By Vega’s account, after she “accidentally” knocked Abigail out, she wore my face and held a warm, well-deep talk with a few hospitalized ladies.

“What did you talk about?” I asked, my words like a pebble dropped into a still pond.

“Life,” Vega said, her look like moonlight slipping through mist.

It all felt shaky, like a paper kite in gusts, especially the moment “life” got dragged in—yet Vega herself is solid as stone. Since that disguise mess, my favor with girls climbed like ivy on a wall. Good things, sure, but there’s a faint off-note, like a string a hair sharp.

“You didn’t do anything that people only do after marriage, right? You didn’t, right? Tell me you didn’t!” I pinched her cheeks like kneading warm dough.

Vega patted my hand in a flutter like sparrow wings, smiling with layered silk, and kept her lips sealed like a pond at dawn.

Mm, that reaction… Lately, Stini and Elina look at me with strange currents, and when Raven meets my eyes, her cheeks redden like maple and she turns away.

What does that say…?

I keep feeling NTR’d by my own maid, like a lock picked by my own key—maybe it doesn’t count; she’s my maid anyway.

They’re my harem, and my soon-to-be harem, my orchard half in blossom.

“No! I still feel sore! I’m gonna go beat Vega up later!” I raised my bandaged arm like a white-flagged spear and yelled.

“Ah-ya, ah-ya, it’s been two months already; let it drift like leaves down a river. How to Be a Playboy, Chapter Thirty-Two: If a man asks for too much, girls won’t accept him.”

The literary girl at my right spun up soundproofing magic in a glass bubble the first instant I made noise. She sipped tea like rain on moss and smiled easy.

“Andor, how’d this shelved problem wash back to shore?” she asked, voice like a reed flute.

“Well, yesterday, Purified Nation Helena sent people. They traded pleasantries with Augustus like sparring fans, then went to visit their princess.”

“You mean your team’s cleric, Elina?” Her tone was a skylark over a field.

“Mm. She’s of the beastfolk. As a baby, she was abandoned when food ran thin like winter bark. The Helena royal house took her in, so she’s a princess of the Purified Nation.”

“Fortune winds favor Elina, it seems. Genesis, Chapter Three: All the Creator made carries endless possibility. This is one such branch.” Her eyes drifted like clouds.

“Ah, ah, that’s not my point. Look, envoys visiting their princess will meet the princess’s friends, right? Her team? Then, at dinner, the envoy pulled me aside like tugging a sleeve in an alley and quietly asked when I’d marry Elina. I did nothing!”

“Ah-ya, ah-ya, such a sad tale; please accept my willow-leaf condolences. Hoo-hoo-hoo.” Her laugh hid behind a fan like a night moth.

“You’re totally snickering! And that’s not the worst. Abigail barely healed and challenged me again. We both know we’re too strong, and a real finish could kill someone, but he got triggered by something, eyes red like embers, shouting ‘Miss Raven, Miss Raven’ as he stormed in.”

“…That’s climbing out of prank rain and into storm squalls,” she said, eyelids like shutters.

“And then, Iron Kingdom Colonna, inheritor of the Sorcerer Emperor’s legacy, kept iron-calm like an anvil under hammer. They planned first, then after harsh selection, sent a pack of top folks to Hero Academy to hassle me. Fists or research, all elite—like hawks cutting wind.”

“…” Her silence hung like snow.

“Lastly, Stini’s side should’ve been easy. She’s not on good terms with her dad, so even if something happens, she’d put on a stance like a mountain gate: ‘My choice, Dad, don’t interfere.’ I guessed the opening scene, not the ending. That fool Stini blurted something, then under Augustus’s questions and the threat of longer confinement—bars like iron rain—she sold me out.”

My sigh pooled in the library air like a low fog, deepening the hush of our small corner world.

But she slid in with a bright, tranquil voice, like a sunbeam on paper: “So where will you hide from the wind? Demon Realm or Divine Realm? Remember, Saster and Head get on well with you. The Distant Emblem, Chapter Twenty-Five: You must make a choice.”

She tilted her cup, tea leaves swirling like minnows. Aside from her first flicker of surprise, she kept that ease, simply enjoying the talk like watching lanterns drift.

As if the whole world to her were scenery worth gazing at, waterfalls on silk.

As if the whole world to her were nothing to do with her, mist beyond a bridge.

“Don’t joke. I don’t want to die early, like frost out of season! Damn it, I did nothing! If I’d truly done something, I’d own it, but I did nothing! Seriously!” I know what she is, so I ignore the odd glints like stars out of map.

“I’m not running a counsel tent here, Ah-ya, ah-ya. Legend of the Broken Sword, Chapter One: Some things you must solve yourself,” she said, voice like cool shade.

“Take pity, I brought your tea leaves like a traveler bearing herbs. Let me unwind. I won the victory, but for some reason it feels like defeat—like a drum with no echo.”

She poured me a cup as well, steam fading like breath on glass. I prefer wine; I only drink tea to look suave before Daviya, like wearing a silk cloak.

The heat had slipped off like a late sun; I raised the cup and drank slow as snowmelt.

Not good… tea’s no match for wine’s fire.

“These problems are still fixable, like knots you can pick; they’re just… problems. By the way, I still don’t know—what did Vega actually do to the girls?” I asked, words like a needle seeking thread.

“Ah-ya, ah-ya, they say a woman’s heart is a needle at the bottom of the sea. You, the efficiency-first type, can’t fathom those tides. Sweetness, Prologue: What looks trivial to a boy can make a girl’s heart race like thunder,” she said, eyes like calm ponds.

“Can you fathom them? I’m at least a person—no, a demon—but you aren’t even life. Can you grasp the human heart, that century problem?” I threw the question like a stone into reeds.

“Book of Praise, Section Twelve: I am clear on all things under heaven—save the human heart, save the human heart. The Sun said this. That should answer you.” Her tone was steady as river stones.

She didn’t mind me saying she wasn’t life; she simply answered with what the pages said, smiling like a crescent.

This is her nature as the “literary girl of the library,” a concept walking like a figure in ink.

To her, the world is unrelated, at most a single hero epic among countless spines on her shelves like forests.

Not even a favorite… she has no “favorite,” treats all alike, the pure stance of a bystander, a crane standing outside the field.

That stance…

“Very like a Divine Being, especially those Primordial Deities whose thoughts are a dark sea,” I said, voice like drift-smoke.

“Am I not shaped by you? You should know what I am, what I can grasp, what I can do. Hazy Fear, Chapter Eight: We always fear we’ve made a monster. Is that your plotline?” Her smile was moonlight on water.

“Strictly, I didn’t create you. Even without me, you’d exist; I just hastened your birth, used what was here, and molded you by my taste like a sculptor with clay. But you’re right; I have learned how… great you are,” I said, palms open like empty bowls.

Only that word fits—she’s godlike, yet not a god, a mountain shaped from fog.

“I shouldn’t keep calling you ‘literary girl.’ Let me give you a name. How’s Akasha?” I offered, the name like a star thrown to night.

“Ah-ya, ah-ya, no. I don’t feel I need a name,” she said, light as falling petals.

“Fine. I won’t ask why, or we’ll pull a whole thread on names. Let’s continue the counseling—” I lifted a hand like a priest’s bell.

“On Names as Binding for Monsters, Prologue: A name has no meaning; existence does. When we lodge ourselves in a name, our being shrinks to that shape—no mystery, no greatness, no transcendence,” she recited, voice like ink soaking paper.

“Listen to me!” I snapped, temper flaring like dry tinder.

Seeing me blow a gasket, she hid her smile behind her fingers, “hoo-hoo-hoo,” like wind chimes.

I sighed, a long river exhaling, because though we look easy together, she isn’t close to me.

She isn’t human, so human feelings are not guaranteed; she’s like nature—a lattice of laws, winds you can guess, rains you can chart. Gentle to all when gentle like spring, cruel to all when cruel like winter steel.

She just happens to resemble us, a mask painted on a stone.

“Okay, okay—speak, Andor. What’s the knot? Walls of the Mind, Chapter Six: Humans need each other to live,” she said, palm turned like a leaf.

“Fine, though neither of us is human… First problem: my relationships with the girls are delicate as spider silk. What do I do?” I asked, breath like a lantern flicker.

She picked up the tray, tapped it with a nail, and a crisp “ding” rang out like ice.

“Give it up. Only time can wash it thin. Book of Praise, Section Two: Time will wash everything away,” she said, smiling like brooklight.

“You gave up too fast! Toss me a rope of hope!” I protested, voice like a wave on stone.

“Ah-ya, ah-ya, the answers I can give, clumsy Andor—you can’t do them. Your hands are full of thorns,” she said, gaze like still snow.

“…Fine. Forget I asked. Second problem: in the original history, the great event ‘Hero Academy Battle Festival’ ended with Gugwen’s death, while Saint Mire fought to carry out the top quarter of students, keeping the Academy’s spark alive. But now it’s different; Hero Academy is intact. Will the world’s future drift off course? Ah, you might not know I once came back from the future…” I let the past ripple like reeds.

“Ah-ya, I know that. Andor, you’re the former self of Andreas; I know that too,” she said, watching tea settle like dust.

“Right. You’re a beyond-world thing,” I said, words like ash.

Those who do not act, do not speak; so they know more, like owls in ruins.

“As for that answer… sorry. Chatting with you is fine, but that one touches ‘action’ and ‘interference.’ I can’t say,” she said, refusal like a closed fan.

What use are you, then? I swallowed the thorn.

“Alright. Last problem: Augustus is coming to kill me. Can you hide me in the secret space where the Hero Academy Grand Library stores forbidden books?” I asked, hope like a paper boat.

“I can. But why should I? From Apocrypha of Swindlers—I find it apt,” she said, voice like a soft gong.

She stacked cup and tray with care like placing stones, poured the remainder into the waste water pot like rain, wiped the spotless table like sweeping dew, set everything right, nodded like a willow, and vanished like smoke.

“Good luck, Andor. You’ll walk out of the Headmaster’s office alive,” she called, tone bright and tranquil as morning bells.

“Figures. These transcendent types never do a thing,” I muttered, words like a dull blade.

I tossed the fresh plan into the Shadow like a leaf to a dark stream, grabbed a random book like a shield, and pretended to read until a strong hand clamped my shoulder like a bear trap.

Ow! Pain flared like a hot nail.

“Boy, reading so earnestly? Or using a book as an excuse to flirt?” Augustus leaned in from behind, voice full of malice like smoke under a door.