Beastmen Are Crazy, So I Sell Them Therapy

I turned to Soren, eyes sparkling as I pointed all the mech suits. "Soren nyang nyaang nya-ang?"

Translation: Hey Soren did you make all these suits?

He nodded calmly. "When I come here to rest, I mostly stay down here and make various suits. It’s more like a hobby of mine."

A hobby.

I felt my pride as the greatest sculptress of my past life quietly pack its bags and exit the building.

These mechs had structural harmony, aesthetic precision, and mechanical complexity layered together flawlessly. It was like someone combined engineering, artistry, and divine favoritism into one overpowered dragon.

I lowered my head in silent defeat.

Very well.

I accept it.

You win this round, dragon.

"Blanca, come here. I have to show you something," he said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

He picked me up again and carried me to a nearby worktable. He set me down gently.

I glanced beside me and saw the mechanical arm I’d tested earlier, along with the dragon scales I had selected. Around them were machines that looked like they belonged in a futuristic laboratory—precision grinders, energy stabilizers, calibration modules.

Without hesitation, Soren fed the dragon scales into a processing unit. The machine activated with a low hum. Sparks flickered as precision tools began polishing and trimming the scales.

He adjusted the settings fluidly, swapping polishing heads, recalibrating grinding accessories. The scales were gradually shaped down, refined, their raw forms becoming sleek, razor-sharp carving blades.

The dragon scales transformed into specialized carving knives designed to integrate perfectly with my leopard paw tools.

Then he turned to the mechanical arm.

He removed the previous carving attachments and replaced them with the newly forged dragon-scale tools. He adjusted torque balance, fine-tuned grip calibration, and ran diagnostic scans.

The arm flexed.

The blades gleamed.

Perfect.

Truly perfect.

I wanted to keep watching.

I really did.

But...

My head began bobbing.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Sleep attacked me without mercy.

No... Stay... Awake... This is peak... craftmanship...

The machines blurred.

The hum became soothing.

My head bobbed forward.

Soren’s voice sounded closer. "Are you getting sleepy now?"

I blinked up at him with heavy eyes.

He picked me up gently. The warmth of his arm was dangerously comfortable.

He gave me a small shake. "You need to take a bath first."

Bath?

What’s that?

Who invented baths before sleep?

In my past life, sleep was a luxury I negotiated with caffeine and deadlines. Now that I had finally caught it, this dragon wanted to wash me first?

I snuggled deeper into his chest, pretending to be unconscious.

If I don’t respond, maybe the word "bath" won’t exist.

He shook me again.

"Wake up."

I growled and forced my eyes open.

"Nyang! Nyarng! Grawl! Nyqaa!"

Translation: I couldn’t even sleep properly in my past life and now you’re shaking me like this is entertainment!

He chuckled.

The audacity.

Then he passed me to Agatha, who caught me carefully despite me still attempting to verbally destroy Soren in feline language.

"Make sure to bathe her first before letting her sleep," Soren instructed.

I shot him my most devastating glare.

Then—

I activated my ultimate weapon.

Big, watery eyes, lowered ears, and tiny trembling whiskers.

I looked up at Agatha.

"Nyaa?"

Agatha gasped, clearly shaken by the emotional damage.

Victory was just within my paws—

"Bathe her first before letting her sleep," Soren repeated firmly.

Agatha straightened instantly. "Y-Yes, Master."

Traitor.

I flicked my tail dramatically and glared at Soren one more time.

He only smiled. "Don’t give me that look. Goodnight now."

I grunted dramatically as Agatha carried me back to my room.

The moment we entered the bathroom—

I twisted, launched, and slipped from her arms.

Thus began our intense game of Tag, You’re It!

Agatha lunged toward me.

I darted behind the vanity.

She circled left.

I sprinted right.

"M-Miss Blanca, you need to take a bath!" she pleaded, nearly brushing my tail.

I slid across the smooth tile floor, pivoted sharply, and ducked behind a stool.

She tried to corner me near the bathtub.

I leapt onto a cabinet.

She reached up—

I hopped down the other side.

She was inches away from grabbing me when I twisted mid-run and escaped again.

Back and forth we went, the sound of light footsteps and flustered maid breaths echoing in the marble bathroom.

Agatha’s composure began to crack.

Her hair loosened slightly from its perfect arrangement. A faint flush colored her cheeks.

"P-Please, Miss Blanca... you really must bathe before sleeping..."

I paused mid-run and looked at her.

She was genuinely trying.

And honestly...

This was no longer about baths.

It was about my damn pride.

I huffed softly.

Sometimes I really do get carried away being spoiled.

With a reluctant sigh, I padded toward her and sat down in front of her, tail curling neatly around my paws.

"Nyang."

Agatha blinked in surprise. "Are you ready to take a bath now, Miss Blanca?"

I nodded.

Agatha finally exhaled in visible relief the moment I stopped resisting and hopped into the bathtub on my own.

Warm water began filling the tub, steam curling gently upward. The scent of something light and floral—probably some expensive beastman-safe soap—floated through the air.

I stood there with dignified acceptance.

Fine.

If this was happening, I might as well enjoy it.

Agatha carefully adjusted the water temperature before beginning to wash me. Her movements were gentle but efficient, fingers massaging shampoo into my fur in small, circular motions.

I melted.

I absolutely melted.

It had been so long since I’d experienced something like this.

In my past life, baths were rushed affairs squeezed between deadlines. Sometimes I’d fall asleep sitting upright in a chair instead of even making it to the bathroom. Warm water like this, careful hands, no looming responsibilities—

I sighed deeply.

This... this was luxury.

Agatha rinsed me thoroughly, making sure no foam remained, then gently squeezed excess water from my fur.

I was preparing myself mentally for the dreadful post-bath shivering—

When she placed a towel over me. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

But it wasn’t just any towel.

The moment it touched my fur, I felt something strange.

A faint warmth.

Within seconds, I was completely dry.

My eyes snapped open.

I looked down at myself.

Then at the towel.

Then back at Agatha.

I stared at the fabric in awe and pointed at it with one paw.

"Nya nyang nyaa?"

Translation: What kind of divine relic is that?

Agatha smiled softly at my stunned expression. "This," she held the towel up slightly so I could inspect it better. "is called Dri-Wrap. It absorbs moisture instantly. It’s commonly used by high-ranking households. Do you like it Miss Blanca?"

High-ranking households?

No.

This was not a household item.

This was a civilization breakthrough.

I nodded vigorously. ’Yes. I approve of this invention!’

Agatha chuckled—but then quickly straightened, as if she had momentarily forgotten she was supposed to maintain proper maid composure. She cleared her throat lightly.

"So, Miss Blanca, are you ready to go to bed now?"

My earlier rebellion had long since evaporated with the bathwater.

I nodded obediently.

She lifted me again—carefully, gently—and carried me back to the bedroom. The lights were dimmed to a soft golden hue. The curtains were drawn. The bed looked impossibly inviting.

The moment my body touched the mattress—

My entire being surrendered.

The blankets were cool and smooth. The pillow was perfectly fluffed. My limbs felt heavy in the most pleasant way.

A yawn escaped me before I could stop it.

"Night... Aga...tha..."

Even speaking felt like too much effort.

Agatha adjusted the blanket over me, tucking it gently around my small form. Her movements were quiet, precise, and warm in a way that didn’t need words.

"Good night too, Miss Blanca. Sleep well," she said softly.

Her voice was distant already.

My vision blurred.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Agatha stood beside the bed for a moment longer than necessary.

Miss Blanca was already fast asleep. Her small body rising and falling gently beneath the blanket, tail curled slightly, one paw tucked under her chin. The bath had left her fur impossibly soft, faintly scented with lavender.

Agatha’s fingers twitched.

Those cheeks.

Those tiny paws.

So round.

So dangerously pinchable.

Her hands lifted a fraction—

Then froze midair.

No.

Control.

She straightened immediately, black gloves clasped neatly in front of her apron.

She was a graduate of the Echelon Service Academy—an institution renowned across the empire for producing elite maids and butlers. Only the best were permitted to wear black gloves bearing the crest of their chosen household. White gloves were for regular servants.

Black gloves meant excellence.

Precision.

Discipline.

Restraint.

She lowered her hands slowly.

Pinching a young lady’s cheeks—no matter how adorable—was not befitting of a black-gloved maid.

Agatha had not come from a prestigious lineage. She had no ancestral tradition of service. No inherited techniques passed down through generations.

She had only her own effort.

Her scholarship into E.S.A. had not been for perfect etiquette or academic brilliance—but for combat proficiency. Her reflexes were exceptional. Her endurance unmatched. In practical examinations, she excelled.

In theoretical grades?

...Average.