Chapter Ten: Daily Domestication

The morning bells of Trinity College toll precisely at seven o'clock, their melodious chimes piercing the morning mist and echoing among the ancient buildings. Sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled patterns on the floor of the tea room. The air is filled with the aroma of black tea and freshly baked pastries—the unique scent of a Trinity morning.

Inside the tea room, exquisite porcelain was already laid out on the long table. The silver teapot gleamed softly in the morning light, and scones, macarons, and fruit tarts were neatly arranged on a three-tiered dessert stand. Everything was orderly, everything was flawless—at least on the surface.

The teacher sat at one end of the long table, holding a black notebook in his hand. His gaze calmly swept over the person across the table.

Nagisa Kirifuji.

Or rather, it should now be described as...being learning to become Nagisa Kirito.

Today he wore his signature tea party attire—a cream-colored midi skirt, impeccably ironed, its gold buttons shimmering warmly in the morning light; dark gray pantyhose encasing his long, slender legs; and the tips of his white high heels lightly touched the ground. His long, grey-gold hair was neatly tied back with flowers, the angel wings on his back slightly folded, and a red halo hovered above his head, radiating a steady, soft glow.

His posture was impeccable, with his legs together and slightly angled, his hands clasped on his knees. His expression was calm, his blue eyes fixed on the teacup in front of him, as if he were pondering some profound question.

But the teacher knew that all of this was just a facade.

The notebook was opened, and the first page was already filled with writing. It contained yesterday's notes on "mistakes"—details that didn't fit Kirito Nagisa's behavioral patterns.

"Let's begin," the teacher said calmly.

Nagisa—let's call him that for now—raised his head, a flicker of nervousness crossing his blue eyes, but he quickly regained his composure. He picked up the teapot and began to pour tea for his teacher.

The movements were elegant and precise. The angle of the wrist, the speed of the water flow, the position of the teacup… every detail had been meticulously practiced. Black tea was slowly poured into the white porcelain teacup, the water level stopping at just the right position—exactly one centimeter from the rim.

But the teacher noticed.

There was a slight tremor in my wrist as I finished pouring the tea. It was so subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The real Nagisa wouldn't do that. The real Nagisa's movements are always fluid, always composed, and never exhibit any unnecessary tremor.

The teacher noted in his notebook: "His wrist trembled while pouring tea, indicating a lack of confidence."

Zhu put down the teapot, placed her hands folded on the table, and waited for the teacher's evaluation.

"Continue," the teacher said.

Nagisa picked up his teacup and took a small sip. His movements were precise, but... too fast. The real Nagisa always drinks tea slowly and leisurely, savoring each sip. But now, he seemed to be completing a task, as if he were in a rush.

Another line appeared in the notebook: "Drinking tea too quickly, lacking composure."

Then came the conversation.

"Regarding yesterday's border dispute between Trinity and Ghenna," the teacher said, as it was a regular topic of discussion at the tea party, "what are your thoughts?"

Nagisa put down his teacup, his blue eyes shifting slightly as if in thought. Then, he spoke.

“I think we should take a tougher stance,” he said, his voice in Nagisa’s tone, but his words and tone… were not quite right. “Ghena’s students are always provoking us, and if we continue to back down, they will take advantage of us. They should be made aware that Trinity is not to be trifled with.”

The teacher looked at him without saying anything.

What would the real Nagisa say? She would say, "We need to handle this carefully. While Gerina's behavior is indeed worrying, direct confrontation could escalate the conflict. Perhaps we can find a mutually acceptable solution through dialogue."

Instead of these... offensive remarks.

The notebook reads: "The diplomatic stance is too hard, lacking the caution and inclusiveness that Nagisa is known for."

Throughout the morning, such "mistakes" kept occurring. Occasionally, the posture would slacken, the eyes would wander, the word choice would be inappropriate, and the curve of the smile would be off... Every detail, every tiny discrepancy, was carefully recorded by the teacher.

Nagisa's expression gradually stiffened. He could feel the teacher's gaze, the records, and the fact that every move he made was being scrutinized and judged. But he said nothing, simply continuing to act and continue learning.

The tea party ended at noon.

The teacher closed her notebook and stood up.

“We’ll continue this afternoon,” he said, and then left the tea room.

Nagisa sat alone at the long table, staring at the now-cold black tea and the barely touched pastries. His hands clenched tightly under the table, his knuckles turning white from the ****.

But he didn't move; he just sat there quietly.

The afternoon training was even more rigorous.

At Trinity's library, the teacher asked Nagisa to organize the ancient books. The real Nagisa was very familiar with this task; she could accurately put each parchment scroll back in its correct place and classify them according to their age, content, and condition.

But Nagisa now... won't work.

He picked up a scroll of parchment, looked at the label, hesitated for a few seconds, and then placed it in the wrong spot. The teacher didn't point it out; he just watched and made a note in his notebook.

Then comes etiquette training.

In the etiquette classroom at Holy Trinity College, the teacher asked Nagisa to demonstrate standard tea ceremony etiquette. Walking, bowing, talking, smiling... every movement was broken down and examined.

"His shoulders are too stiff when he walks."

"The angle of his bow is wrong."

"His eyes don't smile when he smiles."

"His fingers unconsciously tap the table when he talks—the real Nagisa would never do that."

Error, error, and more error.

The notebook was overflowing with entries, every page filled with words. Those red marks, those detailed descriptions, those constant denials…

Nagisa's face grew paler and paler, but his blue eyes remained calm. He continued practicing, continued correcting, continued...acting.

As evening approached, training finally came to an end.

The teacher closed her notebook and looked at Nagisa standing in the center of the etiquette room. The afterglow of the setting sun shone through the window onto him, casting a golden halo over his tea party attire. He stood there, his posture perfect, his expression calm, and he looked... almost exactly like the real Nagisa.

But the teacher knew it wasn't.

"You made thirty-seven mistakes today," the teacher said calmly. "Five fewer than yesterday, but still too many."

Nagisa didn't speak, but simply bowed her head slightly, indicating that she accepted the criticism.

“There will be punishment tonight,” the teacher continued. “You know what to do.”

Nagisa's body trembled slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. He nodded.

"Yes, teacher."

Night falls.

The teacher's dormitory was dimly lit. Only the bedside lamp emitted a soft glow, casting blurry shadows on the walls. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the night outside.

Zhu knelt beside the bed.

He had already changed out of his tea party attire and was now only wearing a white silk nightgown. The nightgown was thin and sheer, almost transparent under the light, clearly revealing the outline of his body beneath. He was still wearing dark gray pantyhose, but the crotch had been cut open—a deliberate design for punishment.

His hands rested on his knees, his head slightly lowered, his long, grey-gold hair cascading over his shoulders, with a few strands falling across his cheeks. The angel wings on his back were slightly folded, and a red halo hovered above his head, emitting a faint red glow.

The teacher sat on the edge of the bed, holding the black notebook in his hand. He opened to the page where he had recorded today's entries and began to read aloud.

"Mistake 1: A trembling wrist while pouring tea indicates a lack of confidence."

"Mistake 2: Drinking tea too quickly, lacking composure."

"Mistake 3: An overly assertive diplomatic stance, lacking the characteristic caution and inclusiveness of Nagisa."

"Mistake 4: Occasionally slouching posture, indicating insufficient core strength." "Mistake 5:

Shifty eyes, indicating a lack of concentration." "

Mistake 6: Inappropriate word choice, overly aggressive tone."

"Mistake 7: A stiff expression without smiling eyes."

"Mistake 8: Stiff shoulders while walking, lacking elegance."

"Mistake 9: Bowing at an angle three degrees off."

"Mistake 10: Unconsciously tapping fingers on the table while conversing..."

He read out thirty-seven mistakes in total. Each one was described in detail, each one was recorded precisely. His voice was calm and clear, echoing in the quiet room.

Nagisa knelt there, listening quietly. With each mistake read aloud, his body trembled slightly. When all the mistakes were read, his head drooped even lower.

“Thirty-seven mistakes,” the teacher said, closing the notebook, “means thirty-seven punishments. Do you understand?”

Nagisa nodded, her voice soft: "Understood, teacher."

“Well then,” the teacher said, standing up and walking over to him, “let’s begin.”

The teacher unzipped his pants, exposing his semi-erect penis to the air. In the dim light, the penis looked particularly menacing, with bulging veins and a clear liquid seeping from the tip of the glans, gleaming faintly in the light.

Nagisa raised his head, his blue eyes fixed on the penis. Then, he opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and gently licked the tip of the glans. His tongue swirled around the urethra, collecting the oozing fluid, before he took the entire glans into his mouth.

His warm, moist mouth enveloped the glans, his tongue deftly entwining the shaft. He slowly penetrated deeper, swallowing the entire penis deep into his throat. Deep throat, again and again, each time almost pushing the glans to the very back of his throat.

"Mmm...mmm..." he groaned, but his voice was muffled because of the penis in his mouth.

The teacher placed his hand on his head, his fingers running through his long, grey-gold hair. He could feel the rhythm of his head moving up and down, the contraction of his throat muscles, and the slight feeling of suffocation with each deep throat.

This is the first punishment.

It lasted for about three minutes, and then the teacher ejaculated. The scalding semen shot directly into the depths of her throat. Nagisa didn't dodge; instead, she swallowed even harder, her throat muscles contracting violently to swallow every drop of semen.

As his penis slid out of his mouth, it brought with it a mixture of saliva and semen, forming silvery threads that clung to the corners of his mouth. A few stray pubic hairs—fallen from the base of the teacher's penis—clung to his cheeks and chin, trembling slightly with his shallow breaths.

"Mistake one, punishment complete," the teacher said calmly.

Then came the second punishment.

The teacher told Nagisa to turn around, facing away from him, with her hands on the edge of the bed and her buttocks raised high. The hem of her white silk nightgown was lifted up to her waist, revealing her buttocks encased in dark gray pantyhose. The crotch of the pantyhose had been cut open, revealing the pink slits inside, which were now slightly open, oozing a clear liquid.

Without any foreplay, the teacher aimed his still semi-erect penis, which had just ejaculated, at the wet entrance and thrust it in hard.

"Ah—!" Nagisa screamed, her body trembling violently.

The penis stretched open the tight passage, reaching all the way to the deepest point. The teacher began to thrust, each stroke using all his might, each impact almost pushing Nagisa's entire body against the edge of the bed.

The sounds of flesh colliding echoed in the room, mixed with Nagisa's increasingly loud moans and the creaking of the bed frame.

This is the second punishment.

It lasted for about five minutes, and then the teacher ejaculated again. Hot semen filled her body, filling every corner. After ejaculating, the teacher withdrew, his penis bringing with it a large amount of cloudy white fluid that splashed onto Nagisa's buttocks and thighs.

"Mistake two, punishment complete."

Then came the third, the fourth, the fifth...

Each punishment took a different form. Sometimes it was oral sex, sometimes anal sex, sometimes breast sex, sometimes foot sex. The teacher used every method, every position, and every means of humiliation.

The smell in the room grew stronger. The stench of semen, the odor of bodily fluids, the saltiness of sweat, and the saltiness of Nagisa's tears—all these smells mixed together to create a suffocating, profane atmosphere.

The stain on the sheets grew larger and deeper. Fresh semen and bodily fluids mixed with the old stain, forming a thick, shiny film on the white sheets. A few pubic hairs clung to the stain, trembling slightly as the sheets swayed.

Nagisa's body was covered in various marks: red finger marks, bruises, hickeys, stains of semen, and traces of bodily fluids. Her white silk nightgown was completely soaked, clinging to her body and becoming transparent, revealing the color of her skin and the dirty stains underneath. Her dark gray pantyhose were torn to shreds, barely covering her body.

His face was also covered in filth. The semen at the corner of his mouth had dried into white scabs, and the tear stains on his cheeks were mixed with semen and saliva, forming dirty streaks. A few pubic hairs still clung to his face, trembling slightly with his weak breathing.

As the clock struck midnight, the thirty-seventh punishment finally came to an end.

Nagisa lay limp on the bed, motionless, only his faint breathing a testament to his life. His body was utterly defiled, desecrated, and utterly filthy. His white silk nightgown and dark gray pantyhose had become filthy rags, stained with all sorts of filth. His skin was covered in marks, his hair was disheveled, and his face was smeared with semen and tears.

The teacher stood by the bed, looking at the body and the mess in the room. Then, he picked up the black notebook and turned to a new page.

“Tomorrow,” he said calmly, “I hope the number of errors will be reduced to less than thirty.”

Nagisa did not answer, but simply nodded slightly.

The teacher went to the bathroom and turned on the tap. Warm water flowed out, he picked up a towel, soaked it, and then returned to the bedside.

He began to carefully clean Nagisa's body. He wiped away the stains, the semen, and the bodily fluids with a warm towel. His movements were gentle and meticulous, as if he were handling some precious treasure.

Nagisa lay quietly, letting him clean her up. Her blue eyes stared at the ceiling, tears still streaming down her face, but she no longer struggled or resisted.

After the body was cleaned up, the teacher brought a set of clean clothes—the tea party attire to be worn the next day, which had already been ironed.

He helped Nagisa put on her clothes, his movements gentle and practiced. Then, he pulled the blanket over her.

"Take a rest," the teacher said, giving Nagisa a gentle kiss on the forehead. "We'll continue tomorrow."

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked outside.

The campus of Trinity College was quiet, with only the distant clock tower still lit. The night was deep, and the stars twinkled in the sky.

Everything seemed so peaceful.

But the teacher knew that this taming process had only just begun.

And the records in the notebook will continue to grow.

Until the error is reduced to zero.

Until he... truly became Nagisa Kirito.

Bad Ending Route: