not yet,” Lohen breathes. “I know you can hold on longer. You're doing so good for me, Grand Master.”
Varka whines, both from the praise and the denial of release. He's pushing himself to the absolute precipice, grinding faster, harder, the chair creaking under their combined weight. His cock aches and pulses, straining through wet fabric. His veins are alight, his skin aflame, his vision swallowed by white-hot need, and he feels it—orgasm building fast in his gut, the final breaking point. It drives him deeper, deeper, deeper into the storm of pleasure.
“Fuck, Lohen— It feels so— hnngh!”
“Oh, yes, yes. You love it, don't you, Varka?” Lohen's eyes dance wildly with ecstasy, cheeks flushed with pleasure. He's rubbing with reckless abandon on Varka's bulge, chasing his own climax, fuel to the flames swallowing Varka whole.
“Yes,” Varka grits out, too far gone to feel ashamed. “Fuck, I'm—gonna come—”
“So soon?” Lohen laughs. “You really are desperate. Can't even—ah—hold in your own orgasm—”
Varka can't help another whine. He's never been this full, this desperate. He needs to piss, to come. His muscles are taut as bowstrings, tightening still as pleasure and pressure bubble over in his gut, as the last threads holding back the dam of his urethra break.
“Archons, Lohen, please.” He doesn't care that he's begging openly. Doesn't care how pathetic he sounds. “I can't hold it, please—”
Lohen meets Varka's eyes with wild hunger, a predator ready to pounce on its prey. “Then let go. Piss all over me, Grand Master.”
With a broken cry, Varka throws his head back as orgasm shakes him to his core. He spills in his underwear, thick white fluid pumping from his aching cock, and it is then that the floodgates break. That a sudden, rushing warmth floods his pants and pours down his legs, the chair, splatters onto the floor.
The relief is instant. The burn in his muscles melts into simmering warmth, so heavenly that he can't help a loud groan. He's grinding on Lohen still, forcing out more piss with every thrust of his deflating cock and thoroughly soaking the Vice Captain.
And Lohen—this brat—he lets out a shaky, gusty moan as he grinds through his own climax, lips parted in a torturous smile. “Varka—ah— You're so hot. Pissing all over yourself like a dog. The legendary Lupus Boreas, brought to his knees by his own bladder. A tale for the ages!”
Varka's face burns, his blood thundering in his ears. By the gods, it's humiliating. He's never felt so ashamed. But he can't—he can't stop pissing. There's so much. It flows in waterfalls down his thighs, his knees, pooling into his boots. And Lohen—Lohen's white pants are now dark down the front, soaked and glistening. Anyone would think he's had an accident, too, but knowing him, even this is what he wants.
“You—You did this to me,” Varka groans out, a lot less menacing than intended.
“And I would do it again.” There's no humor in Lohen's words. “Haah, it feels so good, being soaked in your piss. Even better than being soaked in blood.”
Varka has half a mind to punish this brat. And he would, if his thighs weren't shaking. If his limbs weren't weak from how much he's held. Instead, he can only let his arms fall in defeat at his sides, close his eyes and surrender to the mortifying hiss of his stream.
He doesn't know when he finally stops. When the hissing quiets into steady drips and he's left sitting in a puddle of his own shame. As embarrassed as he is, he can't help a low, guttural sigh at how blissfully empty he is. How good it feels to no longer have a rock-hard weight in his bladder paralyzing his senses.
“That's my good boy,” Lohen purrs, sliding his hands up Varka's chest as he breathes deeply, playing with the golden wisps of hair at his neck. “You were so good, holding in so much for me. If I'd known you were this endearing when you need to pee, I'd have put diuretics in your drinks long ago.” He laughs, and it's a heartless sound.
Varka is awash in fresh shame when he opens his eyes to the sheer size of his puddle. It pools under the table, creeps towards the door, glistens like sparkling water in the early afternoon light. To think that he was holding all of this in his body...
“I can't believe I just pissed myself,” he groans, running a hand down his face. “I'm never going to live this down.”
He can't fathom the aftermath: waddling with soaked pants to his office for a fresh change of clothes, trying not to leave tracks of piss down the hall. Running back to clean the puddle before someone walks in. Gods, if anyone else were to see the mess he's made... He would bring shame upon himself, upon the Knight of Boreas title, upon all of his beloved Mondstadt.
Lohen smirks and loops his arms lazily around Varka's shoulders. He leans closer, closer, until Varka's vision is swallowed by the piercing crimsons of his eyes, until Varka can't think about anything else.
“Don't worry, Grand Master. This can be our little secret~”